I was disappointed I couldn’t run last year’s Boulder Marathon. I thought I could do it and I wanted to start out my sixties by running a marathon. I ran two in my second decade of life, there’s a gap, then a dozen or so in my 40s and 50s. There’s a gap again. Shorter this time. And now. I’m confident enough to project a finish time between 4:30 and 4:45.

The important thing about that time range is its specificity. That’s how good I am at these projections. Anything outside that range should make for more interesting stories.

I’ve been told I go out too fast – an understatement for just how spectacularly bad a few of my marathons have gone – but most of them go okay. The people who say that haven’t seen all the good ones. I think I’ll run fine.

I need to do well because this is a warmup for a pending ultra. I’ll waterboard myself in hydration and electrolytes. I’ll wear a vest to prep even though I doubt I’ll need one, It has great aid stations. I’ll consume ungodly gels; not to get to the end of twenty-six miles, but to prep for what it’s like to eat that shit over sixty-two miles.

Like last month’s backpacking, this Sunday is all prep. My pace is noticeably slower than it was a few years ago, like in 2015, when I cranked out 8 minute miles for the full marathon on the Boulder Backroads. I like to predict my pace ahead of time and am usually spot on. I haven’t been wearing a watch much this year, but I’m getting a sense of my pace. This course reminds me of the Austin Marathon – there’s a hilly section around mile ten.

I got this.