There comes a moment before every race where you question your preparation, or lack thereof.  With the Boilermaker on Sunday, that moment just hit me again.

When looking at the race map this morning, my co-worker pointed out a tree near the finish line, and asked if "that was the tree I died under last year" . . . not exactly the boost of confidence I needed, but pretty amusing nonetheless.  I told them if I get through it without puking, it will be a success.

We ran 9.3 miles in Albany up some pretty monster hills last weekend, so I feel like we are physically ready for the race. Mentally though, I am still checking the weather every five seconds, praying for a torrential downpour the entire race.


This looks glorious.

Just enough rain to make the humidity a non-factor would be lovely. One could only hope right?

I know I am being paranoid.  Judging by the color of my pee, a sparkling clear, I think I am successfully pre-hydrating more than enough this go around. I have a solid plan for food and water, and I got a nice muscle shirt (sans muscles) to race in. I think I've covered all the bases.

We will be able to get it done, it will turn out alright. But damn does it suck waiting for Sunday to come.