Perhaps my second greatest fear

My greatest fear? Definitely live fish. But, my second greatest fear? It's something that's been haunting me all week. Wait, check that, all summer.

I can tell when things are weighing heavy on my mind because I start to have absurdly stressful dreams. My generic stress dream is that it's present day, but I somehow still have some eligibility left on my college volleyball scholarship and I need to play in a volleyball match. In today's volleyball match. Today's volleyball match that is starting in ten minutes. Today's volleyball match that is starting in ten minutes and for which I haven't warmed up. Heck, I don't even have shoes or a uniform. And I forgot the team ribbons for my hair. OH NO! NOT THE RIBBONS! And then my coach yells at me in that voice that will forever echo in my head "Little Ms. Notetaker!" Only she doesn't say that because, guess what? That's not my real name. But she yells my name with a severe disappointment that resonates with the undertones of "how could you, the team captain, show up so late for the match and forget to practice, for, oh you know, TEN YEARS?!"

I usually wake up sweating and panicked. And then rejoice at the fact that I don't have to worry about those damn ribbons ever again.

Well, this week, I had a new stress dream. This Sunday is the Portland Marathon. The marathon where I'm hoping to finally qualify for the Boston Marathon. And let's just say, I've been thinking about this for a long time. On Tuesday night I dreamed that I showed up two hours late for the race. But the officials told me it was okay, I could still run the course. So I took off running and forgot to start my watch so I had no idea if I was sticking to my qualifying pace, and then halfway through the course they diverted me to a different route where I had to run on the sidewalk and I kept getting stopped at traffic lights. And I kept pleading, but I have to run fast and I can't keep stopping. And the officials just replied, well, guess you gotta run faster.

It took me nearly half the day to fully shake that dream and realize, that didn't happen. I get a do over. Hallelujah!

But that right there? That's not even my second greatest fear. That's just to show you how crazy I am and how much little things can eat away at my mind, like my second greatest fear is doing right now.

My second greatest fear (turn away right now if you are feint of heart, or don't like to talk about things of a biological nature), is pooping in a bathroom that is not my own. And in terms of marathons, the fear that paralyzes me all training season is, "what if I can't poop prerace?"

Those of you that are runners totally get this (well, you get the need to poop prerace, you may not get my unnatural fear of all other bathrooms. And now that I mention it, it's not really a fear at all, but my body's absolute inability to perform it's normal duty--oh there's an obvious pun ripe for the taking there. I need home court advantage. They say everybody poops, well I don't, at least not all that much, and certainly not under pressure). Running tends to jostle your innards around, often gets things moving, and if you haven't moved them out before you start, it can spell trouble. Every race I run, I worry about this prerace ritual more than anything else. More than the distance, more than the weather, more than if I can actually run that long, more than A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G.

Every week as I train, I use different techniques to make sure I have victory before I leave my house. Here are a couple of my tricks:

1. The night before a big run I drink either two beers, or a glass or two of wine. This always guarantees success in the morning, although it can also lead to dehydration. I've never tried this tactic the night before a race, but it may be one I need to employ.
2. Visualize success. As the inspirational quote on my JV basketball sweatshirt read: "The body achieves what the mind believes." So I wake up 15 to 30 minutes early and lay in bed visualizing my guts doing what they need to do to achieve the results I so badly want.
3. When all else fails, pop an Imodium right before the race and plug your body up for a few days. Not recommended for overall body health, but will work in a pinch (insert another obvious pun here).

Worst-case scenario, LMNT gets to the start line of the race nursing a hangover, mentally exhausted and constipated. It also bears noting that against my better judgment, I am contemplating chugging a giant glass of milk as my "pseudo lactose intolerance" will create an immediate reaction that will likely produce the results I desire. But I fear the long-term side effects may be as dire as all those that are listed on drug commercials (yes, leaky discharge, I'm talking about you). Oh, I'm sorry if that offended anyone, but they do say that on TV.

So here I sit, 60 hours before race day and instead of thinking about being number one, I am singularly focused on doing number two (quit your groaning, you totally had to see that one coming).