Not One Expectation

It’s 8:30 PM on a Friday night and my current status is: “butt melted into the couch.”  It’s been a long week and I’m exhausted. 

Ninety-five percent of what I do for a living is managing expectations of two men whose innate propensities are to change their minds as soon as the last detail of what always proves to be intricate planning is thoughtfully put into place.  Thus making my job tricky and sometimes uncomfortably challenging.

I logisticize their lives, moving them around the world and making sure when issues/glitches arise, I smooth it before they detect a ripple in the master plan.  For example, this week, one of my guys went from Dallas to Santiago, Chile to Antofagasta, Chile to The Canary Islands to Geneva, Switzerland to Davos, Switzerland to London and sometime in the wee hours tomorrow morning his plane will land back in Dallas.  All that travel in the matter of five days.  Every step of the way, I knew where he was, who he was meeting with every moment of the day.  I monitored his planes, his drivers, his clients, his accommodations and his media avails anticipating need and quietly stepping in to correct issues as they arose before he knew anything was amiss.  And in these day-to-day global dealings, something(s) ALWAYS goes wrong.

As my butt continues its ridiculously successful quest to become one with the couch, I try to persuade myself to get up and pack as tomorrow morning I leave for Austin, TX to run the 3M Half Marathon on Sunday.  But I can’t I’m just too tired.  Sometimes managing expectations sucks the life out of you.  Yet, as I enter this, my first race weekend of this still fresh-smelling new year, I have not one single expectation.  And it's so freeing.  Like getting home from work and taking off your bra and peeling off your fake eyelashes kind of freeing.  I know you dudes won’t get that, but trust me, it’s the best feeling all day!

I came into this race last year with a lot of goals.  This year, I run 3M not as strong, having surrendered six weeks of my off-season training to my eye surgery journey.  I returned to training seven weeks ago, but we’re not back to full speed.  We’re still building my body back to a place it can handle the pounding of full-on hardcore training.  So do I expect to PR?  Nope!  Will I beat myself up if I don’t hit my splits?  Nope, as a matter of fact, I probably won’t even look at my watch that much.  Will I be discouraged when I get to the finish line and see that my time is slower than last year’s?  Nope!  I have no expectations.  At all.  Just me, a few thousand of my sisters and brothers in running madness, and 13.1 miles of downhill running in the Capitol of the Great Republic of Texas. 

I can’t put into words how liberating having no expectations walking into a race is…who knows, maybe now that I’m freed of that, maybe I’ll run faster from the sheer weightlessness and PR….or maybe not, because that would be expecting and I’m not expecting, I’m just running.

See ya Sunday in Austin