I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: they said the one word that makes God laugh is “plans.”
(I think we can all agree the word “fjord” is also pretty funny — that is, unless you’re on the receiving end of it in a high-stakes Scrabble match. But I digress.)
I’m a natural-born planner, and for the most part, that serves me well. It means I’ve already found the venue, dress and photographer for our autumn wedding. It means I already know what healthy meals I’ll be eating an entire week out. It means I’ve already done hours of research on the best month to visit Hawaii to see my favorite hula girl and WHO AM I KIDDING I WOULD GLADLY GO DURING MONSOON SEASON IF IT MEANS SEEING THIS ISLAND-BOUND FACE AGAIN.
With planning and scheduling and list-making such a major part of my life, I felt prepared saying I was only running one distance race this year because I intended to do it right. I’ve been training diligently for the New York City half for literally months, including intervals and pace runs and weight training, forgoing many a happy hour (fine, or glass of wine alone on my room like the introvert I am) in order to wake up early and hit the gym. I felt confident planning to only do one real race this year because, well, I had planned it out so well.
And then my plans got hit by this:
But as annoyed as I am, there’s not much I can do about the weather. So I guess I’ll do what I’ll do best: plan. I’ll plan to dress warmly, I’ll plan to take it slow if there’s ice, and — if I totally bomb — I’ll plan to do another race this year for redemption. Probably another half, since I’m not planning to run a full marathon this year, but who knows? Plans change.