I admit it: I am in taper hell. True, real, taper hell. I cannot believe I have to run a marathon in 10 days. I feel like I’ve never run before in my life.
Yet I have. I do. Almost every day. I ran 18.5 miles a few days ago. But yesterday, on a 5.3-mile run, I felt like I was going to die. Just had heavy legs, felt out of shape. Fat. God, what is it with taper? I feel like a huge, fat fucking whale. Like an elephant running.
Even more horrifying, Phoenix is hot, and I don’t do well in the heat. As my friend Patrick suggested, the only outfit I will be happy in when it’s 50 degrees is something “barely legal” in the skin-coverage department. It’s so true. I overheat really easily.
So, when I am not obsessing over how out of shape I feel, I am freaking out about what to wear. (The plan right now is my North Face shorts with the pockets for gels, a sports bra, arm warmers and maybe cheapie mittens I can throw off — my hands often get cold.) I don’t know.
At any rate, I know I’ve put in the work. I know I have the mileage to back up my goals. This will be my eighth marathon, so I have experience. This isn’t my first time at this rodeo. I know how to not start too fast, to run within my limits, to remember to open my fucking gels beforehand because I have zero dexterity and can never figure them out past mile 20.
I know all this.
And yet. Freaking. Out.
What is the science behind taper madness? Somebody google this for me and let me know.