11 days to go, in two Parts.

Part one: What I have in My Pocket

What I have in my pocket is the experience of one marathon, I know how bad I will feel. I have the strength of the people whose honor and memory I am taking with me. I have the gratitude to know that I have been given an opportunity to run 26.2 miles. An opportunity that comes from taking care of myself, honoring human genetics (hey, Humans were MADE to run... it is how we survived. Running only became bad for your knees once we started becoming sedentary). And above all else, I am here on earth and healthy. That is where the opportunity comes from.
In my other pocket I have the drive to run, to train.
Where does the drive to run comes from? I point to my favorite scene in Rocky.
No, not that scene.
The scene that immediately follows that scene, where Rocky says to Adrian "If I go the distance with Creed, then for the first time in my life, I'll know I'm not a bum." When I line up in Hopkinton, I will know I am not a bum. I have earned that spot regardless of my doubts about recent weeks of training. When I cross the finish on Boylston St. I'll know I am somebody. And when somebody asks: what did you do? I'll say "I raised over 6000 dollars for cancer research and ran the Boston Marathon."

Part Two: Grudge Match
Hey Boston, I'm speaking to you: This is personal. You better have your best game on if you're going to test me. I'm taking you the distance and when I'm done, you're going to know. I'm running with a chip on my shoulder and the honor of friends, family and millions of faceless victims of cancer fueling my legs. Have you seen these legs? You're going too... I know where you live. I know what you call "hills" and what you call "Heartbreak." You've eaten your share of competition and you've faced down some tough runners, but you haven't faced legs like mine before. These legs are forged from the rutted roads and fantastic potholes of miracle workers who came before me. They are fueled by people who dance in the light of our ecstatic memory, who are behind every door and under every surface in our dreams. My legs are angry for the shattered widows who may never find peace on this earth and for the youth whose old age is mercilessly melted away in pounds. My legs have the strength of the tarnished and wasting warriors who choose to fight, regardless of their chance of survival. And my legs have the composure of those who choose not to fight and opted to go gently into the good night.
You think you can challenge that? These legs have trained with a purpose greater than running your measley distance and hills. And if I have to crawl and turn my knees to bloody scabs to defeat you, I will. I'll see you on April 21. This is a grudge match.

Part 3: I'm anxious and nervous. The fact that I have a lingering cold, sore nose and painful sneezes doesn't help the anxiety.