In less than two weeks, I will be running my very first race ever.

A sane, or more organized person might have chosen a 5K to start, but not this girl.  I’d been toying with the idea of running Philadelphia’s most popular race for years, but I’d never bitten the bullet and done it.  This year, I was determined.  And with the help of my friends, I managed to get a spot in the race during the five hours that registration was open (last year, it filled up in 4 days … this year, 5 hours… clearly, a very popular race!).

Now, as the date nears, my panic has reached a fever pitch.

The Broad Street Run is ten miles, and -I’ve been told- is mostly downhill.  Now, people say, don’t be fooled.  It doesn’t really seem downhill, but it is.  Until the end.  But by then, you’re almost done.

Yeah, I’m super stoked.

I started out strong in January.  With my new puppy in tow, I was out jogging every day, wondering if I would ever have the stamina to make it past two miles.

Today, after doing a 5-mile run and a 6-mile run two weeks ago, and another five miles last Friday, I suited up, and headed determinedly to the gym.  I was going to do a long run if I crippled myself.  I needed the knowledge ~ mentally, I needed the confidence to know I could do it.

Eighty-one minutes later, after eight miles, and my right foot feeling as though the bones were fracturing apart, I slowed my pace and smiled (probably painfully, but I couldn’t feel much of anything besides my right foot and shin).  I could keep going for another two miles.  I was certain.  And all of a sudden, I felt okay.

Yeah, I’m going to be a nervous wreck a week from Sunday.  I have anxiety issues.  I panic, and I’m not very good in unfamiliar situations. But I took on this challenge to prove something to myself.  That I could do it, I could push myself physically, undertake the challenge and triumph at the end.

Now, I can’t say how I’ll do on race day.  But I can say that I’m 99% sure I can jog 10 miles.  And that is a victory for me.