The day before a marathon I do nothing. Legs up, movies on. That's the routine. Before my last race I decided to finally watch some classics. Casablanca first, then Lawrence of Arabia. Somehow never seen either one.

Lawrence stuck with me.

There's a scene where Lawrence convinces a tribe to cross the Nefud Desert and attack Aqaba from the rear — the direction nobody would expect. The tribal leader says it can't be done. The desert crossing alone would kill them.

Lawrence's response is three words.

"Nothing is written."

No fate. No predetermined outcome. The desert doesn't decide who crosses it. You do. And then they crossed it together.

We write stories in our heads before a race ever starts. I'm not ready. I didn't train enough. This might not be my day. We treat these thoughts like facts — already decided, like the desert.

They're not.

Your race isn't written. Your next training block isn't written. Whether you show up, gut it out, and finish — none of it is written until you write it.

Nothing is written. Go write something.