Wool Socks and a Little Nitsche, Please…

Less than a week to go until my first 5k and I’m starting to get cold feet. That I checked out the race day forecast didn’t help matters.

Forty degrees and mostly cloudy.
That little voice inside of my head that’s been whispering, “What have you gotten yourself into?” is now screaming. Thankfully, between a mysterious virus that’s infiltrated two of my boys this week and the impending onslaught of Thanksgiving guests, I have had enough going on to keep me too busy to focus on it. 
Wimp that I am, the majority of my training has taken place inside. Knowing this, my second eldest is already giving me some sage advice to make sure I’m mentally ready. 
“Take one mile at a time.”
“Why?” I reply, feeling the panic well up inside of me.
“Because one mile is easier to conquer than three.”
“I suppose,” I mumble as I contemplate withdrawing my registration.
“And make sure you’re dressed in layers.”
Having run inside for the duration, I am just now realizing I have no outdoor cold-weather running gear.
“Where did I put that Kohl’s ad…?”
“You can borrow my sweats.”
At that, I put my one remaining bit of anxiety on the table.
“What if I’m the last one to cross the finish line?”
My son smiled. “No one will know. Well, not then anyway. Not until the results are posted.”
This was a bad idea. I didn’t say it, but he knew I was thinking it.
And that’s when Mister I’m-Taking-AP Psychology-So-I-Know-Everything said, “Just remember, what doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger.”
That’s all this plate spinner needed to hear.
Bring it on…

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