tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17489112817642648212024-03-05T10:51:05.978-06:00Run to Be MeMy life on the run.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-90015362154267858602014-03-03T20:14:00.000-06:002014-03-03T21:16:25.031-06:00I'm Coming Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GGV985h4cVcLQItJVqpF7SpaOpaM9lUPVpeM1EIys3AAxBpRd0AxNVbr-TM6z7Eh4hyphenhyphenu6uHn8l7y258jbf3U74bT-TR_CNBW4fLlrjaY5rGJnAHOv1KHqt_VUnWFao8fuMEdsoxhcA/s1600/Studio+patio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3GGV985h4cVcLQItJVqpF7SpaOpaM9lUPVpeM1EIys3AAxBpRd0AxNVbr-TM6z7Eh4hyphenhyphenu6uHn8l7y258jbf3U74bT-TR_CNBW4fLlrjaY5rGJnAHOv1KHqt_VUnWFao8fuMEdsoxhcA/s1600/Studio+patio.jpg" height="476" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This has absolutely nothing to do with running. But, considering I barely run anymore.... does it really matter?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This has more to do with ME.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Tomorrow I'm coming home.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been three years. Since I've been home.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No, not here home. But, home where my heart is. St. Maarten.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's the place where I'm most at peace. Most happy. Most myself. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've missed it. I haven't been there in awhile. Because, well, life. Work. Stuff.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, tomorrow, I go home again. Finally.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
St. Maarten is not just a vacation place to me. It's ME.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
48 years ago my parents were on a Windjammer cruise in the Caribbean. They got shipwrecked. For real. The boat started taking on water. Somehow, they made it to the shores of St. Maarten. Awaiting them were some islanders. One couple, transplanted Americans from LaPorte, Indiana, the DeMyers, took my parents in. Took them to their home, little beach cottages. Told my parents they were going on vacation the next day. That my parents were welcome to stay there for the remainder of their trip. Just clean up before they leave. And, leave them $10 for their stay. My parents did just that. However, they kept in touch with his couple. Came back to visit them again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few years later the DeMyers decided to move back to the U.S. and asked my parents if they wanted to buy the property. Uh, yes please, thank you. My parents did. Huh, a young American couple now owning beachfront property in the Caribbean? My parents rock.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let me just clarify. These are little beach cottages. Nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant. They are simple. They are quaint. They are perfect. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, it's all I've known. It's been a part of me my entire life. Sure, we vacationed in Florida, Hilton Head, etc. as kids. But, eventually we dropped it all for time in St. Maarten. It was amazing. French. Dutch. Euro chic. Christmas on the beach. New Years parties with the beach neighbors. French dinners in town as kids. Boating on our yacht .... a dinghy - no joke. Tic tac toe in the sand under the moonlight with my mom. Hanging in the hammock with dad. Summer of college with friends. Sunset after sunset after sunset. We loved every minute of it.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0adc7JCLAMzZlBunaEjSbq8LO7GCB6We_95dQsUjvF0ObFlvrlWF2z1TFXA2TzHi27WOQ_qUBleZlhR0KdYNaS6t4bRFZl_G48q_HA6ZYDa1Z3b8ON3PmO8mkJjdBB1CRAN-uj7U6Cw/s1600/131+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0adc7JCLAMzZlBunaEjSbq8LO7GCB6We_95dQsUjvF0ObFlvrlWF2z1TFXA2TzHi27WOQ_qUBleZlhR0KdYNaS6t4bRFZl_G48q_HA6ZYDa1Z3b8ON3PmO8mkJjdBB1CRAN-uj7U6Cw/s1600/131+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" height="320" width="308" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnHQbWL6oYFb2SDh1zVzkvOSS6GFe99KZ_Q256w1gJKp2gCWWZxYOP9IFuHp0L4y5RblBiJSuj1jyh9A9Zl6Jr-pnSJO5sdDwhRrnfbFs2LfNX8MqtYRtXXc7xiwVps4xqqkNB1npuA/s1600/136+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnHQbWL6oYFb2SDh1zVzkvOSS6GFe99KZ_Q256w1gJKp2gCWWZxYOP9IFuHp0L4y5RblBiJSuj1jyh9A9Zl6Jr-pnSJO5sdDwhRrnfbFs2LfNX8MqtYRtXXc7xiwVps4xqqkNB1npuA/s1600/136+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" height="320" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag4hMdUDaCVdGz3_qgOFtmIT9RN-zpSVkpsjZlJ_ojthQABAHlDldE_vtH-1J2JlEhfx-TS91fwv8sa8WQDDUQj7vDAre-tSjFPTn4CRq6RaX31qnq1Az6rDn8lXTfc2rIYhsl6-Gig/s1600/142+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag4hMdUDaCVdGz3_qgOFtmIT9RN-zpSVkpsjZlJ_ojthQABAHlDldE_vtH-1J2JlEhfx-TS91fwv8sa8WQDDUQj7vDAre-tSjFPTn4CRq6RaX31qnq1Az6rDn8lXTfc2rIYhsl6-Gig/s1600/142+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" height="245" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDY7eGJS4aNqFzDOv5mI3R6sXK00Ro9IM5BtRjEmzPPyAnvyLyfHDcD4DV3OxNgyIn-xYuJ-eg2vMj4Id2213Rh6kSTJjV8rOzTa7S2zH92ItwJ-K8gxoa2q-tmG-xB_Sov6ctnXfV0A/s1600/143+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDY7eGJS4aNqFzDOv5mI3R6sXK00Ro9IM5BtRjEmzPPyAnvyLyfHDcD4DV3OxNgyIn-xYuJ-eg2vMj4Id2213Rh6kSTJjV8rOzTa7S2zH92ItwJ-K8gxoa2q-tmG-xB_Sov6ctnXfV0A/s1600/143+st.+maarten+'79.jpg" height="281" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjD52sh73sujWt5gcj9A2EwWOipeFTzPKvRmAhKilDlH3-gIADBf-AZwcCs8yFqgjnDSb8jbxlfUqcDEVjmMKQAdVXXJOtHyu1qRZdaX5aacU9jKAglauHvyu6H-RxqXfO9zkg5Y1cA/s1600/157+st.+maarten+jan'80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjD52sh73sujWt5gcj9A2EwWOipeFTzPKvRmAhKilDlH3-gIADBf-AZwcCs8yFqgjnDSb8jbxlfUqcDEVjmMKQAdVXXJOtHyu1qRZdaX5aacU9jKAglauHvyu6H-RxqXfO9zkg5Y1cA/s1600/157+st.+maarten+jan'80.jpg" height="320" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The island friends I met in bars as a teen (no judging. They don't have a drinking age) who are STILL my best friends to this day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7nroh0kyugSkpb8H9fLtxXKy-zrRKQRf-HXBP8EpqAf7ZLfeK76uTvr7rjQtpyBPrQxQ34b67h9TYlanRYtzdrk_D-CiIPWzF9yXrq-OjhMDOCRCwFFgsJUgb6IWD04OYcPOpkSHjQ/s1600/1985+Andrea+&+Patrice+2a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE7nroh0kyugSkpb8H9fLtxXKy-zrRKQRf-HXBP8EpqAf7ZLfeK76uTvr7rjQtpyBPrQxQ34b67h9TYlanRYtzdrk_D-CiIPWzF9yXrq-OjhMDOCRCwFFgsJUgb6IWD04OYcPOpkSHjQ/s1600/1985+Andrea+&+Patrice+2a.jpg" height="320" width="188" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wkb1McNMptEoyOgAUqq81Z47tJsRRAhgPQ37oO6_LR40dKChFHd17TR7Z7Ueh-e1wMd32qpajU6zMwkWPuuZOZmQFmMGT_K0Ckaj-Ui1W0ZPaY1AuGgYu8LkenikEwW6tNgI-j1KSQ/s1600/1987+SXM+Andrea+&+Johnny2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wkb1McNMptEoyOgAUqq81Z47tJsRRAhgPQ37oO6_LR40dKChFHd17TR7Z7Ueh-e1wMd32qpajU6zMwkWPuuZOZmQFmMGT_K0Ckaj-Ui1W0ZPaY1AuGgYu8LkenikEwW6tNgI-j1KSQ/s1600/1987+SXM+Andrea+&+Johnny2.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAP1JpQLaQ0GxcEOtDZia427ETKFNQUgqw3SfpzNGSYenh2iDm_oi8a8Tq8UhtOax57MOHbcsf-vsTjmUXti6tk-JqJ8LLuf6mKxAeou5-JB-E7kcfmZjdjTNoRs2EXOka5QBBcnLMsQ/s1600/1987+SXM+Cupecoy+bday+on+the+rock2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAP1JpQLaQ0GxcEOtDZia427ETKFNQUgqw3SfpzNGSYenh2iDm_oi8a8Tq8UhtOax57MOHbcsf-vsTjmUXti6tk-JqJ8LLuf6mKxAeou5-JB-E7kcfmZjdjTNoRs2EXOka5QBBcnLMsQ/s1600/1987+SXM+Cupecoy+bday+on+the+rock2.jpg" height="266" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayDDc54OdJl1tlr-IJtylqdrfT3Uu6yIvTlDawhYvsp3f50B2TnKJecW66UZCBbS6eDsc8T9lc4Fbs6vcMSZ0fQ_ZT2K6GP1Xf_jT0UUy3eT_qpIeE5gmbh64ACt4Od33SuswqkU8LQ/s1600/2002+SXM+Robert,+Ingrid,+Samuel,+Andrea,+Jessica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayDDc54OdJl1tlr-IJtylqdrfT3Uu6yIvTlDawhYvsp3f50B2TnKJecW66UZCBbS6eDsc8T9lc4Fbs6vcMSZ0fQ_ZT2K6GP1Xf_jT0UUy3eT_qpIeE5gmbh64ACt4Od33SuswqkU8LQ/s1600/2002+SXM+Robert,+Ingrid,+Samuel,+Andrea,+Jessica.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwiesTQvbqJfJxKe7WW4RU_VHbYNApDSJ-vu6FvFdeALUwPBt02ch2vVLU-cH-ZCuLn_y0aF_H5zsJ5FO-GqsIQorccyBgWzx8l-v14m8YdU5O88A178GGYdbVRTXCzSMcjeOJGqUcw/s1600/andrea+sxm+beacon+hill+19872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwiesTQvbqJfJxKe7WW4RU_VHbYNApDSJ-vu6FvFdeALUwPBt02ch2vVLU-cH-ZCuLn_y0aF_H5zsJ5FO-GqsIQorccyBgWzx8l-v14m8YdU5O88A178GGYdbVRTXCzSMcjeOJGqUcw/s1600/andrea+sxm+beacon+hill+19872.jpg" height="320" width="195" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMcV4qnlT8gVVmKUgLgFd_bnAhCWSDE4u1OdVAgKhPBNsigQqmksIVNCDxWNDevPFE1NkJhX9PAOp2WobwsYPQ3_hcUWqOxi4_G3J6lFCN9kPgl_M9d7RxUfasyQSv_yTNUD2Y1kXbw/s1600/24676_378791143201_2945936_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMcV4qnlT8gVVmKUgLgFd_bnAhCWSDE4u1OdVAgKhPBNsigQqmksIVNCDxWNDevPFE1NkJhX9PAOp2WobwsYPQ3_hcUWqOxi4_G3J6lFCN9kPgl_M9d7RxUfasyQSv_yTNUD2Y1kXbw/s1600/24676_378791143201_2945936_n.jpg" height="223" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIBOQKiAXlQJuMKg4Ut1OjnCnywibPaPic8HRisckCPDMPJitA15clpvw-Lkp7f9XBI6tHjK_cx6SaSr4bVel_Ch45jo9KwkcHUrcVAaVrXqtnxPuDUPeE6cTO4QtZGj2e2MenLcNDw/s1600/33773_432257523201_1845235_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIBOQKiAXlQJuMKg4Ut1OjnCnywibPaPic8HRisckCPDMPJitA15clpvw-Lkp7f9XBI6tHjK_cx6SaSr4bVel_Ch45jo9KwkcHUrcVAaVrXqtnxPuDUPeE6cTO4QtZGj2e2MenLcNDw/s1600/33773_432257523201_1845235_n.jpg" height="261" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It was my dad's favorite place on earth. His hammock. His gazebo. He was so happy here I got it. I understood it. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ94zNYfbALg4PTqEtJmUytGIh9PS83UcyJdpWKloD5TrWyoTav8FHBNKCCN4d5VJmjkgH_hPCnBE7ZwSXWdEYuFaKz1UrucjZ5apCPvvnoOQblC8Wd20eroCQXX6L34PaOqzmb-mmQ/s1600/hammock+lounging.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ94zNYfbALg4PTqEtJmUytGIh9PS83UcyJdpWKloD5TrWyoTav8FHBNKCCN4d5VJmjkgH_hPCnBE7ZwSXWdEYuFaKz1UrucjZ5apCPvvnoOQblC8Wd20eroCQXX6L34PaOqzmb-mmQ/s1600/hammock+lounging.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We've had many hurricanes hit us there. Some in epic proportions. Landing on the first plane back on island after the worst of the worst was.... awful. Seeing our place..... almost completely destroyed..... was just awful. Overwhelming in fact. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyeGW2iDlpG5-KJFllRI2lE6ad6xgkLZODNVSzS8cxIQM69a2jseFdIU_HUeC4uNSi2t7ZgjfIg80UZ5L05KFZS920cCMsioyWFSeYJwwEkOB12ARV6s5pIMofwf4gTPNGHpF7WxWEA/s1600/andrea+main+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyeGW2iDlpG5-KJFllRI2lE6ad6xgkLZODNVSzS8cxIQM69a2jseFdIU_HUeC4uNSi2t7ZgjfIg80UZ5L05KFZS920cCMsioyWFSeYJwwEkOB12ARV6s5pIMofwf4gTPNGHpF7WxWEA/s1600/andrea+main+house.jpg" height="193" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ86NVg2fh3pANU3gEK6usXeJTGNjkysyO2DrPRjwFa9b2kJlfT6bmtJ6db1q1k7wjv-5T5QlRD2dKLrEPO_L0LdO9xBrJ_lN9FNvSic1cQEE4_6KREZs7i9EQZWeu2zq2EsYBK2GXcg/s1600/Cottage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ86NVg2fh3pANU3gEK6usXeJTGNjkysyO2DrPRjwFa9b2kJlfT6bmtJ6db1q1k7wjv-5T5QlRD2dKLrEPO_L0LdO9xBrJ_lN9FNvSic1cQEE4_6KREZs7i9EQZWeu2zq2EsYBK2GXcg/s1600/Cottage.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmmgv4EfNBHmOFrgYe5EqF1soBQbsxNBBWRUB6tSNwfEzAqiAGSHgoe-jHt9CT-ZbaQ4KiwTF3SZgIlgSl___JG0RlHm2MOgIcTBUbw3aQU7_vURWiFXNF1eO6xnvVjyNLBmxpsl8iQ/s1600/main+house+edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmmgv4EfNBHmOFrgYe5EqF1soBQbsxNBBWRUB6tSNwfEzAqiAGSHgoe-jHt9CT-ZbaQ4KiwTF3SZgIlgSl___JG0RlHm2MOgIcTBUbw3aQU7_vURWiFXNF1eO6xnvVjyNLBmxpsl8iQ/s1600/main+house+edit.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58rRmc7BlePYiI756h4jd97ACePKfgFhA03KUGjhxXBhPnTalX-FqOExa3ganvEBwJqZBmD_UdsVwhoLCbRgffQXPwAOH4oTbwcnzUX97GbG7IPFRlRBnuircdpRnmu2xKjUfZw3bVw/s1600/Main+House+living+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58rRmc7BlePYiI756h4jd97ACePKfgFhA03KUGjhxXBhPnTalX-FqOExa3ganvEBwJqZBmD_UdsVwhoLCbRgffQXPwAOH4oTbwcnzUX97GbG7IPFRlRBnuircdpRnmu2xKjUfZw3bVw/s1600/Main+House+living+room.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, we got our hands dirty. We worked our asses off. We got back up. Each and every time. We got back up.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzUyh2NOV9TJQ4IEIhJQoBzUp006QY4-0olXqI64XdGy2Zo5LHoDSAqcvXjTIG_uldayrhPPVXL1BsqLg2jfI6i2heSzOBN3s28mDTFewctcWssJXciuH1i3aBmcmjBEWVdXXE_OGaw/s1600/196355_10150115570513202_2249158_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzUyh2NOV9TJQ4IEIhJQoBzUp006QY4-0olXqI64XdGy2Zo5LHoDSAqcvXjTIG_uldayrhPPVXL1BsqLg2jfI6i2heSzOBN3s28mDTFewctcWssJXciuH1i3aBmcmjBEWVdXXE_OGaw/s1600/196355_10150115570513202_2249158_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QEfgMxBXDtXcKKzF2EbPjk8JfgIFseoPQrQfgUod-kQniSF9xWZ4wh0D4Bn9yjaYIqIJ5CgTbvHkm5wKhh1UOfGr0ZNX4y5qbMxV0eNKV5L2JXo2nqfQGELs2iS6jiem1VrCaTxEnw/s1600/n25129128478_864668_349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QEfgMxBXDtXcKKzF2EbPjk8JfgIFseoPQrQfgUod-kQniSF9xWZ4wh0D4Bn9yjaYIqIJ5CgTbvHkm5wKhh1UOfGr0ZNX4y5qbMxV0eNKV5L2JXo2nqfQGELs2iS6jiem1VrCaTxEnw/s1600/n25129128478_864668_349.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_4Vo_O0icCeBEqK6ayZ1JKmfj1IF_ggrH2HlDlHRt40S_S9TVZRwkFEJn7Bhgo6i6Arwwq9eZdY1ZQ1U8k8Uur4o-coq3u5sKHOWI5btgVdqE1QVNthoXHeV8ml7a0LRFvoTGV2Vjg/s1600/n25129128478_864741_9199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_4Vo_O0icCeBEqK6ayZ1JKmfj1IF_ggrH2HlDlHRt40S_S9TVZRwkFEJn7Bhgo6i6Arwwq9eZdY1ZQ1U8k8Uur4o-coq3u5sKHOWI5btgVdqE1QVNthoXHeV8ml7a0LRFvoTGV2Vjg/s1600/n25129128478_864741_9199.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just before my dad died, we decided he needed to get down there one more time. We knew it would be his last trip. While my sister wasn't into St. Maarten like I was, she knew this would be a trip to make. However, that meant I had to take care of my grandmother at home. I could not go. It was killing me. Mom, dad, sister all there. Without me. So, at the last minute, I asked grandma if she could handle her 90something self for a few days without me. She said, "sure". I didn't believe her. However, I went anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I jumped on a plane. Showed up at our gate. Opened the door. To find my dog and my sister staring at me. In shock. I put my finger up to my mouth, "shhhhhh". "Where's dad?". She pointed. I walked up to the door. Walked inside. "What's for dinner tonight?!?!?!" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dad: "Huh, I haven't thought about it..... uh.... Oh, my god!!!!" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Best. Surprise. Ever. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ever. Ever. Ever.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pretty sure he cried. Positive I did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We, as a family, spent the next 4 days together. Not something we did much. But, we did it this time. We sat on the beach together. We had dinner together. We spent time with dad. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjNmMSphatX5Yrl6_G5a54HbxncmIUQXaM3CwpUs3pSLVksg8hg7mhN9atC4N-4ud_kf7d9Bk2JQ4jAAVsUWHeCmPQdFdV6Ih92RMgxq7ixO81QSxl01lmWP1apaHn7K7KsOYvPGT6A/s1600/kaspar+family.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjNmMSphatX5Yrl6_G5a54HbxncmIUQXaM3CwpUs3pSLVksg8hg7mhN9atC4N-4ud_kf7d9Bk2JQ4jAAVsUWHeCmPQdFdV6Ih92RMgxq7ixO81QSxl01lmWP1apaHn7K7KsOYvPGT6A/s1600/kaspar+family.bmp" height="221" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was the last trip he ever made to his island home. Well, alive anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My dad fought cancer for 8 years. It was a tough fight. He gave it his all. Fought to the end. I was with him all the way. Literally. I held his hand to just before he died.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After he died I got the first plane out I could to St. Maarten. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got home to the cottages. After years of stress with dad dying I could finally exhale. Breath. . Be happy. Be.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh, sure, I cried a whole bunch. Like a lot. Dad would never be here again. That just didn't seem right.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, our beach home also gave me just the hug I needed. It always does.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Six months later mom, sister, my 6 month old niece and I took my dad's ashes to where he needed to be. Our beach. On my last night there (I flew straight to bridesmaids duties) at sunset we gathered with our toes in the ocean. We tossed dad's ashes into the air. Into the sea. Under his beloved hammock. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was just what he wanted. It was perfect. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I continued to go home to St. Maarten at least once a year. To be with my friends there. With the friends I had met over the years. To be alone. To be happy. To be.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I step on the property and all is right with the world. With me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My last trip was stellar. Epic. Best time ever. My friends made me smile more than ever. Giggle more than I could stand. I came home exhausted. With a smile on my face.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwZ4wTjRXCTOXMkWO2sd3a_4NWEOQHyfk7dKxq-I21koxDxRLrx7feeiENaNM_MBmB_flKr24X-UgVsfvwsArHmMOLTdeSlvFMkU3UYLH41RzYDYLtSkAwL-hY9vCb4lO00e_uf-DGQ/s1600/196890_10150115572973202_738483201_6610215_5880993_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwZ4wTjRXCTOXMkWO2sd3a_4NWEOQHyfk7dKxq-I21koxDxRLrx7feeiENaNM_MBmB_flKr24X-UgVsfvwsArHmMOLTdeSlvFMkU3UYLH41RzYDYLtSkAwL-hY9vCb4lO00e_uf-DGQ/s1600/196890_10150115572973202_738483201_6610215_5880993_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9_F-fnGSHpsdA0bchNaeNe84bBB-yaKf3l9w24uqZ8zF7-Xf6l_FlAvPA_YklrytRdTbRAvUpc7RmKRJVvxY2IELZ8rYslsY3i5qn9wnv2lMCcpVL3lJDMDGxZX6MvpRPZoDR2Ynag/s1600/197004_10150107030093202_738483201_6534468_5109965_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9_F-fnGSHpsdA0bchNaeNe84bBB-yaKf3l9w24uqZ8zF7-Xf6l_FlAvPA_YklrytRdTbRAvUpc7RmKRJVvxY2IELZ8rYslsY3i5qn9wnv2lMCcpVL3lJDMDGxZX6MvpRPZoDR2Ynag/s1600/197004_10150107030093202_738483201_6534468_5109965_n.jpg" height="320" width="272" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_6shgSJdkT-nWnuYhqkuSqabsKXc0UCt0QgASoNkbS1JpSDYO9sCOQl2EOx0UiFvzXy4jH5KLeajR1bhk0-grQwxEJscSq8pr5QsTZLkuk2M60QxHvMJbLVHRoKMKhoM-mG-7rRH6g/s1600/greenhouse+alk+rj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_6shgSJdkT-nWnuYhqkuSqabsKXc0UCt0QgASoNkbS1JpSDYO9sCOQl2EOx0UiFvzXy4jH5KLeajR1bhk0-grQwxEJscSq8pr5QsTZLkuk2M60QxHvMJbLVHRoKMKhoM-mG-7rRH6g/s1600/greenhouse+alk+rj.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKZcmBqzXpRHplva1cPlxHWy1vheau-4F_pqLeLpwcnjNdxFzgbiHTbU-hSteusikmtOWZz25U13pDTDuw-ZpGI86AmkUTS4-zF4OqCg6gNNdEI2x9i3yZHNWU1-GCV91XptDlfENsQ/s1600/IMG_0343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKZcmBqzXpRHplva1cPlxHWy1vheau-4F_pqLeLpwcnjNdxFzgbiHTbU-hSteusikmtOWZz25U13pDTDuw-ZpGI86AmkUTS4-zF4OqCg6gNNdEI2x9i3yZHNWU1-GCV91XptDlfENsQ/s1600/IMG_0343.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCAbyz0Tx2S-PIVWlYuM9ziysonheMd60jFW7xpTdFpXLUCtKJxQbC4Jrl3eRHKkniC4H80yQ44S9aEdR2k60nYuD8ltHYelEaGRryDLI6YLeKc8WfJ9tOnL90ZSOsavb6AmhJkL_Qg/s1600/188449_10150112343258202_1947976_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCAbyz0Tx2S-PIVWlYuM9ziysonheMd60jFW7xpTdFpXLUCtKJxQbC4Jrl3eRHKkniC4H80yQ44S9aEdR2k60nYuD8ltHYelEaGRryDLI6YLeKc8WfJ9tOnL90ZSOsavb6AmhJkL_Qg/s1600/188449_10150112343258202_1947976_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOITpxzn76-IGL4A_pNMpXahihCEcbaWLdFh7YHT6Ea8sECBXZ6scNYflgaTqZkBde7R96nd9X17Dtd2x5-8xliQcNSjXbncn92f2heiDpJ9EDdBoZCTFHBqGO8bEUZnf97Z5yGCRrQ/s1600/188860_10150111269503202_2025744_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOITpxzn76-IGL4A_pNMpXahihCEcbaWLdFh7YHT6Ea8sECBXZ6scNYflgaTqZkBde7R96nd9X17Dtd2x5-8xliQcNSjXbncn92f2heiDpJ9EDdBoZCTFHBqGO8bEUZnf97Z5yGCRrQ/s1600/188860_10150111269503202_2025744_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl06lp_VDcM_V9qbG2JpOrks8oVReNxDucLmaW38SarEdqHp2oG5v2Nf9JacEeakzKtQU93RKQBp8qxiStIIY2WaTh3I3Vd3Yu831ojZyBcw90HO48s7orlgPuO8AVVUsI_WHpuKDdSw/s1600/189522_10150115624948202_6157778_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl06lp_VDcM_V9qbG2JpOrks8oVReNxDucLmaW38SarEdqHp2oG5v2Nf9JacEeakzKtQU93RKQBp8qxiStIIY2WaTh3I3Vd3Yu831ojZyBcw90HO48s7orlgPuO8AVVUsI_WHpuKDdSw/s1600/189522_10150115624948202_6157778_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWeTyJIBtlMXREeMxhwPdpbliZvHx-WXUU6B1DipnBKjVwjA9IK8U1doRwt6psfuIvFrkxZActQ93JJSDfY2m7B2Uc2DkGiK5dR5J3bczmBtUmU1VZH25HiU1oqa3CrQNz3f5dojinw/s1600/top+of+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWeTyJIBtlMXREeMxhwPdpbliZvHx-WXUU6B1DipnBKjVwjA9IK8U1doRwt6psfuIvFrkxZActQ93JJSDfY2m7B2Uc2DkGiK5dR5J3bczmBtUmU1VZH25HiU1oqa3CrQNz3f5dojinw/s1600/top+of+rock.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, I haven't been back in three years. Three LONG years. Life. It keeps you from living sometimes. Sadly.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, tomorrow, I go back home.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To my friends. To my beach. To my hammock.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To. My. Home.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Like every time, I will cry when the plane lands. Like every time, I will cry when the plane takes off.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Like every time, I will be happy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will be me.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/k-ImCpNqbJw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-49000085796555029742013-12-31T18:25:00.000-06:002013-12-31T20:22:46.230-06:002013 - It was about...<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, yes, 2013 was the year I FINALLY ran my <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2013/11/262.html" target="_blank">marathon</a> . That was HUGE for me. Of course. But, 2013 wasn't just about my marathon and me. It was so much more. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about some random guy on the internet whom I barely knew for some unknown reason taking on my charity case to be my coach for my swim portion of my triathlon relay team. He got me back in the pool. Pushed me hard. Then pushed me harder. Listened to me bitch and moan. Then pushed me more. I found my love for swimming again. I killed my workouts. I found my peace. For 5 months I swam strong and rarely missed a workout. It was the most dedicated I've been to training since I was a swimmer back in high school. I think it helps when I'm training in something I don't suck at (hello running). It makes it easier to stick to it. He also forbid me from running. That was a hard one. But, being smarter (or smart ass?) than I, he was trying to actually let me HEAL from all my injuries. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When he did allow me to sprinkle in running with my training it was in baby steps. Slow. Short. Unlike the old me who would just jump and and go. He must have been onto something as with only a few weeks of short and slow I ran a humid 5k and was only minute off my PR. I was surely pleased with that considering it had been ages since I raced anything thanks to my constant injuries. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about having post race brunch at coach's with a table full of The Internet. Giggling hysterically over the inappropriate conversation with people I adore. Runners. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yq-ETKOV2yM6kLKR-PzTT1dYUZujgeeatZLCsSdDwcHLXsEDuOnuC6vItiYNDlUwXhQZPODDyrtxxAZZKk248Zw9FisQmXxYQD4NF_CDt2hzFujjn2zMzh_y-T3E1jRktH_YWqxAzQ/s1600/Project1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Yq-ETKOV2yM6kLKR-PzTT1dYUZujgeeatZLCsSdDwcHLXsEDuOnuC6vItiYNDlUwXhQZPODDyrtxxAZZKk248Zw9FisQmXxYQD4NF_CDt2hzFujjn2zMzh_y-T3E1jRktH_YWqxAzQ/s200/Project1.jpg" width="135" /></a>It was about my Tridiot teammates and I having another great <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2013_06_01_archive.html" target="_blank">race</a>. We put lots of pressure on ourselves to finish near the top. The competition is tough. Each time I am proud of how we do. Each time we have a blast. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyc15e-YFOZZ8rG4yjej7v1Wyd7X4i-IeZeGojZr0rMYRq0XWRL-Yq72b4I0n7QGrzWtOmS6-_qei1pCyENY78z4-ogadaeZKzn_rlsE_GdNy5jym9vNqAotRA5D1BisMtDAj2MBGIA/s1600/jennyw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyc15e-YFOZZ8rG4yjej7v1Wyd7X4i-IeZeGojZr0rMYRq0XWRL-Yq72b4I0n7QGrzWtOmS6-_qei1pCyENY78z4-ogadaeZKzn_rlsE_GdNy5jym9vNqAotRA5D1BisMtDAj2MBGIA/s200/jennyw.jpg" width="112" /></a><span style="text-align: justify;">It was about driving across state lines to finally meet a badass chick for only a 45 minute window of opportunity for breakfast. Only to have it end up being an almost 3 hour breakfast. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZU_4ZrvBkfH58NySIizKm_5BySou1U_IACykApRPRYPbinj1rPovBowiTEHl7mpdoYMGy0d7BINvGji3TwckI8yYEPkERYEKLpG0CC32VMDhaQKmSCzZIGkn260kkCcwDS6de6-EFg/s1600/michelle+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZU_4ZrvBkfH58NySIizKm_5BySou1U_IACykApRPRYPbinj1rPovBowiTEHl7mpdoYMGy0d7BINvGji3TwckI8yYEPkERYEKLpG0CC32VMDhaQKmSCzZIGkn260kkCcwDS6de6-EFg/s200/michelle+run.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIlFzYF2yH62Cv5CH-pSTTakWbKYKbuZOpN9BYO30KlJA1YXQjo_6qMQOirH2gxo1SOeBgZRBqFTL2kEvWVAHftmwGVAj5ANBBGG_ZPayYhs2XUcN_quvoUiBC7vTjl_Z7D4O_WU50Q/s1600/wi+girls+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZIlFzYF2yH62Cv5CH-pSTTakWbKYKbuZOpN9BYO30KlJA1YXQjo_6qMQOirH2gxo1SOeBgZRBqFTL2kEvWVAHftmwGVAj5ANBBGG_ZPayYhs2XUcN_quvoUiBC7vTjl_Z7D4O_WU50Q/s200/wi+girls+2.jpg" width="200" /></a>It was about never being alone on my training runs as someone always seemed to be running alongside me. It was about early morning texts. It was about late night texts. It was about people checking in on me. It was about me leaning on people. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was also about showing up for a half marathon with excruciating plantar fasciitis pain, perhaps more so because I wanted to see some of my favorite running friends. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRMRw8zNiKDAc6gW18yP4KPwpgEpH04EPgEcMQJNhoH5dpHQEBNdLn90w-HtH1Zh27TOV6l6Px8e1HQCKyw_KKXbZla1cwUXUtnMGTbYdWTXwLzaeJmYjCAiPOc6Lz3aZLaQ2kuG-6A/s1600/IMG_20130922_063904_931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRMRw8zNiKDAc6gW18yP4KPwpgEpH04EPgEcMQJNhoH5dpHQEBNdLn90w-HtH1Zh27TOV6l6Px8e1HQCKyw_KKXbZla1cwUXUtnMGTbYdWTXwLzaeJmYjCAiPOc6Lz3aZLaQ2kuG-6A/s200/IMG_20130922_063904_931.jpg" width="112" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQdfmREsc4_JW2lm5e5uYG8EqPg9rJpUiTD-zUBiIl5b_8Oeipyu3mutI43MzA1ksanhstI6K5wu_CCnC5FOTlGOpqmy0CGq5G10HqKwztK6auxoL24vtWUEHui6OsP72XFaK1vzdIA/s1600/Tommy+FVM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQdfmREsc4_JW2lm5e5uYG8EqPg9rJpUiTD-zUBiIl5b_8Oeipyu3mutI43MzA1ksanhstI6K5wu_CCnC5FOTlGOpqmy0CGq5G10HqKwztK6auxoL24vtWUEHui6OsP72XFaK1vzdIA/s200/Tommy+FVM.jpg" width="180" /></a>Sure I pulled out at the miles 6 medical tent. However, I think that was how it was supposed to be. I had to wait WAY too long for my chariot to bring me back to the finish/start. During this time my DM bestie kindly was waiting for me (forever) after he finished and ran into one of our favorite people - someone I had never met! </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-O0DM6CEO5pMJ9zksymFxDfJLeS2zWBgBVhJ3OQaurjtn2LMOt6xRoIZe6kMiYRrEgqm-fuhb15nXxehpefPwuB8QwYDyCcghColutxkM_g7hWLZcbV_V5GbazPILssdzBaUo9QYZg/s1600/lynn+tommy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-O0DM6CEO5pMJ9zksymFxDfJLeS2zWBgBVhJ3OQaurjtn2LMOt6xRoIZe6kMiYRrEgqm-fuhb15nXxehpefPwuB8QwYDyCcghColutxkM_g7hWLZcbV_V5GbazPILssdzBaUo9QYZg/s200/lynn+tommy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about meeting people unexpectedly and reconnecting again. It's certainly about making me giggle. A lot. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4tugw4qaxdiJWMT6_khvx4xPVHqkAT8I4z9KaNXLK89ipFelFqRxDAfe_HngGt4jCRVaSCmQPDz7Wf_TlfF6N_83AXLSUXj3JX1CnQ3P3E8K-q3y8HRx4jn5IxzJ5bmUtsocaGlIcQ/s1600/IMG_20131014_181029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4tugw4qaxdiJWMT6_khvx4xPVHqkAT8I4z9KaNXLK89ipFelFqRxDAfe_HngGt4jCRVaSCmQPDz7Wf_TlfF6N_83AXLSUXj3JX1CnQ3P3E8K-q3y8HRx4jn5IxzJ5bmUtsocaGlIcQ/s200/IMG_20131014_181029.jpg" width="145" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqzM8uHGLokI4bKM8T5UfcSsCb2a4uN_g1tpURB_PuqjI9h5EwihhGziA19d_VpTASenuLq2bQEDCiHxqOiAicIE79iA08g9O40Lme-BDB5p0dIlYMXJihiWBlTkoZPyRC79tO-JqYA/s1600/des+cm+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqzM8uHGLokI4bKM8T5UfcSsCb2a4uN_g1tpURB_PuqjI9h5EwihhGziA19d_VpTASenuLq2bQEDCiHxqOiAicIE79iA08g9O40Lme-BDB5p0dIlYMXJihiWBlTkoZPyRC79tO-JqYA/s200/des+cm+2.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about being alongside one of my favorite people cheering on friends once again at the Chicago Marathon. It was about getting old hugs. It was about getting new hugs. It was about walking alongside someone as he finished up the 26.2 miles after he had pushed himself through 9 very painful and inspiring miles with a sudden back injury. </div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bL7zPiSW563795P8DVEKNT9TKcfoN0eayqzQc1fMsepenrFdq3IMgnNN0Y-Dt0Qooyd9GsNPBIgiEe2ovtC1PXukcRn6Ix2PBU9jUfZ5dInBy86tIUHMNyUrXvR4n7LShGgrc2Ry2w/s1600/IMG_20131110_064747_733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-bL7zPiSW563795P8DVEKNT9TKcfoN0eayqzQc1fMsepenrFdq3IMgnNN0Y-Dt0Qooyd9GsNPBIgiEe2ovtC1PXukcRn6Ix2PBU9jUfZ5dInBy86tIUHMNyUrXvR4n7LShGgrc2Ry2w/s200/IMG_20131110_064747_733.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-krDmufsFwkEXu2wLNz_4WaC7omvkuqRjxrZbZOuaG1q_BlZki_Fg3gnSP22CICC1bO4mGu7eq6yeMY5itX30arbzqa2YTsSSDA7QpNh8eBsQ0bVavtWzoSE5ZJkqkkjTdiiQ00UCQ/s1600/greg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-krDmufsFwkEXu2wLNz_4WaC7omvkuqRjxrZbZOuaG1q_BlZki_Fg3gnSP22CICC1bO4mGu7eq6yeMY5itX30arbzqa2YTsSSDA7QpNh8eBsQ0bVavtWzoSE5ZJkqkkjTdiiQ00UCQ/s200/greg.jpg" width="115" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about having friends from all points of my life standing alongside me at 6 a.m. on a very cold November morning as we were about to start the half or full marathons. <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2013/11/262.html" target="_blank"> My marathon</a>. Childhood swimming friends. Running friends. It was about having friends with me at the start line. It was about having friends all along the way cheering me on. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about my sweet niece and nephew cheering me on and giving me hugs when I really needed them. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWykxCQohLdJmeDnQJV1M_Zs3wR3AWKpvap7a4nNKUN24TyP6NuHBkDDmi3R_ddPQkKRvlczAy-PEwD_VDSvQZT75AwZqKa4XKYGbuMoVZGx4jpe5nhR8axnBsYih5wAPG8LOfBcDvQ/s1600/jess+&+jimmy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWykxCQohLdJmeDnQJV1M_Zs3wR3AWKpvap7a4nNKUN24TyP6NuHBkDDmi3R_ddPQkKRvlczAy-PEwD_VDSvQZT75AwZqKa4XKYGbuMoVZGx4jpe5nhR8axnBsYih5wAPG8LOfBcDvQ/s200/jess+&+jimmy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
It was about an Idiot making sure I'd have my running club visor JUST IN TIME for my race. #IRC4Life. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2uRNCmg_TpU8TRI9-NONKPUaj1sRXiF-T-SgsnUc5cTHf_xZ9Vw6J5qLRmuBgC6zYrhQaNO9i9dL_Oqi6DfuKcnRszKotaDTNy28E1O4oLM_ehAo9z-hG1vncMNijE0SoJR9mPM_QCg/s1600/Official+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2uRNCmg_TpU8TRI9-NONKPUaj1sRXiF-T-SgsnUc5cTHf_xZ9Vw6J5qLRmuBgC6zYrhQaNO9i9dL_Oqi6DfuKcnRszKotaDTNy28E1O4oLM_ehAo9z-hG1vncMNijE0SoJR9mPM_QCg/s200/Official+finish.jpg" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF37FTr2acaPt3mrgdIcIGZSTr_koBy1_Ujlu3gK8SuqOortOYcBDfT6zFkNd0ym_dWh1S-6V4d3E8-tsDMjb3Z-Lk5YKVyIwILvMVq-ClZrfr11BqQ5ePhyphenhyphene20pWiiQKbdSvGgpmMJw/s1600/posse+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF37FTr2acaPt3mrgdIcIGZSTr_koBy1_Ujlu3gK8SuqOortOYcBDfT6zFkNd0ym_dWh1S-6V4d3E8-tsDMjb3Z-Lk5YKVyIwILvMVq-ClZrfr11BqQ5ePhyphenhyphene20pWiiQKbdSvGgpmMJw/s200/posse+4.jpg" width="153" /></a>It was about someone pacing a runner for 21 miles and then coming back on his bike and waiting for my slow ass at mile 20 to help me at a point I really needed company. It was about someone dropping her sign at mile 21 and joining my posse and running alongside me. It was about someone finishing HIS half and running back through the race to round out my posse. It was about these people keeping me going when I was feeling my worst. It was about them making me giggle when I wanted to cry. It was about them getting me to the finish line. It was about a childhood friend waiting for me for hours after her half was done to run with me down the finish chute. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about getting my medal and walking out to see all these people waiting for me:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3Po46YQhlesiITsSGkQiCHGnDBGGc1cLHELjGOzuOgssV5b9VODygL-2iu2FTn2F7dT4wawRer3PWvZd2KqOgkGZdzFg1MzKwjiGsqmS8ClHD2gkKYC2zmtgk-NWU_LvLvLwaVz99g/s1600/finish+michelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3Po46YQhlesiITsSGkQiCHGnDBGGc1cLHELjGOzuOgssV5b9VODygL-2iu2FTn2F7dT4wawRer3PWvZd2KqOgkGZdzFg1MzKwjiGsqmS8ClHD2gkKYC2zmtgk-NWU_LvLvLwaVz99g/s320/finish+michelle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRM7XOorupp5C96oZwMI3zIjUI9JWmgsZ1FKKlI4p5SUJd3KHS2CvQfH7XNoaCo0Hj3d9hnZjC3uX2VTTZRBJXbvxWjNKu9kjzmg87o4ChRHY_GC-NO3L4aqT7hRhZmSEyEYcHC1F0hA/s1600/IMG_20131110_130829_711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRM7XOorupp5C96oZwMI3zIjUI9JWmgsZ1FKKlI4p5SUJd3KHS2CvQfH7XNoaCo0Hj3d9hnZjC3uX2VTTZRBJXbvxWjNKu9kjzmg87o4ChRHY_GC-NO3L4aqT7hRhZmSEyEYcHC1F0hA/s320/IMG_20131110_130829_711.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkwjpt3qvnCEkeWANSHjTzhGOJupxjY5wDpTEJy7UApBmZXQVu2EOi3R86LcTANI2ci7UM7TSY4HvHwceX5YqsmEsAEje_9qZm60M4ViejKuQzPIMRabLCGgMP-Jk8uIYESy13IzXsw/s1600/greg+julie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkwjpt3qvnCEkeWANSHjTzhGOJupxjY5wDpTEJy7UApBmZXQVu2EOi3R86LcTANI2ci7UM7TSY4HvHwceX5YqsmEsAEje_9qZm60M4ViejKuQzPIMRabLCGgMP-Jk8uIYESy13IzXsw/s320/greg+julie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHacJEK1AMa4ie-8Msi8ZHuqpgBjclzI-GDC_YbcXg4Ama2Uz2dUqmmX9TVX7eDwLGd6fj_gKrh8RAyYqM6CL7jfaz0FALYW3moq87Lnr7cpCa_HI_z69N6pK9li416RMEcnx1XLagmg/s1600/posse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHacJEK1AMa4ie-8Msi8ZHuqpgBjclzI-GDC_YbcXg4Ama2Uz2dUqmmX9TVX7eDwLGd6fj_gKrh8RAyYqM6CL7jfaz0FALYW3moq87Lnr7cpCa_HI_z69N6pK9li416RMEcnx1XLagmg/s320/posse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVKIaAQZtFEnyj7HunjHFyownicDAYrg57l_xLd6kOzIliHtDSTLMLgc9kYJfi02aJWzJbQko3qro08LUdgAtplYtbs4mf_ahqVa_EJssDjIq6GXNs2jIgms2J9Mfq3ffpXJyq2D9oQ/s1600/IMG_20131128_074049_947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVKIaAQZtFEnyj7HunjHFyownicDAYrg57l_xLd6kOzIliHtDSTLMLgc9kYJfi02aJWzJbQko3qro08LUdgAtplYtbs4mf_ahqVa_EJssDjIq6GXNs2jIgms2J9Mfq3ffpXJyq2D9oQ/s200/IMG_20131128_074049_947.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
It was about ending up my year by, after a three year injury sabbatical, running the Turkey Trot with my niece and nephew. It's only because Ironkid and I ran side by side that I was able to push myself harder than I have in years to miss my PR by only seconds. She and I had a blast weaving in and out of people and pushing each other to the finish.<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
So, sure, 2013 was about my marathon. But, in reality what 2013 was about to me was THESE people. Because, without all these people my marathon would not have happened. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
So, thank you, thank you, thank you for making my year an epic year indeed. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZdJ5e70Q8mw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-67940399619285742452013-12-30T16:09:00.001-06:002013-12-30T16:09:47.653-06:002013 - The Year in Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I finally STARTED and FINISHED a marathon. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JqpvadBWV9qllvuES5RR3XCwxGEPT0j7X7i76nE5bI6mYZ9jHBHNpzAGXqW3Ay03iK6IK5qwBCrpQaIT14GdyLtA0Ns61Y5SDMOwZdWJh-jXQPT8H4iQXMEExYmWi77HnMO2e1KILA/s1600/Official+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JqpvadBWV9qllvuES5RR3XCwxGEPT0j7X7i76nE5bI6mYZ9jHBHNpzAGXqW3Ay03iK6IK5qwBCrpQaIT14GdyLtA0Ns61Y5SDMOwZdWJh-jXQPT8H4iQXMEExYmWi77HnMO2e1KILA/s640/Official+finish.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7RKvi0ZQvXzyOL8Imi9rC4FjwMy46LjpJPkdpolXBAkRy05o_RsVxDKDt6cnzCHqPCWztaEV2GBBzA0dkq7Rgv8TkcU36EYY8RA8L0LJRRhXKbt26Zi_ZFGcFYjIl9YRTFqskIwCaA/s1600/IMG_20131110_125912_063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7RKvi0ZQvXzyOL8Imi9rC4FjwMy46LjpJPkdpolXBAkRy05o_RsVxDKDt6cnzCHqPCWztaEV2GBBzA0dkq7Rgv8TkcU36EYY8RA8L0LJRRhXKbt26Zi_ZFGcFYjIl9YRTFqskIwCaA/s640/IMG_20131110_125912_063.jpg" width="358" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2Nl2BScpSq5ysasC8fu1zAJOkXkLnaY5b9JIbwX4jHWgv_zH6idZithj-BslGKr17auIH3h90HSUnq6gRnblOuu4Ek4zOWeP3ZYrXjiZLbXELHA7EvmroeTh8Aha1QxYw2W-f_mRhw/s1600/official+medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2Nl2BScpSq5ysasC8fu1zAJOkXkLnaY5b9JIbwX4jHWgv_zH6idZithj-BslGKr17auIH3h90HSUnq6gRnblOuu4Ek4zOWeP3ZYrXjiZLbXELHA7EvmroeTh8Aha1QxYw2W-f_mRhw/s640/official+medal.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The end. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-73929392179258079342013-11-13T21:43:00.001-06:002013-12-11T21:44:28.055-06:0026.2<div style="text-align: justify;">
To be honest, I wasn't sure this would ever happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Sunday I became a marathoner. What. Did. I. Just. Say? Wow.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For those that don't know, I've DNS the Chicago Marathon TWICE. I also DNS countless 5k's and one half marathon. I also had one DNF of a half marathon a few weeks ago after dropping out at a medical tent at the half way point. All due to injuries.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I really had given up on trying to start another marathon. My body just isn't built for it. But, then, my hometown announced it would have it's inaugural Marathon this November. How could I not do this? How could I not try?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was hoping the fact that the race date was one month later than Chicago I would avoid some nasty hot long summer runs. I did a pretty good job of juggling my training and getting those runs in on cooler days. The first third of training went along well. I got in my runs. I felt pretty good. However, as I got to the midway point of training, per usual, my body started to break down. Soreness turned to pains. Just before my half marathon I started to suffer from Plantar Fasciitis. Oh my, is that a painful injury. Horrible to try to run on. I did not run at all for almost two weeks. Then DNF that half and was off the foot for almost a week. Ran a 12 the next weekend. In pain. But, kept doing the exercises and wearing a special sock at night which all quickly made it better.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, I had lost a lot of my training. I had to build back up again. While still suffering from a little pain. What I struggled with more, though, was my mental state. I was in a pretty bad running funk. I was feeling defeated. Once again. I was overwhelmed with the mountain of miles ahead of me. I was overwhelmed with my work schedule and my inability to get in runs because I was just too tired. I was..... stuck. In all senses.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I cut out runs. I had already cut out one run per week late in the summer because my schedule made it too hard. I also worried about overtraining for my dumb body. So, now I cut another run per week. Nuts, I know. But, mentally and physically I just could not do it. I made sure I got all my long runs in. Then one mid. If I was lucky I did one short. IF.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got through my 20 miler. Only because I met up with a training group who gave me the motivation to get out of bed that morning. Also, because a woman I did not know, Maryann, ran with me start to finish.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next thing you know I'm at the expo. I went to the expo three different times. Once to walk around by myself. Another time to meet a friend and pick up my packet. Then back again to meet another friend who decided at the last minute to run her half even though she wasn't trained. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I saw my bib with my name on it it really sunk in. The next day I would finally be at the start line for a marathon. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Needless to say I couldn't sleep that night. I woke up at 4:30, fifteen minutes before my alarm was to go off. I gathered up my race gear, got dressed, texted some friends about our meetup and off to the race I went. I met up with my good friend Tom outside the port a potties, of course. We went inside the stadium to keep warm as we waited for the start time. Warm and cozy in there with all the runners. Also, real bathrooms. With no line. They were right about this being a "boutique race". ;) We huddled in there as other friends came in one by one. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My childhood friend, swimming teammate, and fellow swim coach, Carrie met me there. I have not seen her in, maybe 15 years? It was fun to see her again and catch up a bit. Other running friends, Janel, Melissa and Jim came in too. Then my running angel, Michelle joined us. She was not running today. But, would be taking my place as a cheerleader. She gave me some encouraging words. Then, she handed back the band I gave her before her last marathon:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfR9STDBUH09oNcsiaksPIpA48hQOoe7weRaOaennQvqNZAwlu5zASGyvzlfDUWMeWN76OJBfgWiKeBYm_hUpTJ-Ja2Hqy357Fg0mk2z6ZLQgu7VtmOHhBxmL3hZyOjcNW2GjSLWZXvQ/s1600/IMG_20131110_063353_751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfR9STDBUH09oNcsiaksPIpA48hQOoe7weRaOaennQvqNZAwlu5zASGyvzlfDUWMeWN76OJBfgWiKeBYm_hUpTJ-Ja2Hqy357Fg0mk2z6ZLQgu7VtmOHhBxmL3hZyOjcNW2GjSLWZXvQ/s320/IMG_20131110_063353_751.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
After giving out some of my bands to friends, I had thought I had saved one last one for me. It appears I didn't. Michelle was nice enough to lend me the one I gave her so I had one to wear for my race. I was so glad I had it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Race start was nearing so we all headed outside to drop our stuff at gear check and head toward the start. Somewhere in that process I lost everyone but Tom. We headed over to the start line and stopped short to wait for my friend (and Esprit de She triathlon teammate) Lisa who was texting me that she was on her way. It got a bit close to race start, so Tom wished me well and went up to his pace time start. I was just about to walk into the mass of runners when Lisa came up. I'm so glad we found each other. We have signed up for lots of the same races without ever having seen each other race day. So, this was a first. Lisa had signed up for the half but decided not to do it. She had some life crap going on recently and hadn't been running. However, I kind of bugged her the day before to just go out and have fun. With her husband's encouraging, she was a last minute yes to run.</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVmVpcBXDEAAUkH9T4aLfX-sQQ8XAxLH0aHjCiAhsI1Eulsg7gSprLrwX14DfdOZ1biGpo5SZxwZ9ZcJ-n8qVzzv6kO1mKPNUjjxnV7f7wPR1rGNASOAvTxcgy-hZRlgFVJ17VkS6ug/s1600/IMG_20131110_064747_733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVmVpcBXDEAAUkH9T4aLfX-sQQ8XAxLH0aHjCiAhsI1Eulsg7gSprLrwX14DfdOZ1biGpo5SZxwZ9ZcJ-n8qVzzv6kO1mKPNUjjxnV7f7wPR1rGNASOAvTxcgy-hZRlgFVJ17VkS6ug/s200/IMG_20131110_064747_733.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was glad she was there with me because she kept my mind of being COMPLETELY freaked out. Lis was only in short sleeves and shorts, and freezing. So when I wasn't hugging her to keep her warm she was silently begging people to shed their throwaways. As soon as clothes started dropping, Lisa started rummaging. Oh my, we were laughing so hard at her. Everyone else is shedding clothes and Lisa is picking them UP. Then our conversation moved to the woman in front of us and her incredibly long false eyelashes. We couldn't get over them. And, why someone would wear such things for a race. Again, it kept me from freaking out.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next thing you know we are in the next wave. And, we're off! We take a few running steps.... and my fuel belt breaks and falls to the ground. Bottles everywhere. Runners jumping over them. And, me. Yikes. Thankfully, before I could freak out, Lisa calmly gathered everything together for me, gently told me, "you are alright, you are alright" and we were on our way again. Exhale. We ran up the first hill together, at which point I told the faster Lisa to have a great race. Off she went.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The weather was perfect for the race. It was low 30's to start, mid to upper 40's to end. Clear blue and sunny skies. It. Was. Beautiful. Loved it. The sea of runners in their colorful gear running down long stretches of road, snaking through the winding trails of the prairie path as the sun rose.... stunning. Having a woman on a majestic horse ride alongside the trails as she cheered on everyone running by.... amazing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I felt ok starting out. I never really feel good. So, I kept it slow and let people pass me as they may. Around mile 3 I saw Michelle and her sister Bobbi cheering. So fun to see their smiling faces! Around this time I also started to loosen up and noticed my pace dropping quite a bit. I worried about going too fast. My goal was to just finish. Under 6 hours was the goal. Slow and steady. But, I also wanted this to be over. Ha. So, I started to go with the pace I was feeling. For a bit. Until I really started to worry I would crash. I constantly was looking at my watch and slowing myself down. But, I still felt like I was moving. I came up on the 2:30 half pace group and ran behind them for a bit. But, I felt too slow, so eventually passed them. I could see the next pace group up ahead and was gaining on them. But, then we hit the trails of Springbrook. I knew we would have Stripper Hill (what Lisa and I call it when we run there). I hate that hill. I wasn't in shape to run that hill. So, I walked it. I lost some time here. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I kept a consistent pace going throughout these trails. I know this area backwards and forwards. So, I knew where the hills were. Where the turns were. It was so comfortable. I knew there was a slight uphill in the middle followed by a nice downhill. I couldn't wait. I coasted down the hill and was ready to make the next turn when I saw someone in the crowd holding a sign. With my name on it. And, another sign, with DO EPIC SHIT on it. It was my friend Greg. I ran over to him and gave him a huge hug, thanked him, and told him I loved him. He gave me some encouraging words and I was on my way.</div>
<br />
Out from the trails at about mile 8 we headed through a neighborhood. Again, I saw Michelle and Bobbi. Yeah! Shortly after mile 9 I saw my family. My niece, Jess, came running out to me and then they took me in like an Indy car at a pit stop. Jess, taking off my shoe to massage my cramping toes, my nephew feeding me a banana, my sister refilling my bottles. My family made a great race crew. Well done family! <br />
<br />
Immediately after this, we hit the river path. Half marathoners headed left and back to the finish. Full marathoners headed right.... for another 17 miles. I have to admit, that turn was tough to take. Knowing they only had 4 miles left..... and I DIDN'T kind of broke my spirit a bit. But, I had chalked up some motivation on the path for my friends at that point.... and I included one for me. So, as I ran over it, I stepped hard on it. And, ran on. <br />
<br />
I was getting really tired. My legs were already feeling it. I was now heading into a part of the race I did not know . Neighborhoods I did not know. I didn't like not knowing where I was running. I struggled to keep going. I started to take small walk breaks. But, I kept moving. It's at this time David passed me. Talk about inspiration.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoIoPVSu28hT9plWr2Ku5CjYDPG_5QN15xVtxgrVvhxP_OuR9KTkRjxSXOrYbX9TbJDDX7qcgCYzpzEHv9TbCcpw6xxVwfKYRC0NZycRIB5fXj6ZseASIQT6fs9i_zsg_DyoUOmmazQ/s1600/IMG_20131110_093017_645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoIoPVSu28hT9plWr2Ku5CjYDPG_5QN15xVtxgrVvhxP_OuR9KTkRjxSXOrYbX9TbJDDX7qcgCYzpzEHv9TbCcpw6xxVwfKYRC0NZycRIB5fXj6ZseASIQT6fs9i_zsg_DyoUOmmazQ/s320/IMG_20131110_093017_645.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shortly after mile 13 we hit a very long slow gradual uphill road. It felt like it went forever. I had no intention of running it. I walked briskly. Behind a bearded guy in a kilt. He was my carrot. The hill never ended. Thankfully, at the top I saw my family again. They had just gotten there and were running out of the car. Jess asked what I needed. I said I was fine and just ran past them. It was good to see them. But, I needed to keep going.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO29_4yqgKOaekfnIPfuaX-HrRSI-oZfH5YqxIoOJH6z54aMPnWZGQ8OFNh23mWDd45NRs0c5MtkcNbChaAef-RnVin2yV8JJFlrFQb48id9XCyyS4zJmJVQukro0jxc-plJ_rXw9ow/s1600/santa+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO29_4yqgKOaekfnIPfuaX-HrRSI-oZfH5YqxIoOJH6z54aMPnWZGQ8OFNh23mWDd45NRs0c5MtkcNbChaAef-RnVin2yV8JJFlrFQb48id9XCyyS4zJmJVQukro0jxc-plJ_rXw9ow/s200/santa+b.jpg" width="135" /></a>More twists and turns through a neighborhood. Then onto Green Valley. Into the woods. Onto the path. Kind of in the middle of nowhere. And, hills. Lots and lots hills around every corner. It. Was. Awful. Shortly after 14 we briefly exited the trails onto a road. To a beautiful long downhill. It was wonderful. I may or may not have raised my hands and yelled "wheeeeee!!!!" as I ran all the way down. Ahhhh. But, short lived. Back to the hills. Another very long stretch slowly uphill on a road. It was pretty lonely out there. No spectators. Runners spread out. I got passed by Santa Clause. Talk about spirit killing. Sigh. Having to chase down Santa, well, sucked.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then, mile 17, back onto the trails. Thankfully, as we entered was an aid station staffed by a local boys high school cross country team. They had all the energy and then some. They were high fiving me. Force feeding me oranges. Just generally making me giggle. I needed that. Thank you boys. Back on the trail I met Rob. A man older than me on his 5th marathon. We talked briefly. Then passed each other over and over again the next few miles. </div>
<br />
Mile 18.5 I came around the corner of feeling very alone on the trail to see a decent size group of spectators ahead. As I got a little closer, I saw my family. *Insert smile here*<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKs3OnIdHF5aUcX1sV_GnXPSwWpoZ82CFNThlKAFf5CzR_xiCleVIQnkXs9MhcFFXnPBfIrfBx6-Kxkkt9bRQCViGGs4o2F4BKR4Z34jcC67gdBuaAN31AR8FN3SwW96Q79p13GBhbmA/s1600/mile+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKs3OnIdHF5aUcX1sV_GnXPSwWpoZ82CFNThlKAFf5CzR_xiCleVIQnkXs9MhcFFXnPBfIrfBx6-Kxkkt9bRQCViGGs4o2F4BKR4Z34jcC67gdBuaAN31AR8FN3SwW96Q79p13GBhbmA/s200/mile+18.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7wnu21Dy2s2YGPnHqlW4tpHNTfkz3zOEUMgZjJdWusrw_DQs6NYsvQ-RBhOOhSfd0s9U0rqMxFmKlo-P65VrEqwRBg5yKbmY-0O63BVXl3AUQPpKCcNapaE_Z9MEm-lWN67CVVHIrA/s1600/18.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO7wnu21Dy2s2YGPnHqlW4tpHNTfkz3zOEUMgZjJdWusrw_DQs6NYsvQ-RBhOOhSfd0s9U0rqMxFmKlo-P65VrEqwRBg5yKbmY-0O63BVXl3AUQPpKCcNapaE_Z9MEm-lWN67CVVHIrA/s200/18.5.jpg" width="175" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I waved and they gave me a huge cheer as Jess ran over to me to give me another one of her much needed hugs and "You are doing great. We are so proud of you".</div>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">At this point my lower back was really hurting me. The pain was going down into my left hamstring. It was really preventing me from doing a steady run for long periods of time. So, I asked for ibuprofen. Then I started to take off. But, as I did so, all the other friends and families who were silent as I talked to my family loudly started cheering for me. It was awesome. </span><br />
<br />
I finally made it mile 20. I knew the second I walked past this marker it would be the furthest I had ever run. I got a bit emotional here.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqYCHzIavx0lezr63FzKGFz-bSJzC0H6BWqQA5DKNUj3Wv1ZIf-449HrqrmHOYNmPG3gYOrGEbOmOeAg6C7UEMVRnpG6LeKMeeAjcmJu-PbIHOm7DAG8O4i6s7sKLw8EpGmLBtrFLEA/s1600/IMG_20131110_112036_962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqYCHzIavx0lezr63FzKGFz-bSJzC0H6BWqQA5DKNUj3Wv1ZIf-449HrqrmHOYNmPG3gYOrGEbOmOeAg6C7UEMVRnpG6LeKMeeAjcmJu-PbIHOm7DAG8O4i6s7sKLw8EpGmLBtrFLEA/s320/IMG_20131110_112036_962.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Shortly thereafter, I exited Greene Valley trails. Oh my was I happy to be out of there. As I stepped on the road to run there was a small group standing there. As I quickly ran by them I said, "<i>Well, <b>THAT</b> sucked</i>". To which they all laughed. As I took off I realized that one of these people was my friend, Derick on his bike. He had mentioned to me he would be at mile 20. But, I figured there was no way he would be there when<i><b> I </b></i>ran by. I was surprised and thrilled to see him there. He rode alongside me and chatted with me a bit as I tried to get some kind of steady pace. He had run 21 miles of the race already pacing on a first time marathoner friend to her first finish (3:13. whoa). Yet, he was back here at 20. Riding with me. He is an uber sick fast runner. I am completely the opposite of him when it comes to running. Yet, here he was supporting me. Amazing. He kept me company. Talked to me when I felt like it. Kept quiet when I didn't. Slowed down when I walked. Just what I needed. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
At mile 21.5 I saw Greg and Michelle together cheering. I gave them both huge hugs. Michelle dropped her sign and started running with me. I told her I was ok. She insisted. So, now I had Derick on one side, Michelle on the other. She and her bubbly chat kept encouraging me on. At around 22.5 Tom showed up. He had run his half. THEN run back through the race to find me. How awesome is that? VERY. So, NOW I had Derick, Michelle, AND Tom on my running posse. I felt like an elite runner being pace to a marathon win. Ok, well, maybe not a win. But, ya know. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
At mile 23 Derick took off. He was not permitted on the path with his bike. He had already got in trouble for that earlier. So, I gave him a hug and thanked him and off Michelle, Tom and I went. When we turned onto the path I felt a change. A change of purpose. Get. Me. To. The. Finish. Not only were we only 3.2 miles away. We were now on the path I run every day. I know this path. This is my path. This is my home. Literally. I didn't have to think about how we were 3.2 miles away. I KNEW we were 3.2 miles away. I knew how to get there. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
At mile 24 my friend Julie T was standing at a corner waiting for me. She yelled my name. I was surprised to see her. She ran up to me and gave me a hug. She was crying. Oh, shit, don't get me started Julie. Not yet. I got 2 miles to go! It was wonderful to see her. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Tom and Michelle kept me giggling and moving forward. I'm not sure what we even talked about but I know a few times I had to stop because I was laughing so hard. It sure helped keep</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mOcZUlPXtyn4hQiXTYr6-_P_-VH1itlLAzUzzgRa7XqCgaAPWTgepH4Bda2a_3lviWww_kN3iOmn_FV5jsdWy0S48I4DOch2ZJU3RPPDWd40DzAYbPOSmAFsOY011_qz4N_yIaq_4w/s1600/finish+t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mOcZUlPXtyn4hQiXTYr6-_P_-VH1itlLAzUzzgRa7XqCgaAPWTgepH4Bda2a_3lviWww_kN3iOmn_FV5jsdWy0S48I4DOch2ZJU3RPPDWd40DzAYbPOSmAFsOY011_qz4N_yIaq_4w/s200/finish+t.jpg" width="129" /></a>my mind off my pain. Oh, I had to stop a few times for that too. Whatever. My walking became much faster. So fast, that when I stopped my running to walk, Tom and Michelle could not keep up with me. Well, let's state for the record that Michelle has an achilles injury and should NOT have been running. And, Tom, well, he was into his 18th mile of the day. So much for not running the full, Tom. ;) </div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: justify;">One mile to go and the two of them were on me like white on rice. Every time I stopped to walk they yelled at me (filled with love) to run. Sometimes I listened. Sometimes I didn't. I kept looking at my hand. They both told me to stop looking at my watch. I tried. But, I looked again. Tom gave me "a look". I told him I wasn't looking at my watch. I was looking at my hand. Jay is a mutual running friend of Tom and mine. He recently was involved in a freak accident that left him paralyzed. I wrote his name on my hand as a reminder when it got tough out there, when I needed to push it when I didn't think I could, that I would think of Jay. Be inspired by him. Run. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgKVGU2eekBFw0gaTvr2yGR3vNZxmNIr2j_v3hzyUtEhz5CFBOWEOeXBgEH7lxEaxjxNBiNGb7a2NRJb_cX8TmQZblADVJf_OAUHndK4_SmPTxipUQmK_2_M0bDVY1AiufqRfXTtIMA/s1600/IMG_20131110_052158_313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgKVGU2eekBFw0gaTvr2yGR3vNZxmNIr2j_v3hzyUtEhz5CFBOWEOeXBgEH7lxEaxjxNBiNGb7a2NRJb_cX8TmQZblADVJf_OAUHndK4_SmPTxipUQmK_2_M0bDVY1AiufqRfXTtIMA/s200/IMG_20131110_052158_313.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
So, I ran. And, I passed Santa here. Hey, I PASSED SANTA!!!! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvp1uDKwk7bUmYtdUX0VjJDxxqhBesA62w4HMgFJLVSZsBlbUfItsl6tCoqqEiJhMURftE3dn3aI3ggmXQA-ahZwmABBkDinwUmd6rE3CvP8KqdQ_88wMvSrWQzX9Gduiy2wztusQog/s1600/26.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvp1uDKwk7bUmYtdUX0VjJDxxqhBesA62w4HMgFJLVSZsBlbUfItsl6tCoqqEiJhMURftE3dn3aI3ggmXQA-ahZwmABBkDinwUmd6rE3CvP8KqdQ_88wMvSrWQzX9Gduiy2wztusQog/s200/26.1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Final turn into the stadium area. I was close. I was oh, so close. Ah, but, I knew what was ahead. One final hill. A short, but steep and nasty hill. I used to swim here as a kid. I remember riding up and down this hill. I surely knew it wouldn't be fun to walk/run up it. But, with Tom and Michelle by my side. I got up it. Swearing all the way I believe. At the top Tom ordered me to run the rest. I needed a big inhale and a moment to do so. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
But, just before the mile 26 mile marker I did. I turned the corner and headed downhill (ahhhhhhhh) to the finish. As I picked up speed Tom and Michelle let me go. But, before I did I turned around to thank them both. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Then I ran. With everything I had left, I ran. With all the injuries. All the pain. All the funks. Everything that had held me back. I ran. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I hit the corner for the finish chute to find my childhood friend Julie F, who ran the half, waiting for me. I was running as fast as I could. I could not believe I was running into the finish line of a marathon. Just like my first half marathon in 2008, I started to get emotional. I started to hyperventilate. Julie was talking to me, but I have no idea what she was saying. All I was focusing on was that finish line. And breathing. She ran along side me as I ran to the finish, leaving me just before to run it in strong alone. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTPzGn9TJm-gQfmv9z5SLBVDENU9LuP52KHL9WzX6A2sMef_qRSDzIyq2h1G5vQ1iyw86C_YJKi9PSvKMR0m-FhpCtsPXjIpmGPe-EqGcEWjbpH1eYrOIlzFWUFkBEwRiFDo-qRFRyw/s1600/finish+julie+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTPzGn9TJm-gQfmv9z5SLBVDENU9LuP52KHL9WzX6A2sMef_qRSDzIyq2h1G5vQ1iyw86C_YJKi9PSvKMR0m-FhpCtsPXjIpmGPe-EqGcEWjbpH1eYrOIlzFWUFkBEwRiFDo-qRFRyw/s200/finish+julie+3.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMefBnkl7oETiks42q381Rl32gFxKzSI3lv03dsq8YhEP4FHzgYeNRwj6YCQp4hAeU2mwsoLe2v-fpoWtDVCMZQyC2zMwIUzj9PfIyrAA9oKRhjswaoW8C2mi-6rrsOlOGkDyieQtkA/s1600/finish+f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMefBnkl7oETiks42q381Rl32gFxKzSI3lv03dsq8YhEP4FHzgYeNRwj6YCQp4hAeU2mwsoLe2v-fpoWtDVCMZQyC2zMwIUzj9PfIyrAA9oKRhjswaoW8C2mi-6rrsOlOGkDyieQtkA/s200/finish+f.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNmpKFhRbQ_9GJqip21KGdy530tuKxIP83qOIayn2ZM4bxiZcWJiMD6bCaeklDsZm0rw44mOvZPx8dT-cCHZYXY69u-AwjYk7KFoOmhmmkY6GqoJFQ-_1aYdCPgX9q_3udyJkN5jH1A/s1600/finish+pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNmpKFhRbQ_9GJqip21KGdy530tuKxIP83qOIayn2ZM4bxiZcWJiMD6bCaeklDsZm0rw44mOvZPx8dT-cCHZYXY69u-AwjYk7KFoOmhmmkY6GqoJFQ-_1aYdCPgX9q_3udyJkN5jH1A/s200/finish+pro.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jyLBIMHSUw0r6oXOUfgO3Mi8bvvA2FzW6rVRiDccl3N58kVJGpK8WZE4q-cnlVPaZCGfH47ojyQ3J515YduEBFLixvaUg-EQcj8OgRJgx212R4vhrNOR42fr2e6Dh17TGGd54C3oug/s1600/finish+j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jyLBIMHSUw0r6oXOUfgO3Mi8bvvA2FzW6rVRiDccl3N58kVJGpK8WZE4q-cnlVPaZCGfH47ojyQ3J515YduEBFLixvaUg-EQcj8OgRJgx212R4vhrNOR42fr2e6Dh17TGGd54C3oug/s200/finish+j.jpg" width="135" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXz308E0vpEaUR1BI6Nyn5VNJdFKw5x22lNbbruaUTN2ZHEhgKIbU0nqq6yNuu-knCCjMyNTntev7ynelNzBUlhPz_89FgBofwtU6E7LaQYrdgHFIYF_53ywIse4MH_U3Kdt88rP8zw/s1600/finish+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXz308E0vpEaUR1BI6Nyn5VNJdFKw5x22lNbbruaUTN2ZHEhgKIbU0nqq6yNuu-knCCjMyNTntev7ynelNzBUlhPz_89FgBofwtU6E7LaQYrdgHFIYF_53ywIse4MH_U3Kdt88rP8zw/s200/finish+line.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I crossed the finish line. Got a huge hug from Julie. Then I just stood there. In amazement. I couldn't believe it. I really couldn't believe it. One of the race directors, Bob, was there and came over and gave me a hug. I had done some of the summer training runs where he was at, in addition to another marathon training group runs where I saw him. It was very cool to get a hug from him. He congratulated me. I believe I immediately said, "Greene Valley sucked". He laughed and said, 'yeah, I've heard that a bit today".</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2niHjUeVFh00ZlKF7NbbJCXd6QX0f26QnHsDHtt2u_sIDXJtD4uA5VMkWVUvVCI0yZmS7jPh0TSVhivvtH78PBv2aNEa1kvRHYjKp640LCTSwMYewR3cv7CqAX6ZEXnSukFUPrJoKA/s1600/finish+l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2niHjUeVFh00ZlKF7NbbJCXd6QX0f26QnHsDHtt2u_sIDXJtD4uA5VMkWVUvVCI0yZmS7jPh0TSVhivvtH78PBv2aNEa1kvRHYjKp640LCTSwMYewR3cv7CqAX6ZEXnSukFUPrJoKA/s200/finish+l.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Julie and I went into the food tent. Grabbed some water, oranges, whatever I could. Oh, hey, Italian beef sandwiches? Come on..... gotta love a race with Italian beef! When I exited the tent there stood my family, Greg, Julie, Tom & Michelle. Jess ran up to me and gave me the hugest hug and told me she was proud of me. We all stood around for a bit talking about my race. It was wonderful to have all these people here at the end for me. Another race director, Pat, saw me and congratulated me. I also ran with her on a training run this summer. She had heard about all my struggles with running a marathon. So, she gave a quick shout out to whomever was standing around that I finally did it. Awww, thanks, Pat. She also had seen my cartwheels I did post training runs. So, I decided to do one. Needless to say, on wobbly legs it was not my best. But, I did it. Fitting, I think.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFI98Yo98Zh6WgUZ4zwHocbM1m9m_cXQVhi3ZayAN47Hoh9FlW8VYQKFF8eFAhVqQxRcQsHVd6c5RdH67J67q9VnZV4o6eKbIE9l8QGMkPGXaxsVMA0e8K03VErqLzmUgh4KwDOVbXA/s1600/finish+race+director.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFI98Yo98Zh6WgUZ4zwHocbM1m9m_cXQVhi3ZayAN47Hoh9FlW8VYQKFF8eFAhVqQxRcQsHVd6c5RdH67J67q9VnZV4o6eKbIE9l8QGMkPGXaxsVMA0e8K03VErqLzmUgh4KwDOVbXA/s200/finish+race+director.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoVGj0rpkelq3fSI8_yAUfuz8gSuX_uRDOk8u6clk0CsLl6RSIfjSpiiJ8Bb2nEAzybEfWmdLgFksxi2BS78WIHiWxx-XN_1vL4pDHxaN6CQOj3hmiVKxJNmEMWG3N9JC_zr15ualng/s1600/finish+jess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtoVGj0rpkelq3fSI8_yAUfuz8gSuX_uRDOk8u6clk0CsLl6RSIfjSpiiJ8Bb2nEAzybEfWmdLgFksxi2BS78WIHiWxx-XN_1vL4pDHxaN6CQOj3hmiVKxJNmEMWG3N9JC_zr15ualng/s200/finish+jess.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5V9x13u3ZgVh3UN0OsAsRYoxzhHZDjEmt3nXzFTJj_MeCwE-rAwAlP5NViZgqNWzNRBTHAHHxeP_-DpRBB9JLjCJbppMWaPuA8e5OWhxhYq3nmohoi8FZV3fxs3e7NbOC9pR61byaQ/s1600/jess+&+jimmy+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5V9x13u3ZgVh3UN0OsAsRYoxzhHZDjEmt3nXzFTJj_MeCwE-rAwAlP5NViZgqNWzNRBTHAHHxeP_-DpRBB9JLjCJbppMWaPuA8e5OWhxhYq3nmohoi8FZV3fxs3e7NbOC9pR61byaQ/s200/jess+&+jimmy+finish.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDO4DXf8kOS8pqJkkI_27RKQNaeZ9RkwfpaCkzQoNihXhgVokHRpEueqLNintWP_WqCa3D0RTTorA2gMYO3P9-U4Npx_XVw_zm6j_B0Ivyv93hOGCtRebIljSxHHqEnv8PreAywqRVbA/s1600/finish+michelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDO4DXf8kOS8pqJkkI_27RKQNaeZ9RkwfpaCkzQoNihXhgVokHRpEueqLNintWP_WqCa3D0RTTorA2gMYO3P9-U4Npx_XVw_zm6j_B0Ivyv93hOGCtRebIljSxHHqEnv8PreAywqRVbA/s200/finish+michelle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDQwoNgUmbAohEagcoJWZMnu7Z8lp0ujOJ2gj0eFpdRofUVwoTtqMESD9sFI5aS6DO4dYQoVxCUUzSagnqUD_ycFPb_vFFr03dsWMrgsQFaUXd9-zllnTB0QqxqtGI8aT8vfGwfyAfA/s1600/posse+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDQwoNgUmbAohEagcoJWZMnu7Z8lp0ujOJ2gj0eFpdRofUVwoTtqMESD9sFI5aS6DO4dYQoVxCUUzSagnqUD_ycFPb_vFFr03dsWMrgsQFaUXd9-zllnTB0QqxqtGI8aT8vfGwfyAfA/s320/posse+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michelle & Tom. My epic running posse. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Everyone had told me to have fun while I ran this marathon. So, I made sure I did. Even when it got bad. Even when it hurt. A lot. I high fived EVERY little kid that offered them up. I thanked every single volunteer that handed my Gatorade, water, orange, or just an encouraging word. I made sure I still laughed and found humor in the pain. I needed to take every moment in on this race. I did.<br />
<br />
Gradually everyone went home. Greg stayed with me while I got a free massage. Then we met our friend Jennie for lunch at the pub across the street. We sat and drank beers and caught up. Laughed way, way, way too hard. It was wonderful. At one point they both went to the bathroom. Leaving me alone at the table. I sat there reflecting on the day. How amazing it all was. How amazing my family and friends were. <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I told someone today, the two times I have felt the most loved in my life were at my dad's funeral, when my friends jumped on planes and stood by my side and hugged me and fed me beers afterwards (Ironically enough, it was in the same pub and table where I now sat) - and, then, my marathon day. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I cannot even begin to express the extent of my gratitude to everyone who was there for me on this day. Every single person made this happen for me. I may have taken every one of those steps. But, I did not take them alone. From those physically there with me on race day to all my virtual friends who sent all those texts and messages to me pre-race, during the race, and post race. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today as I type this I received yet another message. From an old high school friend whom I rarely interact with, but who followed my posts on facebook:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>"You inspire me. I write a journal entry from time to time. Here's mine for today:</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Lots of marathons going on. I've been supportive from afar. After all, the only time I run is if I'm being chased. </i><i>Conquering a marathon is like conquering life's challenges with a cheering section. Bliss. </i><i>I drove past the marathon runners today. Complete strangers were encouraging each other to succeed. Imagine if that was commonplace in life. Oh, the possibilities."</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
I replied, "Oh, Kris, it is possible. This I know for sure. I saw it. I felt it. It happened to me. It happens to me. Just start running. You will see. I promise"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I could go on and on an on about this day and the people that made it happen for me. I cannot stop thanking them enough. It was a hard road here. More than a few bumps in the road. But, I had angels in my outfield. All along the way. Different ones at different times. But, all on my team. Some always sitting next to me on the bench. Always making sure I got back at the plate. Finally, I batted. Sure, it wasn't a home run. But, I made it back to home plate nonetheless. And, really, isn't that all that matters? </div>
<br />
You only get to run your first marathon once. It surely will be something I will never, ever, forget.<br />
<br />
#DoEpicShit<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HZvIoxJxEoVnwLIusvUPpI_vlUa8gbaEVnh2i-wF6BgDCPwxXSEe57ofW-MvxTPMYflF_b_dtolkTQqVndHVfQW6Z5gMfjpED8REiFChOcq0m8cHNDmfV_JhX-bGGEZ3Sh-cygRkYw/s1600/finish+s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HZvIoxJxEoVnwLIusvUPpI_vlUa8gbaEVnh2i-wF6BgDCPwxXSEe57ofW-MvxTPMYflF_b_dtolkTQqVndHVfQW6Z5gMfjpED8REiFChOcq0m8cHNDmfV_JhX-bGGEZ3Sh-cygRkYw/s640/finish+s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It wouldn't be right if I didn't end the day like this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/TQEJQT2aqSI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-85955753383006051422013-10-20T22:47:00.000-05:002013-10-21T12:02:09.068-05:00Twenty. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uvs20WFcisFW7LFNux8Snt7IsUX9VXWiUk91TIuXcvK-mvgJE3Yx2rgcDFIum9F_wt4MMGvPwD2XW7M8kCP5ZNowzAMJW6VkhIVgOBcUD5lf-K8FAY3nuo5T2FycxUb9FSwXnwI7Jg/s1600/do+what+you+can.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uvs20WFcisFW7LFNux8Snt7IsUX9VXWiUk91TIuXcvK-mvgJE3Yx2rgcDFIum9F_wt4MMGvPwD2XW7M8kCP5ZNowzAMJW6VkhIVgOBcUD5lf-K8FAY3nuo5T2FycxUb9FSwXnwI7Jg/s320/do+what+you+can.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ya remember when I told you I wing things? Well, yeah, so I wasn't lying. I'm terrible at being accountable to myself. Needless to say, this is not so good when it comes to marathon training. Down right horrible, actually. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I had a coach from January to June for my swim portion of my triathlon relay I was pretty good at sticking to the plan. I rarely missed a workout. I really pushed myself. Of course, we are talking swimming here, and not running. Swimming is easy, peasy for me. I don't suck at swimming. Running is hard for me. I suck at running. I no longer have a coach. I'm on my own. I'm a shitty coach for myself (awesome coach for others, go figure).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm a champ at turning off my morning alarm and rolling back over to sleep. A champ. During my first Chicago Marathon (DNS) training in 2011 I actually DID get up and run. Actually ran before work. Sometimes, rather long runs (for me). BEFORE work. But, since then my job has changed. My hours have changed. My responsibilities have changed. I have more stress. Work. Life. Whatev. I'm exhausted. All. The. Time. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know that people have busier lives than me. Have more stressful lives than me. I know this. I'm well aware of it. But, I used this as my excuse. Hell, when I have a rare time I don't have an injury I need something to keep me from running, right? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My exhaustion finally took me to the dreaded doctor two weeks ago. To get blood tests. To see what was wrong with me. Well, of course, I didn't want there to be anything wrong. However, it would explain my physical and mental attitude better. Turns out all tests came back ok. Sigh. So.... no solution to my apathy. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I drag myself out to run. Now and then. I've gone down to three runs a week. Oh, oops, this week it was TWO. Oh, my, god. TWO runs a week. 3 weeks before my first marathon. I'm an idiot. I ran 5.67. And 20. Yes, I said TWENTY. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have no fucking clue how I got this tired, sorry ass body to run 20 miles yesterday. I'm so under trained. I'm mentally in a serious running funk. I have no strength. I have no stamina. My foot still hurts a bit from my recovering plantar fasciitis. Yet, somehow, SOMEHOW, I got my body through 20 miles.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Honestly, I was terrified for this run. Like as in sick to my stomach terrified. I didn't get enough sleep beforehand. I didn't get home from work until 10 p.m. the night before and couldn't get myself calmed down to sleep until well after one. I was doomed. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I met up with the local marathon training group. A group of REALLY fast runners. People WAY out of my league. But, they give me the motivation to step on the trail. Even if it means I'm alone within the first minute. At least I'm starting. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They casually line up people by pace and off we go. I immediately went to the back of the group. Found a woman, Maryann, who said she ran 12:30 pace. Slower than me. But, I figured it would be someone to run with and keep me going. We slowly ran together. Chatted a bit here and there (something I normally HATE doing). She will be 53 next month. Has ran a few marathons. So, she was experienced in this. We had a nice pace going. Really slow. But, steady. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We shared running stories. Stories about running friends. Time went by. I had some really bad toe pain now and then. I had to stop, take off my shoes, massage my feet, and on we went again. She was really encouraging to me. Always telling me I was doing great. I needed that. I felt like such a slug. Seriously. Not that I expected to do this long run fast. But, I'm still really struggling with the fact that, before all my injuries, I used to run my 5-7 mile runs at a 9:15 - 9:30 pace. And, here I was running 12:30. I know it shouldn't matter. But, it does. To me. I miss that old runner. This "new" runner pisses me off. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At mile 6 we ran into one of the group organizers of the run. He was on his bike doing a sweep, checking on the runners. We let him know we were the last ones of the marathon runners (there were half marathon people, turning off at this point). He gave us some encouraging words and made sure we safely made it across a busy street we needed to run on for a bit. He also was there when a beaver ran across the trail in front of us. Come on.... how many times has a <i><b>beaver </b></i>jumped in front of you?!?! ;)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Before I knew it we were at mile 11. I knew we would be running by my home soon. I had put my mother on call to bring some things for me at the parking lot across the street from my house. I had left things ready and waiting should I need them. I needed them. Gatorade, bars, bananas. Maryann was needing something too. She was starting to bonk, feeling light headed. Dizzy. Not good. Two miles later we met my mother, scarfed down food and liquids, used the public restroom (yeah!) and on our way again. We really needed that. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shortly thereafter my toes bitched at me again. Again I had to do a quick massage. Then we were on our way again. But, now I was starting to feel pain in new places. My hip. My back. I was getting tired. We had five miles left. I tried to tell myself that I was just starting my run and running an easy five. My body knew I was a lying bitch. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had to walk a bit here and there. For 30 seconds or so. Maryann was great at letting me do so. But, was always encouraging me to start up again. For a bit I stopped running beside her and instead ran behind her. I turned up my iPod, listened to my music, and focused on her feet in front of me. I zoned out and just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Soon we were back on the trail from which we started. We just needed to get to the other side of the loop. We were SO close. I could do this. I needed to do this. I HAD to do this. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We were within one mile and I was hurting pretty badly. I'm not sure which was worse, my mental state or physical state. But, both were killing me. My Garmin had died at mile 12 so I was relying on Maryann's Garmin for our distance. At this point I literally wanted to know where we were at every point. God bless Maryann, she started calling out the distance for me, "19.75..... 19.79.... 19.83.... 19.95.... 19.96... 19.97.. 19.98... 19.99.... DONE!" We finished up about .3 from parking lot. I stood there on the trail after she yelled done and leaned over (I know, bad) and put my hands on my knees, and started to cry. In relief. In pride. Took a deep breath. Turned to Maryann. Gave her a huge hug. Thanked her. For getting me through 20 miles. I would NEVER have been able to do it by myself. No way. I would have walked a ton. I would most likely have quit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We walked in that last bit. I took a picture of her Garmin, so I would have proof. Said quick goodbyes and promised to see each other marathon morning. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then I went to sit in my car. Cried a bit more. I was a bit dazed and out of it. Not sure how long I sat there. But, it was quite awhile. Finally, I got with it and went home. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not sure how I did this 20. Physically it should not have been in me. Mentally, I should have quit at mile 5. I'm still terrified for marathon day. This is so not the race I planned to run. I'm so not the runner I thought I would be at the start. Yes, I'm glad it appears I will get there relatively uninjured. So, that's a win. But, the runner that will show up will not be the strong runner I hoped would be there. But, she will be there.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Long gone is that 4:30 goal I had for the first Chicago Marathon I was training for. My goal now is simply to finish. In less than 6 hours. I sure hope I can do it. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/pDMjgckNlz0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-51312078309594026672013-09-30T23:55:00.000-05:002013-09-30T23:55:02.236-05:00State of the Union<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
As I sit here very late at night with news reports breaking in that our government may be shutting down tomorrow, I figured I would make a state of the union analysis of my marathon training. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Week 12 of marathon training. I'm not dead yet. But, I may be close. I'm certainly on life support. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I was moving along ok. Nothing spectacular. No speed records. No feeling like I'm a badass runner. Just getting in the miles. Check. Check. Check. Went on some group training runs to keep me accountable. Met up with running friends to get my inspiration and my runs in. Did some cartwheels. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3Y0lg9UEzgq6gURo_eXxqxZRnj_ChyphenhyphenO2g0zHNkDJhyvnIoNGp6JKfBm7h_wcpHqxibMeZBpVkawWIk_bw_rzvLU4lEW6HZfO2xcVVIInCUfVNW2z15PEiKOoe_YOjiKA0MxSblALNg/s1600/IMG_20130908_100559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL3Y0lg9UEzgq6gURo_eXxqxZRnj_ChyphenhyphenO2g0zHNkDJhyvnIoNGp6JKfBm7h_wcpHqxibMeZBpVkawWIk_bw_rzvLU4lEW6HZfO2xcVVIInCUfVNW2z15PEiKOoe_YOjiKA0MxSblALNg/s200/IMG_20130908_100559.jpg" width="123" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCt5vEM03SUdBRE30wyHCtyykumdzpYLLIu46REMvcVDtEPR-hsDYmFF-nkvdS60xbwJJZJ6p72EMNtLt5fI6EG2GiPIiDcRjIWLbbNrHzPWq0eur87hsTIJksgTzlFcbBJuASDgrDw/s1600/NM+cartwheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCt5vEM03SUdBRE30wyHCtyykumdzpYLLIu46REMvcVDtEPR-hsDYmFF-nkvdS60xbwJJZJ6p72EMNtLt5fI6EG2GiPIiDcRjIWLbbNrHzPWq0eur87hsTIJksgTzlFcbBJuASDgrDw/s200/NM+cartwheel.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Fast forward to today. The last two weeks have been rough. I have only run TWICE in the last 18 days. Yikes. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Cliff notes version: On my 15 mile long run 18 days ago I started suffering severe foot pain. Could barely walk or stand for the next few days. Gradually got a little better, but still quite painful. Plantar fasciitis. Oh Goody. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
So, next came my half marathon. I should have never started this at all because the pain was so bad. But, I'm a bit stubborn, so started with the intent of going 1-2.5 miles. I made it 6 miles before I gave myself the hook at the mile 6 medical tent. What followed was a few days of more horrible pain. Lots of foot rolling. Weird duct tape measures because I was too impatient to wait for the "miracle" sock I ordered to arrive. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWV6M2bTKaNinW66JtQOPqAxfsL2mRlD1K9jkKTTnYMrIFc_a5NJcBbcg1_Zyix2nISfngq-NlwA_LErzrq1XJtUY9RelhpU1fzq-zJocogtGHm1BL9cnGYf1ABFB72j-dg1_8wQsMQ/s1600/duct+tape+leg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWV6M2bTKaNinW66JtQOPqAxfsL2mRlD1K9jkKTTnYMrIFc_a5NJcBbcg1_Zyix2nISfngq-NlwA_LErzrq1XJtUY9RelhpU1fzq-zJocogtGHm1BL9cnGYf1ABFB72j-dg1_8wQsMQ/s320/duct+tape+leg.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oddly enough.... my MacGyver'd leg did help. My foot quickly felt better. Great? No. But, no longer excruciating. 6 days after I DNF'd. my half marathon I planned to try to get in a long marathon group training run. I had low expectations. But, at the same time I planned to try for the 12-13 that was on the agenda that day (cut back week, thank God!). Low expectations but yet pushing myself to the max. Yeah, not the smartest tool in the shed. Made it through about 9 feeling pain, but managing. My hobble was pretty bad. But, I was moving. After that point, I hit a major wall. Mentally and physically. 2 weeks of no running other than my DNF caught up to me. I was beat. My foot hurt. A lot. I was in the woods, alone, thinking I was lost. I doubted I could get those last three miles. I wanted it to be over. I wanted everything to be over.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideulEqMNs-GUiWYxiINSTBzxQlc8jnf14wYmepmXl_KJe_EkDqUlSLwybuPXps1zDu0rlDXwmZLAjlD1TH6FPqRv1poqtUQ50XI2FIy2Q_LhDFcTPZBsTU0rb835BPbZkoR0fuwBxRw/s1600/Naperville+marathon+GV+training+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEideulEqMNs-GUiWYxiINSTBzxQlc8jnf14wYmepmXl_KJe_EkDqUlSLwybuPXps1zDu0rlDXwmZLAjlD1TH6FPqRv1poqtUQ50XI2FIy2Q_LhDFcTPZBsTU0rb835BPbZkoR0fuwBxRw/s320/Naperville+marathon+GV+training+run.jpg" width="240" /></a> I reflected a lot about how I used to run fast and fierce, for me anyway. When I would get out on a trail and just run. Then run faster. Push myself further. 9:15 - 9:30 pace on 5.5 mile runs. Consistently. I miss those runs. I miss that person. I miss that runner. I mourn that runner. Sometimes I really hate the runner I am now. That sounds so awful. But, it's true. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">I yelled at myself quite a bit. Seriously. I was PISSED. That I once again had gotten this far and my body was once again failing me. That I wanted to give up on myself even though I've wanted this all so badly. That so many others CAN do this. CAN get through the marathon training. CAN get up in the morning and run when I just can't and get it done. </span><span style="text-align: left;">I'm in sincere awe of all my friends who train for and run marathons. You people are truly amazing. I mean that. What you endure mentally and physically to get this done is downright badass. Truth. </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's just not in me. I mean it's in me. But, way deep down inside me. And, it's screaming. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm just not sure if it's screaming for somebody to give me chest compressions.....or, pull the plug.</div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-36738511121690038782013-07-08T09:47:00.001-05:002013-07-08T13:35:30.911-05:00Relentless. Forward. Motion. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVwKU6tozZjtwlXAkCrftvcghXrzQK4SuWIegznDQyibzlSsdCW338LMnT88W-ndHu70aDJJ5rzrrVARgTYClPdVdLJuw0ggpb23euHGdgyDr03UU9Rb8plIbgpGqFY0YBnt0_Oj-yQ/s1600/bumps+on+the+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVwKU6tozZjtwlXAkCrftvcghXrzQK4SuWIegznDQyibzlSsdCW338LMnT88W-ndHu70aDJJ5rzrrVARgTYClPdVdLJuw0ggpb23euHGdgyDr03UU9Rb8plIbgpGqFY0YBnt0_Oj-yQ/s320/bumps+on+the+road.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Apparently, my marathon training begins this week. So, my friend tells me at least. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's not like I didn't know it was coming. However, I was kind of hoping it was a bit further off. Sure I've been "kind of" running. Nothing serious. Nothing planned. Just a run here or there. To keep moving. To keep my feet going. Forward. It's not been easy. But, I've been trying to run free. Relaxed. No pressure. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I guess I've been avoiding actually focusing on this upcoming training. I guess I'm scared. Duh. No shit. It's me we are talking about. We all know by now I'm a marathon scardy cat. We know my history: Signed up and trained for two Chicago Marathons only to break 3/4 of the way through and never made it to the start line. Epic cheerleader instead. Always the bridesmaid. With a damn ugly dress. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, yes, I try a third time. Sadly, I turned in my Chicago dream for a smaller race. It's in my hometown. It's on my running trails and paths. I could literally stop and use my bathroom along the race course (and may depending how well my stomach behaves!). I won't have a million of people cheering me along like Chicago. In fact there certainly will be long stretches of NOBODY cheering. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I need the support. I value the support. I couldn't run a single mile without thinking about somebody in my life who supports my silly running journey. Whether it's the co-worker who got me started a few years ago, or my daily texting buds who lift me up in not only running, but also life, or my little running cheerleaders who no matter what seem to always be in my corner. Those cheerleaders send me words of encouragement at the most opportune moments. It's like they know. They all matter to me. Every last one. Hell, if I'm going to climb Mt. Everest I'm going to need some sherpas. Thankfully, I've got the very best.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's funny, people come and go. Friends change over time. Some of my biggest supporters while training for the last two marathons are long gone. So strange to think people who were so very important to me at a much needed time no longer exist in my life. Kind of makes me a bit sad. Some have sped off to faster pastures, leaving me in their trail dust. That's ok. I may not be speedy. But, I'm on my own little journey. Slow and steady. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, a few have been along for the entire ride. (Park's closed, moose outside should have told you) I am so very grateful to them. They will never know how very grateful. Truth. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have no clue what I'm doing. Seriously. So, I grab the super novice training plan. I take a deep breath. I do it the best that I can with my crazy work schedule. I change up the days a bit. I run my long runs mid week if I have to. I run outside at 11 pm. Oh dear Lord I'll get up once or twice at the crack of dawn and get my bitchy self through some run before work. I skip a short run from time to time because, well, just because. Because of life. Because I want to have fun instead. Because my brain needs a break. Just ....because. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, I will give it my best. I will try. I will certainly cry. I will puke. I will feel overwhelmed. I will freak out that I'm about to break. But, through it all it will be that little text. That random message. The stranger running by me telling me I'm looking great on my run. My niece telling me that she's proud of me. Perhaps someone will actually come cheer me on race day. Or run with me when I want to quit. It all. Matters. Every little bit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Inhale calm. Exhale fear. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Relentless. Forward. Motion. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Here we go......</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/InNG0K4zxZU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-66021830858450203232013-06-10T23:56:00.000-05:002013-06-10T23:56:53.660-05:00Esprit de She<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZXXxbgcOvpZObsAkR5rUcAyB014QfACzLWGQV_Qr0W8TVAacUwYk-ag47-0eRohUhjqgVlIxGF-ySOakTR33vOpnYQvBESC4etxm8mRIUAbvhYcmDzzP6Zy0h-t86jPspA7sSfRYZQ/s1600/IMG_20130608_160346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZXXxbgcOvpZObsAkR5rUcAyB014QfACzLWGQV_Qr0W8TVAacUwYk-ag47-0eRohUhjqgVlIxGF-ySOakTR33vOpnYQvBESC4etxm8mRIUAbvhYcmDzzP6Zy0h-t86jPspA7sSfRYZQ/s320/IMG_20130608_160346.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
91 miles of swimming for 11 minutes of racing. It seems rather easy. It wasn't. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back with my Tridiot teammates to kick some ass at <a href="http://www.espritdeshe.com/page/show/677510-tri-naperville#.UbaV81TZdjU" target="_blank">Esprit de She</a> triathlon. Last year was our first try at this. We were clueless. This year we were back to be better. This time I trained. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JCr8E9Y4iE6PBIaIBTUVg4-ZMkxz67OIrr-FBCh7ZYbb5q-KqfmNB8mTd2hKadyDCxD_z6llm4bq4lUadLZVMMIe2WgOGq4fbt02xj-3SNt-BU60Q1Hn8LZ8dK9tM4gi5sYIl6PjDg/s1600/tridiots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JCr8E9Y4iE6PBIaIBTUVg4-ZMkxz67OIrr-FBCh7ZYbb5q-KqfmNB8mTd2hKadyDCxD_z6llm4bq4lUadLZVMMIe2WgOGq4fbt02xj-3SNt-BU60Q1Hn8LZ8dK9tM4gi5sYIl6PjDg/s320/tridiots.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been swimming since January. As in I actually had a <a href="http://www.baddogmultisport.com/" target="_blank">coach</a>. Someone who for some unknown reason wanted to help me. He provided me workouts, answered all my dumb questions, put up with my whining, was a smartass, and most importantly encouraged me when I felt overwhelmed. With workouts. With life. He was the first to tell me to ditch a workout and go on a date instead. I felt as if I was quitting. He made me feel that it was necessary to be happy and live my life and not be a slave to workouts that may have been weighing me down. He was right. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had some pretty high yardage months. I was feeling really good. Pretty strong. It felt good to feel so great in the water. Back at my swimming roots. Then as we moved closer to the tri date I started picking up running again. Coach was VERY insistent that I stay off the feet for a few months to REALLY heal after my multiple broken situations. It felt great to be back on the run. It felt great to be out of the pool a bit more. Be on the running paths a bit more. I was starting to feel a bit burned out with the pool. Tired of feeling like I was dragging myself to the pool each time. It was nice to be outside. Running. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was feeling ready for this race. Well, up until a few days before when I saw a cool weather forecast predicted and learned that the water temp would be on the cool side. Then learning on the race Facebook page that most people were planning on wearing wet suits? Ugh. I felt immediately defeated. I didn't have a wet suit. I wasn't about to go out and buy one either. For those who don't know not only does a wet suit provide warmth, it helps with buoyancy. Therefore, less energy is needed to stay afloat. Thus making it easier to swim. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily5bQ0VUyNk3k5rOojbP18aYggRcYFmDuTKJgjWUWU8QsJFrnrLUModUmXik0AklmZd5kQ2sbxXiLyBaW_Jnd4CdQERHldn7_ZXmqOhA9QEXwBi44oCiWRjDzerCmIuxkJhr0W-vd-w/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily5bQ0VUyNk3k5rOojbP18aYggRcYFmDuTKJgjWUWU8QsJFrnrLUModUmXik0AklmZd5kQ2sbxXiLyBaW_Jnd4CdQERHldn7_ZXmqOhA9QEXwBi44oCiWRjDzerCmIuxkJhr0W-vd-w/s200/beach.jpg" width="200" /></a>I freaked a bit and asked Coach what I should do. His reply was for me to stfu and just swim faster than everyone else. It was a short race. I had no experience swimming in a wet suit. If I had one it would probably be a hindrance to me. Arrrrrighty then. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Race morning Sara (bike) and I got there around 5:30 am. She dropped me off and went to get her energy drink at a nearby store. I set up our transition and then sat by myself. Sara eventually arrived, then took off again to change. Lisa (run) arrived but had to still pick up her packet and the race bib she needed to run. She did so and texted me that she was on her way back to transition. However, at this point I needed to be in the water for warm ups. So, I hit the water on my own. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was cold. No doubt about it. But, I just dove in and got that shock over with asap. I felt good once I started moving. I swam about 400 yards (half the swim course) and got out. As I exited the water I almost fell. I felt dizzy and off balance. Wtf. I have no idea why. I don't know if it was the cold or something else. But, it freaked me out a bit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I exited the water Lisa was waiting for me. We walked back up to transition so Lisa could put on her bib and I could drop off my clothes and towel. Within a minute we were being kicked out of transition as it was closing for race start. So, Lisa and I hustled back over the the start so I could get in my wave (#3) which would start 8 minutes after the Elites took off to start the race. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4Khwz160FrLE89j8y8NrdyazTT-R7N8lycurJ6Ls1FDUDz08zOjTeTriUw9adgM0quejGxtrCBfHxcPwoRdUcOauAcU5Ua4f98NT_EPTypPP01Pm_weyL-hnyyzs9l5bzJ4yuX7zXA/s1600/IMG_20130609_075658_295_zps351940cf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4Khwz160FrLE89j8y8NrdyazTT-R7N8lycurJ6Ls1FDUDz08zOjTeTriUw9adgM0quejGxtrCBfHxcPwoRdUcOauAcU5Ua4f98NT_EPTypPP01Pm_weyL-hnyyzs9l5bzJ4yuX7zXA/s200/IMG_20130609_075658_295_zps351940cf.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just as I was about to get in my wave my sister, my niece (Ironkid) and my nephew ran over to hug me and wish me good luck. It was nice to see them. Ironkid gave me some huge words of encouragement and lots of hugs and kisses. It was fun to have the tables turned. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got up front in my wave and waited for race start. Everyone around me was in wet suits. Ugh. That kind of freaked me out. Oh, well. It was what it was. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Elites took off. Wave #2 was the cancer survivors. There was a woman in her 30's in this wave who was standing right in front me me. As she moved up to start I saw that she was shaking and crying. I asked if she was ok. She said, "I don't think I can do this." I told her that she had been through things MUCH harder than this. That she most definitely could do this. I gave her a hug and wished her luck. She put all my silly nerves in perspective. It was just a race. Just a race. What is there to be scared of? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our relay wave moved into the water.... countdown to our start. I somehow caught my family in the crowd and shared a wave and a smile. That made me relax. All of a sudden I was diving in going out full force. As fast I could. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Coach had sent me a pretty inspirational email two nights before the race. He basically told me to go all out and leave nothing on the table. He knew I wanted to win the relay portion of the swim. He told me that if I wanted to win I had to give everything I had. Leave nothing behind. So, I did as he said. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, I lost steam early. I think the cold knocked the breath out of me at first. I faded. I almost felt like giving up. But, then I remembered that Coach told me that it was only 10 minutes of giving everything I had. 10 friggin minutes. I could suck it up for that, right? I turned around the first buoy and was able to see two pink relay caps in front of me about 10 yards ahead. Damn it. I wasn't in first. I was third. I felt a bit defeated by this at first. Disappointed. But, then I told myself to not give up just because it was likely I wouldn't win. I could still be better than last year. I could still kick ass. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once I told myself this I relaxed a bit and got a strong steady pace going. It was still hard. I was still struggling. But, I kept moving. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For those who don't know, open water swimming is hard. Really hard. You cannot see in front of you. You cannot see where you are going. You easily can swim zig zag all over the place. You swim into people. People swim into you. You get kicked. You get clawed. It's a free for all. This year I had an easier time swimming through people. Not sure if I had a better strategy by swimming around them or what. But, I felt like I made it through the maze of swimmers in front of me better this time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All of a sudden I was on the last switchback. Dug in and gave it all I had left. Soon I could see the bottom of the water. I was able to stand up. And run. Out of the water. Into the sand. Up the hill. Through the entire parking lot. To our transition spot. It was pretty exciting to see all the race teams there. Waiting for their swimmers. I was the third one in. Just behind the leaders. All the teams were cheering me in. It was pretty cool. I quickly passed off our chip to Sara and she was off on the bike. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was SO relieved to be done. I was exhausted. But, I was happy. I had no clue what my time was. but, I did know I was third. And, I was ok with that. My family was waiting just out of transition for me to put on clothes and then I joined them to catch up to cheer Sara on the bike. Ironkid ran up to me and gave me a HUGE hug. Told me she was proud of me. Told me I did great. She was all excited to give me the play by play of my race. It made me smile. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We caught up to see Sara come by on loop one and we all screamed at her as she rode by. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTt5x9xvT4vJR2_tqriblCBn-KaUbB4XYBTvahyphenhyphendEJu2skgy5-7EHMDqIo-cqevz_0A_56tKkmDat5dSxEFsPcvKcjCaimMQwGG6BEKLECOqrXW8NY9cMDKqMxxlHB3KSaEPYHT0V0Q/s1600/IMG_20130608_135646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTt5x9xvT4vJR2_tqriblCBn-KaUbB4XYBTvahyphenhyphendEJu2skgy5-7EHMDqIo-cqevz_0A_56tKkmDat5dSxEFsPcvKcjCaimMQwGG6BEKLECOqrXW8NY9cMDKqMxxlHB3KSaEPYHT0V0Q/s200/IMG_20130608_135646.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
Then back to transition to find Lisa who was awaiting Sara on the bike. Lisa was nervous waiting there by herself. She had been sizing up the competition of the other relay runners. I told her to just run her own race. Go kick ass. Sara came in looking very strong. SO strong. <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last year Sara was deep into chemo treatments and her body was weak. Even though she did great last year she really pushed her body. This time she looked strong. And happy. As soon as she came in I ripped the timing chip off her ankle and put it onto Lisa's ankle. Slapped her ass and told her to RUN! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sara and I then headed to the finish to wait for Lisa. We watched other teams finish. Then we saw Lisa's pony tail in the distance. Sara and I flanked each side of the finish chute, grabbed hands with Lisa. Once again, the Tridiots crossed the finish hand in hand. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm so proud of my team. Everyone did so awesome. We each Monday morning quarterbacked our legs. Silly girls. Everyone did fantastic. We were one minute faster than last year. We finished 8/52 relay teams. Fantastic. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No, I didn't win the swim like I wanted to. I finished third once again. However, I swam 30 seconds faster than last year (.5 mile, 11:13, 22:26 pace). With a bit more result stalking I also learned that of the 1281 that swam (Elite, relay, and individual) I finished 37th. Not too bad if I say so myself. Only two of those people ahead of me were older than me. Most were MUCH younger than me. That made me feel good. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIcc4byG2mxJrT598HmZPCspOPdUd4nOTE01yBvgcWE2RsWNyOZFdl25dgeIv7OySGKziZMydvJ29MiK3BuOXW8o28JMIyKm2hiYsdTIJO1JZ6fybXYO8LSIY5sYIJ2ODRSl7Q7XTEXg/s1600/IMG_20130609_092751_377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIcc4byG2mxJrT598HmZPCspOPdUd4nOTE01yBvgcWE2RsWNyOZFdl25dgeIv7OySGKziZMydvJ29MiK3BuOXW8o28JMIyKm2hiYsdTIJO1JZ6fybXYO8LSIY5sYIJ2ODRSl7Q7XTEXg/s200/IMG_20130609_092751_377.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Post race my team, Ironkid and I hit the SWAG area. We had such a blast grabbing all the free shit. Free manicures? </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Uh, YES PLEASE! Omg... best post race SWAG ever. Getting hand massages and our nails done. All we needed was booze. We danced a bit to the DJ. We got silly. We got free plants. Food. We smiled. We talked to other inspirational women who did the entire triathlon. We had fun. We will do it again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxU7NRuKnPkVaA9yIImZcXXn3eI4X5VmFy-l33O_wamxX8WQA8cJNlz3F-nda8MF9IOCWVlLWNZ4QFk1wAmsP0RNetE-DD7qpHuFSfV2LKVJciNcZCVLhf-EiOv7B_SJ_Ex6QpLxUQLQ/s1600/jess+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxU7NRuKnPkVaA9yIImZcXXn3eI4X5VmFy-l33O_wamxX8WQA8cJNlz3F-nda8MF9IOCWVlLWNZ4QFk1wAmsP0RNetE-DD7qpHuFSfV2LKVJciNcZCVLhf-EiOv7B_SJ_Ex6QpLxUQLQ/s200/jess+sign.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sign Ironkid made for me post race. My heart melted. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm happy with my effort. But, I will be better next year. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have to give a huge shout out to my Coach. I cannot even begin to thank you for helping me prepare for this race. I have no idea why you did it. But, I thank you. Very much. Damn, it just got awfully dusty in here....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few weeks off serious training. Then I somehow have to figure out a marathon training program. Hope I don't break. Once again. Pfffft... yeah, we all know how this will end. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, first, I chill. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Exhale. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieI04dQBtXV17jMqJnf6I9fempvVc4GvWo5yNg4O1SileVDtfeh5agDEL4xBlrJ9x6nSozpgNzg2YdJJEsXnjw45WJYti7UsNKytEqyjzfqDxLP07RCF6enKeC0Q40O52N3oDK_gQ_WA/s1600/IMG_20130609_095630_862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieI04dQBtXV17jMqJnf6I9fempvVc4GvWo5yNg4O1SileVDtfeh5agDEL4xBlrJ9x6nSozpgNzg2YdJJEsXnjw45WJYti7UsNKytEqyjzfqDxLP07RCF6enKeC0Q40O52N3oDK_gQ_WA/s320/IMG_20130609_095630_862.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Suck it cancer. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ugEqvwQiJZo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-10316435817630247412013-04-17T00:24:00.000-05:002013-04-17T00:24:53.829-05:00I Am. <div style="text-align: justify;">
Every since I started running a few years ago I have struggled with calling myself a runner. I have always felt so unworthy of that title. I do not run fast. I do not run far. I shuffle along. I break. I try again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I can call myself a swimmer. I started swimming at around age 5. It was easy for me. I was at home in the water. It's effortless for me. I don't suck at it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I cannot say the same for running. It's hard. Really hard for me. I suck at it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, as soon as I started running, I noticed something right away. The people around me. Not literally around me, as I ran alone. But, the running community. They were, well, different. Different in a good way. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They were welcoming. Encouraging. Friendly. Not to mention funny. Inappropriate. Weird. Most importantly they were accepting of little ole me. The swimmer suddenly out of the water, struggling to stand on her feet instead of her mermaid fins. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's because of these people that I finally went to watch my first Chicago Marathon in 2010. This was before I was the Do Epic Shit chick. I was just another spectator amongst the million plus cheering the runners on. Immediately I was in awe. Immediately I felt a connect with these people. I wanted to BE these people. I wanted to BE a runner. I wanted to run a marathon. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was thrilling to watch this race. We watched at several spots along the course, ending at the finish line. It was such a thrill to cheer in complete strangers as they ran that final 100 feet into the finish. Amazing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had tears in my eyes for people I didn't know. I was so happy for them. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Suddenly, an older gentlemen started to weave a bit as he came running toward the finish. Then he collapsed. We gasped. He crawled on his hands and knees a bit and got back up. We cheered. He ran a few steps and collapsed again. We gasped again. He was SO close. He HAD to finish! Then, one woman ran by him, stopped, turned back and went to pick him up. She stopped HER race to help him. She grabbed him under the arm and carried him those final feet to the finish. Together. Because that's what runners do. That's who runners are. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvo1aXMxNAF3o3Yk2ERrl4iixzYKz4RoP0WkPw-zb3SAQhB9I8h1y1zVEvpZ_ZeQ0pLzUk8YezKS5j4FPOEP9HKwyQM9M5O1hKFu4AMbViPTt0AXQXdtbwGKTIOU8ZRPqE2C72M0ksBw/s1600/Chicago+Marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvo1aXMxNAF3o3Yk2ERrl4iixzYKz4RoP0WkPw-zb3SAQhB9I8h1y1zVEvpZ_ZeQ0pLzUk8YezKS5j4FPOEP9HKwyQM9M5O1hKFu4AMbViPTt0AXQXdtbwGKTIOU8ZRPqE2C72M0ksBw/s320/Chicago+Marathon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Watching what happened yesterday in Boston I was reminded of all this. About the spectators. How they are so important to the runners. How they stand and cheer and encourage total strangers. How they help every racer get to that finish line. How runners support each other just as much. How they will sacrifice themselves to help another runner. It's what they do. It's who they are. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday as I was united in grief, support and love with my running friends I finally realized that yes, I, too am a runner. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I may not run crazy miles. I may not be super speedy. But, I run. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I. Am. A. Runner. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They are my people. They are my tribe. YOU are my people. YOU are my tribe. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will always be a swimmer, because that's what I was born to do. However, I've worked pretty damn hard to become a runner. I aint giving that one up. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Ever. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's who I am. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Finally. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now, can we all have a group hug please? </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/F2FNQmSLBtc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-34993816157508412262013-03-20T09:50:00.000-05:002013-03-20T09:59:29.022-05:004018 Days<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO86NvumA9bOKoXnT0GGI9gDhc1_gl_B_dcRijnBrdqQ2ec8vImU8WrhyphenhyphenGJ5V3p1vxZy527UFyrtOubu-t0r0prE5slCVsdxjw_gyfPzNTggT7V1fKaztznd8NeUUR9KTV5QtBTsTSLA/s1600/dad+in+europe+mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO86NvumA9bOKoXnT0GGI9gDhc1_gl_B_dcRijnBrdqQ2ec8vImU8WrhyphenhyphenGJ5V3p1vxZy527UFyrtOubu-t0r0prE5slCVsdxjw_gyfPzNTggT7V1fKaztznd8NeUUR9KTV5QtBTsTSLA/s200/dad+in+europe+mountains.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
That's a lot of days. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
11 years of days to be exact.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
4018 days without my dad. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
4018 days since I last saw him alive. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
4018 days since I stayed up all night with him. My sister asleep on the floor. My mother asleep beside him. Me, sitting next to him. Watching him breath. Watching him struggle to breath. Shooting him up with morphine each time I felt like he was struggling too much. Too much for him to bear. Too much for me to bear watching. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
I sat there and watched him die. If you have never seen this happen, it's a hard experience to describe. Of course I was horribly sad. But, at the same time I was at peace with it. I wanted him out of his suffering. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0FPnhAWacAjDSn_fxErdOQMtcHfq94D-EhhdMpqTQDBmOU9-AlcElCRxnsMnjaMhg7JmaTwYLxNLUUzdIh3ZneK60fc5i7Z6PYvOemaT1IM3HrZ4tYR1u4X226-e0r432DKsYdd0jA/s1600/hammock+lounging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0FPnhAWacAjDSn_fxErdOQMtcHfq94D-EhhdMpqTQDBmOU9-AlcElCRxnsMnjaMhg7JmaTwYLxNLUUzdIh3ZneK60fc5i7Z6PYvOemaT1IM3HrZ4tYR1u4X226-e0r432DKsYdd0jA/s1600/hammock+lounging.jpg" /></a>He had a tumor cut out of his brain. Yet, he got back up kicking. Only a few weeks later he walked my sister down the aisle. We didn't think he'd be alive to be there, and, if so, certainly not walk. You want to see me cry streams of tears? Standing at the alter watching my dad walk my sister down the aisle? Forgeddaboudit. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
The cancer just wouldn't give up. Along with his brain, it strangled his lungs. It ravaged his body. Then, it took his leg. But, my dad NEVER gave up. Ever. Even that last night he was fighting. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
I don't think it was until I whispered in his ear late that night that it was ok to go that he actually let go. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
Those were perhaps the hardest words I've ever spoken. But, probably the words most filled with love I've ever spoken as well. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
4018 days since I held his hand as he took his last breath. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">96,342 hours.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
5,785,920 minutes. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
Without my dad. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
I still miss him so. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
Today is always a hard day. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: justify;">
And, damnit, I'm out of waterproof mascara.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/38Sc4riAVVk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>suck it cancer. </i></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-68976845088853210652013-01-29T11:17:00.000-06:002013-01-29T11:17:36.667-06:00How many times? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Oops, I did it again. Yes, I signed up for a marathon again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I saw that. Yes, you. I saw your eye roll. Trust me, mine is better than yours. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Every day on my way to work I drive by my running path/trails. All along the river, then along the lake, a good healthy 7 miles or so. At my old job I also drove alongside the other path/trails I use as well. I could see miles into the prairie, always looking for a bobbing head in the distance. If I was injured I would usually get a twinge of jealousy, a bit of anger. However, this morning on my way to work I saw a bobbing head along the river and smiled. With hope. For me. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Yesterday I signed up for my third marathon. Two years in a row of DNS at Chicago Marathon due to injury. Apparently I think it's a brilliant idea to try again. However, this time it's not Chicago. Oh, I'd love it to be Chicago. But, I think Chicago is too big for me. Not too big of a race. Not too many people. Too big of pressure. I wanted it so badly that I pushed my body too hard. A body not meant to run cannot be pushed to run more than it can sooner than it should. But, I ignore that. Because I wanted it. My mind broke on me. My body most certainly broke on me. Chicago is amazing. If you have run it you know. If you haven't spectated it, you must. It's an unforgettable experience. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Then <a href="http://naperville26.com/" target="_blank">Naperville Marathon</a> came along. Wait, what?!?! A marathon in my hometown? Are you kidding me? How can I NOT do this? I HAD to do this. I was so excited about this. Then, a few days ago they announced they were charging $150 for the full marathon. Um, excuse me? W.... T..... F ?!?!? Needless to say there was a bit of an uproar throughout social media. I may, or may not, have had a word or two for them. Thankfully, the race directors responded quickly and properly and dropped the fee $45 (ultimately $55 with a coupon). Ok, then.... I'm back in. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I woke up at 4 am yesterday. I couldn't sleep. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I was excited to register? I don't know. But, shortly after 6 a.m. there I was trying to register. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. The server was overloaded. Finally 45 minutes later I was in. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Crap. What did I just do? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2onE_28uKwesSVUgaL8TaQ7fc8ww35WRxXnPb8KUKxYCI9XSVL6dzjQ_xdHSGIK0Rpec5mFOqBZjIg7LEdC1848znxepc-4Oe3R4CPy8cWMZS-b5A0kw0gu6caHbjvNYtYKuuQGvoyQ/s1600/Project2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2onE_28uKwesSVUgaL8TaQ7fc8ww35WRxXnPb8KUKxYCI9XSVL6dzjQ_xdHSGIK0Rpec5mFOqBZjIg7LEdC1848znxepc-4Oe3R4CPy8cWMZS-b5A0kw0gu6caHbjvNYtYKuuQGvoyQ/s200/Project2.jpg" width="200" /></a>I'll tell you what I did. I tried again. I am trying again. I'm not giving in yet. I can't. How could I NOT run this marathon? How could I not try THIS marathon? It will be taking place on MY trails and paths. In my backyard. Literally. The paths and trails I bike and ride all the time. I know these things forwards and backwards. This is where I found myself. This is where I lost myself. This is where I ran fierce. This is where I broke. This is where I cried many a tear. Sometimes in pain. Other times in absolute joy after hitting a running milestone. A new distance PR. A new pace PR. A comeback from injury. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6maRUKAk-WuRCY61XhRBJPtBYlbowY3kxEeDs2Uprprq42NmfTn0nSeiwN2fdigrBeefqfCTnqzAhkUaftnK1S2LEy7_CUbCBi_20NGw6qp__1c9b-QPjEOwJ2vDvT3KI0x2IK_jgGA/s1600/Project4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6maRUKAk-WuRCY61XhRBJPtBYlbowY3kxEeDs2Uprprq42NmfTn0nSeiwN2fdigrBeefqfCTnqzAhkUaftnK1S2LEy7_CUbCBi_20NGw6qp__1c9b-QPjEOwJ2vDvT3KI0x2IK_jgGA/s200/Project4.jpg" width="198" /></a>Along the paths, while I always run alone, I was and am never alone. There was always someone with me. I can remember countless runs where some friend was texting me along the way. Telling me I was kicking ass and to keep on keeping on. Telling me to get out of the thunderstorm into safety. Telling me to get the fuck off the ground and stop crying and start running. Telling me it was going to be ok. Again. That I would be ok. Again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMcA_PoQwzxtydZ5j8VMn4K85NQYbOxkgYP3NpzAJ6RbXnuSM6oZPe8wiq6-5JrSjFRs4WYvaR-jVGYgO-lzh6_7t7dlbKUUeE4Ll4sjHICROlaiHc_Py5Lk6VBZ7kK5mmZk4AeBDwA/s1600/Project5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEMcA_PoQwzxtydZ5j8VMn4K85NQYbOxkgYP3NpzAJ6RbXnuSM6oZPe8wiq6-5JrSjFRs4WYvaR-jVGYgO-lzh6_7t7dlbKUUeE4Ll4sjHICROlaiHc_Py5Lk6VBZ7kK5mmZk4AeBDwA/s200/Project5.jpg" width="200" /></a>So, I try again. I will not throw myself into this just yet. Geez, I am not even running now. Imagine that, I'm not even running and I sign up for a marathon. Huh, I'm really <i>stoopid</i>. Like you didn't know that already. I will continue my swimming. Work toward my goal of kicking ass in my June triathlon relay. Let Coach tell me when I can start back with the run. It will be baby steps. It will not be much. It will not be far. It will get me to the start of training healthy, not injured. Something I haven't done before. It will be as he promised. I hope. God, I hope. I need to still get over the speed thing. I need to let that go. I will not be doing sub 9:00 pace on anything ever again. I'll be lucky if I'm doing sub 11:00's. That's a hard thing to swallow. But, I have to if I want to get to the start line in one piece. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5o45uOWNzJWZWuKkoyUwrON6su_dmI_0o-OZF9t1vUvRZeYNs6hvHGvjduQbu7osk22sj289THSAnaf07CChDyUHwKy4TXwtonvZuKcy0aF0iQpWRkM_n60ZW1VuFWhP9DjnDUug1Q/s1600/298984_10150296887868202_1819141879_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5o45uOWNzJWZWuKkoyUwrON6su_dmI_0o-OZF9t1vUvRZeYNs6hvHGvjduQbu7osk22sj289THSAnaf07CChDyUHwKy4TXwtonvZuKcy0aF0iQpWRkM_n60ZW1VuFWhP9DjnDUug1Q/s200/298984_10150296887868202_1819141879_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Another reason I had to do THIS marathon is the people. It's always about the people. But, this one will be special. Hopefully, my family will finally show up. They better. It's only steps away for them. Hopefully, many friends will as well. Even better is how many friends signed up for this race yesterday. They got on the train quick too. The race sold out in 12 hours. Wow. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4BQk2PetMDF2g8YWc05qvzV8u7ddoHAoMZYgU6WRMfyTIIgNAx956I4XwmEKiefo9zxt1k45PM1oeaqUNUoaOg0NI_cgsQDKAEk2iDYzb5ErqrP8YDX_Efv6qmrLdC-z-hSwOAJJmQ/s1600/60356_433309473201_829823_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4BQk2PetMDF2g8YWc05qvzV8u7ddoHAoMZYgU6WRMfyTIIgNAx956I4XwmEKiefo9zxt1k45PM1oeaqUNUoaOg0NI_cgsQDKAEk2iDYzb5ErqrP8YDX_Efv6qmrLdC-z-hSwOAJJmQ/s200/60356_433309473201_829823_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9xhhCTNXGpWJLawFtB_X7JzhAN9bJT_lKj7taa1RZRZMFIBb5f0TapCTTN1nUBGDPwkgOhMMwsa_sKAQYunBA05zCoP7k4xvqVQ-vL-Bs8P-5BA1wD9xDwnfc-TXuK5-0hMYBruVg2Q/s1600/73282_441869503201_1613346_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9xhhCTNXGpWJLawFtB_X7JzhAN9bJT_lKj7taa1RZRZMFIBb5f0TapCTTN1nUBGDPwkgOhMMwsa_sKAQYunBA05zCoP7k4xvqVQ-vL-Bs8P-5BA1wD9xDwnfc-TXuK5-0hMYBruVg2Q/s200/73282_441869503201_1613346_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>My best friend from grade school is doing the half. I ran my very first half marathon (my running debut) at Rock n Roll Chicago with her four years ago. We had not seen each other in many many years and reconnected over running (and wine). My long time swim teammate and fellow coach is also in on the half. My high school sophomore dance date is in for the full. Apparently, he's a kick ass runner these days and will certainly BQ once again at this race. We recently reconnected and I can't wait to see him again. My former running partner and now co-manager at work is in for the half. In fact as I saw the slots filling up quickly yesterday I made her sign up over lunch to secure her spot. Several of my Daily Mile local running buds are in as well, including my Daily Mile bestie. I'm expecting him to run an ultra that day -finish his marathon in kick ass time and then come back and drag my ass over the finish line somehow. It's what any good friend would do after all. Amirite? ;)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
So, there ya go. I try again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwN8dM8tGFSZ2Mpoqnk-ifHP7VKLjf5dwJr4i0ygaqPXF8O4Gl1JpDmucTR1wjQVKaDlRufe7KQjmiKFErosh5mwRA20v5gMX9U8mOEOsBa2op1ssAqiqMAJ-bDU1H1cNOiXm7HP0CUQ/s1600/Try.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwN8dM8tGFSZ2Mpoqnk-ifHP7VKLjf5dwJr4i0ygaqPXF8O4Gl1JpDmucTR1wjQVKaDlRufe7KQjmiKFErosh5mwRA20v5gMX9U8mOEOsBa2op1ssAqiqMAJ-bDU1H1cNOiXm7HP0CUQ/s320/Try.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hopefully, three. </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>I can't hardly wait. </b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/W7LQiDjsde8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-53053664685989719622013-01-01T19:58:00.000-06:002013-01-02T22:04:58.428-06:00One of These Days<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hello 2013.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let's be friends. Mmmm'kay?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will have low expectations for you. This way you will not fail me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I won't have huge hopes of what you have waiting for me. I will just go along with each day. And, perhaps. one of these days......</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will run. It will not be fast. It will not be far. But, I will run.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will swim. I will swim more than I have since I was a teen. I WILL swim fast. I WILL swim far.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will do that SheRox Triathlon relay once again. This time we will be ready. We will kick ass. Perhaps, this time we will win.<br />
<br />
I will swim <a href="http://www.bigshoulders.org/" target="_blank">The Big Shoulders 5K.</a> My first real open water swim. Should be interesting. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will perhaps work toward an 11 minute headstand. Or not. Conquering that 10 minute goal on New Year's Eve was pretty awesome. It also was very, very hard. However, if I'm a bit more consistent at doing it, than perhaps I may have the strength to go further. However, if I don't, that's ok. I hit my goal, a pretty lofty one in my opinion. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will continue to support my friends in their training. In their lives. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will be there for those friends fighting with health issues that try to knock them down, as they continue to keep getting up. I will give them a hand up if necessary. But, no matter what, they WILL get up. I will have it no other way. No. Other. Way. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will also keep helping my self up, should I get knocked down (we know I will). I perhaps may, this year, allow others to help me up from time to time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will visit some of my running friends. I have some thoughts in mind. It was be fun. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One thing I have decided I will not do... is sign up for the Chicago Marathon. It pains me so. And, makes me incredibly sad. But, my body just can't and won't allow me. Being injured once again after this latest 10 mile run proves to me once again that I cannot push a body that keeps pushing back. Unless I drop another 60 pounds I don't think I can keep putting such pressure on myself to do something that my body refuses to do. As much as I want it mentally, it just won't be.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Does this mean I won't ever run a marathon? I don't know. Maybe one of these days.<b> I want Chicago.</b> This is the one I want. But, I just cannot commit within the small time frame before it will sell out. Perhaps I'll run well and pain free and somehow train for a marathon by accident? Huh, wouldn't that be funny. Well, well, then perhaps I'll do a smaller one instead. One that will allow me to sign up closer to the race date. (and, I know which one my local friends will be nudging me towards)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will run the F^ing Freezing Half in three weeks (foot willing). I will run the half marathon race of the inaugural marathon in my hometown in November. I have to. It will be on all the running paths/trails I run on during training. I hope some of my running friends will join me. That would be nice to do the full, but again, it will sell out before I can commit.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will go to two weddings of running friends. I'm excited to be in attendance for both of these weddings for two pretty amazing people.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I will try to stay healthy. I will hopefully be happy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For you, I wish you all a year filled with peace, love, happiness, good health.... and no injuries. I thank you for making me smile. For lifting me up. For making me giggle. For being my friend. I'm lucky to have you in my life. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yeah, even you.<br />
<br />
Hugs and kisses,<br />
~a</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/QxYnuOa-fPQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-56860656593425326862012-12-31T17:54:00.001-06:002012-12-31T18:24:30.103-06:00Bad Penny<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43GljNvOSFmVMjVMbjH6oI90oT8USFT6FiqmqI0lhucCA6AYIEVtcHr8YiYT4bd3Pu_BzF5JJvp3kn6XoUB6uPOS_LJTCJsvVl_rwOp9pbf7iyZqpaDXZuhBDOuk6DXl9y7mfuyU41A/s1600/penny.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43GljNvOSFmVMjVMbjH6oI90oT8USFT6FiqmqI0lhucCA6AYIEVtcHr8YiYT4bd3Pu_BzF5JJvp3kn6XoUB6uPOS_LJTCJsvVl_rwOp9pbf7iyZqpaDXZuhBDOuk6DXl9y7mfuyU41A/s320/penny.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Dear 2012,<br />
<br />
You suck.<br />
<br />
I had high expectations for you.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a disastrous end for 2011, stress fracture in a boot and all, I so was looking forward to a better year with you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, you disappointed me. You failed me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bite me, 2012. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just a few days into 2012 I got out of my boot and ran. Doctors blessing. I was scared. But, I ran my <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2012/01/fuck-boot-5k.html" target="_blank">Fuck the Boot 5k</a> . On a gloriously freezing cold Chicago winter day. I ran. It was wonderful. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPaN6ucumO-gRgF66SJJQkQygcNkWR_28kobY7eiXTRzunmagInDNlB9MAdUUooHOqsvi0QeauA6eg7vZwgQGyzrxNEZrYXcO5Yy6nk_ChQyCsC20k3Nb-gSsdyIrUzvNu1SSTVjo2w/s1600/FTBClaireleg2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOPaN6ucumO-gRgF66SJJQkQygcNkWR_28kobY7eiXTRzunmagInDNlB9MAdUUooHOqsvi0QeauA6eg7vZwgQGyzrxNEZrYXcO5Yy6nk_ChQyCsC20k3Nb-gSsdyIrUzvNu1SSTVjo2w/s200/FTBClaireleg2.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
I was happy. And optimistic. <br />
<br />
I was fooled.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just a few weeks later, I strained my calf muscle. If you have never done this, be thankful. It's was 100 times more painful than my stress fracture. A few steps into a run and I felt and<i><b> HEARD</b></i> a pop. I honestly thought I broke my leg. The pain? Whoa. I literally hopped home. Called into work the next day. I never called into work at all with my stress fracture. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, off the legs again. Of course. Rest up for a few weeks and try again. Start slowly. Again. Baby steps. Again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the middle of this I sign up for the Chicago Marathon. Because, obviously, I'm an idiot. I can't even run, yet I think I can do something I have yet to be able to even <i>start? Stoopid.</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I think I'm on my way, so sign up for a St. Patty's Day 5k. Oooof. Again, stoopid. It was a bit hot a humid that day (my kryptonite) and I got spanked. I had to stop multiple times. Walk. Breath. In a 5k. I finished 10 minutes off my PR. Huh? I wasn't ready. What was I doing? I wasn't ready. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was pissed. So, I came home and immediately ran the race over. Stoopid. (See a theme here?). It was now high noon. Hot as hell. Humid as hell. And, I walked right into it. Ran right into it actually. This time up hills too. And, didn't stop until I ran that entire 5k again. Ran it about the exact same time as the race. But, this time I was happy. Because it was even harder. Yet I did it. Oh, sure, I got some severe foot pain in my wonky leg half way through. But, I sucked it up cupcake and ran anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ahhhh, but that foot. The pain kept me from really running again. I gave it a few months rest and tried to start up when Chicago Marathon training began. Made it to my 7 mile long run. And quit. I just knew I wouldn't be able to make it to the super long runs. Not in the pain I was in. No way. So, once again. I failed. I quit. Yeah me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Oh, wait, stop right there..... stop. </b>Ok, I didn't run. 2012 was not the year of running for me. We all got that. YOU all so got that. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, what<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-style: italic;"> did </b>I do</span>? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let's see, I crewed my dear friend as she ran 76 miles <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2012_05_01_archive.html" target="_blank">Barefoot 24</a>. I jumped on a train for 10 hours and met the lovely Deb. I was a virgin at crewing and just jumped right in. It was an unbelievable experience. Exhausting. Wonderful. I'd do it in a heartbeat if I ever have the chance to do it again. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP5PvXjg1udR8jcbaiiEXemQTE4Qx_saMDB4o-PRTUTRmw7p07J3KZB3v2U9xyXZsnRhCT1r74rM1hgXEStc4ZUMgHnyfie6QYeC_FtjpH53P_88XS_nSt5VFUTvq1q2umOjNHeVLxw/s1600/finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRP5PvXjg1udR8jcbaiiEXemQTE4Qx_saMDB4o-PRTUTRmw7p07J3KZB3v2U9xyXZsnRhCT1r74rM1hgXEStc4ZUMgHnyfie6QYeC_FtjpH53P_88XS_nSt5VFUTvq1q2umOjNHeVLxw/s200/finish.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxDdEorxh09CM2ov5QtW0F_qiA6n3bS77NwYPQj4-qISz7U8nq62ksRW8mN9qwF8eNc2QmflaGwsBTrlGx7z3WNbWsH98J_V_FOBE14JZCj_8JbK35Ao4uI_Z1puEHnbQrMCBPKiZfA/s1600/suck+it+cancer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxDdEorxh09CM2ov5QtW0F_qiA6n3bS77NwYPQj4-qISz7U8nq62ksRW8mN9qwF8eNc2QmflaGwsBTrlGx7z3WNbWsH98J_V_FOBE14JZCj_8JbK35Ao4uI_Z1puEHnbQrMCBPKiZfA/s200/suck+it+cancer.jpg" width="200" /></a>Well, my girls and I decided to do a team triathlon in June. Our first time. We were clueless. We weren't well trained. But, we were determined. We had a little bit of inspiration on our team. So what if my swimming wasn't where it needed to be. If someone can be in the midst of chemo and kick ass, I can surely give it my all. We had a blast. We didn't do so badly, rookie mistakes and all. I was third out of the water for the relay teams. Only behind the leader (10 years my junior by the way) by 18 seconds. Errgh. We finished 7 out of 58 teams. Pretty proud of that. Oh, but, we will be top three next year. For sure. Perhaps we may even win. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgwYcLNXNWwULljQRkOGW74pS5kNom6-zO5_q9g5l5D4tEAFZlD8FYvPLRVyiLKE5LO6uaMiNwR5pZjoYK3sPKAPVRV8M9MeyLzb9yD3I7CAnPrcHEIOWEIxgKm_oGMZT01JSeNiAzg/s1600/pool+edge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgwYcLNXNWwULljQRkOGW74pS5kNom6-zO5_q9g5l5D4tEAFZlD8FYvPLRVyiLKE5LO6uaMiNwR5pZjoYK3sPKAPVRV8M9MeyLzb9yD3I7CAnPrcHEIOWEIxgKm_oGMZT01JSeNiAzg/s200/pool+edge.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
So, the rest of the summer I swam. I loved it. Outside. Warm sun on my back. Clear waters. It's where I am at my most peaceful. It's where I don't break. I swam longer. And <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/17593008" target="_blank"> faster</a>. I did a <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/17703343" target="_blank">four mile swim.</a> I got a great tan. Mmm'kay? I was sad to see it end. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGcHE4WLvY2Se4v3A-haKUxgS4sAq0RxuJPoogkLgh6OsgkEs3jYINVrGmlv-WxuCCOXfD3eveaBnhhlsXCW2kCN9xHTVny-RULGYCE1Q8_b8Q_MHreVf60S-EiqNOJRCehwCeUOreA/s1600/DES+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGcHE4WLvY2Se4v3A-haKUxgS4sAq0RxuJPoogkLgh6OsgkEs3jYINVrGmlv-WxuCCOXfD3eveaBnhhlsXCW2kCN9xHTVny-RULGYCE1Q8_b8Q_MHreVf60S-EiqNOJRCehwCeUOreA/s1600/DES+start.jpg" /></a>I cheered at Shamrock Shuffle. I cheered at Chicago Rock n Roll. I went to the Fox Valley Marathon (Half & 20 miler) I got there before sunrise and chalked up the running path for my friends. I #DoEpicShit cheered every single person that started this race. I had a blast. I loved seeing my friends. I loved running (painfully) with them for a few feet, screaming in their ear. I got mad love back from the race on their facebook site. That was sweet.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I went to the <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2012/10/chicago-marathon-dns-deux.html" target="_blank">Chicago Marathon</a> and cheered. For the third year in a row, I cheered. For the second year in a row I was registered and DNS due to injury. So, yes, once again, there I was on the sidelines. Cheering. This year was different. I was a bit more sad this time around. Sigh. I saw lots of my usual racing suspects, which was nice. I also had the pleasure of cheering on some first time finishers. The highlight for me was running with them for a bit at about mile 21. Whispering a few words of encouragement in their ears as they struggled those last miles. Then, I went home. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shortly after Chicago Marathon, I started my return to running. Baby steps. Literally. Half mile runs. They were tough. Building slowly. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then life shit happened. I hid a bit. Because I needed to. But, I continued to run. Progressing. I was feeling good enough that on a whim (and fueled by wine) I signed up for a January half marathon. What?!?!? Am, I insane? No, just<i> stoopid</i>. I think we've established that already. So, I quietly did my own training. It's probably not what I should be doing according to some well trained expert. But, it's what works for me with my work schedule and my life. I ran a 4 mile intensely hilly Turkey Trot. I did not die. It was close, but I did not die. I ran a cold and rainy December 5k trail race. It was delightful. I continued to run. I never got fast. But, I get faster than when I started. I went long. Not super long. But, long for me. I ended the year with two 10 mile runs. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me. The always broken girl. Two 10 mile runs. Even surprised me. Sure, that last one broke me again. Still not able to walk right now. I have a lovely shuffle/limp to keep me upright and moving forward, trying to keep the intense pain to a minimum. Hoping the pain goes away all together. Soon. </div>
<br />
So apropos to end 2012 on an injury again. It just wouldn't be right if I didn't, right?<br />
<br />
Ah, but I did end the year today with a quick mile swim. A swim to always calm the chaos. <br />
<br />
So goodbye 2012. I'm done with you. You surely knocked me down. A lot. But,<i> stoopid</i> me, I kept coming back. <br />
<br />
Like a bad penny. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NTE4lzeBUNI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-1112558215432959832012-12-28T23:26:00.000-06:002012-12-29T22:29:09.683-06:00Ramble On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6vNGAn1Kd7txkvpZqr4xVBl0RzEj63i7jdDzmcGQYHojeU-D5YoK6CTzrVb45rhWnptfXHPopPDSAUfyEwXgmg379gKlgd5JD-nI1ndXSgc_VI5EjDUEozj3YFe79v-tRC-JTH7Adw/s1600/forest+gump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6vNGAn1Kd7txkvpZqr4xVBl0RzEj63i7jdDzmcGQYHojeU-D5YoK6CTzrVb45rhWnptfXHPopPDSAUfyEwXgmg379gKlgd5JD-nI1ndXSgc_VI5EjDUEozj3YFe79v-tRC-JTH7Adw/s320/forest+gump.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, yeah....... I've been quiet for a bit.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I was injured I spent my time following everyone else's workouts, progress, races. I enjoyed following everyone's journey. I rambled on. Had fun. Made new friends. Got close to old friends. I also lost a few. Circumstances. Life. It made me realize I depend on people too much. While many people in life depend way too much on me, I expect others to be there for me. However, in the end, when it matters most, nobody is there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Through the last year everyone has been unbelievably supportive to me. They listened to me bitch. Tried to hold my hand when I cried with frustration at being injured yet once again. Virtual hugs abound when, once again I could not try to run Chicago.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I went through some tough life shit recently. Still am. Had some days when all I wanted was for one of my many many friends to be there for me. To notice I needed help. Needed a shoulder. An ear. A hug. But, nobody was there. It made me realize that although I am lucky to consider so many people I know virtually to be close dear friends, in the end they cannot be there for me when I need them. Are not there for me when I need them. They have their lives. Their shit. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, when I was ready to start out on my journey once again, instead of depending on the wonderful support of others, I walked away. It was easier to be alone at the start than to have company and expect it to stay, only to be disappointed in the end. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I was ready to start out again, I wanted nobody around me. I'm not quite sure why. Because if nobody knew what I was doing then when I would inevitably break once again (because I will) I won't have to not only disappoint me, but those who support me? Maybe.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Or maybe because I wanted to do this on my own. With out the rah, rah, rahs. Without the "you're amazing"'s. (I'm not) Oh, don't get me wrong, I like those. I need those. But, I ultimately need to do this for me. By me. For me. Me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, I ran. Some were good. Some were downright awful. But, I ran. I ran into double digits.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now I sit here with ice on my foot. Unable to walk due to the foot pain from today's 10.4 mile run.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm not sure if it's just some cramping. Or something worse.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sigh.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/a3HemKGDavw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-59235930567934773882012-12-05T21:36:00.001-06:002012-12-05T21:36:06.499-06:00Tap, tap, tap....Is this thing on? <br />
<br />
Is there anybody there?<br />
<br />
Is there anybody REALLY there?<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm here. Doing it on my own. Or trying to anyway.<br />
<br />
8 miles today. Yes, me. 8 miles.<br />
<br />
Turning the tide.<br />
<br />
Carry on.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/uiCPqBfuWRM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-54382921129440729782012-10-19T15:06:00.000-05:002012-10-24T23:17:55.208-05:00Take what I can and run with it. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgms18GcSV5nr2pvQmaAkxc3dZaHS-U0ZRAEi7pIs9WISedmjYQ0xZ4JHrUuaAE6mVZd8gwyDHydn0ZIZDsxZONixLuhpF0UbSQ3ty6u7VMoU8gBu-ON0ramlxh187_oYvdZIMJnYiw/s1600/take+what+you+need.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgms18GcSV5nr2pvQmaAkxc3dZaHS-U0ZRAEi7pIs9WISedmjYQ0xZ4JHrUuaAE6mVZd8gwyDHydn0ZIZDsxZONixLuhpF0UbSQ3ty6u7VMoU8gBu-ON0ramlxh187_oYvdZIMJnYiw/s200/take+what+you+need.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday as I was leaving work I had a few last chats with Lisa, my co-worker/ex running partner/friend. She had asked me to switch Saturday work with her so she could get her 20 mile run done. Of course. She is running the New York Marathon in two weeks. Her third marathon (she ran Chicago twice). We talked about where she planned to run that morning. I suggested a few options, basically my entire biking route is 20 miles. I told her I would meet up with her on the way to work and bring her fuel, food, etc., as the trail IS on my way to work. We talked about the options and made some very loose plans on me doing just this. As I was about to leave our boss turned to me and yelled, "That's the world's best cheerleader!!!" </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I smiled and walked out. Then paused outside for a bit. Got a bit sad. I know what she said was a nice compliment. Said with complete kindness. It was taken as such. But.....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been in a post Chicago Marathon funk. Yes, I realize I did not run the marathon (I'm CLEARLY aware of this fact). I know several of my friends who did run it are in a bit of a funk too. But, they RAN this marathon. I just screamed from the sidelines. However, yes, I too am in a funk. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know people see me as a great cheerleader. As a motivator (not sure why). A good friend. I might be those things. However, as I've been reminded of lately, I tend to give too much of myself. I give so much to others that I fail to give anything to myself. Ever. I'm okay with that. Or I guess I was. I don't know. It's just what I'm used to. I kind of don't think I deserve to give to myself I guess. What for? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Don't get me wrong. I adore all the people in my life. Adore. However, sometimes I feel as if I have just one too many people depending on me. Even if it's just for me to tell them things are going to be ok. Sometimes I get emotionally exhausted. Sometimes I need people to lift ME up. I feel sorry for those that end up with that task. They certainly don't deserve it. But, I thank them for it. It matters. They matter. They know who they are. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some people in my life have been a bit more insistent lately that I need to give less to others, take more for me. So, I've been trying. I'm trying to get back out on my feet. Trying to run. Bike. Swim. Move. Turn my phone off. Tune people out. Do nothing. Do something. For me. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7oJ8NAFQX8ipuBs3ZUegOvnTcY6mOEd0EQNdh2tyMoCBepeu5BI454xrcY3ezPRMDVuwl3yujlOo-m-DIvXxsKwgDlWnE0oW1CpIrV73rB9bNQqZGx7_zkhKjLLwS84V_BK9mURJmw/s1600/haley.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih7oJ8NAFQX8ipuBs3ZUegOvnTcY6mOEd0EQNdh2tyMoCBepeu5BI454xrcY3ezPRMDVuwl3yujlOo-m-DIvXxsKwgDlWnE0oW1CpIrV73rB9bNQqZGx7_zkhKjLLwS84V_BK9mURJmw/s200/haley.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The last three nights I've lounged on the couch and did nothing but watch t.v. This may sound strange, but I haven't done that in.... well, I cannot remember the last time. I'm either meeting someone, or chatting with someone, or doing something for someone. In fact I did get a text while on the couch, asking to meet me for a drink. An old friend who has been trying to meet up with me for months. Each time he got me I was literally in the middle of a run or ride. It was kind of funny. This time I was on the couch. Yet, I replied, "Can't tonight. Busy. Raincheck?" I was busy doing nothing. It felt good. </div>
<br />
Haley crawls all over me. Bites the heck out of me. We run circles outside. She runs away. I chase her down the street in a shortie robe and no shoes. Good times. All good.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, "World's Best Cheerleader"? Huh. Well, gee, thanks. But, I don't want to be that. I don't want to be <i>just </i>that. I don't want to just be giving all that I have to everyone else. I want to give to me too. I want to run. I want to be epic. I want someone else lifting me up besides myself. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, pardon me if I don't post as many comments on your epicness anymore (I know some of you are saying, "Uh, you never post comments on mine." Uh, sorry. LOL) Sorry if I don't reply to your texts asap. Sorry if I am not standing at your next race cheering you on. I, perhaps, will be attempting to do it myself. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm going to lounge on the couch more. I'm going to finally watch an episode of Honey Boo Boo (no joke, never seen it). I'm going to learn some Gangnam style. (again, never seen it - til just now). I'm going to throw /give away tons of my clothes. I'm not sure what I was saving them for. However, I'm quickly creeping towards fitting back into them. I don't want to fit back into them. They need to go away. Forever. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm going to run. Or try to. It's still a struggle. It still hurts. New things hurt. But, I'm trying. I'm doing the exercises I'm supposed to do. They are helping. I'm going to try to swim more. The indoor pool is hard on my lungs. I think I'm going to try for an inhaler to help with that. But, I'll keep swimming no matter what. I'm going to bike as long as the weather allows. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-eE1F868wDyILwZuHwm07jItnbRT2w39iX2AQ9BsfhIrQfRyC5rNrkZmCRHEvhAojuFy1w8FwjD3cg8WsVHzCiQ5N2qUwAX4uxRkKi0oRIR-ux_ab6qdZsT-VLl1bMjl_L2BEnYM8A/s1600/spoonful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-eE1F868wDyILwZuHwm07jItnbRT2w39iX2AQ9BsfhIrQfRyC5rNrkZmCRHEvhAojuFy1w8FwjD3cg8WsVHzCiQ5N2qUwAX4uxRkKi0oRIR-ux_ab6qdZsT-VLl1bMjl_L2BEnYM8A/s200/spoonful.jpg" width="165" /></a>I'm going to finish my friend's book he wrote and gave to me in February. Chris and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We swam together. We weren't really friends. Acquaintances perhaps. We reconnected on Facebook two years ago. Somehow started chatting about what we had been up to in our lives since high school. Somewhere along the way I became a cheerleader for his book release. He also became a good source of encouragement for my running. I don't chat with him much. But, when I do, he always asks about my running. Or my injury. Either way he offers encouragement. He sent me a signed copy of his book before the release date. I read half. Then stopped. Not because it wasn't good. It was very good. I just stopped doing things for me. I opened up the book the other day. I re-read the inscription: "Andrea, great to reconnect on FB! Enjoy the read. - Chris. P.S. Good luck with that Chi Marathon race." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I guess sometimes I forget people are cheering for me too. I thank you. A lot. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, first..... I need to figure out where I'm meeting Lisa on her 20 mile run tomorrow on my way to work. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know, I know. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I can't quit entirely. It's <i>part</i> who I am. However, not<i> totally</i> who I am. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bdgHuYFndW0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-87398206575760161202012-10-11T10:05:00.000-05:002012-10-11T10:05:12.063-05:00Chicago Marathon, DNS deux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">Second year in a row I DNS the Chicago Marathon. Super.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">For those that don't know >>> I sign up. I get injured. I whine. I don't run it. I cheer. I go home. Lather, rinse, repeat. </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I woke up at three a.m. Not sure why. But, I did. My friend Lee heard me up. She came into the room and said, "I'm not going to run. I don't feel well." I said, "Ok. Are you sure?" She said, "Yes." Then she went back to bed. Five minutes later I crawled in bed with her and she said, "Sorry, I just don't feel like doing it". I told her no need to apologize to me. But, I asked if she wanted to wait until I got up later that morning to really decide. She said she would feel the same in an hour. I clued her in that it was only three a.m. She laughed. She thought it was 6:30 and I was up to go cheer. Lee had also signed up for Chicago. We planned to both do this. She ended up not training. So, she had planned to only run the first 8 miles. The start back to her home. However, a funny thing happened on the way to the Marathon. The night before we were out watching the Notre Dame - Miami football game from Soldier Field. We may or may not have been over served. And, by over served I mean the bartender adored us and made us some very yummy complimentary shots that were clearly not necessary each time he gave them to us. But, being ladies and not wanting to be rude..... Well, ya know. </div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoC590r9lOgFzz49jdaaBmIT2f4ofpvXQirCTHKa3o4RCT1aWXk9B-hCHH1nEsAbg80MpWIQvYVj1LGnX_0lxqmFl0gIYlRwZ0NSAYkg4H2953KBXy3WdaMegwy_8kIudN1VwOuGzeg/s1600/IMG00696-20121007-0734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoC590r9lOgFzz49jdaaBmIT2f4ofpvXQirCTHKa3o4RCT1aWXk9B-hCHH1nEsAbg80MpWIQvYVj1LGnX_0lxqmFl0gIYlRwZ0NSAYkg4H2953KBXy3WdaMegwy_8kIudN1VwOuGzeg/s320/IMG00696-20121007-0734.jpg" width="172" /></a>So, Lee was out. I checked Twitter and giggled at the tweets I saw coming over from racers not able to sleep. I know those nights. A few hours later these tweets turned into pictures of themselves in their race outfits, ready to run a marathon. I got excited. Marathon race morning, baby! I got dressed in my DES gear, texted Claire. She asked how bundled up I was. Bundled up? I was wearing running shorts, DES tee and a light running jacket. She had fleece lined running tights and lots more on. I made her disrobe a bit. Mid 40's? We would be fine. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was perfect marathon running weather. A gorgeous fall Chicago day. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I headed out the door down the half block to mile 8 to get coffee. People were already lining the streets of Boystown. Helicopters were flying overhead. It was coming. The marathon was coming. </div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once again, my dear <a href="http://rfgr26.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Claire </a> and I were <b>Do Epic Shit</b> cheerleading. For those new to to me the cliff notes version of Claire and me (because people ask me) is that we met randomly at an internet fun run on July 4, 2011. We didn't chat much that night. However, we ran into each other again at medal engraving a few months later for RnR Chicago. We had a very intense talk about life. About us. About running. About where we were and where we were going. We talked about our running peeps. You know, the people who get us through each and every day. I had my Daily Mile peeps. She had her Tumblr peeps. We discovered we were alumnae of the same college (me much, much, much earlier than she). Somehow I told her about the Do Epic Shit shirt I had procured earlier that day. She wanted one. I told her that she would have to EARN one. First of all change that "old Claire" facebook photo to a new "Rockin" Claire profile pic. THEN, PR her next half marathon. She changed the pic. Then I epic cheered her (taunted) her at her next half, wearing the shirt and yelling at her along the course. After her PR, I took off the sweaty shirt and bequeathed it to her. She went on the DES cheer and various race around the country when she was on injured reserve. (She is chronically injured like me, sadly) She got quite internet famous doing so. Rightly deserved. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPnlGeP-zXhexsIDvL20SKCHAvu3JWUdrngMc0XshHyB59u9sUsaW-10fdZnl5G-5RzEUyFblIp2rupsGBlC16SlsjkIrGQSPH3QeuQaci0HcpiuUdPCMVlT1W9sa_M_1nN3lrbfuqg/s1600/285094_10151075818723202_770181087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPnlGeP-zXhexsIDvL20SKCHAvu3JWUdrngMc0XshHyB59u9sUsaW-10fdZnl5G-5RzEUyFblIp2rupsGBlC16SlsjkIrGQSPH3QeuQaci0HcpiuUdPCMVlT1W9sa_M_1nN3lrbfuqg/s200/285094_10151075818723202_770181087_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz1plN9jCPdYBpZCIyCv-Tf3PgUV1fqosgnEuEWbPHGOrqqm1ZGElnRiV5DayxqDvnnyHfWeFFaBT4E15xkXtHzfKRnYUfmiVEUrKQUJ1At5a7sDj-bTtWg0u_g2D9woxbpSV2ZSnjg/s1600/IMG_4397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKz1plN9jCPdYBpZCIyCv-Tf3PgUV1fqosgnEuEWbPHGOrqqm1ZGElnRiV5DayxqDvnnyHfWeFFaBT4E15xkXtHzfKRnYUfmiVEUrKQUJ1At5a7sDj-bTtWg0u_g2D9woxbpSV2ZSnjg/s200/IMG_4397.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUMUBxbYfymxxbVwbws0DpoINCKbasazhi1yp5ALKaAU_voE1suQ-WM2aLvfXxYcD8jMy5IC57ah_8wMpsGz_84_wkqNFB1GOdE1Vvu29gAKhcO8OtbfqzsbqI6CLCF1OmLNi-9IsZg/s1600/IMG_4364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUMUBxbYfymxxbVwbws0DpoINCKbasazhi1yp5ALKaAU_voE1suQ-WM2aLvfXxYcD8jMy5IC57ah_8wMpsGz_84_wkqNFB1GOdE1Vvu29gAKhcO8OtbfqzsbqI6CLCF1OmLNi-9IsZg/s200/IMG_4364.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The leaders</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Claire is an amazing cheerleader. She makes me look like a mime next to her. She yells the most hilarious things. She has great one liners. She heckles the runners. She over compliments them and makes them giggle and blush. Eventually I just started stealing her lines. Ha. Seriously, if you haven't cheered NON-STOP for 5 hours you have NO idea how hard this actually is. The stream or runners never stops. You are on constantly. You don't want to miss any group. So, you keep yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling. Don't even get me started at how tired your arms and shoulders get. I'm not kidding. And, my voice? Fuggedaboudit. Brenda Vaccaro seks line worthy today.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD63AMqFv2o8bdtrimu6gA9qMuIwKxdwk0QoaSXe5UVkY13_ha9yKJnLQUS-shN6u1zF1hCR4fbZyI0NSR3X3sA-8a9Usv6C3h8LZ_0SvULHqDNKv0BWQczyMce-ORSJD_G3-cbHklYQ/s1600/IMG_4360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD63AMqFv2o8bdtrimu6gA9qMuIwKxdwk0QoaSXe5UVkY13_ha9yKJnLQUS-shN6u1zF1hCR4fbZyI0NSR3X3sA-8a9Usv6C3h8LZ_0SvULHqDNKv0BWQczyMce-ORSJD_G3-cbHklYQ/s200/IMG_4360.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boystown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtG65oL2wRqg05RelfmuVitI7he3SWjMjvlmALFX-Wqqyqy47xGG_Lbz_MZJhoUg2hVPT9YzWXtVZOB6ldTSeNQYlmfvciQgGcmQWk-5LUMbC_XSfTFtgd91NuiYEq2QBWy2Q1hS4smA/s1600/IMG_4359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtG65oL2wRqg05RelfmuVitI7he3SWjMjvlmALFX-Wqqyqy47xGG_Lbz_MZJhoUg2hVPT9YzWXtVZOB6ldTSeNQYlmfvciQgGcmQWk-5LUMbC_XSfTFtgd91NuiYEq2QBWy2Q1hS4smA/s200/IMG_4359.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porta John alertn level low @ mile 8. <br />
Well, @ 7:30am anyway. ;)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We set up shop to start at around mile 7.5 mile-ish. Just before the fun of Boystown. Last year this spot wasn't too crowded. I was able to walk in the street a bit and scream. This year we were a bit smooshed. Even with Claire and I being tall and towering over most everyone else (FYI, do NOT stand behind two tall woman holding and waving signs and then complain you can't see. I will tell you to bite me) it was hard to get our signs waving into the street. But, soon... they started to see us. "They" being one of the many runners either Claire of I, or both, knew. She with her Tumblr peeps. Me with my Daily Mile peeps. I "knew" some of her Tumblr peeps too, but not as well.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let me say this... having people dart out of a crowd to you and stand before you for 2 seconds while you try to process some name-face recognition while also giving them some words of encouragement is REALLY hard. Seriously. I try to first get the name right (harder than you think). Then I usually go for the quick high five or hug if I can. Then some good words for them to take on their way. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://seechrisrun.tumblr.com/post/33125060193/chicago-marathon" target="_blank">Chris</a> came flying by first. I do not know Chris. Claire knows Chris. Chris saw me at Fox Valley Marathon cheering. We mutually followed each other on Tumblr after that. He said he promised to say hi to Claire and me along the route. I said, sure, a hello, high five, fist bump, ass slap, whatever. All of a sudden out of the crowd of runners there stood Chris in front of us. He hugged Claire. Without a word spoken to me, I turned around, he slapped my ass. Then ran off. It just seemed so very right. And, made me snort with giggles. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, so it begins. Bring it. </div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/KellyD224/entries/18454405" target="_blank">Kelly</a> came by with a kick ass smile and strong high five. I saw <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/BrianAdkins1/entries/18470082" target="_blank">Brian</a> coming up way down the street. I stepped into the street and yelled "BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAN Whoooooooo!" at the top of my lungs. Got a hug, sent him on his way. <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/jeff/entries/18451993" target="_blank"> Jeff </a>zoomed by, said hi. <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/MaryJoP/entries/18450738" target="_blank">Maryjo</a> literally zigzagged across the crowd and flew by with a wave. It was almost like she was floating. <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/DavidF23/entries/18458131" target="_blank">David </a>swooped by and smiled and said hello. Then, smiling a huge grin and seemingly skipping through the crowd came<a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/Orangerunner/entries/18444570" target="_blank"> Ben.</a> Wtf?!?!? Ben had been injured with a stress fracture most of the summer. He was in the same, "I signed up for Chicago Marathon but was injured and couldn't run" boat. I literally yelled at him, "What are you doing? What are you doing?' His reply, "I'm ruuuuuunning!!!!!" Yes, you were, Ben. Yes, you were. <a href="http://chellesjourneys.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Michelle</a> and her sister <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/bobbiruns/entries/18463939" target="_blank">Bobbi</a>, yes! Oh, lookie there, it's <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/swim_bike_RUN/entries/18463467" target="_blank">Ashleigh</a>. I had no clue she was running CM. Oh, wait, she wasn't. She was pacing some of her peeps 25 miles! She never ceases to amaze me. I believe I may have even seen her pirouette. . Many more Daily Milers came by. Some I had never met before. So, it was fun to get a shout out from them.</div>
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We eventually had to leave and get to out next intended spot, Mile 20ish. However, leaving the runners mid cheer is hard. We feel like shit. Like walking out before the play is over. We had to do it skillfully. First the signs came down. We kept cheering. Then, Claire stepped back. Then, I stepped back. Then we were off. Signs in hand. Claire ordering me to run. Then asking me if I <i>could</i> run. Yes, Claire, I will run. It doesn't matter if I <i>can</i>. I will. So, off the few blocks to the El. Half way there Claire yells back to me, "<i>Hey, remember when we weren't injured, when we were skinny and ran fast?</i>" (as in a year or so ago) Ugh. Sigh. Ugh. I believe I said, "No, I don't. It seems like forever ago" She said, "I do. I was looking at pictures from last year. I remember" I think I try to forget. It's too painful for me to look back at how great it was. How great I felt. How great I looked. It feels like another lifetime ago for me now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">PLEASE NOTE>>>>>> This might be a good time to refuel. Take a gell cap. Hydrate. Do some stretches. You are only half way through my recap. </span></b></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz1thy5uqYOrPYk9kyOoYDq1i7DhRDKZuBQgIgtSjohP2_VMAijJ9VrPt9ebSQRwVSQFNIT36BrL5nDuIxJNYzaBWQthrUZdS9dPVlsZmK3n8ciGfzwQWbWwDr_ICrspLA72F2flHLg/s1600/IMG_4369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz1thy5uqYOrPYk9kyOoYDq1i7DhRDKZuBQgIgtSjohP2_VMAijJ9VrPt9ebSQRwVSQFNIT36BrL5nDuIxJNYzaBWQthrUZdS9dPVlsZmK3n8ciGfzwQWbWwDr_ICrspLA72F2flHLg/s200/IMG_4369.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">running into Chinatown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-EgYOHtqXqmMKneFmeOHn5gO9WQH-TwUUQPLNP6hRb8aCXdFF3p2Pc8LTN0syEu1DuysitIN_e7rV7-0qWAsjYZ1NsKLirjlE8HuGP0szBwlNJzP0lC3xdX4BHDhKQgEJ4EUUsTpjw/s1600/IMG_4368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-EgYOHtqXqmMKneFmeOHn5gO9WQH-TwUUQPLNP6hRb8aCXdFF3p2Pc8LTN0syEu1DuysitIN_e7rV7-0qWAsjYZ1NsKLirjlE8HuGP0szBwlNJzP0lC3xdX4BHDhKQgEJ4EUUsTpjw/s200/IMG_4368.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next stop China Town. I had never been here for the marathon, but heard it was a great place for the race. Indeed it was. It was loud. The music was loud. The cheering was loud. It looked like fun. Immediately, Claire and I decided it was NOT the place for us. We needed desolate. We needed space. We needed a place where the runners needed US. So, we ran about 3/4 miles away (<i>Andrea, you doing ok? You want to walk? Can you still run? You think you can make it? Yes, Claire, keep going. I will make it. I will)</i>. We ended up in a more industrial area. Not very pretty. Not too many people cheering. Plenty of room for the Do Epic Shit show. Perfect.</div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcMaBt81K0U6TXlCq_CTA9wWOmbGHw7yGMI_zAQZTx2Q8xPnrS2FSuEviHcP3BOicC3pBmEiTVi-NyuidMq4jFzw4LsTcq-4B15IpIteRaIMpEuJe-9277LQh6tbZ3DEfgEu52-eA1A/s1600/IMG_4372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcMaBt81K0U6TXlCq_CTA9wWOmbGHw7yGMI_zAQZTx2Q8xPnrS2FSuEviHcP3BOicC3pBmEiTVi-NyuidMq4jFzw4LsTcq-4B15IpIteRaIMpEuJe-9277LQh6tbZ3DEfgEu52-eA1A/s200/IMG_4372.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The internet in a tutu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We missed many of the fast runners were had seen early on in Boystown. They were either done or almost done. But, we were here to catch the majority of our other runners. Lots of the Tumblr peeps came by. I recognized many of them, but few knew who I was. Claire was there to give the hugs and the encouragement, the motivation. I did get a few <a href="http://ashamedtosay.tumblr.com/post/33172706319/the-wheels-on-the-bus-go-round-and-round#notes" target="_blank">kick ass hugs</a> and was able to give my own words to some. I was able to see Tumblr <a href="http://davidsgoals.tumblr.com/post/33270357822/chicago-recap-aka-things-i-learned-on-the-way-to" target="_blank">David </a> twice. It was nice to meet him. We even wonder twinned powered our #DoEpicShit bands. I want to think that gave him a bit more energy. </div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-P-bMfomxYQoav6fTGTy99eilV7cPG9hCtA2Dk62f6qxiDof_tzcRPHzGCLiuxVnNCS5UethZ-KgI0TLFHr-BwMwdxY7hyDJch03zWtPLfUyiU8j_Q6Fn0wOudYktsY9oWO1tb2wNQ/s1600/IMG_4375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-P-bMfomxYQoav6fTGTy99eilV7cPG9hCtA2Dk62f6qxiDof_tzcRPHzGCLiuxVnNCS5UethZ-KgI0TLFHr-BwMwdxY7hyDJch03zWtPLfUyiU8j_Q6Fn0wOudYktsY9oWO1tb2wNQ/s200/IMG_4375.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michelle & dad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I saw a few Daily Milers here. All of a sudden Jeff was standing in front of me. Just standing. Arms at his side. With a look. Not a good look. I asked what was wrong. He said, "Everything". Ugh. I gave him a hug. He held on for dear life. I SO wanted to fix him. Badly. I told him he could do this. One more hug. Then I sent him back out. If I could have I would have put him on my back and carried him. <a href="http://lifesgood4.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Michelle M. </a>was suddenly in my eyesight. I hadn't seen her yet in the race. How did I miss her the first time? Huh. Was I asleep? But, <i>thankfully</i>, I did catch her this time. I gave her a huge hug, then watched her run off, with her dad - who surprised her at mile one - running by her side. (How kewl is that?) Then, I threw down my sign and ran after her. To chat a bit. Run a bit. Tell her she was kicking ass. To tell her she WOULD finish her first marathon. It was within reach. Finally. (Goose)</div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQfXJeT4fuYreo73fvnQSmzUybruoB5wUoSMO3sO09lGLwto8tioZFsVamLgLJ1EXvJ6Mp24fsLgXmLWtHTArpQ7PkFzlhlykXPevjtCV-I3Bac6Ij2yVlO2EmJ1N_ABA64GMwgL01A/s1600/IRC+idiot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQfXJeT4fuYreo73fvnQSmzUybruoB5wUoSMO3sO09lGLwto8tioZFsVamLgLJ1EXvJ6Mp24fsLgXmLWtHTArpQ7PkFzlhlykXPevjtCV-I3Bac6Ij2yVlO2EmJ1N_ABA64GMwgL01A/s200/IRC+idiot.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Idiot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
An idiot came by. A real<a href="http://idiotsrunningclub.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Idiot's Running Club</a> idiot. Dressed in idiot gear and all. I had my IRC sign ready for him. I had seen him at mile 7.5, but couldn't get my sign out in time. This time I waved it in his face. He was hurting a bit. Didn't look too happy. But, Claire and I screamed. "IDIOT!!!! Idiot's Running Club!!!! IRC BABY! Go Idiot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He laughed continued on. Once again I dropped my sign. I ran after him. I yelled shit in his ear. Then I turned around and took his picture. Hey, it's what any good IRC Princess would do after all.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At this point, Claire had left me. These Tumblr kids, and I call them kids because I'm an old fuddy duddy fart compared to them, were <i>amazing</i>. The ones not running (and there were a good lot) made sure they had lined the worst part of the marathon - miles 18 to the finish. They were all over the place. Jumping in to run with someone when needed. People needed it. One of Claire's Tumblr peeps, <a href="http://mr-smit.com/post/33327806638/the-only-time-i-wanted-to-quit-the-chicago-marathon-was" target="_blank">Smitty</a>, (<<<read this. now.) came up. Claire realized he was running dangerously close to missing his 5:00 finish time goal at his current pace. She thew down her sign and was off. To get him to that finish ( He made it by 2, yes 2, seconds. Thanks mostly to Claire's encouragement, pacing, motivation, and really.... orders. ) I was then cheering with <a href="http://jbizzle329.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">JBizzle</a> and <a href="http://lostweightgainedlove.tumblr.com/post/33299117066/i-just-blew-in-from-the-windy-city-the-windy-city#notes" target="_blank">KC</a>. They had just run a few miles with someone and stopped here and waited for more runners.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBfnsd_PSzNpCdQuS8AbOua7nDNJCe8sUQOnDXgFKA-wVniHJKO2kFcX19tqdnSohgGWWEX3galiWQI_jX499_iFp77oeLOo7Dcyln4Zkw5B6w0S7BHTGegB_q7tsq4DEfAFZLtdW0A/s1600/IMG_4376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBfnsd_PSzNpCdQuS8AbOua7nDNJCe8sUQOnDXgFKA-wVniHJKO2kFcX19tqdnSohgGWWEX3galiWQI_jX499_iFp77oeLOo7Dcyln4Zkw5B6w0S7BHTGegB_q7tsq4DEfAFZLtdW0A/s200/IMG_4376.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobbi & Michelle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was still waiting for Michelle and Bobbi. Michelle was fighting some serious pain in the last two weeks. I was worried about her. I knew this would be at tough day for her. But, she had her sister by her side. How amazing was that? Pretty. So, there they were smiling and running toward me. I could tell Chelle was hurting. A lot. It broke my heart to see her in so much pain. But, she was moving. Forward. She was fighting with everything she had. I gave her a hug and she whispered to me that she was in a lot of pain. I tried to say something encouraging. Then she and Bobbi ran off. Again, I threw down my sign and ran off to catch them. I caught up to Chelle and told her that she had already ran further than she had ever run. That I knew she was in pain, but she COULD do this. She WAS doing this. I eventually had to leave her. She was in good hands with Bobbi. However, I wanted to run her the rest of the way in to the finish. It's my one regret. I wish I had. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I saw most of my peeps. Sadly, however, there were a few I never saw. (Insert sad face here). I was exactly in the spots I said I would be. However, crowds get thick. Minds wander. Things happen. I feel badly I wasn't able to cheer some of those people on. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
JBizzle, KC and I then went back through the race. Walking against the stream of runners. Back a few miles to find a missing friend they left behind. As we ran we waved our signs, yelled out a few things at the racers. Then we came upon a runner down. Medical crew working on him. The water station crew had formed a human wall between him and the other racers, so they hopefully didn't see what was going on. We, however, did. They were giving him some serious medical attention. Some very scary medical attention. I thought back to the man that died feet from last year's finish line. My heart sank. Shit just got very real. We walked in silence for a bit. Eventually, I think I said, "Whoa. That was scary" Then, as if we just had to... we started cheering again. For those still in it. These racers were the back of the pack. The last people running. The real heroes in my opinion. Still moving. Forward. </div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
This area was even worse than where we had come from. Dark and dingy. I'm still not sure where it was coming from, but come it did. It was the theme for Hawaii Five-O. I know, wtf. All of a sudden, as if in a very Footloose moment, I started to dance. I don't know what got into me. But, all of a sudden I found myself literally surfing, arms stretched out waving up and down, through the runners. JBizzle and KC also were surfing. Runners smiled. Giggled. Some surfed with us . </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/hwhvByj8YG8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/KDFDLCd5IOg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.Next song was "Shake a Tailfeather". Once again, without speaking the three of us danced randomly. Holding our signs, dancing fools. (Almost reminiscent of the Blues Brothers scene. ha) Runners came over the bridge and giggled. One guy ran by me and smirked. Then he stopped, came back, and started twisting with me. Then started butt bumping twisting with me. I gladly obliged. Yes, I butt bumped a strange man in the middle of a marathon. It just seemed so very right. .</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_ixInILgC20OtJ9G5WtbqJXBmTql0F-8-HHsj5SYFcokmyfUB_LJGJkTZNaF2B-OXcFbUfRWWd1l-bIkFngmUHoOa355Iwe8yPNCAS2bzR4gU7jYMQVzcovBKOPF906cNHn7Q15vsQ/s1600/IMG_4377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_ixInILgC20OtJ9G5WtbqJXBmTql0F-8-HHsj5SYFcokmyfUB_LJGJkTZNaF2B-OXcFbUfRWWd1l-bIkFngmUHoOa355Iwe8yPNCAS2bzR4gU7jYMQVzcovBKOPF906cNHn7Q15vsQ/s200/IMG_4377.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
We then made it to literally the end of the race, as in the sweeper finish car. Stay in front of this car and you officially finish. Fall behind and you just do it for your own pride. No medal. No name in the paper. These people here were the epic ones. Not giving up. No way. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We then headed for the L. We were going to hit the finish and post finish area. I decided I wasn't going. I hadn't seen either the start or finish of this year's race. I was kind of a bit melancholy about being at the finish this year. Last year I saw many of my friends finish. It was emotional for me. In a good way. I was happy for them. This year I wouldn't be there to see anyone finish. Just where I ended up logistically at the mile markers made it impossible to beat them to the finish. But, more, I think I didn't want to see them post race. Not that I wasn't happy for them. I was over the moon happy for them. But, at the same time I was getting a bit sad. Sad that I couldn't be that too. At this point I just wanted to go home. I wanted to be done with the marathon. I was tired. Very tired. I needed quiet time. With just me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHHPuaLLRqys1df7R3GKEyzYBpnsXiMDdeEfEBxj6HoLUhrBkQe0_w1eB6jiByrMKJzGlOOgH6aEfQAXNs6dWeRSE3fr6AVlR6sKLQEs3Ml_4xL4brOiXluD40OxzXZN5FkL_GZ1JFQ/s1600/IMG_4373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHHPuaLLRqys1df7R3GKEyzYBpnsXiMDdeEfEBxj6HoLUhrBkQe0_w1eB6jiByrMKJzGlOOgH6aEfQAXNs6dWeRSE3fr6AVlR6sKLQEs3Ml_4xL4brOiXluD40OxzXZN5FkL_GZ1JFQ/s200/IMG_4373.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This girl's family loves her. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The crowds cheering at Chicago are unreal. I only see it from a spectator's perspective. But, I've seen some really amazing things over the years. I can't even imagine what it's like from the runner's perspective. Strangers cheering for strangers. Huge families jumping in and running along side a family member, screaming, cheering, supporting. You can't help root for everyone. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">The running/ walking I did that day was tough. It hurt. A lot. I didn't really tell Claire this. Ok, maybe a little. I didn't want to slow down our plan. Oddly enough, it's when I sit that hurts most after I run. After our 20 minute L ride I had a hard time even walking at first. But, suck it up cupcake I did. I had friends running a damn marathon. Geesh, I can run a few miles. Or hobble. Hell, last year while cheering the marathon I walked ALL over the place with a yet to be diagnosed tibia stress fracture. Yes, that hurt too. And, yes, I sucked it up. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">The love I get back from the runners is indescribable. Seriously. The amount of thank yous I can't even count. The eye contact I make with people is intense. Often no words are exchanged. I get a lot of points. No words, just guys looking across the street at me. Pointing at me. I point back. It's our little moment. Sometimes it's just me speaking. But, I see it in the way they look back at me. It matters. I matter. It hits me hard. It makes it ALL worth it. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">I somehow made it to my 11 year old niece's birthday party later that day. She ran out to greet me with a huge ol hug. She asked me how the race was. I said amazing. She asked me if I saw all my friends run. I said yes. She asked if it was fun. I said yes. She told me that she wanted to go sometime and watch me run the marathon. I said, "Me too. Me too"</span></div>
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes my 2012 Do Epic Shit cheering duties. Any races in the near future that I attend will have me <b><i>participating</i></b>. <br />
<br />
Please feel free to help me get to the finish line.<br />
<br />
I will need it.<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-82344053845468867602012-09-25T13:08:00.002-05:002012-09-25T13:08:41.458-05:0010 Running QuestionsMy friend (and the only boy who willingly chases me, albeit only in the water) <a href="http://jeremyrunsthis.blogspot.com/2012/09/10-questions.html" target="_blank">Jeremy</a> tagged me in this to answer the following questions. So, here goes:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">1. Best Run Ever</span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are a few I can think of. But, the one I'll go with happened in January 2011. Yes, I remember. Daily Mile also helps me remember dates when I look up my logged runs. I was planning on doing my running path, out in a prairie where I had be trying to get my run on. It's a 5.5 mile loop. It took me awhile to run this entire thing without stopping. Without walking. I had not done it in awhile after the cold and snow kicked in. I was trying to get this in for the first time in awhile. Start to finish. No walking. Run the hills.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was a crisp cold winter day. I texted my college roommate who lives 15 minutes away, and who also just recently started running. I asked her if she was going out for a run. She said she had just gotten her hair done, so no. She was being snarky. I gave her a hard time. She said, "Meh, I'll just double whatever you do today tomorrow." We giggled.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, funny thing happened. I felt great. I felt strong. Fierce. I ran my loop. The ENTIRE loop. And, for some reason I did NOT go back to my car. I kept going. On another loop. I always like a challenge. Hee, hee. hee. Really, Lisa, <i>DOUBLE</i> what I do today? Huh. Well, 11 miles baby! I ran 11 miles. Smoke on that Lisa. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You have to understand, I had only done an 11 mile run twice before. In my first and second half marathons. Due to injuries I had never done an 11 mile training run. Ahhh, but, I had some great tunes in my ears, cool weather in my face, a challenge in front of me, and I felt strong. I was SO proud of this run. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lisa never ran the next day. 22 miles is scary after my awesomeness. I understand. </div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">2. Three words that describe my running</span></b><br />
Painful, Freeing, Necessary<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3. My Go-to running outfit is</b></span><br />
Seksi spandex shorts, fitted tank, headband, perfect ponytail swoosh, Brooks Glycerin 10<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyryWOS7r8gtVeWe_8vnbgokxMOrbM28KRX12AvbfmlZz4WbL4a9wl4u1swhT4Z9IQkW_GTHB-2u7HpoJDNYHa2BDZQEGthg7ovigvERVmjJ_CHlj6vQ8ihr7CYG0y28sV5q83kgNK1A/s1600/IMG00383-20120619-1837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyryWOS7r8gtVeWe_8vnbgokxMOrbM28KRX12AvbfmlZz4WbL4a9wl4u1swhT4Z9IQkW_GTHB-2u7HpoJDNYHa2BDZQEGthg7ovigvERVmjJ_CHlj6vQ8ihr7CYG0y28sV5q83kgNK1A/s200/IMG00383-20120619-1837.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">4. Quirky habit while running</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I text and run. Not randomness. But, sometimes I need encouragement to get my run on. Especially when I'm not feeling it. I take inspiration from wherever I can. I'm lucky to have such a great group of running friends who will say encouraging things to keep me going. Even better yet, they say inappropriate things to make me giggle. I think that works even better. ;)</div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">5. Morning, midday, evening.</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, please. Oh, right, running. Evening. No contest. I am NOT a morning person. I stay up WAY too late for that. I like running in the dark anyway. Ninja runner.</div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">6. I won't run outside if it's</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoQKI42UoPwX0I0w_xowZP_IOz5L6QlTVC_vkBd3TLOrxhrC6FAHtSxPVSwbu-31KLsnraq_6Todbowoxa7n3GCiLvxj40uY-xRwBOeFRPiBSg4LbifRGyjdIdqwWz0agk45dMaTSyw/s1600/188348_1867613298397_4473171_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoQKI42UoPwX0I0w_xowZP_IOz5L6QlTVC_vkBd3TLOrxhrC6FAHtSxPVSwbu-31KLsnraq_6Todbowoxa7n3GCiLvxj40uY-xRwBOeFRPiBSg4LbifRGyjdIdqwWz0agk45dMaTSyw/s320/188348_1867613298397_4473171_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Pouring ran while trail running down a mountain? Nope, I'll do that. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUXR4iRDyi801WYpOwbR74bHvSjSZbQowZA-3sTenyoXb3BYP0reMysGLW8W2aYKsIuRkxZMrOvm9l3DkSobEsE6peq5akTKy5GaNnUp_QToy-WLXW6cewceM_M52W0wgrfVsYO6zxQ/s1600/170832_496591158201_738483201_6291025_344444_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUXR4iRDyi801WYpOwbR74bHvSjSZbQowZA-3sTenyoXb3BYP0reMysGLW8W2aYKsIuRkxZMrOvm9l3DkSobEsE6peq5akTKy5GaNnUp_QToy-WLXW6cewceM_M52W0wgrfVsYO6zxQ/s200/170832_496591158201_738483201_6291025_344444_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Run in 22 inches of fresh snow. In shorts? Nope, I'll do that.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Run with tornado sirens going off? Nope, done that. Twice. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Hot and humid? We have a winner ladies and gentlemen. I have. While training for 2011 Chicago Marathon (failed attempt). It was what I had to work with to get my training in. However, humidity is my kryptonite. It brings me down. Hard. I have exercise induced asthma and when humidity rolls in I literally cannot breath. I overheat. It's horrible.</div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">7. Worst injury and how I got over it</span></b><br />
Really? Where do I start? I'm not even sure what the worst one was. Tibia stress fracture fall of 2011 was the beginning of the downfall with my leg. Then a calf strain in late January. (the most painful of the injuries). Now foot pain. (still not sure what it is). Then I always have the UBHA (sciatic pain) that just won't go away. <br />
<br />
I'm not over it. God, when will I ever get over it?<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">8. I felt most like a badass runner when</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Three weeks of partying and doing physical property work (painting, cleaning, yard work) around the St. Maarten place. Two days before I leave I sign up for a 5k with my St. Maarten friend. When I get to registration I find out it's a 10k. Oh dear. I was doing little 3 mile runs here and there throughout the trip. But, I had not run more than that in a very long time. </div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iYZETlqGJoJJA4FsZ3dkUeeLznXrB_vfPqGm_S1ZhJCrlr40Y5yeydJzZDsPftrOA7uZOrbmHQP2P5fUge9bwNeDNLBg2Qh-vUgnh-LuGnvabByywEh9xAqsfkEB9tTgOGdS5hkYMQ/s1600/196544_10150115571843202_8337112_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iYZETlqGJoJJA4FsZ3dkUeeLznXrB_vfPqGm_S1ZhJCrlr40Y5yeydJzZDsPftrOA7uZOrbmHQP2P5fUge9bwNeDNLBg2Qh-vUgnh-LuGnvabByywEh9xAqsfkEB9tTgOGdS5hkYMQ/s320/196544_10150115571843202_8337112_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was a hot sunny Caribbean day. I thought I was going to die. I jockeyed back and forth with a few women throughout the race. MUCH younger women than me. I was DYING by the end. I had very little left in the tank at the finish. But, 10k I did (ooozing Heineken out of my pores). </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of the young women I had passed came up post race to tell me it was fun pushing each other. Then she also asked me if I had seen my legs. What? What's happened to my legs?!?!? She laughed. "No, when you run the muscles in your legs are sick" Ha. Why.... thank you very much younger and cuter woman than me. These legs just kicked your ass. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To top it off I got first place in my division. Mind you, this is NOT the Chicago Marathon. But, I don't care. I got bling and rewarded myself with some beachside warm French croissants and ice cold beer. </div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">9. My next race is</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
God, I wish I could tell you that. I have no idea. I'm not running. My body is surely nowhere ready to even think about that. However, I would really like to get to the Turkey Trot 5k this year on Thanksgiving morning. I ran it two years ago with my then 9 year old niece. I was injured last year and had to watch her and the rest of my family run without me. I really want to run it with her again. More importantly she wants to run it with <i>me.</i> </div>
<br />
After that if I can stay/be healthy I would like to possibly do the Fucking Freezing Half Marathon in January. My ideal running conditions.<br />
<br />
Do I even look past that?<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">10. Potential Running Goals for 2013 </span></b><br />
Swimming (had to throw that in) To do an open water swim race. To not die doing so.<br />
<br />
To run a marathon. Hell, just get to the start would be nice.<br />
<br />
To have someone cheer for <b><i>ME</i></b>.<br />
<br />
To. Not. Be. Injured. Dammit.<br />
<br />
Run happy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-84492282713781701252012-09-12T00:23:00.000-05:002012-09-13T00:26:14.132-05:00Have You Seen My Ghost? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I forget about days like today. That I can have days like today. I know they are out there. But, I forget sometimes. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Per usual, I stayed up way too late last night. Woke up way too early this morning. Chatted up some friends. Fell back asleep. Mid chat. Woke up. Had some giggles. Enjoyed my day off.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The sun was shining. Would have been a perfect day for an outdoor swim. If only my pool was still open. If only. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Ah, but, I enjoyed the sun nonetheless. Then I got an SOS call from someone needing me. Just as I was walking out the door to pick up my bike from the bike shop. For once, I didn't drop my life for someone else. It was only my silly bike. But, it's ME. My life. Dammit, I matter too. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Today I felt strong. Mind, body, and spirit strong. This doesn't happen often. My body has been broken so long. That has affected my spirit. But, today, today the stars aligned. Yes, I hurt. Yes, I'm still broken. But, I saw parts of me that I forgot I had. My smile. My strength. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I felt alive at <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/17944047" target="_blank">Power Yoga</a>. I hadn't felt that in a very long time. I used to rock those classes. Hold the poses the longest. Push myself the furthest. Improve with every class. For the last year these classes have been more a struggle with my injuries, with my fears of breaking. Of hurting. Trust me, many a class I was in severe pain. But, I tried anyway. Tonight I had my usual sciatic pain. But, it didn't bother me. My mind won out. The rest of my body won out. I won. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I forget that sometimes I can be strong. I've accepted for over a year that I'm weak. That my body is weak. It made me, oh, so happy to feel strong. If only for one day. Oh, but, wait, maybe not for only one day. I <i>can </i>rock a <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/17703343" target="_blank">four mile swim</a> after all. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Some days I wonder where my body went. Other days I see the ghost of yesteryear. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Boo! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Q-iW0zL2LI0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-91583040894884265702012-09-06T07:50:00.000-05:002012-09-06T07:51:49.711-05:00What If. What if. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What if things were different. What if circumstances were different. What if you didn't meet who you met when you did. What if you met them earlier. What if you met them later. What if you never met them. What if.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What if that didn't happen to you. What if it didn't change your direction for many years to come. What if you never changed the direction back. What if you let them in when they wanted in. What if you stopped fighting it. What if.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What if you didn't try. What if you quit after you failed the first time. The second time. What if you didn't succeed eventually. What if you never succeed. What if.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What if you didn't break. What if you didn't fix yourself. What if you didn't break again. What if.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What if you weren't so tired. So damn tired. What if.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
As if.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;">"Every tear an ocean, that had the means to drown me, but instead taught me how to swim"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i> </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>~adreamerswake.tumblr.com</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/El2l__hRta0/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/El2l__hRta0&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/El2l__hRta0&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-85648730672784362402012-08-20T00:43:00.000-05:002012-08-20T01:01:33.206-05:00Review Mirror<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, here we are. One year ago on this date I broke. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One week out from my 10 minute PR at the Chicago Rock n Roll Half Marathon and seven weeks from the Chicago Marathon. I broke. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was whining and bitching (shocker) about going out on my 18 mile training run. It would have been a PR distance for me. I missed my 17 mile run for the half. The half hurt. A lot. But, I had a friend pushing me through it. Otherwise, I think I probably would have quit on myself somewhere in there. Not stopped. But, walked some of the race. But, I didn't.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, there I sat ready to run my 18 miler. Okay, ready would be the wrong word choice. Terrified would be more appropriate. Two of my favorite runner doodes were texting me and telling me to stfu and just go. They are pretty bad ass ultra runners. Me, not so much. Finally I went. I really had high hopes and was determined to do this. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, eight miles in I stopped. I quit. Mentally I was done. Physically I was most definitely done. My leg was hurting. Not just "this is a long ass run and my leg is tired" hurting. Like on fire hurting. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I sat on a bench along the river. And cried. I knew I was done. Even if my leg was just a minor setback, I knew mentally I was quitting. I texted the guys. Both would usually tell me to suck it up and run. They both told me to stop trying and go home. They knew. Better than I did. They knew. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I didn't know then, or for a few months for that matter, was that I had a tibia stress fracture. One year ago today. I haven't been the same since. What followed was a pretty crappilicious year, both running wise and personally. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It took the next three months to get a proper diagnosis from a doctor. Bone scan, MRI, and more x-rays than I can count. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I ran a 5k race after my ortho doctor told me that 10 weeks surely should be enough rest from running. It hurt. I did it. But, I MADE myself do it. It really, really hurt. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After all the tests I finally got a hands in the air, "I think it's a stress fracture" diagnosis. Boot for a few months to follow. I waddled for the next few months, which then threw my UBHA (sciatic crap aka UnderBitchHammieAss) into overload. When I finally got out of the boot my ass hurt a ton. If you've never had this sciatic pain you have NO IDEA. It sucks.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, I soldiered on. Took baby steps back to running. 3 minute runs. 5 minutes. 7 minutes. 10 minutes. 1 mile. Until I ran my <a href="http://run2beme.blogspot.com/2012/01/fuck-boot-5k.html" target="_blank">Fuck the Boot 5K</a> on a very cold Chicago morning. I was back. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 weeks later on a short run, steps into it I heard a POP. I thought I broke my leg. It was a calf strain. TEN times more painful than my stress fracture. Not to mention the awful sound it makes. Ewww. Down again. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Then it was up, down, up, down for the rest of the year. Ass pain. Foot problems. Falling off a bike. Mental funks. Just when things looked good, they got bad again. I'm in pain all the time. Something hurts. All the time. From my neck all the way to my foot. Pain. Now I have some weird ailment I'm dealing with. I don't think it will affect my running. But, I think somehow it was brought on by my lack of running. I also think it's more mentally based. It's just manifesting itself through a physical problem. Oh goodie. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hate that this year was like this. It was so frustrating. Overwhelming at times. I want to so badly be out there running. It's what saved me. It's now what kills me. People keep telling me to bike. To swim. Yes, I hear you. But, I can bike 60 miles and it does nothing for me. I get the miles in, sure. But, I don't feel the mental and physical workout. Swimming? I love swimming. Of course. It makes me happy. But, running makes me <i>healthy. </i>Both mentally and physically. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While I struggled, others people rocked on. It was fun to see people be awesome. It was hard too. But, come on....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
First half marathon</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
First marathon </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
first Ironman (yes, I cried like a baby watching the live feed of friends crossing the finish)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
200 mile rides</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
first 100 mile ultra</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
and many personal achievements and overcoming adversity that made me grin ear to ear.....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
and on, and on....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Amazing to watch so many of my friends rock it. So proud of them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I did have some nice moments in my crappilicious year. There were the races I <b>Do Epic Shit </b>cheered for because I couldn't run them anymore. Chicago Half, where I taunted <a href="http://rfgr26.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Claire</a> with her DES shirt the entire race. I rewarded her PR with the actual shirt. Off my sweaty back. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Chicago Marathon, where I had THE best time cheering in all my friends. Seeing most of them three times along the course. Shamrock Shuffle, where injured reserve <a href="http://rfgr26.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Claire</a> and I finally joined forces and Do Epic Shit cheered together. So fun! Rock n Roll Chicago Half Marathon. The first time I didn't run this race. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I quit my job of 19 years. I love my new job. There is no way I could continue on with my old job. AND, not run. I wouldn't make it through each day. I was barely hanging on there in the end. My new job makes me smile. And, giggle. A lot. I feel valued. Appreciated. Not something I felt much of at my old job. Or life for that matter. My boss is very understanding about my desire to run. She doesn't run. But, she appreciates my desire to. And, she says fuck a lot. Which makes me smile. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I did my first triathlon. Albeit as a relay. But, a way to see what it's like. I had the most awesome and inspiring teammates. It was an amazing experience. So very cool. I had a decent swim, coming third out of the water for the relay teams. Not bad for an old chick. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I worked on rocking my headstand. Went for a five minute PR. Knocked it out. Now working on ten minutes. At 8:26 I'm almost there. I WILL do ten minutes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I got my swim on. Not nearly enough as I really want to. I want to do better. But, I'm happy I'm back in after all these years away. And, I'm proud that there is one thing that I don't suck at. I want to be better at this. But, I'll just keep swimming and see where it takes me. Yesterday it took me for a <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/17381877" target="_blank">6000 yard swim</a> . Yeah, baby. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, I still don't run. I know that when, IF I do start again, it won't be easy. It won't be free. It won't be without worry. That I'll break again. Something old or something new. Break. Long gone are the 9ish minute mile runs of running out my problems in my head. Now my problems will be in my body for long 11:00 or 12:00 minute miles. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One long year. One very long broken year. It's gotten really old. I'm really so over it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have to stop looking back and start looking forward. I need to have some hope. Even when I think there is little. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/8Fxk2JrZgvA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-86687734038574746852012-08-03T22:40:00.000-05:002012-08-03T23:16:09.038-05:00Body By Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today I was involved in a few body image conversations. Not sure what it was about today. But, today was about bodies. At work we had some intense discussions about a new dress code that is, in my opinion, teetering on discriminating against people who don't fit a corporate image of what "Americana" looks like. I'm not sure what that really is. However, I do know that we could have walked in the Olympic opening ceremonies and been called out for being American in a heartbeat. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
During the day I was also having some serious body image discussions with a new friend, a male triathlete across the globe (I love the internet). We have the same insecurities. We have the same struggles. It's not a female thing. It's a human thing. I think women may feel it worse. But, it doesn't mean men don't have the hurt too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The body is an interesting thing. It's a beautiful thing. We look at bodies all day long. You may not think you do, but you do. Some of you do more than others. You know who you are. When you are walking down the street you observe. You look at those you pass. You notice. Shapes. Sizes. Movement. Bodies. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I left work I was walking behind a young woman in a long clingy maxi dress. She was covered in fabric from her chest down to her ankles. Yet, she was hard not to stare at. You boys missed out. As she walked that dress hit all parts of her body. Let's just say a thong does a body good. I love men. But, I can appreciate a beautiful woman's body. Oh, I was jealous too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I got home from work I saw my friend, Jay's post. He had been at the mall today with the ladies in his family. He had been killing time with some male mall observations:</div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #404547; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The smallest thing you say can carry so much weight. I was stalking outside Victoria's Secret as I do, and a chubby young girl walked out. She looked at me while I was looking at her and she blushed. Who knows what she thought I was thinking. She looked embarassed. So I said real loud, "Hey...nice shoes. You are kickin' ASS today." And she smiled and thanked me and strutted on down the road. I think I surprised her.</span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jay noticed her. Her body. Her body language. He made someone who probably didn't feel too good about herself that often feel a bit good. Jay is a good man. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know how that chubby girl feels. I am that chubby girl. I am sure I know the feelings she feels. When I'm with my friends I'm the chubby girl. Yeah, that's me. I'm that girl. People notice my friends. They don't notice me. Oh, sure, they sometimes notice I'm tall. But, quickly they will notice the beauty of those around me. It's a really bizarre feeling. It's so very hard to explain to someone who has never felt it. To feel invisible. People don't even realize they are doing it to me. It's really quite interesting. It's hurtful too. Yeah, that. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The more I don't run the more invisible I feel. I'm trying to keep myself from disappearing. I'm trying to swim. Swim hard. I'm biking. But, it's not doing what running does for me. Did for me. The weight keeps creeping on. I feel horrible. I crawl in a little hole. It's a vicious circle. I'm trying damn hard to keep my body moving. I swear. But, sometimes I get tired of trying. Tired of hurting. Just tired. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On my ride today I looked at every body that passed me. Really looked them. All shapes. All sizes. Bodies in motion. You have to love bodies in motion. Even if it's not the most perfect body. It's moving. For that you have to admire it. There's greatness in all that move their bodies after all:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/LsXRj89cWa0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I rode I passed a woman on a horse. Talk about an amazing body. The horse was majestic. The size of it. The muscles. It was magnificent. You truly have to be in awe of bodies like that as well. Come on, if you have been watching the Olympics you have surely thought more than once "Wow, that's an amazing body". How can you not? Men's swimming? Yes please. Women's beach volleyball? My ass is so jealous. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I won't ever be that. I just won't. I have the body I have. It is what it is. Sometimes it looks better than other times. Right now it's not so good. But, I'll keep moving it. Or try to anyway. Some days I'll feel better about it. But, most days, not so much. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you ever meet me, please don't tell me I'm pretty when I'm not. Don't tell me I look good when I don't. However, tell me that you like my shoes and I'm kicking ass. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'd like that. That would be nice. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qQYpF2pCkLI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-91440557613841471092012-07-27T08:03:00.003-05:002012-07-27T08:03:59.287-05:00Faster, Higher, Stronger<div style="text-align: justify;">
The London Olympics begin today. Boy, do I love me the Olympics. Really, is there any better competition? Super Bowls, World Series, sorry, the Olympics trump you all. The drama. The stories. The blood, the sweat, the tears. It's the best. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been a fan of the Olympics since I was a little kid. I still can remember being in my basement jumping up and down screaming with my dad while watching the 1980 Miracle on Ice USA hockey team beat those pesky Russians. I remember being a lifeguard during the 1984 Olympics with a t.v. hooked up to an extension cord aimed at the guard tower so we could keep an eye on the swimming action. When a swimming event came on we kicked everyone out of the pool so we could watch the events. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxt96aGEFYDjQGadMHqH6PRhJIiH4kI4BFtvKIx-3Tgtq5ODL2Dm3H5Z9Qj871LnLs0OdV6jsOkhRLgAmZsN_3HRokcOWmZzEEPII7bPlqXa_43pnk0FqDRgCQjlgkOs7s4iuAgTbvUQ/s1600/Gold+Medal+Olympian+Rowdy+Gaines+with+us+at+Olympic+Trials.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxt96aGEFYDjQGadMHqH6PRhJIiH4kI4BFtvKIx-3Tgtq5ODL2Dm3H5Z9Qj871LnLs0OdV6jsOkhRLgAmZsN_3HRokcOWmZzEEPII7bPlqXa_43pnk0FqDRgCQjlgkOs7s4iuAgTbvUQ/s200/Gold+Medal+Olympian+Rowdy+Gaines+with+us+at+Olympic+Trials.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olympic Gold Medalist Rowdy Gaines</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWW9Mn0A6O2_etRsXmYkJuvfJgUgy9XV4jRnetQVhJDr-b9mEYpHVasd1OeZqF3wmvdDgCSTUcuOf6hxCCCq033mH6v9wmDyNm_2-YdK7LkURL9W9OeQ8kKDqvNwv7CPl7cAX9QuUYQ/s1600/1984+olympic+trials.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWW9Mn0A6O2_etRsXmYkJuvfJgUgy9XV4jRnetQVhJDr-b9mEYpHVasd1OeZqF3wmvdDgCSTUcuOf6hxCCCq033mH6v9wmDyNm_2-YdK7LkURL9W9OeQ8kKDqvNwv7CPl7cAX9QuUYQ/s200/1984+olympic+trials.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olympic Gold medalist Steve Lundquist</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In high school I was lucky to see my dear friend, and former teammate, Susan, try out for the 1984 Olympics. She really had no chance of making the team. However, it was SO exciting to see her make the attempt. And, to see all the amazing other swimmers who would make the team. Who would have thought they would make such an amazing impact on the 1984 L.A. Games? Swimming was the iconic sport of these games. And, Rowdy Gaines and Steve Lundquist were two of the stars. Two of the swimmers we were lucky to meet at the Trials. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And, wouldn't you know, who made the 1988 Olympic Team? Susan. Sitting in my teammate's living room watching her race at the Trials, jumping up and down, screaming, yelling, crying. She. Made. It. Wow. All I can remember when she called me just after the race was saying, "Oh, my God, YOU ARE GOING TO THE OLYMPICS!!!!!!!" Holy shit. I was bursting at the seams with pride. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Years later I was so very lucky enough to work for the U.S. Olympic Committee in Colorado Springs, Colorado. This was such an amazing experience. Working, living, and hanging out at the U.S. Olympic Training Center was a thrill. Having friends who just happened to be on the cusp of making Olympic teams was so fun. I got to do some really cool things. Meet some really cool people. Have some really amazing memories. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, this would be nothing in comparison to when I was lucky to procure a sweet month long volunteer position with the 1996 Atlanta Olympics a few years later. I was smart enough to know not to ask for an event position, which most everyone else asked for. I knew there was a better place to be. Accreditation. Anybody and everybody - athlete, coach, media, staff, EVERYBODY associated with the games was required to get their credentials badge. I really think I had the best job. Every single person that came through my station was smiling the biggest smile I had ever seen. They were at the friggin Olympics for crying out loud! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I checked in volunteers. I checked in media. I checked in athletes. One night I was working at the airport accreditation. I was having such fun doing this I pulled a 24 hour shift. I just didn't want the fun to end. Why hello there men's Greek water polo team. Welcome. Please step forward. Welcome to the Atlanta Olympic Games. My name is Andrea. And, what is your name....... ? Seriously? How did I get so damn lucky?!?! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My boss loved me so much she sent me to the Athletes' Village to work a few days. The work there was pretty minimal, so she told me to just go have fun. Go to the athlete bars, nightclubs, whatever I wanted to do. Enjoy. Again, seriously? Who am I? I don't deserve to be amongst these amazing athletes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6g6UQAaNs_Fu2FaZtMjQcg_xlsMvrwl30FCZ34QO7T1PaLHgyYeZ0GMSZrb6iek6RFM3fwYga-ADdvU8sdDCtK_b8eonv4xvIuQLiXVlE9lWhZrzrv4J4-JYyi8G9wm-hDhcQqOCog/s1600/1996+Olympics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6g6UQAaNs_Fu2FaZtMjQcg_xlsMvrwl30FCZ34QO7T1PaLHgyYeZ0GMSZrb6iek6RFM3fwYga-ADdvU8sdDCtK_b8eonv4xvIuQLiXVlE9lWhZrzrv4J4-JYyi8G9wm-hDhcQqOCog/s200/1996+Olympics.jpg" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Susan & me at 1996 Olympic Swimming</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And, lucky me. Guess who met up with me to see some swimming events? Susan. We had an absolute blast cheering on USA Swimming. I rode her little wave and was in awe when famous swimmer after swimmer came up to say hi to her. As her guest I went to an Olympic alumni cocktail party. Well hello there Al Orter. Carl Lewis. Mary Lou Retton. Little old lady from the 1932 L.A. Olympics wearing a medal around her neck. Wow. Just wow. Sure we ended up in the EXACT spot the bomb went off that night. As in the EXACT spot. But, fate pulled us away from there 10 minutes before it went off. <b><i>10 minutes. </i></b></div>
<b><i><br /></i></b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUtCd4QLjUhLruuphs-jtDoL-LsOUf_wGhTro9xBMzUzmSZWpUizQRHKe94McOfxsdhY1L78-LJbWB5Ho0ryi06ruwTCHXLFbMVUn1sks-dqtd0XcIhDAwCTFOuoyNLq8n2BstiYUjQ/s1600/IMG_7933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUtCd4QLjUhLruuphs-jtDoL-LsOUf_wGhTro9xBMzUzmSZWpUizQRHKe94McOfxsdhY1L78-LJbWB5Ho0ryi06ruwTCHXLFbMVUn1sks-dqtd0XcIhDAwCTFOuoyNLq8n2BstiYUjQ/s200/IMG_7933.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jess & Rowdy<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Three years ago my sister, 7 year old niece and I went to the U.S. Team Swimming Trials (Olympic Trials in Olympic years). We were back in Indianapolis. Where I had been 25 years earlier to watch Susan. Where I met Rowdy. My niece was just starting her swimming career. But, she already had the glimmer in her eye. However, it was a tough call who was more thrilled by these few days, her or me. I felt like a kid again. And, lookie there.... who do I see again? <a href="http://www.rowdygaines.com/" target="_blank">Rowdy</a>. He was just as nice and sweet as I remember twenty five years before. And, he was especially sweet to Jessica. Anytime we ran into him he high fived her and said, "Hi Jessica". She thought he was the coolest. He really is. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/yEMlw_cRCR4/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yEMlw_cRCR4?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yEMlw_cRCR4?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>We were lucky enough to have nice seats right next to Michael Phelps mother, Debbie. Jessica was dying to talk to her. To tell her how much she loved her son. She got the nerve to go talk to her. Jessica was SO nervous. But, I was so proud of her. She did it. And, talked to Debbie for what seemed like forever. Later she went up and had another conversation with her. Debbie was SO sweet asking Jess about her swimming and giving her encouragement, ending with a high five. It was fantastic. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wMSJrZjGCvg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, I'm a little goofy for the Olympics. But, there's something about it. About people pushing themselves. To be their best. To be THE best. I've seen first hand sacrifices athletes make to get there. To see moments like this. A world record. The feeling is so intense. To share in that moment. It's not my moment. But, to cheer for that athlete is really a remarkable feeling. The joy is contagious. (Yes, I was a screaming lunatic)</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/RTZzkH_G-YU/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RTZzkH_G-YU?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RTZzkH_G-YU?version=3&f=user_uploads&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Aaaron Peirsol breaking the 100 back world record. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, excuse me for the next 17 days. I might be a bit preoccupied. I might be a bit emotional. I might lose my voice. I'll surely get a bit patriotic. However, it's not all about USA, USA, USA for me. Yes, go red, white, and blue. However, go underdog. Go athlete who's seems to fail when it matters most. May this be your time. To the parents that gave their everything, may your child make you proud no matter what. To the human spirit. To the volunteers. To the city of London. To the paralympians. To the athlete that finishes last. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At age ten Jessica has turned into quite the swimmer. This weekend she'll be in the State meet. Qualifying and competing in the maximum amount of events. Next weekend she'll represent the state in a multi state meet. A pretty big deal. When I told her how very proud of her that she made this meet she replied, "<i>Well, someday I'll be in the Olympic Trials</i>." I smiled. I did not even have to humor her. Because, I truly believe that she will in fact be there. And, surely you know who will be up in those stands screaming her head off. Because, really, there is no place I'd rather be. Well, other than the Olympics. And, who knows, I may have a really good reason to go to another one sometime soon. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh, yes.... tonight's gonna be a good night......</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/pAz1z4PA4iY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-70042875989088046052012-07-16T12:23:00.001-05:002012-07-16T12:23:59.365-05:00On This Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7howvMuwG8EdCqr11uVKfDzgi7-y4pQs7O29OEJqVdEu2qeKs-hs0qmdcV7dTb8mVxX6NZdyp7fMQOrTywwBYWLFPsaqhMpU1LFprslTMjFSRSTW-SIBnedjiKt5tWuAZm4S3h83NA/s1600/IMG_9576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7howvMuwG8EdCqr11uVKfDzgi7-y4pQs7O29OEJqVdEu2qeKs-hs0qmdcV7dTb8mVxX6NZdyp7fMQOrTywwBYWLFPsaqhMpU1LFprslTMjFSRSTW-SIBnedjiKt5tWuAZm4S3h83NA/s200/IMG_9576.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two years ago today I lost the woman who mattered most to me in the world. The woman who inadvertently got me running fierce. My grandmother. My kick ass 102.5 year old grandma. And, yes, that half year matters. Just like when you are five. When you hit 100 you start doing half years again. I think it's surely earned. And, dammit, she earned it. Honestly, I had no doubt she'd make 103. So close. She tried so hard to make it to. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's mid morning already. And, I have yet to decide it this will be a hard day or not. I still cannot believe she's gone. Two years already and I still feel like she's with me. She was with me for SO much of my life. It's just strange not to have her there. She was always there. And, now she's not. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She lived a very healthy 102 years. In her own home. With my grandfather, until his death in 1986. She lived next door to my family. For my entire life. So, she was very present. It was only her last few months that her health started to fail her. I was in denial. I was sure she would live forever. This could not be so. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was already running a bit. Here and there. 5.5 miles on my running trail was my long run. But, I was consistent. It was easy. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When she got sick, and sicker. I needed and outlet. For my emotions. For my fears. Running was there for me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was grandma's main caregiver. I prepared her meals. I bathed her. When you find yourself bathing a parent, or grandparent, or other close relative you normally don't bathe it's an odd feeling. It's a very intimate and intense thing. By, this, I mean that the look in their eyes as you do this is intense. Embarrassment goes out the door. Instead, deep gratitude is what I felt. When you get to this moment of caregiving there's no turning back. They know. You know. Each and every time I did this I got an extremely strong, and somewhat sad looking, "thank you". And, each time, I would give back a "Absolutely. You're very welcome." Then a shared smile. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I tucked her in bed each night. I was the one who picked her up off the floor when I found that she had fallen. I was the one deciding when things were beyond me and we had to go to the hospital. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She was in the hospital for days on end. Then she moved to a nursing home. I visited before work and had breakfast with her. I went straight from work to have dinner with her. I stayed until it was bedtime and then I tucked her in and said goodnight. He smile the last thing I saw as I left.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I then went home headed outside, and ran. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. 9pm. 10 pm. 11 pm. Whatever. I think one run had me finish after midnight. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I needed the run. I was the one holding my family together. But, nobody was holding me together. I had no one to talk to. No one to listen to me. No one to cry to. Running was all those things to me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Running saved me when I felt like I was dying with grandma. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As you know, my running is iffy at best these days. Constant injuries are plaguing me. I know some people question my motivation. I sometimes question my motivation. But, I know, if my body would allow I would be out there as often as I could. Because I know what it did for me when I needed it most. I know what it can do for me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had zero time for anything when grandma was sick. Yet, I found time for running. I had to. Life is busy for me these days. But, surely nothing can ever overtake me as much as that time with grandma. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lisa and I have talked about how weird it is sometimes that even though life is busy, nothing is as overwhelming as when a loved one is dying. Yet, we both were running our best during these times. She running fast and furious as her mother was dying. Me, with grandma. It's a weird feeling and so hard to explain. If you have never lost someone very close to you, it may be hard to understand. And, honestly, I hope you never have to understand. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, today I think about grandma. And, remember how much I love her and miss her. I also think about how, even though she never knew it, she got me to get my run on. Even after she was gone, she had a hand on my shoulder. Well, okay, maybe not my shoulder. She was 4'8"ish and I'm 5'10". Giggle. We were an odd pair. But, that's what was so great. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wish you all could have met her. She was a cute little bugger. She was so very kind. She was so very sweet. She was funny. She had a hidden hard edge side. She loved taking care of people. She made me giggle. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She was my grandma. I still miss her so. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But, I promise, some day I will be injury free and will run those runs just like I used to. For grandma. But, more importantly. For me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748911281764264821.post-12595818656170950712012-07-11T07:25:00.000-05:002012-07-11T07:28:48.386-05:00I Belong With You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEU-DNNV85a0Bv27M9XEPMzosiUr53YVCZVoIggd6Wlv7G0Cq8iPCFMDndBLivb84ghifJfPdy2LY_lt0_jS6lWare14dmmnf5EABqMdlJT0IKYKwNpEzDyoBBCTLQf9e57qgM-cY_wA/s1600/sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEU-DNNV85a0Bv27M9XEPMzosiUr53YVCZVoIggd6Wlv7G0Cq8iPCFMDndBLivb84ghifJfPdy2LY_lt0_jS6lWare14dmmnf5EABqMdlJT0IKYKwNpEzDyoBBCTLQf9e57qgM-cY_wA/s320/sunshine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Oh, ho, hey. Can we all just jump in a van? And hang out. You can drive next to me while I run. You can run with me. We will stop. We will giggle. We will drink beers. We move on. We will run again.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
When we see an amazing swimming hole you'll let me get my swim on. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Is it too much to ask? For you all to just hang out with me. Like all the time. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Yes, I dropped off for a few weeks from running. Not completely. But, mostly. But, more importatnly, I dropped off from you. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I was trying. To get my run on. To quietly start my Chicago Marathon training. Even though I was clearly way behind everyone else. Not sure why I need to feel like I need to keep up with people who clearly are out of my running league. But, I want to at least stay in the same running planet as them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
I made the mistake of trying too hard when the heat was just unbearable. And, it was. It broke my spirit. You see, the heat is not my friend. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Hey, I love the sun. The warmth. The beach. The ocean. In fact I plan on running away with someone one day to live such the life. But, running in the heat is not for me. Seriously. I get exercise induced asthma that literally brings me to my knees if I try to run in oppressive heat and humidity. I don't know how you people run in that crap. 15, 20 mile runs? Huh? Amazing. I just physically cannot do it. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQbGBL0TqfIL9RrLm8lHnw5gltSgOHWBhOM1w-eM0Zagathghlgxtt6uiQy4XoeQP0PaJEUBUNsvl46paBhdnZBylQjy18ejmeGxVxKdIXEo5YeiU7iLcrQhHR9Gm3iRdX6wXxStuLw/s1600/170832_496591158201_738483201_6291025_344444_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQbGBL0TqfIL9RrLm8lHnw5gltSgOHWBhOM1w-eM0Zagathghlgxtt6uiQy4XoeQP0PaJEUBUNsvl46paBhdnZBylQjy18ejmeGxVxKdIXEo5YeiU7iLcrQhHR9Gm3iRdX6wXxStuLw/s200/170832_496591158201_738483201_6291025_344444_o.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9_qSSUMGaklxx58YfexEXZqGbWD7jialZvF2KwN4YqRmkHolxnG6Y-9ybkwgPQlTtqPlTdC6w3RdFNtTBSDpV0PQ_wQ4qagVXiOu1wKfnEbYN2QRRL5OG_i5RrPTo3dnFpl7fOAX0w/s1600/167238_496591758201_738483201_6291026_190798_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9_qSSUMGaklxx58YfexEXZqGbWD7jialZvF2KwN4YqRmkHolxnG6Y-9ybkwgPQlTtqPlTdC6w3RdFNtTBSDpV0PQ_wQ4qagVXiOu1wKfnEbYN2QRRL5OG_i5RrPTo3dnFpl7fOAX0w/s200/167238_496591758201_738483201_6291026_190798_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Weather is rarely a good enough excuse for me not to run. Hey, I'm the girl that ran 4 miles, in a truck tire track, in 22 inches of snow, in shorts, after 2011 Chicago Blizzardpalooza. I've been on two runs when tornado sirens have gone off. I've run in below zero temperatures, with a smile on my face. In shorts. I run in downpours. Cold downpours. In shorts. So, I'm not one to use weather as an excuse too often. But, heat? It wins. Hands down. Winning. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
But, I tried. I had a some people on me. And, by ON me I mean they kind of harassed me in the kindest of ways (and maybe a bit not so kind) to make sure I was not quitting. Some were close running friends. Some were people I don't interact with that often. But, each and every one of them impacted me. Mattered to me. I cannot tell you how nice it was to have people care about me. To give me a hand if I needed it. To kick my ass if I needed it. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Others sent me messages. Again, some from people I care about deeply and consider close friends. Others were from people I barely know. Who, just peeked it to tell me they missed me. Or to tell me that they were thinking about me. To tell me they hoped I was ok. To offer to meet me and go running. Whoa. Seriously? Whoa. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Sometimes I feel as though I can just quietly walk away and life will go on just fine without me. And, it does. But, then.... quietly, one by one, people poke me. Wake me from my slumber. Pull me up. Kick my ass. Give me a hug. And, some, just make me giggle. And, on some days, that's more than enough.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdNyaiC5Jgt_jh12jTQb5WFSRv_sHKeTtq-VVAhd5dVyzv4ubZZy2TYKTeKS8W_3qNW-wm-cJxJgzNx1WcD2WFl10PAbTuzicjIrknuIQe8xxlKe336TFnJGu7seQVtO1EGx4VdIQgg/s1600/yasso2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdNyaiC5Jgt_jh12jTQb5WFSRv_sHKeTtq-VVAhd5dVyzv4ubZZy2TYKTeKS8W_3qNW-wm-cJxJgzNx1WcD2WFl10PAbTuzicjIrknuIQe8xxlKe336TFnJGu7seQVtO1EGx4VdIQgg/s200/yasso2.jpg" width="145" /></a>So, I was away for a bit. I swam as much as I could. Some of you have told me to just forget this stupid marathon crap and just be a kick ass swimmer. But, swimming is easy for me. Yes, I could get faster (I'm still gunning for <a href="http://www.nathanveldhoen.com/" target="_blank">Nathan</a> ). But, running is way more of a challenge for me. WAY more. Swimming isn't scary for me. Running is terrifying for me. I love to face my fears. And win. Besides, swimming may make me <i>happy</i>. But, running makes me <i>healthy</i>.<br />
<br />
I did run a little. Well, until my butt broke again. I blame Bart Yasso. And, by blaming Bart Yasso I don't mean I was doing Yasso 800's and got hurt. I mean I was running <i>with</i> Bart Yasso when I got hurt. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;">So, then I did not not run for a bit. To try to heal. But, then the weather broke last weekend. Dropped 25 degrees from the heat index we had for the past few days. I no longer could use heat as an excuse. And, my friend </span><a href="http://www.suzistorm.com/2012/07/boil-me.html" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">Suzi</a><span style="background-color: white;"> was heading out for a 15k race the next day. I was trying to convince her she could do this. Untrained. Because she could push herself further than she thought. However, how could I tell her this while I wasn't living my own words. So.... I headed out for a run. To run as far as my body and mind would allow. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> I made <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/16398930" target="_blank">seven miles</a> , my longest run since I broke 11 months ago. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">It wasn't so bad. It wasn't easy either. But, I put zero pressure on how fast or how far I would go. My mind and body just went. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> I had asked for some friends to pray for me as I headed out. Midway in my run I ran across some road chalk, from a local teen running club I see running on this path on my way to work in the mornings. "<i>Living on a prayer</i>". Ahhh, just what I needed. Thanks guys! </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Two nights ago I was on another run. This one was <a href="http://www.dailymile.com/people/AndreaK5/entries/16426079" target="_blank">five miles</a>. But, it was harder, mentally, and physically. But, I got it done. Somehow. Again, I saw road chalk again. This time it was, "<i>We've got each other and that's a lot</i>" </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhet4MC293yPAqG9rtIm4yaHQhDUlHenVoIPujLGJjzPsNIv78kyZc0JkC-RFviE33B8n9F41TFSH04gdqcxJ0ghbb3kgvnk7-cynew_vOLx_S1IG7weg2hC_ZSwtSPyzXsngZRdMlrGw/s1600/got+each+other.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhet4MC293yPAqG9rtIm4yaHQhDUlHenVoIPujLGJjzPsNIv78kyZc0JkC-RFviE33B8n9F41TFSH04gdqcxJ0ghbb3kgvnk7-cynew_vOLx_S1IG7weg2hC_ZSwtSPyzXsngZRdMlrGw/s200/got+each+other.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It made me think that yes, I got you. And, it's a lot.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thanks for being there when I need it. It matters more than you'll ever know. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/AmZJUfcxrvc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', Corbel, helvetica, verdana, arial;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><i> </i></span></span></div>
<br />Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05016921483842266462noreply@blogger.com0