It's not you, it's me.

I'm just going to go ahead and say it now: I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. But, I still just went completely off on you. It's not you. It's not you at all. It is so completely, totally me.

The training, the hunger, the lack of enough sleep, the nerves - they've all just been building and building, and I've become a little testy. Okay, a lot testy. The race is finally close enough that it seems real, and I'm getting just a tad (ha!) nervous. Why else would I have a little meltdown while on a bike ride with Ben? Ben, who doesn't have to park his rear on a saddle for 5 hours at a stretch, who can crank it out while my legs feel like lead because I had a run earlier this afternoon, who just wants to ride fast because he can - Ben is the one who was on the receiving end of my little tirade of all-I-wanted-to-do-was-have-a-nice-ride-with- you-and-why- does- it-always-have-to-be-a-race-sometimes-I'm-supposed- to-be-doing-a-recovery-ride- why- won't-you-just-slow-the-f*ck- down-once-and-awhile?!?!?

So, if I haven't gone off the deep end with you yet, just wait. You'll have your turn. And if you have, once again, I'm sorry. It's probably safe to assume that at any given time, I am at least two of the following: tired, cranky, sore, hunger, nervous. Approach me as you would a dog you don't know: hope I'm friendly and will wag my tail, but realize that I may very well bite.

Oh, and to my co-workers: I'm sorry if I've stolen your food. I ate someone's Cheerios today because it was either that, or eat one of you.