Rebecca Gardiner

Four-day countdown to race day and my husband is seriously considering calling Keith, our local exorcist, again.

My 37km run a week or so ago convinced me that running one step more than necessary on any occasion was a radical excess.

All you “fast” runners out there who have been telling me that the Boston Marathon is “hard”… I know your truth. Heartbreak hill is actually a huge mound of gummy bears and marshmallows and you ride in go-carts when your legs ache.

Throughout history people have set seemingly unachievable goals and conquered them. Why not me?

Last Sunday I had another running first. I skipped out on a race I had signed up for, paid for, picked up the race t-shirt for and was overall, quite ready for.

Turns out the hard work is paying off. I’m closer to Kenyan than I thought.

My quest to go from Couch-Potato to Kenyan stalled Sunday under a foot of snow and a wallop of ice.

If you haven’t already heard, on Wednesday the qualifying standards for the Boston Marathon changed. Now the bar is so high I don’t just need a ladder to reach it — I’m in the market for a rocket launcher.

Like many love affairs, my dalliance with running is humbling.

In a recent effort to inspire, bad-ass dietician and Iron woman Claudia Hutchison told me the story of Olympic rower Sue Kenney The moral of the story? Fake it ‘til you make it.

It was so frigid yesterday the corners of my eyes froze together, the energy-drink carefully protected under my jacket became a popsicle and worse….

Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, Happy belated Birthday. Sorry you couldn’t make it to this year’s pot luck.