The number 13 doesn't normally strike fear into my heart the way that it would with others. Not a number to be afraid of in my family. Why? Well, my brother was born on Friday the 13th. 13 has always been lucky for the Neals. So I signed up for a half marathon. It's the E.T. Half Marathon. Run on the E.T. Highway, outside of (where else?) Area 51 in Nevada. Seriously, how cool does this event sound (it's run at midnight because it's Iraq-hot during the day)??? Aliens...midnight...top secret squirrel shit happening over your shoulder...get the idea? So to get the 'full' experience, I signed up for the event that starts at the 'Black mailbox'. Yea, the place where folks meet to watch for UFO's over Groom Lake in Nevada. Hey, if you're gonna go to the E.T. running events, might as well get the full experience, right, START AT THE BLACK MAILBOX. And the event that starts at the 'Black Mailbox' is the half marathon.
Did you catch those two words?? HALF MARATHON. Meaning 13.1 miles. Half of 26.2 miles. 13 M-I-L-E-S. We're talking 2 2/2 to 3 hours of abject agony on my body. Because I wanted the full alien experience, and signed up, paid money to run 13.1 miles. WTF was I thinking? I am now terrified of the number 13. 6 miles, I got. 7 I can do (painfully, but I can do it). Why did I think I could pull off 13?????
Let me take you back to Balad AB, Iraq, 4 years ago. Me, running my first 5k, cursing Paul the whole way. And now I dare aspire to 13 miles? Surely I am Icarus flitting around the sky, right? I've been training, but I dread my days I run long distances. I am terrified of anything over 7 miles now....why? Who knows, but I'd say mostly fear of failing miserably.
