The shits

Kurt has the shits, an intestinal bug run amok. He's paranoid of falling down the stairs and twisting an ankle or stubbing a toe or wrenching a knee doing something routine. Hey, it's nearing showtime and, well, shit happens. Count on it. With 11 days to go, Kurt is feeling the extraordinary time commitment and effort he's made since February. How many miles? How many hours? Doctors visits, spinning classes, time trials, 20-milers? Add it all up, man, you're vested. You've made the sacrifice. Paid the price. Now you want the payoff. Why the hell put your body through that grind without the money run? The sub-4. For 12 months now, that notion of a marathon with a "3" to define it seemed so compelling, it ruled his free time. No, it was his free time--beyond dog school. It wasn't always fun but it wasn't always that bad either --especially when you could feel yourself getting faster, stronger, leaner. That part was good, very good, maybe even surprisingly good. He may have liked running more than he ever imagined. So the road to the startline was it's own reward, and there were so many obstacles along with way that were avoided or side-stepped. That was good too. Just watch out for those stairs and doing something stupid. Because at this point, the biggest enemy to a sub-4 is something you can't control: Weather.