Tomorrow is the big day. The day I run 21.1 kilometres for no obvious reason.
I'm actually feeling rather stressed.
Which is silly, of course. It's not like this actually matters to anybody. It's not like an exam or a job interview or something important. Running the half marathon will not make me smarter, richer, a better writer, more popular, prettier, or find me the love of my life (unless he runs really slowly too; in which case I probably don't want to go out with him anyway).
But it's mine. In a time when I have no job, no job prospects, no book, no apartment, and no boyfriend, I have this. This potential glimmer of accomplishment.
So I better not screw it up and fail before the finish line.
I think I'm going to be sick.
To be continued...
(do not fret, dear readers, once the race is over I will be sure to update you on all my travels, including through the lovely landscapes of Victoria, and tell you a funny little story about social networking...)