Every Day is Mother's Day

Well...not really. The title simply helps justify a Mother's Day-themed post written a day late.

My blog. My rules.

 

Life's all about balance. Today's example :

 

When you spend a couple of hours, on Mother's Day, running miles in these sorts of conditions :

that "partly cloudy" description was a lie. Unless sweat in the eyes counts as "clouds"

 

You have to balance it out with spending a greater or equal amount of time doing things like this:

 

bliss for the boys and their mama

 

I hope all of your Sundays were awesome. Next up : Balancing blog-posting laziness with...well...un-laziness. 







 

 

Quick PSA

Whole, entire posts (including recap(s)) coming soon! Couldn't let this important reminder wait, though.

 

When you head out for a long run, don't leave your water bottle on your kitchen counter. Excessive thirst and desperation may force you to drink out of a gas station bathroom sink. Don't let this happen to you :

 

For some reason I was really nauseous the next few miles...

 

Hope everyone is well and taking the time to appreciate cold drinking water from a clean, reliable source, today.

 



Feelings

I've been staring at this blank page since I raced my way to a Boston Qualifying time. It's not that I was unsure what to say, there's just too much I want to share. (and probably very little that any of you will actually care to read). I've realized I'm going to have to split it into 3 parts.

 

First: I'm going to have to get some feelings out of the way. They were/are integral and important.

 

Second: The Figures and facts. (mile splits, fueling, etc) It's not interesting to everyone, but I love to have it to look back on. Also, I've made poor Mike wait long enough.

 

Third: The actual race specifics. It's an awesome and fairly unique event. It deserves it's own story. This will likely not happen for a few months, though. I think, once Summer descends and my racing season ends for a while, I'll take that time to go back and share some recaps (expos, crowd support, after parties...that sort of thing)

 

See why this has taken so long? That took up a ton of space and it was only a boring intro!

 

note to moms: step out from behind the camera sometimes. Your children get frustrated when these are the only types of photos they can find with you in them

 

In 2004, my dearest friend (who was also nice enough to have birthed me) found a lump in her breast. She's a semi-professional worrier, so I definitely took it seriously, but didn't panic. She was active, ate healthy, had recently lost a bunch of weight and our family doesn't have a history of breast cancer.

 

I, heavily pregnant, joined her and my dad to hear the results of the biopsy. After what seemed like an eternity, they emerged from the office in tears. They were emotional wrecks (naturally) and started spilling out the bad news. 

 

For some mysterious reason, my every emotion, (even the pregnancy/hormonal ones!) were pushed aside and I just started getting down to business. I'm sure they didn't fully appreciate my immediate barrage of questions and detailed plans of attack, but it sure helped me deal. It was in that moment that I realized my role. I needed to be a source of strength. No, crying and showing raw emotions are not forms of weakness. For me, though, I couldn't break down in tears with them AND sort through how we were going to deal with Breast Cancer. I needed to be tear-free and business-like.

 

Weeks later, my mom and I attended a seminar at the local hospital. The volunteers were explaining various options for headgear during chemotherapy (wigs, scarves, hats) and ways to apply makeup when you've lost all of your eyelashes. They showed a video of heartbreakingly beautiful women, like my mom, who had suffered so much and were dedicated to helping others try to keep their spirits up. It was totally random, but I felt the tears coming. I waddled (still pregnant) to the bathroom and sobbed 'til I puked. My mom never saw, though she may have suspected. We finished off the class, laughed and played with the makeup samples and wigs and left feeling simultaneously devasted and hopeful.

 

 She's not called Grandma, she's "Buddy". Oh, and she loves babies.

 

In January 2005, I delivered a beautiful baby boy and my mom started down a long, hideously awful road of chemo and radiation treatments. We threw her a Hat Party, brought her popsicles when it was all she could stomach, scoured the surrounding cities for some sort of air freshener that was "Nothing" scented. (she became hyper-aware of smells and it further nauseated her) She was so physically weak and battered, but still so very "mom". Everything about her personality remained. I will never forget that. Wouldn't it have been so much easier for her to have just broken down and turned into a whiny jerk?!



"silly, Buddy, it's okay!" "I'm bald, too!"

During one of her follow-up Oncology appointments, the doctor (a runner) stressed to my mom the importance of physical fitness for recovery. At that time, my mom was in no shape to even walk for any length of time, but it turned on a switch in my brain.

Soon after, I started turning my (kinda) daily walks into attempts to run. I knew nothing other than the fact that I could move my feet faster than I previously had, without dying. Also, I loved it.  I kept the new hobby mostly between The Husband and myself, though. (my sissy recently mentioned this in one of her brilliant posts. Yes, my mom's illness and recovery had awakened a desperate need for me to keep my body moving. No, I didn't feel it appropriate to be all "Listen, mom, I know you can't even roll over without pain, but I found out I love to run!" Not good timing.

More babies...more life stuff...lots of time off running, but I re-discovered a passion for it a couple of years later. Short story long : My mom is cancer-free and I've proudly called myself A Runner for about four years. Seemingly unrelated until you toss in the Marathon I just ran.

If you haven't yet clicked on the link, it's a race to "Finish Breast Cancer". 100% of the profits go back into local breast cancer research and support. When picking my races for this year, it was hard to argue with the merits of that one. Since it'd be my third one in five months, though, I expected to just run it "for the cause". Once I fell soooo short of my lofty goals at this disaster of a marathon, though, I was dead-set on running these 26.2 miles in less than 3 hours and 40 minutes.

his Game Face is so much cuter than mine

 

I took the no-brainer route and decided to run this race For My Mom. Only, I didn't actually tell her I'd be doing that. To set a nearly 20 minute PR goal, tell her about it and then tell her how I failed would've been disappointing (for me), to say the least.

 

As I mentioned, all the numbers and race details will be included in the next post. Here's a sneak peek, though : For the majority of the race, I was ahead of the 3:35 pace group. When they passed me, and the miles started getting oh-so-dark, I started down the cowardly route.

 

I told myself it was okay to not Qualify For Boston, as I'd still have my fastest marathon finishing time, ever! That thought was thoroughly destroyed when I remembered My Reason, My Why, My Motivation for this race. Those frightening, surgery and misery-filled days flashed before me.

 

My mother had gracefully survived a Life-Threatening Disease and I was whining about keeping up my pace for 30-40 more stinking minutes?!

 

So I pushed on, without crying. All that strength that magically came to me when my mom was fighting this disease, returned.

I thought of Elaine, another very dear-to-me woman who fought (and fought. and fought) and did not, in the end, survive Breast Cancer. I started to choke up and instead smiled when I realized that, if she were alive, she'd be running this race with me. That type of crazy would be right up her alley.

At mile 24, I thought of Sandy. She, too, was taken by this disease. Instead of running, though, she'd very likely be praying for my soul, assuming I'd lost my mind by paying to run 26.2 miles. That, too, chased away tears and brought a necessary calm.

At mile 25, I was basically a robot. No emotion, no thought other than "You have NOT come this far to FAIL!" Then I saw The Dreaded Bridge and nearly lost it. I was desperately conjuring up images of my mom, my family, the tearful, joyous finish line I'd been imagining all year. That Bridge? It was winning.

Then I saw her. The lady on the left side holding a black poster with white lettering. She wasn't jumping up and down or shaking maracas, like the other spectators. She was simply looking right at me and smiling.

As I begged and pleaded for my shaking legs to make that final ascent, her poster lit those things on fire.

"I'm a Breast Cancer Survivor. Thank You For Running For Me"

We both had sunglasses on, but I like to think we made eye contact. I wish I could've thanked HER. I flew down that bridge and crossed that line while the clock still read 3:39xx. But the tears didn't come. The strength and basic lack of emotion stayed with me. Mostly I was in disbelief. It wasn't until several days later, much like the random sobfest with my mom, that it happened.

I was looking at my race photos and pulled up the Finisher's Certificate. For some reason, when I saw my name, followed by those final numbers, I just sat there and cried. (and cried. and cried) I finally realized that I set out to run a Boston Qualifying Marathon, for my beautiful and amazing mother, and had actually done it. It hadn't just "happened". I FREAKING DID THAT!

I'll never know why my mom was spared when others weren't. All I know is that I'm beyond grateful for every single day I have with her and I'll never be able to thank her enough for inspiring me to conquer seemingly impossible challenges.

 

 





We Interrupt This Running Blog

To bring you...

 

skiing!!

 

Some of my more intuitive readers may have wisely realized that this activity cannot take place in Florida. Indeed, wise friends, we took the boys for a long weekend to North Carolina. The two youngers have never tried any sort of snowy sports, so we figured it cheapest best to start them out on tiny, East Coast mountains.

 

Never ceasing to amaze, though, they took to skiing and snowboarding like ducks to water...or maybe penguins to ice blocks....whatever. They were naturals.

oh. They were really cute, too.

Bonus: The Oldest is big enough to wear The Husband's gear!

 

Middle-of-the-night road trip, followed by an entire day on the slopes should have led to utter exhaustion followed by complete meltdowns. Our children surprised us, once again, by being totally compliant, sweet and in total enjoyment of every second of the day.

 



snow angels

 

I know you were dying to know what my feet looked like when not clad in running shoes

 

On the off chance you stopped by my blog to get your much-needed fix of my awesome running tales, there was a bit of that on this trip, too. After our free!! hotel breakfast, I hopped out for a short, hilly jaunt. It wasn't quite as cold as it had been the previous day, and the overnight rain had washed away any snow. It was still lovely to be in new surroundings, enjoying the beautiful area and the feeling of the cool air on my cheeks.

one of the pic-worthy spots on my route

 

I spotted an enormous hill, just off the main road, and decided to attack it. First, though, I pulled out my phone to take a picture from the bottom. I've always seen photos of hills with a caption that reads something like this : "This picture doesn't do it justice" or "You can't really tell how tall it was from this picture".

 

Mentally scoffing at those who'd gone before me, I positioned myself just right to photographically capture a true depiction of the mountain I was about to conquer.

Listen, you can't really tell from this picture how high that thing really was

 

I made it just over halfway up before gasping and panting my way (carefully) back down. My poor, sick lungs were just not ready for that sort of challenge. That yet-to-be-recapped Marathon did a number on me!

 

We took our sweet, sight-seeing time back to Florida. The trip was long enough to squeeze in just about everything we wanted to do, but short enough to where we weren't aching for home by the end of it.

 

pausing the rock-skipping to pose for mom

 

How was your weekend? 





 



 

 



Short and (really) Sweet Sunday

So, the good news is : I managed to get a 19 minute PR (personal record) in my 3rd marathon, today!!

The other good news : Ha! I totally tricked you, didn't I?! You thought the good news was going to be followed by bad news. Nope. All good.

my only remaining arm warmer. boo.

 

That time, on that watch, qualified the owner of that arm for the 2014 Boston Marathon.

 

More details than you'll ever want to read are on their way...

Pride Cometh After A Fall

I was going to recap yesterday's 5k. I'll still do that this week. Today's initially innocuous run just took precedence in my tiny brain, though. Fair warning: there are some gross photos and fairly raw emotion included. Drama? Yes. Long-Winded? Mmm. Hm. Tempted to keep reading? Probably not.

If you prefer to spend your time reading something funnier, lighter and more intelligent, please visit my sissy's new blog and enjoy this post.

Having not run more than 17 miles since my mess of a marathon in December, I planned to knock out a solid 20-miler before this much-anticipated event. Training has been solid. Other than some overall fatigue, I've been feeling great. So, when preparing for this morning's long run, I set a goal.

Keep it easy, but finish with an average pace you'll be happy and confident about. That actual number's not important to the story, but I had a small range in mind.

Unfortunately, even after a relaxing night, good sleep and plenty of hydration, I woke up feeling pretty groggy and un-motivated. Coffee helped and I was out the door with little trepidation. It was (Florida) cool, very damp and foggy. The morning was still dark, quiet and almost silent. Everything was shrouded in creepy, heavy mist and it was too early for even die-hard dogwalkers to be out.

not quite as dark as this run ,but you get the idea

A lot of my runs begin this way. Normally I enjoy the peace. It's a chance to clear my thoughts, plan my week, set small goals and focus on happy moments my family and I have spent together, recently. Today, though, the dark miles passed very slowly, both physically and mentally. Yesterday's race was taking it's toll on my legs and I ran out of happy-go-lucky way too quickly.

Sunrise happened and helped my mood, immensely. And then it didn't. Oddly, for me, I felt very lonely. While most of my runs are solo, I was suddenly craving company. There were overwhelmingly ugly feelings of jealousy towards my running buddies I knew would be enjoying their miles with friends, today.

where were all these guys when I needed them?!

 

Then my phone rang. Sometimes, while "in the groove", the distraction can be a slight annoyance. Today's call was perfectly timed, though. My dear, sweet husband wanted to know where I'd be so he and the boys could come offer "on-course" support. We picked a place and I hung up with a smile to replace my former, sour frown.

 

Miles 8-14 were mostly a blissful blur. I threw in a challengingly faster mile, turned on my audiobook and looked forward to seeing my guys in a short while. The weather prevented me from even working up a real sweat. My legs were getting achy and fatigued, but in a good and normal way. The city was wide awake, finally, and the bevvy of new activity around me was a welcome distraction.

 

When I came up to The Husband and Middlest, sans vehicle, I realized they'd be hoofing it with me, for a bit. That brilliant idea was such an awesome surprise! Middlest rode his scooter (not so fast!) in front of us, and The Husband and I caught up on fun stories while he tried to slow his (much fresher) legs. After a couple sips of water, I left him with my half-full handheld as it was getting annoying to carry. With less than five miles to go, and the temperature being so lovely, I'd be fine without any more fuel.

 

They honked, waved, cheered and drove back home. I returned the wave and rallied my heavy legs to finish this run strong.

Quick disclaimer : "strong" and "fast" are not interchangeable, in this particular context. I'm a firm believer in the benefits of running my long days at an easy pace.



 

I'd gotten about a quarter-mile away before I tripped on a minuscule crack in the sidewalk.

 

My body went flying and skidding. As was the case with my last fall I simply didn't have any spare energy to try to stop the crash. I slid on my palms, scraped my arm, hip, knee and hand.

 

Two things registered, immediately.

1. OW!

2. There was a line of cars waiting to pull into the church entrance where I was hideously sprawled and a dozen or so congregation members, in the parking lot, staring at me in horror.

 

Fact Number 2 got me to my feet faster than I could've ever imagined. I surveyed the important damage (Garmin ok? Ipod still as intact as ever?) ,while I ran away from the humiliating scene. My body, while bruised and stinging, was still moving as it should be. That fact, along with the realization that my phone was in the handheld water bottle I'd sent with my husband, forced me to continue this run I so desperately wanted to abruptly end.

 

When I reached the 16th mile, and remembered that the next few stretches would be full of tall (Florida) hills, I finally paused my watch and fully stopped to survey the damage. I guess I was hoping that it was much less benign than I thought it was? I stopped the exploratory searches when I saw this:

spoiler: I survived and took pics after the run

 

While I now, rationally, realize it's simply a scraped knee, at that moment it was enough to drive me to actual tears. Frustration (why does this keep happening to me?!), Embarrassment (which isn't an emotion I generally succumb to), Exhaustion and Defeat overwhelmed me. Glancing up the steep hill, I saw people coming, so I slowly and sadly stumbled on. The thought crossed my mind to ask them if they had a phone so I could call my husband for a ride. By the time I reached them, though, my stupid crying fit was over and I'd decided to keep running. My pace was abysmal, my spirit was dead and my freaking bruised hands hurt like a b*#)%!

 

With everything now aching, inside and out, I shakily managed to switch my ipod back on to drown everything out with some music. When it started filling my ears, brain and heart, it was like a switch was flipped within me, as well.

 

I picked up my head, focused on the wisdom of Van Halen ("Right Now? It's Everything!") and my form, and destroyed the next hill.

 

Now, well into the seventeenth mile, I stopped looking at my watch but remembered my earlier goals for this training run. My legs started churning out beautiful-feeling movements but my breathing stayed soft and easy.

 

When Dave Grohl started singing about his "Hero", there wasn't a doubt in my mind he was referring to me.

 

Thinking back to my very first 20-miler, and the overwhelming sense of emotion and pride I felt when I knew I was going to finish it strongly, I started to get choked up, once again. That run had been prior to my injury, . While I'd managed to heal and get my fitness to a place where I could giddily complete my very first marathon, I'd very rarely felt "back", during my subsequent runs.

 

Here's the thing about running. It can, without warning or provocation, turn into an absolutely spiritual experience. It's not something you can plan or force. Some miles, some races, some impromptu jaunts with friends, just totally morph into something that cannot be explained without sounding like a complete dork. This, obviously, doesn't stop me from trying...

 



When I finished today's 20 miles, and realized they were, overall, even faster than my pre-injury ones(complete with fall and blubbering like a baby!), I couldn't decide whether I wanted to holler, cry (again) or just let my proud smile overtake my tired face.

 

So I did all three.

bruised & bloodied hip

 

curious about how I managed to scrape the palm AND back of the same hand

 

 

 

 

 



Answers for Un-Asked Questions

Alternate Title : You never asked, I'll answer anyway!

Also, thanks for weighing in on the last post's questions. If you didn't, yet, there's still time! You'll totally win a prize for providing the best answer, too! (Not!)

A lot of bloggers get asked enough questions, that said bloggers can create entire posts dedicated to quenching their readers' thirst for knowledge about them and the life they lead. I don't really get asked any questions, specifically.

This fact will never lead me to believe my life is un-interesting, though. My readers are simply left reeling from the burst of excitement I inect, into their (your) days, with each and every pointless post!

Imaginary Question #1: Haven't seen you around the interwebs, lately. Have you still been running? Yes. I've run in 81 degree afternoons and 40 degree mornings, all in the same week. (Florida weather's pretty interesting, huh?). I expertly avoided a PR in a 15k relay, this past weekend.

not a jump of excitement. The timing mat didn't register me the 1st (or 2nd) time across

 

I counted the 5k as my speedwork and threw in a couple, double-digit runs, too. Everything's been going well and I'm excited for my last few races of the season. I have another 5k, this weekend, that I get to run with some family members. Very awesome.

 

Next weekend, (wow. Is it really coming up that soon?!) I'm going to try to beat last year's time at this half marathon. I love the course, after party and family events there. The two bridge crossings are not real high on my "love" list, but they probably won't kill me.

 

I'll let you digest those two races for a couple days before we dive into the rest of my schedule.

 

Imaginary Question #2: Did you just stop typing up this post to peek through your blinds to watch your neighbors scream at each other? Yes. Yes I did. Lesson : Scream at your spouse inside your house. It's very likely your nosy neighbors are watching when you do it outside.

 

Imaginary Question #3: Do you often, silently curse your dad for giving you chronic Achilles tendinitis? If you're reading this and you ARE my dad, then the answer is no. Of course not. If, however, you happen to be anyone other than my dad, then yes. Yes I do. Out of all of his amazing attributes, he decided to pass on bad teeth and hopelessly weak tendons.



thanks a bunch, dad

 

There are countless other questions no one has asked me, that I feel the need to answer. For now, though, I have to continue to clean up Birthday Weekend 2013. The Oldest and Middlest's birthdays are one day apart, so the partying aftermath tends to look a little something like this:

They had fun and that's all that matters

 







Pretend I asked YOU a meaningful question and go ahead and answer it :

Short & Sweet Holiday Sunday

Happy Week!

Happy Sunday!

Happy New Years Eve Eve!

Some of today's joys included but were not limited to :

managed to avoid *that* particular pile. Stepped in many others, I'm sure

 

A sunrise, 7+ mile, trail run. I haven't attempted one of these for months, after embarassing myself by getting lost so frequently. Happy to report this didn't happen, this morning!! Save your congratulatory responses, though. This is only because I faithfully stuck to a more experienced trail runner who led and paced us brilliantly.

 

38 degrees! Time to bust out the capris & tall socks.

 

 

hot cocoas in the sunshine

 

What's making you happy, today? 





Day 21, The Final Chapter

Only 3 more days of Adventrageous. My gift to all of you will be No More Daily Posting.
You're welcome.

Chapter Four: The Aftermath

 

I drank some cold water and got quick recaps on how the half and full had gone for my peeps who'd already finished.

 

If you're reading this and know the people who were there, you already know everyone's results. If you're a reader who doesn't know those people, you probably don't care. Thus, we'll move on with wrapping up my story.

 

I felt awful for finishing in such a crappy, lethargic mood. The Husband, my sister and her in-laws had all been waiting to cheer me on. I did my best to smile and not look like a total jerk. It's unlikely that I was successful with that, but I did make an effort.

my attempt at "chipper"

 

The Husband walked with me over to the medical tent to get some bandaids. They had me stand very still while they sprayed the biggest scrapes with some antiseptic junk. One medic asked if I wanted a banana and a few seconds later I had one, in hand. While they were trying to clean dirt and road bits out of me I was apologizing over and over for how disgusting I was and thanking them repeatedly.

 

Suddenly I couldn't figure out if my eyes were open or closed. As I was trying to decipher this new development, I managed to wheeze "dizzzzzy"...or something like that. I was plopped in a chair and ice bags were strategically placed. Turns out it's not healthy to run for hours then stand, completely still, in the sunshine.

 

So, that was pretty cool, too.

 

My sister wheeled her stroller, complete with my lovely niece, into the public restroom with me when I was all bandaged and could stand again. She was unlucky enough to get to hear me ramble on, completely without filter, about the race. Here's how the restroom scene broke down :

 

Good news: I'd packed an entire change of clothes and one of these magical delights! I can still vividly recall the relief I felt after peeling off my dirty stuff and replacing it all with clean, dry, non-matching items.

 

Bad news: I experienced another, new (to me) marathon treat! My foot cramped and deformed itself, so badly, that I almost screamed and couldn't figure out how to fix it. Holding onto bathroom stall walls, staring at your newly redesigned, throbbing, foot is every bit as fun as it sounds.

 

Good news: My sissy reached under the door to save the day. She massaged that dirty old thing 'til it looked human, again, and I could manage to get a sock on it. (thank you, again, sissy!)

 

We re-joined our group, in the middle of the field, to cheer on the other finishers. Everyone got to share their tales while we stretched and wished it wasn't getting so darned hot. Then, right after the 5-hour mark, the guy with the microphone announced that they'd run out of medals.

 

This racing company has a good and long-standing reputation, and I hope it stays that way. For real, though. How do you run out of medals? Their excuse was that they'd thought more people would drop out, due to the heat...

 

This meant the poor people who'd been running the longest AND in the most heat, were going to be sent home bling-less. Realizing we had three first-timers in our group, the decision was made to meet them at the finish line and give them our medals. Only after I'd happily passed mine on to my running friend, did I realize it was pretty blood-splattered. (sorry, Mike!)

 

When everyone was done, we went out to try to refuel, together. I had zero appetite, but enjoyed the company immensely.

beers and waters, all around

 

managed a few loaded fries

 

Went home.

Crashed.

Hobbled around the next day.

blah, blah, blah.

 

I'm still not in a real "zen" place regarding this race, so I'll keep my current thoughts to myself, for now.

 

Thank you, anyone who was there to support me, that day.

 

Thank you to anyone else who thought of me, that day, and/or read this whole saga. I am grateful for an outlet to recap all that mess and especially thankful that anyone took the time to re-live it, with me.

 



 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Day 20, Chapter 3

If you're not caught up on this saga, feel free to read chapter 1 and chapter 2.  Otherwise, lets all move on to :

Chapter Three: In Which I Bypass The Wall (and Hit the Sidewalk, Instead)

 

 

Cautiously optimistic about the reprieve I seem to be experiencing from my "internal issues", I took a peek at my Garmin after passing the 19th mile marker. I'd stopped checking, many miles ago, when the numbers were too disheartening and I was totally wrapped up in damage control.

 

What I saw gave me a glimmer of new hope.

 

While the 3:40 goal was a distant memory, I really could still pull out a PR. It took an inordinately long time to do the math, but I finally calculated that it would actually be possible to run only slightly faster than my current pace, for the remaining miles, and finish faster than I had in my first marathon. I was still pretty grumpy about the whole experience, but decided to pull it together, turn that (literal and mental) corner and finish this thing strong(ish).

 

Only there was a moving SUV in my way. (ha! You totally thought this was the sidewalk part, didn't you?!) 



I'm still not sure if the driver had accidentally gotten into the runners' lane and couldn't get out, if they thought they were pacing us or if he/she was simply a moron. (I guess that option would cover all the others, too) Regardless, it was ridiculous. The vehicle kept changing speeds and was taking up the entire lane. The only way around it would've been to run into oncoming traffic and I simply wasn't that smart desperate, yet.

At one point, after almost running into the bumper when the car came to a sudden stop, I sidestepped and received a disgusted yell and nasty face from another runner.

Really, lady? You thought, out of courtesy, I ought to throw myself into a Sports Utility Vehicle so as not to break your spectacular stride?

Wow. I thought I'd be over that little moment, by now. Apparently not.

Eventually the Surprise Car Obstacle was gone but my already sad pace had suffered, further. The heat was rising, the humidity was at about 100% (for real) and I was finding myself unable to take a deep breath.

Good times.

When I saw the 20th mile marker, I almost cried.

Here's the part I could never understand, until I'd been through a rough marathon. You will, potentially, lose control of your body and brain. I'd read other recaps and heard other stories about "I couldn't imagine how I was going to run that last 5k", etc., but never understood how someone could get to that point.

When I saw that I had a mere 10k left, of this Race O' Death, I nearly had a breakdown. The distance that would, sometimes, be a warmup for me, seemed utterly daunting.

How. the &*$^@ was I ever going to run for nearly an hour more?

Prior to this marathon, that thought just seems silly.
After the marathon, that thought just seems silly.
During the marathon...that thought made perfect, bone-chilling, mind-numbing sense.

It was then that I took my first walk break. Yes, you're reading that right. Other than the bathroom stops, I hadn't yet stopped running. At all. The smart person outside of my body was freaking screaming at me to keep running and squeeze out a PR. The mushy brain inside my skull, though, would just not allow it.

I couldn't remember a single mantra...couldn't really even remember why I was putting myself through this mess and had exactly zero happy thoughts, at that time.

even the thought of this little celebratory treat failed to improve my mood



Just after the 21st mile, or so, I saw a friend from the running group. He was walking. He and I had similar goals and training so the sight of him was simultaneously sobering and encouraging. I was extremely sad that he was in the same boat, but felt a bit better knowing I wasn't alone in my misery.

We talked a little. He asked if I had anything to eat. When I offered him the gel I had left he looked like he was going to barf. I quickly shoved it back in the pouch and tried to get him to run with me.

That lasted for about ten seconds. Somehow his deathmarch gave me strength, though, so I picked up the pace when he dropped back to continue his walk.

A PR was still within reach and I had my 14th wind! We turned off a side street and onto a pretty busy road. A duo in front of me came to a complete stop, so I hopped onto the sidewalk to go around.

When I fell, I didn't even really feel myself tripping or going down. I simply noticed I was suddenly skidding on the sidewalk, hitting both hands and both knees. I remember actually making an "OOF" sound as the little breath I had left was forcibly slammed out of me.

Without bothering to survey the damage, I shakily stood up and started running again. Just about the time I looked down and saw blood dripping down my legs, fingers and arms, I realized I still hadn't really caught my breath. That's when I learned Hard Fall + Extreme Fatigue = Projectile Vomit.

Blessedly, as I didn't have much left in my digestive system, it was very brief.

Show of hands : Who, at this point of the story, is dying to run a marathon with me ? For any of you with hands raised, let me give you the full picture all the horrified spectators got to see for the rest of the race :

I took one blood-soaked hand, smeared it across my sweat, snot and vomit-splattered face to "clean up". That attractive look, paired with the blood and dirt-caked knees, and clothes decorated with every other bodily fluid known to man brought on some pretty comical reactions. The cheery smiles and pumping fists slowly gave way to frozen hands and horrified gasps.

"GO...ohhhh.!" "Oh my. "
"You can DO...oooh. maybe not..."
"Only two more miles to....holy *%$#!"

My weirdly-wired RunnerBrain didn't know any better than to just keep shuffling towards that finish line. The knees that had taken the brunt of my klutziness, though, had other ideas. I almost fell, again, when they locked up, completely. I was unable to even walk. Scooting over to the side, I stopped to massage them until I could move, again. That happened about five times.

I finally just laughed. I'm sure that was the icing on the CrazyCake the onlookers were witnessing, but it felt good to just stop caring. After that, I really don't remember feeling anything else. Physically and mentally I was completely numb.

When I crossed the finish line, four hours and five minutes after I'd started running, I felt no emotion. I wasn't happy to be done.
I wasn't sad about my finishing time.
I wasn't even registering the exhaustion.

I half-heartedly grabbed my medal and hobbled over to meet my ever-patient husband, and spectating sister.

You didn't really think there wasn't more drama to come, did you?

Adventrageous 19, Chapter Two

When we left off the drawn-out Jacksonville Bank Marathon story, we were cruising past the halfway point of the race...

Chapter Two: My Guts Revolt

This portion of the race, for me, is pretty much an ugly blur. Unfortunately, for you, that's about the way you'll feel about his Chapter, as well.

I'll keep it brief and painless, though, which is the exact opposite of the description of miles 13-21 of that marathon.

Not seeing the people I was expecting to see, at mile 13 (14, 15, 16 or 17) was more of a letdown than I thought it would be. I hadn't realized how dependent I'd become on having someone else to run with, until it became clear that wasn't going to happen. I had my music to keep my spirits up and plenty of GUs and fluids to keep me fueled. While maintaining my goal pace was becoming more and more of a challenge, there wasn't anything physically holding me back, I realized.

Right around the time that I was mentally rallying myself back into a decent mood, my body decided to attack me.

I live with four males. While totally loveable, they are pretty darned gross, most of the time, and I've had to learn to just roll with it. That having been said, I still do my best to maintain my "ladylike" status. This means you'll have to let your imagination take over, in lieu of me actually describing what happened to me during those miles. Hint : Whatever you're thinking...bump it up a couple notches on the  "Oh. my. gosh." scale.

There was seemingly nothing I could do to remedy what was happening. It was so hideous, so miserable and there seemed to be no end in sight. Naturally, my pace suffered. The real nails in the BQ coffin, though, were the two, looonnng, port-a-potty stops. I have never needed to stop for a bathroom break, in any race. I'm sure there's a skill to it that I simply don't posess. Even opening and closing the door, sweaty and shaking, took forever!

For days leading up to the race, one of my goals had been to not let the 3:45 pace group pass me, at any point. My strategy, then, turned into : Hope the bathroom stop is timed right so that they pass while I'm in there and I don't have to witness it.

Instead, they jauntily flew by me right after I hobbled back out onto the course. I said an extremely inappropriate word (s?) and knew I had zero chance of catching, much less passing, those perky jerks.

When I finally saw The Husband, at mile 18, I couldn't even manage a wave or smile. I was so glad to see him, but didn't know how else to convey how very wrong everything had gone since the last time he'd seen me.

I had many, vivid fantasies of dropping out of that stupid race, during those horrific miles. I felt utterly alone, embarassed, defeated, disgusting and overwhelmingly exhausted. I couldn't even manage to keep more than a sip of water in me, at a time. The worst part, though, was that the rest of my body, felt fine. My legs were still strong. My feet still longed to race.

these poor shoes did their best to carry me

 

Upon reflection, I'm still not really sure why I didn't just DNF. I had already mentally sworn off  running in Florida, marathons and/or racing any distances over one mile, by that point.

Maybe I was subconsciously waiting for the excitement still yet to come...

Day 18, Chapter One

Yes, it's okay to mix Adventrageous with Marathon Recaps. Also, in an effort to make this story more reader-friendly, it'll need to be broken down into a couple of parts. Short parts! Don't worry!

Chapter One : Fog, Smiles and Happy Feet

 

not from Marathon Morning, but you get the gist

 

A group of running friends, with The Husband as our fearless driver, met at our house at 4:00 am. We loaded up a 15-passenger van and drove to Jacksonville for the race. It was fun to have lots of other running stories and nervous goals to focus on, other than my own.

 

The time passed quickly. I ate the breakfast I'd brought, two hours prior to the start time, drank my water and coffee and enjoyed everyone's company. We made one group-necessary pitstop and parked with only some minor issues.

 

From there, it got a little hectic. I make it a habit to have everything done and be lined up nice and early on race days. I love and need to have those moments to calm down, reflect and ease into the day. Instead, I ended up jogging to the start right as they shot the cannon. There was an enormous cluster of people where I needed to be and I barely squeezed in to get over the starting mat. Yuck, but I shook it off.

 

At this point, I have to get some the Runner Geek talk out of my system. Feel free to skim if this doesn't interest you.

I was pacing myself for a 3:36 marathon. This gave me a nice, big cushion to get in under my actual goal of 3:40. When you look at my other marathon result, that goal just seems silly. However, based on my more recent half marathon time, every pace calculator assures me I can run a 3:30 marathon. While the 3:40 goal is ambitious, it's within my capabilities.

(I still believe that!)

I gave myself a conservative start, building slowly to some faster, early miles and then allowed some wiggle-room for the inevitable (for me) positive splits in the second half of the race. With this plan in mind, the first twelve miles went by like magical clockwork.

It was foggy and about 60 degrees at the start. I was nervous about the later heat being a factor, but the morning weather was pretty nice. The humidity was above 80%, the entire time, but I live in Florida. I can deal.

My entire body felt insanely perfect. No aches, no nagging injuries, no nerves. There was nothing but happy feet and smiles surrounding me. I was hitting every mile at exactly the pace I wanted. It wasn't difficult to maintain, nor did I even really have to think about it.

Everything was simply falling into place exactly as I had trained for.

I waved at the festive spectators. I saw The Husband and gave him a big smile so he knew I was right on target. I chatted with a lady with a similar pace goal and we took turns pacing each other. I faithfully sipped my GU Brew-filled, water. I completely deviated from my original fueling plan starting at mile 3...(oops. foreshadowing)

Between miles 12 and 13, my pace started to slip a teeny bit. My new pacing friend's did not, so I just kept her in sight and turned my ipod on. I wasn't too worried, though. I knew I'd see some running friends at the halfway point. One guy was even going to try to jump in and run with his girlfriend (and me, if I could time it right).  If I could just hang on a bit longer, things would continue to fall into place. The miles would undoubtedly be tough, but I was still feeling great.

Anything below a 1:50:00 half was necessary for a 3:40 finish. My 13.1 (halfway point) split was 1:48:55.

Absolutely no reason to panic.

Adventrageously Aching

Just a brief note, for Day 17.

The first half of my second marathon, yesterday, was perfectly and constistently paced.

The second half involved every. single. race nightmare you can imagine. (minus actual death, of course)

Right now, if you're thinking "but, surely that didn't happen, right?"

It did.

"but, wait...what about that? Did that happen, too?!"

It did.

Thank you for all of your cheering  and support, cyber or otherwise. Marathon Days are amazing, regardless of the outcome. I'm glad I have such a cool community to share these experiences with.

I'll leave you with a couple photos (don't look if you're bothered by blood). I'd love to leave you with a photo of my medal (Spoiler :  I did finish that thing!) but I don't have one. That story will be in the recap, too.

kinda fuzzy. My hand's covered in blood and cuts.

and my knees...

 

Day Sixteen, Marathon Two

Those numbers and events are unrelated. When I type them together, though, it looks totally legit, doesn't it?

I was already several paragraphs into a reflective, touchy-feely post about the Second Marathon I'm about to run.

 

In lieu of all that chatter, I'll simply say this :

 

 I'm going to run 26.2 miles in 3 hours and 40 minutes or less.

 

Today.

 

There are people, in my life, who doubt the likelihood of this. Sadly, on some days, I'm one of them.

 

Today's not that day.

 

What sort of epic (for you) things do you have planned for your Sunday?

 

 

Let's Do This (again)

This is a bit of a cheat. I actually drafted this post before my first marathon, back in October. I set it to publish Sunday morning, the day of the race, but it never did.
I still like it, though, and found it fitting as I'll be running my SECOND marathon, tomorrow.

Enjoy!

By the time you read this, I will either be pounding out 26.2 miles (consecutively, apparently?!) or will be finished doing so and whining things like " why did I EVER think that would be a good idea?!" (clean version of what I'll actually be saying)

While I could type, endlessly, about my feelings about this upcoming race. I'll spare you and keep this short, honest and only mildly dorky.

You're welcome.

GOALS : in reverse order, 'cause no one can stop me.

C : Finish with a smile on my face and a strong desire to race this distance, again. Yes, yes, I have read and been told that "finish" should be my one and only goal for the first marathon. Turns out I'm way too stupid over-acheiving for that nonsense. Really, though, I'm not taking it lightly. I respect the distance and have felt the pain of long-distance racing.

B. Sub 4:00. Without the whole stress fracture business messing with my fragile brain, I'd think this would be totally do-able. The facts remain, though. I was forced to sit and not run for seemingly endless weeks during this training cycle. This goal may turn out to be extremely difficult to reach.

A. 3:45 I have struggled, for months, to come up with realistic, fearful-smile-inducing goals. Earlier this week, though, I had a total moment of peace and clarity. 3:45 it would be. The icing on the CrazyGoal Cake? Afterward my a-ha moment, I plugged my most recent 10k time into Mr. McMillan's calculator. He predicts, based on that stat alone, that my marathon finishing time could be 3:45:12.

The nerves and stress are astronomical. Not only am I venturing into completely unknown territory, but I'm also taking my entire family with me.

Imagine packing your suitcase for your very first marathon.
Now imagine it's also out of the Country.
And you have to pack everything your family of five will need for several days.

SeewhatImean?

The Middlest, demonstrating Freakout Mode

 

It'll all come together. It won't be easy,  it will absolutely be life-changing, and I am so excited I can hardly wait.

 

Please stop back by for a marathon of a recap. 

 



S&S Sunday aka Day Nine

This day of Adventrageous will be Short and Sweet...like a Fartlek. (for the middle-school-humored readers/family members)

Speaking of juvenile humor, did you hear the one about the string who walked into a bar?

Yeah. The string saunters up to the bartender, props up on the counter and orders a drink. The bartender looks at him, with annoyance, and informs him "We don't serve strings, pal".

The string dejectedly makes his way back outside. Then, inspired, he scuffs himself up...fluffs up his strands and twists around and around.

He walks back into same bar, up to the same counter and orders a drink from the same bartender.

"Say, aren't you that same string?" The bartender asks, suspiciously.

"Nope...I'm A Frayed Knot"

pause for maniacal laughter

If you recall, I never committed to quality posts, 25 days in a row. It could be worse. I could be showing you daily updates, with my awful camera phone photos, of what I eat :

not so sad about the joke anymore, are you?

 

ps : Amendment to yesterday's list . I no longer have reason to be happy about the weather forecast. Every time I check www.weather.com, the temperature rises. Number 6 should now read : I am happy that, while running the marathon, I will be unable to check and obsess about the weather. 

  

 

Have any good jokes to share? 

Adventrageous, Day 2

If you're confused by the "word" in today's title, feel free to refer to this. If you hadn't read the previous post, but were NOT confused by the strange title, you may have been hanging around me and/or my blog for too long.

I'm sorry about that.

Today's Topic: Good Enough is, sometimes, just that. My running, this past week, has felt uninspired and unmotivated. It's left me feeling completely unsure of myself, my training and my upcoming marathon.



please go easy on me

 

I know this is probably right where I should be, actually. I'm coming off my last "hard" week, of the cycle. Things will start moving in a taper-ish direction and it will take some time to adjust. Still, it's not made me feel especially sunshine-y or rose-y.

 

Yesterday, though, I finally had a good run. It wasn't groundbreaking or any huge accomplishment. It was five, easy miles. I changed my route, ditched my watch and just simply ran. It didn't produce a spectacular "runner's high" or any good story fodder. As I was a marking down the details in my little running journal, though, I realized it had been Good Enough.

not pictured: the stickers decorating the front and back of the binder. Elementary School-style

 

For me, at this point in my training, Good Enough is...well...exactly that.

 

Today I'll be hippity skopping out for my last double-digit run before the marathon. While I'm shooting for a run in the Totally Rad category, Good Enough will certainly suffice.

 



Running blog share: I refer to this lady's words of wisdom enough to grant me SuperFan status. (If that were a thing, obviously) A lot of her posts are based on her personal experiences. In addition, though, she actually completed a Master's degree on the topic of enhancing bone recovery, in an effort to better understand Running injuries! I find her extremely knowledgable and inspirational. If you don't have time to read a ton of her blog entries, just pick a couple from this list.

 

You'll be hooked. 

Anything good happen to you, this weekend? Did you race? Tell me about it!!

check it this giveaway, quickly. Ends today!