I’m standing on the doorstep. I’ve been procrastinating for at least 15 minutes. I’ve changed my shoes and coat twice. The rain is getting heavier, no sign of any improvement.

I’m hesitating.

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With just over one week to go until race day, I’ve covered almost 800 miles in training. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed every run. I definitely haven’t skipped out of the front door with delight every time. There have been struggles and I’ve had to be creative in motivating myself. Sometimes. I’ve celebrating getting home.

But now I’m really hesitating. In fact, I’m more than hesitating.

I’m teetering towards reluctant.

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I’m in the final stages of preparation. All my favourite bits of running kit are washed and sorted. I’ve been reading the race day instructions. Travel plans have been made. We’ve chatted with someone who’s done the race before – thanks to Tim for the good advice.

I’ve even prepared my snack box.

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I’m still hesitating.

And then, music playing loudly to drown out the sound of the rain, I shake off my hesitation (thanks Taylor) and I run.

I can’t say I was a happy runner at any point. I ran through too many puddles and got splashed by too many cars for that.

But I ran.

I hesitated, but only for a little while.

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50 for 50 #41: 50 posts for my 50th birthday to be posted before I’m 51.