Usually, I carry about me an "abundance" mentality—an attitude that embraces the positive and "what could be." Today, though, I am afraid that anyone who gets close to me will catch the "scarcity mentality" that has begun afflicting me, rather like a virus spreading negativity and a sense of hopelessness. There is no cure, only treatment, and I'm anxious that the treatment—stepped-up levels of running, biking and swimming—might be out of my range. I am still so out of shape. Pounds have come off, true, as have inches. And muscles have started emerging from otherwise pudgy arms and legs. But these physical changes are tangential; they mean little to me if I cannot do what I set out to do.
I will have to 'fess up to team-mates and coaches that my chances of being an effective competitor in Wildflower are pretty slim. Unless there is divine intervention (some of you are praying for me, I hope!). And if the fog that has followed me around in the past week is lifted.
I can't fault my daughter's injury and upcoming surgery for my lack of self-discipline. I may have been robbed of time, but I must apportion hours in each day to train. And I must take time to believe those who believe in me. 
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
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