Here I am, less than a week from my second Boston Marathon. I’ll admit, I am a bit nervous. Maybe not nervous. Excited might be a better word. Last year I had the nerves from never being to Boston before and having no idea what to expect. Sure, I researched the hell out of the race, asked countless runners about their previous experiences, posted a daily fact about the race for 60 days, and even got tips on which port-a-pot lines go the fastest (thank you Mark Peters, you are a life saver). And I did well. I finished in 3:02 in the rain and wind and had a great experience in the town of Boston.

This year, I have set my goals a bit higher.

I want that elusive sub-3. I want to cross the finish line in less than 3 hours. I was close last year. I think the unplanned pee-break at mile 7 (not your fault, Mark) and giving out countless high fives might have been the only thing between me and a time starting with a “2”. A very small percentile of marathon runners accomplish this task. I want to be one.

I feel like I know the course. I feel like I know the city well enough to step out of the door in the morning to warm up, and find a path to run without fearing getting lost. I know where and when to catch the bus to get to the start line. I know when and where to pee before the race. I know what to expect at Athletes’ Village. I know that when I make the right at the Newton Fire Hall, I am headed for some heart breaking hills. I know they are not that bad. I know I have trained well. I know the last 10K is downhill. I know that last left hand turn onto Boyleston Street will put the finish line in sight. I know Jen and Sharon will be cheering me on along there somewhere but I won’t have the wherewithal to find them. I know they will find me after the race and get me to the shower.

I’m good.

I’ve got this.