“Walk or die, that’s the moral of this story. Simple as that. It’s not survival of the physically fittest, that’s where I went wrong when I let myself get into this. If it was, I’d have a fair chance. But there are weak men who can lift cars if their wives are pinned underneath. The brain, Garraty.” McVies’ voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. “It isn’t man or God. It’s something … in the brain.”

— stephen edwin king, “the long walk”

—

When I was a kid, I once dropped a piano on my foot. It wasn’t as much fun as it looked on the Saturday morning cartoons. My foot was pinned under the piano, and I couldn’t even reach the keys to play mournful tunes while waiting for a rescue. It was not my favorite day.

We had been playing in the abandoned schoolhouse in Vancourt, where the grandparents lived. The piano had been pushed backwards against the wall, making it impossible to play. So I had the idea to pull it out. Which worked great except for the falling over and landing on me part.

I remember that sound when it landed. The Beatles would later go on to use that same chord at the end of A Day in the Life. No, I haven’t seen a royalty check.

My brother ran across the street to get Granddad, who was the proprietor of the tiny Vancourt Store (no idea how he came up with the name.) He came running over and lifted it off of me, one of those feats of strength that occur only in times of crisis or Seinfeld Festivus episodes.

How did he do it?

It’s all in the mind.

I thought about that day as I read The Long Walk in the wee hours of the morning. The premise of the book is that you keep walking 15 minute miles forever or they shoot you to death. Sort of like a Lazarus Lake event without the bugle and red wool hat. Isn’t that the essence of distace running?

What is it that makes us keep going in races? What is it that makes us stop? Physically, I think you can go on forever. It’s all in the mind.

I finished off a 60 mile week this morning. I’m up to four pieces of tape on my feet, a sure sign that things are coming together. If I could only tape up my head.

Last year, I dropped out of this race at 16 miles. I’m not even sure why. “Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit,” Dr. Sheehan said. It was hot. I was miserable. I didn’t see what the point of running around in circles all night was. The little voice won.

The race is Saturday. I have a new batch of store-bought iron in my veins and a decent number of miles in my legs. But what to do about the little voice?

I suppose we’ll find out. I’ve put in a bunch of miles in the heat lately, working on the art of turning off my brain. Run the mile you’re in. Accept things as they are. Don’t wonder why you’re doing this. Avoid falling pianos.

My Fit PA Fancy Paints Training Plan© points out that my training load is significantly exceeding my recovery capacity, requiring an immediate reduction in volume and intensity. I take that as I sign I must be doing something right. You can’t burst into flames without starting a fire, right?

And so, I head into race week tired and taped together and hoping nobody shoots me because I’m not able to keep up 15 minute miles in the heat. How am I going to do this?

Walk or die. That’s the moral of this story. It’s something … in the brain.

But maybe I’ll buy some more tape too. Just in case.