You Don’t Think You Can Until You Do by Michaela Lussenden You don’t think you can, until you do. A healthy combination of accountability, discipline, stubbornness, heavy metal, and true crime podcasts go a long way. Accountability and discipline are core assets most of us have until we think they are threatened. Stubbornness is not a good quality until it is. Metallica and Crime Junkie podcasts are never the wrong choices as music and murder have a way of putting things into perspective. These are crucial survival tactics for training for a marathon during a Wisconsin winter. Adrenaline is pulsing through my body as I hear my heart pounding between my ears. An annoying mixture of guilt and annoyance with a side of panic set in as I transfer $65 from my savings account to my checking account. The inconvenience of my conscience kicked in once more as I realized I needed another $10 for “processing taxes” and “sign up fees.” I received my confirmation email within seconds. MILWAUKEE MARATHON – SATURDAY, APRIL 12TH, 2020. I needed something to help ‘get me through’ the winter; a crutch for my mental and physical health that always gets shoved to the bottom on my list of priorities during the months of November – February. Running was nothing new to me. I still used my training strategies, tips, techniques, and the wonderful little fact of carbo-loading I learned from my middle and high school cross country coaches in my back pocket for the last 15 years. Of course, it was time for my milestone of 26.2 long miles. Once again, I blackout another sleepless night. This seems to be the routine five out of six nights a week. My phone reads 4:15 am, and I wonder why I even bother setting an alarm anymore. It’s Saturday morning. Snow is expected. It is 12 degrees. Perfectly dreadful conditions for a long run. It didn’t take me long to realize that training for a marathon during a Wisconsin winter is kind of like swimming with sharks. It sounds cool until you realize what you are doing. I tell myself, “Maybe tomorrow,” as I am reluctantly getting dressed. I wiggle into two compressive pairs of leggings, wrangle an annoyingly complicated yet necessarily structured sports bra, and strategically layer multiple long sleeve shirts. I am personally offended at my husband’s chainsaw of a snore as I long for the cozy, safe cocoon I just left him in. The sign of an obviously abundant, high-quality slumber feels like a slap in the face. Impatience grows as notes of caramel and other familiar smells intoxicate the kitchen. I loathe waiting for coffee in the most urgent of times; my restless body is craving for sleep that’s nearly impossible to find. My highest ability to multi-task is maxed out as I shove whole wheat toast with Jiffy’s crunchy peanut butter into my dry mouth and slip into my shoes at the same time. I go against my husband’s directives and walk onto the bogus, poorly installed ‘hardwood floor’ with my spiked shoes. The first sip bit my lips and scorched my tongue. Refusing to wait for my coffee to reach a reasonable temperature, I battle choking down at least one cup. My Amazon-quality running belt is packed with 20 oz of room temp water, a stick pack of Tailwind electrolytes, peanut butter Lara Bars, keys, and my blood glucose monitor. I set my Garmin to “Run” mode, procrastinating until the very last second before I need to step outside. Twelve degrees slaps me in the face as I step out of my apartment and into a black hole. I am officially disconnected from anything providing the least bit of comfort and familiarity. Only sixteen miles to go. I trek toward Division Street. It’s the only area with streetlights on; this ensures a sense of safety in this dark world. I feel like a rabbit as I pounce to avoid inconvenient patches of ice on poorly maintained sidewalks. I decide I hate every resident living
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