The marathon is four days away, and my bones are full of caffeinated ants. I can’t stop moving. Even when I try to sit straight in my chair and take deep breaths and remind myself that everything is well and truly okay, I flick on and off like a bare light bulb in some dank blood-spattered basement.
I’ve never been particularly good at dealing with anxiety, and what’s more, I’ve never been particularly good at distinguishing between anxiety and its friendlier associate, excitement. I guess you could say I am anxcited about the marathon. Excious, even. What I am not is calm, composed, or the kind of cool-flippant hybrid you’re supposed to embody when pretending you’re a competent athlete.
- What was I thinking in signing myself up for this?
- No, really?
- How do you deal with bouts of anxcitement or exciety other than strapping yourself into a straightjacket? Twitchy minds want to know.