By week four, the fact of the run had started to set in. I'd been documenting my journey on social media, and suddenly I realized that I'd end up embarrassing myself in front of all my friends if I completely bombed the day of the race. I started to feel the pressure of delivering, not just to keep up appearances, but because I truly wanted to do well. I'd put in the work. I wanted it to pay off.
That week was all about tapering, so I clocked a handful of relatively easy 20- to 35-minute runs while trying to get enough sleep and eat well. The big problem? I had PMS. And when I have PMS, I turn into a human garbage disposal for a 72-hour span of time. I want ice cream, I want melted cheese, and I want Chardonnay. I had those things during race week more often than I care to admit.
The day before the race, the whole crew reunited — even some of the women who'd had to miss some of our training meets had followed through — for one last shakeout run. Blue gave us a last-minute pep talk and some expert advice on what to do on race day. He told us not to eat before the race, which was fine by me (I'm not a breakfast person), but said coffee was OK. According to Blue, a 10K race doesn't require the glycogen stores that longer races demand.
That night, I guzzled water so I'd be hydrated, crafted a playlist heavy on N.E.R.D, Cardi B, and Rae Sremmurd, and got into bed at 10:00 p.m., willing myself to an early sleep.
