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.
When we see an amazing swimming hole you'll let me get my swim on.
Is it too much to ask? For you all to just hang out with me. Like all the time.
Yes, I dropped off for a few weeks from running. Not completely. But, mostly. But, more importatnly, I dropped off from you.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 Nathan ). 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 happy. But, running makes me healthy.
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 with Bart Yasso when I got hurt.
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 Suzi 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. I made seven miles , my longest run since I broke 11 months ago.
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. 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. "Living on a prayer". Ahhh, just what I needed. Thanks guys!
Two nights ago I was on another run. This one was five miles. But, it was harder, mentally, and physically. But, I got it done. Somehow. Again, I saw road chalk again. This time it was, "We've got each other and that's a lot"
It made me think that yes, I got you. And, it's a lot.
Thanks for being there when I need it. It matters more than you'll ever know.
4:30 am wake-up call. It was unnecessary. I was up. Ready to go. Let's do this.
Day before race with Sara
Sara was already up for awhile. I got myself together and we were out the door just after 5 a.m. and at the race start before 5:30. First relay at transition. Got a nice end spot for our stuff. Started to take it all in. We were going to do a triathlon. As a relay. Together.
Lisa arrived shortly afterwards. She was teary eyed. Tears streaming down her face. I asked her why. She said because she was just thinking about how amazing all these women were that were doing this triathlon. I felt it too. We both cried. Tears of happiness. Of being inspired. Of being proud. Of all those making the effort.
The Beach
While Sara changed, Lisa marked my body with a few "suck it cancer"s. And, I headed off to warm up in the water for a bit. The Beach is an old quarry in town that has been a great "pool" for many years here. It's a great place for an open water swim. I needed, however, to be refreshed on how the visibility was here. I was quickly reminded that it was about zero. Alrighty then. When I came out of my quick warm up Lisa was nowhere to be found. Ummm..... Lisa? Lisa? Uh, Lisa? I walked around the deck area for 10 minutes before I gave up. I was starting to panic. Transition was closing in ten minutes. I had to get up there and get anything I needed (which turned out to be nothing). So, I ran back. Made Sara call Lisa. She was sitting 10 feet in front of the area I had left her. She never saw me get out. Yeah..... not our only miscommunication of the day for us virgins. Oh, well, No big whoop. I only had a slight freak out. Ha.
So, then goodbyes to Sara and Lisa headed with me for the swim start. Oh. My. God. I was going to be racing in less then ten minutes. Just at the start I finally found my sister and ten year old niece. This was nice. The first time my family has come to my races (as an adult). My friends, however, all bailed on me once again. I was happy to see my niece. She's a rockstar swimmer and did the Chicago Kids Triathlon last year and made me so proud. She was a breath of fresh air and made me relax.
I was so grateful we were starting in Wave #3. First of all, because of the heat. Secondly, because we didn't have to wait around for almost two hours to start racing. I got in my corral with 2 minute before start. I looked around at my corral. Picked out a few that I could easily identify as swimmers. The girl next to me, one I had identified as a swimmer, asked me, "How far is this swim?" I said, "You ask this now? It's a half mile". She said she used to swim the mile. Oh no. This did not bode well for me. A sprinter.
The Elite wave went off. The cancer survivor wave went off. We were next. I jockeyed for a front position. I got it. In the water we walked. 3, 2, 1........ BEEEEEEEEP! We were off! It was a roller derby free for all for that front position. The Miler Girl and me were battling it out. She won the battle. Got along the lane line first. But, half way down that first lap I overtook her. See ya. However, as I did so, I also kicked someone behind me. Someone was behind me. Not for long. Shortly she was on the other side of me. Then in front of me. I let her go. No way I could continue this fast pace for an entire half mile. I needed to go steady and strong. But, not all out so soon.
The lanes were HUGE. So, I ended up doing a lot of zig zagging when I lost sight of the lane lines. I could only see to the end of my hand in front of me, if that far. So, if I wasn't right along a lane line I tended to get off course. I had to do a lot of breast strokes to keep an eye out for slow swimmers ahead or turns in the course. When I hit the Survivor's wave I had a very hard time getting through. They were packed pretty tight across the lane. These women friggin rock and the last thing I needed to do was claw my way through them. So, I dodged and weaved the best I could until I was free and had plenty of clear water ahead. I could see two other relay colored caps ahead of me. But, they were closer than they had been. I had caught up. One last lap. I gave it all I had. I was beat. But, I put my head in and pulled.
I thought about the survivors I just passed. I thought about them not giving up. I thought about a that weird doode friend of mine that runs silly miles in a pink tutu to raise money to find a cure for cancer. I didn't care how tired I was. I could do this. I could finish strong.
Soon I could see the bottom. I was close. I stood up. Ran out of the water. Yes! I was done. Oh, wait, never mind. I had to then run to our transition area for our wave. Up a hill. Through a parking lot. The entire transition area. I could barely breath. I was exhausted. I was running in a friggin bathing suit for crying out loud! Oh, dear Lord.
I got to our transition area. I was confused. I couldn't find Sara. I was in our lane. But, she wasn't. There were other relay teams standing where Sara should be. Lots of them. Blocking the area. But, where was Sara? I ran up and down the area looking for her. Finally I ran back to our transition. Yelled her name. She stood up. She was adjusting her bike. The other ladies were blocking her. I couldn't see her. She wasn't expecting me so soon. Ha. We got our shit together, she got on our chip, and off she went.
I met up with Lisa. Wished her luck. Then headed out to try to catch Sara as she rode my for the second loop. We weren't sure how fast she'd be. So, my sister, niece and I hauled ass 3/4 mile away to catch a bit of the biking. We waiting a bit (thankfully, because I was STILL out of breath) and there came Sara! Wheeeeee!!!!! She looked fantastic! Yeah! Then, all the way back to transition for us. I jumped back in and talked to Lisa a bit and recapped my swim and a bit of Sara's leg. Lisa's husband and kids arrived and Lisa was able to get some pre-race hugs from them.
Sara came flying in carrying her bike. Looking exhausted. But, strong. I could tell she gave it her all. Lisa grabbed the chip and off she went! Wheeeee!!!! After Sara caught her breath we joined our cheering crew at the finish to wait for Lisa. It was so exciting. We couldn't wait for her to arrive. Then, around the corner, through the trees, Lisa. Sara and I got on either side of the finish chute. As Lisa came in, we grabbed her hands. And crossed that finish line. Together.Team Tridiots.
It was an amazing moment. Lisa also gave it all she had. Everything. I was SO proud of her. It was really hot out already. She did great. And, then we hugged. A team hug. For completing our first relay triathlon. As a team. This was my favorite moment.
We did it. We did our first triathlon as a relay. We made some mistakes. We learned. We are hungry for more. Out of 58 relays teams we finished 7th. 1:29.55. I'm thrilled with our results. I think we did great. And, I think we can easily improve on this next year. Next year we will fly.
We did it. For us. For my dad, who died from cancer ten years ago. For Lisa's mother, who died from cancer two years ago. For Sara, who is kicking cancers ass with one more week to go with her chemo. We did it for us. We did it for them.
Yet when I do accept change I find it freeing. Liberating. Beautiful.
Yes, I quit my job of 19 years. It was a long time coming. A very long time coming. But, as bad as this job was it gave me flexibility to take care of people in my life. But, funny thing was, I never used that to take care of me. Until last year. When I got my run on full force.
I ran fast. I ran free. I felt beautiful.
Well, until I got injured.
I broke.
Nine LONG months ago.
And, then, it got ugly. I got ugly.
No marathon for me. No diagnosis for me. No running for me. A boot for me.
It sucked. A lot. I pretended I was okay with it. I wasn't.
I gained almost 25 pounds of the 65+ pounds I had lost through running. I was no longer that person my friends commented on how great I looked.
Ugly. I felt it. Inside and out. It stayed with me day and night. At work. Things at work that always sucked, sucked more. Because I didn't like how I felt. My running wasn't getting better. My pain wasn't getting better. I saw no way out of this hole.
And, then an opportunity came to me. A new job came to me. From all places, my sometimes running partner. Why of course. She didn't beg. But, in a way she did. Just in case I didn't hear her. But, thankfully, I did.
I took the chance. I took a leap. I didn't crash. I didn't break.
I've never felt good about myself. I have horrible self esteem. I never think I have any worth. Which is funny. Because anybody who knows me in person would certainly say I'm a confident, strong woman. I, however, would say I'm a very good actress.
It wasn't until I started kicking ass (albeit my own ass) running that I started to think I was a bit worthy. That I was perhaps a bit beautiful. For whatever that meant.
But, I lost all that. When I broke.
A few weeks ago at the Barefoot 24 I met Debbie's three beautiful girls. And, when I say beautiful, I mean it. Stunning. Gorgeous. And, sweet, nice, and funny. When I walked downstairs for the first time that morning I had three of them staring back at me. In silence. No words. They had been chatting up a storm. But, then they saw me. Silence.
I started small talk. Silly talk. Soon, the chatter began. Well, with two of them. One of the six and a half year old twins, Miss H. A confident looking beauty with a swagger of strength and individuality. And, the baby, five year old Miss B. A adorable 17 year old class president trapped in a five year old's body. Who wanted to be my bff within two minutes. And, perhaps may have. During one of her deep conversations with me (not the one at 2 am when she jumped in bed with me and wanted to girl talk) she looked at me and said, "I have lots of words in my head" I said, "Yes, I see that".
But, then there was Miss K. Sitting back away from us. Silent. Not talking. But, I could feel her sizing me up and down. Figuring me out. She, was, quite frankly, stunning. Long blonde hair. Gorgeous big eyes. But, quiet.
We all did yoga together. I taught them hard stuff. We did back bends. They rocked them out. I did headstands. To prove to witnesses that, yes, I can indeed rock a headstand. They thought that was pretty kewl.
Later Debbie told me that Miss K, had huge self confidence issues. She hated the way she looked. Hated that she didn't look like her twin. Or her other sister. Or her mom. She didn't have brown hair. She didn't have curly hair. She didn't look like anybody she knew in real life.
That was until I walked down those stairs. There was a grown woman. With long blond hair. Who perhaps looked like her in a sense.
It pained me to no end to know that such a beautiful girl could think she was so ugly. How could this be so? How could she feel something that was just so obviously untrue. How could she not know that she was strong? That she has so much to offer in life? That she was worthy.
How could she be, well, me?
Wow. She was me.
I made sure to give her extra attention all weekend. It was hard to do. It was a crazy weekend. Her sisters are pretty outgoing with their attention demands. ( I love them for that!). But, we had our moments. When she was fighting with her sister over shared candy and her crying was overwhelming her I felt her pain. Not over candy. But, I felt what she was feeling. Of not being heard. Of not feeling that someone was hearing her. Of course they were. But, I made sure I did. Crisis resolved. Candy shared. Tears stopped.
But, the moment that got me was when she was sitting at the kitchen with Debbie and me just after dinner. I asked her if I could braid her hair. She had told me the day before how she liked braids because when she took them out her hair was curly. I got that. I always wanted curly hair too. She said she would like me to braid it. So, I started to brush it. And, I realized something. Her hair was exactly like mine. It was straight. It was thin. It was fine.
So, I told her as I brushed her hair that we had the same hair. She turned around to look at me and she smiled. I grabbed my hair. I told her to feel it. Feel her hair. The same. Exactly. I told her how lucky she was to have such hair. I told her how all the cool high school girls spend lots of money dyeing their hair blonde and straightening it because they want hair like hers. After I braided her hair she was to go upstairs with her sisters and watch a movie with dad. She did. For a bit. But, then she returned to hang around Debbie and me. I didn't know it then, but I do now. She wanted to hang a bit more with this person that kind of looked like her. Like no one she had ever seen before. Me.
I was that girl. I am that girl. But, like Miss K, I need to change what I can to make me a better person. To know that I have worth. That I deserve better than what I think. And, to accept the beauty with which I was born with and know that it is what makes me me.
And, that is and always will be, beautiful. Even when I'm hurt. Even when I gain back weight. Even when I struggle. Even when I don't have confidence. Even when I don't think I deserve to be beautiful. That I can be more. I can do more. I'm still me. But, I deserve more. I'm worth more.
Last weekend at the Chicago Do Life 5K I once again met some amazing people. People like me. People who may not be the fastest runner. But, whose journey could be a mirror to mine. With different events, different demons, but a reflection of me in some way.
Long after Ben was in his car and on his way to Indy five of us women (including dear Claire ) stood on the corner where we said goodbye to him and talked. And talked. And talked. And talked. For over an hour. Amongst us 420+ pounds had been lost. We talked about our feeling of not being worthy, of who we had become, the better person we had become. How we couldn't let go of the "old me". How it was hard to accept the new people we had become. We talked about our thighs. We talked about men. Even if people saw the beauty in us, we could not see it in ourselves. We were not worthy to see it in ourselves. It made me sad.
There stood strong, confident (and extremely tall, by the way) women. Beautiful women. Who all felt like little Miss K. We didn't feel pretty.
But, the good news is that we also talked about we were going to work on accepting the beauty in us. That we WERE beautiful. That we would say "thank you" more to compliments instead of deflecting them away. We would no longer think ourselves undeserving of a compliment. I'm not saying it will be easy. But, we will try.
Sometimes change is necessary. To make us better. To be better.
But, other times we are fine just the way we are. More than fine actually.
Thank you Miss K for teaching me some valuable lessons. I can't wait to see what you become. Whatever it is it will be yours alone. You will be great at it. And, you, my dear. are, and will always be beautiful.
By the way, on another night Debbie told me that Miss H was working on her headstands. Miss B asked when the tall lady was coming back. And, Miss K wouldn't take out her braids after I left. That made me smile so much my cheeks hurt.
I need to remember that when I don't think I am worthy. When I don't think I'm strong. When I don't think I'm beautiful. That I am worthy. I am strong. I am beautiful. I may not look like you. Or the person who society thinks I should look like. I may be a bit broken. But, I'm me.
I can take that me and be a better me.
I've changed my job. My future. It's still a bit uncertain. However, I'm confident it's good change. I still need to get back to where I was physically a year ago. Not because I care what you think. But, because I'm a better me. A better runner. A happier person.
But, hey, I already can do a killer headstand. And, it's quite beautiful.
Its these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes Nothing remains quite the same With all of our running and all of our cunning If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane
Since "meeting" so many of my crazy ass ultra runner friends I've wanted to help crew one of their silly races. (And, I kid. Nothing silly about these races.) I was lucky enough to have such an opportunity when Debbie asked me to come on board for her attempt to run 100 miles barefoot in 24 hours. Yes please.
I know Debbie through another Daily Mile friend. Weird the friendships we build over the computer can bring us together to do some really amazing things. We all tend to help each other out somehow. Some way. With running. With life.
A twelve hour train ride from Chicago to outside Kansas City brought me to Debbie.
A unicorn looks over the loop
We chatted a bit. Had some wine. Went to bed. Tomorrow would be a big day. A bit of an understatement. Debbie and the kids were up early. I couldn't get going. I sat in bed and texted with a mutual friend of ours who asked a bit about the run. I giggled hearing the girls pounding on the piano. Badly. Giggled even harder when I heard Debbie say cheerfully, "It's so great to be awake isn't it?" I took that as a sign I needed to get up. I sauntered downstairs to be greet by the three most beautiful girls. Who seconds before were chatting loudly out of control. Sitting there, mouths open. Staring at me. I tried to start conversation with them. I was clearly still in a probationary period with them. Silence. That didn't last too long. Within 10 minutes we were all giggling girls.
Debbie's morning was busy with kids. Work from home. I tried to keep her three beautiful girls a bit occupied with teaching them new yoga moves so they would stay out of her hair a bit. We chatted a bit about Debbie's run. The girls didn't know quite exactly what she was doing. But, we did talk a bit about it. They had some interesting deep thoughts. So much so, we decided to write them down as mottos for the weekend.
* Life is not about the ice cream.
* It is about breathing. And everything in between.
* It's a no-death weekend.
* No dying.
The girls went to school just after lunch. Debbie asked me to braid her hair. And, then, boom, like that she was up and ready to go.
What? She's starting NOW? Wait, what, I'm not ready! Not sure what I was needing to be ready for. But, I wasn't sure. She walked out the door, a smile, and she was off.
It had begun.
Debbie started Friday at 12:26 p.m., skipping out the door in her 3 Non Joggers tee. It was warm out there Full sun. But, she was cruising along. Perhaps a bit too fast as we look back on it. But, she was a woman on a mission. Who am I to stop this?
This routine became quite funny
as the night went on.
I didn't know quite what I was doing. I let her come in and give me orders. Quickly, I figured out the routine. She pees. Liquids. Food. Cold towel around her neck. I clean her feet. I check her feet. Lotion them. Massage them. (Debbie thinks I could make serious cash on my foot massages. Ha.) Massage the calfs. Assess the situation. Her physical state. Her mental state. Reapply sunscreen. Then try to get her out the door as soon as possible.
After a few loops it became quite routine. Almost like Indy cars in pit row. But, with less speed and precision.
She would do several mile loops. Late in the day, just under 20 miles complete, nausea started to set in. I got an urgent text to come get her. To be honest I freaked a bit. I wasn't sure what that meant. She said she felt sick. I threw on my running shoes, grabbed a fresh bottle of Nuun and ran out the door to find her.
Mind you, I'm not running so much. Foot hurts. But, I didn't care what I needed to do to get her back in. I only had to run around the block to meet up with her. Got her home. We checked any symptoms she had to gauge her electrolyte levels. Our very unprofessional opinion was that she needed more electrolytes. And, more frequent food intake. We also determined we needed to keep a steady eye on her weight. I had actually typed up a chart to keep track of things. But, in the rush of the start, I forgot about it. I pulled it out and we started to keep track of the what and whens and at what mile.
The picture does not capture
how big this hill really was.
Whoa.
Skibba arrived just after this "incident". I immediately passed off my duties to her. She headed out the door with Debbie to keep moving and walk a bit to get going again. I had a snack, walked the dogs, and took a little breather. When they returned I rejoined Debbie to pick up a bike that was graciously being loaned to me for the night. I sped walked as fast as I could. My whole leg was hurting me. Foot too. Oh well. I tried to really push my pace to keep her moving along. Having legs almost as tall as her (and I kid. Kind of) helped push her. I needed to keep her moving as fast as I could. My legs are way longer than hers, so I was pushing her as she walked. Good. I was happy to get on that bike and off my feet though. That would change as the night went on.
There were areas that were too rocky or
wet. So, Debbie did off road running.
She ran the rest of the loop and I rode the bike. It was a mountain bike. What I'm used to. However, it was too small for me. No big deal. Well, not at first anyway. This would change too.
Somewhere in the mid 20's
mileage. Still look good!
She was now more than a quarter way to her goal. I passed her off again to Skibba to accompany her on a bike for a few more loops. I continued my triage duties each time Debbie came inside. Feet. Foot. Fuel. Feet were still looking really good. Did finally see a blister between two toes. Moleskinned that up and it was never a problem again.
Skibba is a morning person (stoopid triathletes) and I'm a night person. So it was easily decided she would get some sleep soon and I would stay up all night with Debbie.
Chain was jammed in the
lower left corner. I could loosen
the rest of the chain. But, not this.
Until I did. Finally.
However, disaster struck just before midnight when they came back way too early from a loop. I panicked a bit when the door opened. Oh, no. What was wrong with Debbie? But, it wasn't Debbie. It was the bike. A broken/jammed bike chain. Jammed so tight I have NO idea how it got in there. No idea how we would get it out. Without the bike we couldn't continue. Debbie could not be out there alone in the night. We could not run with her. It was a bit tense.
I had already fixed a chain earlier in the day on one of Debbie's daughter's bikes. I did it extremely quickly, to the point that I impressed Debbie with my ability. Apparently this takes her forever to do. So, with the confidence of fixing a little girls bike behind me I would surely be able to do this. Right? Ha. (By the way, I've never fixed a bike chain before)
Oh, dear. This chain was SO jammed. Part of the chain was stuck between the frame and the chain ring. It looked like the laws of physics were against us. I couldn't see how we could get the chain from point A to point B. Was just not happening. No matter how hard I tried. How hard I pulled. Pushed. I felt a sense of panic. We had to get this fixed HAD to. Skibba and I were sharing concerned glances. Debbie was still moving. She took the dogs out in the neighborhood as Skibba and I tried to figure this out. I flipped the bike in every direction I could to get better leverage. Or see a better option. In one turn my leg got a bit caught. Um. Ouch. Blood.
'Tis but a scratch.
We tweeted out SOS cries for help for any cyclists/triathletes we thought A - would still be up B - could tell us HOW to get this chain un-jammed. We got nothing. So, Skibba jumped on her road bike (which was a bit hard to ride along with Deb due to the hills, speed we were going and times we were riding in the grass) and they headed back out. I sat outside with that bike determined to get it working again.
I tugged and pulled and swore. Nothing. I did it again and again and again and again. Covered in grease. Still bleeding from my leg. I got the chain loose several times. But, still couldn't get it threaded correctly due the original position of the jam. Tried several times. And, then pushed REALLY hard. Pulled REALLY hard. Bike went flying. I went flying. My finger got caught in something. It hurt. But, I heard a click. I am pretty sure I yelled "Namaste Muthufuckers" Bike fixed.
It was midnight.
Renewed energy. "Second Wind Baby, Second Wind!!!!" Debbie and Skibba returned. 12 hours done. 50.1 miles done. Debbie's fastest 50 miles ever. Sweet! This was an exciting moment. Debbie had a few emotional moments to reflect on this. We were happy for her. But, it was not over. By any means.
Skibba hit the bed. Debbie and I headed out for a long night. First few loops were good. Some nausea here and there. But, otherwise, strong. Then the feet started to hurt. Some chaffing issues too. She did some walking. I walked with the bike alongside her. This killed my leg. But, I couldn't ride this slowly. I had to keep her moving. I walked faster then her. Told her to keep up. These were some quiet times. I wasn't really sure I should talk to her. I didn't want to bug her. But, I also didn't want to have her fade off mentally. So, I gave her a mix of quiet. Falling back a bit behind her to let her go. Mixed with some random conversations as I rode next to her.
It was here that I feel that I failed Debbie most. I knew mentally she had it in her. But, I also knew that sometimes the physical weakness can play havoc with even a strong head. I didn't have the right words to tell her. Yes, I'm a cheerleader. But, I'm the Whooo-Hoo!!!! Wheeeeee!!!!!! Go! GO! Go! kind. At 3 am you really cannot scream those sentiments. Telling her she was doing awesome just didn't seem like that meant anything at mile 57ish.
Then, she started to get REALLY sleepy. She fell asleep while I cleaned her feet. She fell asleep on the toilet. I knew she couldn't go on like this. She had warned us not to let her stay still for too long. She told us she would probably argue with us at some point. But, she couldn't stand. Hell, I could barely stand. I was tired. My legs were sore. And, I wasn't doing anything. So, I made an executive decision at 4 a.m. to let her sleep. For 15 minutes. I really wanted to sleep too. But, I was scared we both wouldn't wake up. So, I lay on my back on the floor and watched her sleep. My back was aching me from the short bike. It felt great to lie down. I felt horrible waking her up. But, up she went. I gave her a small sandwich some broth with protein, and, out the door.
Debbie warned us that there would be dark moments. That should would not be so nice perhaps. We had hit the dark. But, we never hit the mean. Our plan was to get whatever little we could get out of her. If she planned a 3 mile loop , we tried for 3.25 As we started this new loop I was prepared to ask for some running. Just a little bit. But, before I could even ask, she started running. Of course she did. Why I even questioned it I have no idea. She ran the entire loop. Wow. She got to the usual midway point of the loop, started to turn. I said, "No, let's go to the end of the street." She paused for a second. Turned around and headed for the end of the street. When we got there she turned, looked at me and said, "You happy?" I giggled. Said "Yes" Kissed her forehead. Off she went. This was to be the last loop with me. Sunrise was coming.
My graveyard shift was over. 62.53 miles done. 5:18 a.m.
Time to pass her off to Skibba. I was near the end of my limit. I was a bit sad to leave Debbie. But, I was SO tired. I hate even saying this because, come on, I think Debbie was a wee bit more tired than me. But, I am not Debbie. This was VERY clear to me. I went to Skibba in bed and told her she was on. We had a quick debriefing of the events of the night. What was working. What wasn't working. What our strategy was to keep Debbie going. We agreed to keep asking for little increments from her. Build miles through inches if we had to. I distinctly recall Skibba asking me to tell her what to do. That she had no clue what to do. I giggled. Girl, I had no idea what I was doing either! If I looked like I knew, it was only because my cluelessness became a clueless routine after so many loops. Ha!
I was to go to bed. Orders given. I knew I wouldn't. I washed dishes. Organized some things that got disorganized throughout the night. I also got yelled at by both of them that I needed to worry a bit about me too. I needed food. I needed electrolytes. Pfffft. Whatever. I was hungry so I did sneak in a sandwich (breakfast of champions). I was up when they were back in the door about 30 minutes later. They were back so soon it scared me. A 5k at 65 miles at 30 minutes or so? Really, Debbie? REALLY? Whoa.
I needed to get the dogs out so decided to do it barefoot. And, surprisingly I suddenly had this weird energy. So, I ran the dogs. Barefoot. It felt a wee bit awesome. I was in no pain. Weird. I ran into Debbie on my way back, as she was heading out again.
I finally gave in to my intense desire to sleep. I changed into comfy clothes and dove into bed. No sooner than I did this and the dogs started barking madly. I knew it wasn't Debbie. I knew it was Michael . A barefoot runner friend of Debbie's who was coming to witness her run and run a few miles with her. I got up. Let him in. Gave him the update on the run. When Debbie came in I went right back to my duties. For the very first time I really noticed a difference in her feet. Honestly over the entire time, there was little change. This time her feet looked a bit raw. The color was more pinkish. There were a few punctures. I needed a bit more moleskin to protect a few spots.
But, Debbie seemed a bit energized to see Michael. He asked more detailed questions. He took pictures of her feet. Made some video record of what was going on. Then headed out to run a loop with Debbie.
This time it was no joke. I had to get to bed. It was now 7:30 am. I don't even remember falling asleep. Next thing it was 10:30 am and I heard people. I didn't want to miss the final loop, so I ran downstairs to see what was up.
Debbie's feet were hurting. Badly. She was moving around the house. It was agreed one last small loop would be made to finish it up. She had aimed for 100 miles. But, she was happy with the result. She should be. It was quite impressive. All three of us headed out for that final short loop walk. At this point we were all giddy and overtired. We had silly conversation. Giggled. It was nice. There was a good energy knowing Debbie was near her finish. As we neared the house, Skibba and I let Debbie do the final distance alone. We stood back and watched. In awe.
Debbie finished up her 24 hour barefoot run with 76.62 amazing miles. To witness such strength and determination, even when things got tough and dark, was really an amazing experience. No matter how bad it got, deep down she was going to keep on keeping on. And, she did.
It is thought that she holds the record for the longest distance run barefoot by a female.
I feel so honored to have been a very small part of this achievement. It was an amazing experience.
I sit here, late at night, not running. Again. I am looking through some of my running stats from one year ago. Wow, have times changed. I don't even know who that person was one year ago.
I miss her.
I wish I appreciated more what I was doing then. I had yet to start my Chicago Marathon training. So, I still was running free. I didn't even know it then. No training schedule. No injuries. Just running. When I wanted. For how far I wanted. Getting out there and releasing everything.
It was fun. It was fast. It was freeing.
It was me.
I had no idea I was running so fast. Okay, I know compared to many of you, this was slow. But, wow, right now, the thought of doing these paces is really unfathomable to me. I don't mean soon, I mean ever. Ever again.
If I close my eyes hard enough, I actually can remember these runs. Running through Wrigley Field, barely anything left in me. Cold, pouring ran. Running through the huge puddles over the finish line. To a race PR. Standing there in amazement. At what I just did. By myself. Letting the rain pour down on me, instead of seeking shelter.
I was happy.
I remember.
These are my five fastest runs. Kind of fun to see some of your comments. Some of you I didn't really know all that well. And, now know very well. Thanks for being with me when times were good. And, thanks for sticking with me when it's not so good.
We have had one week of amazing weather here in the Chicago area. Eighty degree temps and bountiful sunshine. It's been nice to feel a bit of summer on my runs and rides. I love me some sunshine. I love how it feels on my skin. Especially after I've been without it for so many months. It makes me feel alive. Makes me happy. Ahhhh, sunshine.
My father called me Sunshine. It always made me smile. Come on, your dad calling you Sunshine? Melted my little heart. And, sometimes, when he would hold me he would sing, "You Are My Sunshine". Love.
My dad loved the sunshine. His favorite place in the world was our gazebo or hammock in St. Maarten. He would spend afternoons lounging in the sun in the beach hammock, reading a good book. Come sunset time he would move to the gazebo with the book, this time adding a nice cocktail as he watched the sun set on another gorgeous day.
However, dad also loved bad weather. Tornadoes, hurricanes, the worse the better. If tornado sirens were going off, dad was outside watching the sky. When we were in a major hurricane in St. Maarten, he took a very minor reduction in winds during the middle of the hurricane as an opportunity to go outside and stand in it. The winds were intense and almost unbearable to stand in. But, he hunkered down in a spot that gave him a vantage point to watch the intensity of the storm from the front row. Of course, I was right behind him. The apple didn't fall far.
Ten years ago today my dad died. I cannot believe it's been ten years. I have no idea where the time went. It still seems like yesterday. I can still remember the events of those last twenty four hours with every single detail. Up until the moment my my dad took his last breath.
I was my father's daughter . After he died I honestly thought the sun would never shine again. There's something about losing a parent. If you have been unfortunate to know this feeling, you know. If you are lucky enough to not know it I hope that you don't for a very long time.
My sister's bib for the St. Paddy's Day 5k
I have several friends who have rocky relationships with their parents. I only tell them this. Make amends. Even if they did you wrong. Weren't the best parents. Made you struggle to be the amazing person you are today in spite of them. Whatever it is. Be the better person. Forgive. Love. Because, life is too short. My dad was not perfect. He made mistakes. He wasn't always a good dad. But, he did love me. And, in the end of his life I felt his love stronger than I ever had. Maybe it was because I was taking care of him. As he slowly died, I stood up strong. To help him. Oddly the moment in my life he was proudest of me was when I was helping him die.
I have so many male friends who have daughters. I love watching them interact with them. There's something so special about the father-daughter relationship. I'm not even sure my friends realize the impact they are having on their daughters. But, let me tell you, it's a big one. If you are a father to a daughter, don't take what you say and do with them for granted. They remember it all. It matters.
Losing my dad was hard. He was THE man in my life. Always. He comforted me when I was sad. Gave me that kind of bear hug that only a dad can give. When I got physically hurt my mom would give me the bandaid and calm me down. However, dad would tell me me to suck it up and stop crying. My dad was there to help me with life lessons. With stuff as a girl I didn't know how to do. I would ask my dad. Often he would do it for me. But, many times he would make me figure it out myself.
After he died I had to figure everything out myself. I could no longer ask him. That was hard at first. I cannot tell you how many times I reached for the phone, thinking I could call him. Only to remember I would never be able to again. I didn't figure out a lot of things right without him. I made mistakes. I still do.
I really need my dad now. For so many reasons. My running sucks. I am struggling. I'm being whiny. I need him to remind me to suck it up. Shut up and just do it. But, I also need him to give me the hug that only he could give. To tell me that it would be ok. That life would be ok. He didn't hug me often. When he did it was unexpected. But, it was in a moment I surely needed it. The unexpected hugs tend to mean the most. I miss having someone to protect me. From life. From me.
I never was the smartest.
I never was the prettiest.
I never was the funniest.
I never was the tallest.
I was never the fastest.
I was just me.
I really don't know how I got through school. How I managed to get an MBA in International Business Management. I was in SO far over my head. But, ever winging it, somehow I got through it.
I have to say, I have the prettiest friends. They are not only pretty, they are SO funny. Often I sit in silence while they work the room. I can't even compete. Hell, I wasn't even tall growing up. My bff's in high school were both 5'11". Even at 5'10" I couldn't win.
In swimming I held my own. I certainly wasn't weak. But, I certainly was no star. Only during some odd summers where my birthday fell just after the age deadline was I handed a gift and allowed to compete in the lower age group. So, for those few months, I WAS the fastest. I did win. In the championship meet I got first. Hell yeah. Ahhh, but I kind of felt like a fraud.
I still am very competitive. No matter what. To be smart. To be pretty. Funny. Tall. Fast.
The other night at dinner some running friends tried to convince me that being fast is not important. (This coming from two very fast people, mind you.) I heard them. I understand them. But, it still doesn't compute with my brain. Because no matter what, I feel I have to be faster. Faster than I have been. Faster than somebody else. Fast.
One year ago I was in my best shape. I was running fast and fierce. For me anyway. One year ago yesterday I raced a 10k in St. Maarten. After three weeks of drinking and fun the last thing I wanted to do was race a 10k. But, I promised my friend RJ that I would. Amongst all the fun I had actually been running quite steadily. No matter how little sleep I had. I still managed to get a few good runs in a week. It sure helped that RJ was all on me. I would get a call on the beach while he was at work, "What are you doing?' "Um, sitting on the beach. Duh." "Well, get your ass home. I'm picking you up in 15 minutes. We are going running." And, somehow, some way, I got up. Shuffled the 5 minutes back home. And got ready to run.
Race morning was tough. I had been out every night for three weeks. I finally stayed home the night before the race. But, it was killing me that all my friends were out. I couldn't sleep. I woke up before my alarm. Had coffee on the patio, overlooking the ocean. Another gorgeous day on the horizon. I stopped at the local convenience store on the way to the race. As I got back in my car I noticed runners coming upon me. Half marathoners from the race who had already started. I stood and cheered them on. I appeared to be the only person up that early other than them.
Me & RJ (Check out the doode behind us)
I met up with RJ at the race start. Shortly thereafter we were off. 7 am is already hot in St. Maarten. It was full sun. No shade. I ran slow and steady to start. I started to feel good and pulled away from RJ. There were some women running with me. We kind of stuck together. For the next few miles we took turns passing each other. At mile two I started to see the half marathoners coming at me. The first guy was hauling. I was going to give him a courtesy wave as he passed. Just as I was doing so, I realized I knew him. RJ's friend Andi. I had randomly seen him cross the finish line at the 2010 Chicago Marathon. We screamed hello, whoo-hoo'd, smiled, and ran on.
I hit the turn around, at that convenience store where I had seen the half marathoners, and made my way back. At this point I was hurting. I was REALLY hot. I was struggling with my endurance. But, more importantly I was having a hard time keeping up with some of the women I was playing tag with. But, I kept on. I passed RJ as he neared the turnaround and we waved. I ended up passing a few of the women as they struggled more than me. But, a few moved ahead of me too. I was disappointed I couldn't keep up. The last half mile was brutal. I was really hurting. I almost wanted to walk it out. But, I didn't Somehow I managed to cross that finish line. Andi was there cheering me in.
Best post chillaxin'
I grabbed a cold beer and fresh hot french croissants and waited for RJ to finish. High fives, hugs, kisses. And, off for beer for him too. We chilled and talked on the beach while the rest of the racers finished. Out of curiosity I went to peek at the finishers standings. I was absolutely floored to see that I had won my age group. Ok, granted, this was no big race. Just a small island race. But, still. I came back to RJ giggling like a fool. He wanted to know why. I told him. I'm pretty sure he threw some profanity at me. Because that's how we roll. But, he also kissed me and congratulated me too.
Gigglin' as I get my medal
So, those women I couldn't keep up with. Yeah, they were TWENTY years younger than me. Mmmm'kay?
I forget that sometimes. The people I think I'm trying to compete with are not even in my league. So, why am I even wasting my energy worrying about such silly stuff? One of these young "gals" who had beaten me, came up to me post race. She gave me congratulations and said she was struggling and that I pushed her to finish strong. Then she said, "Have you seen your legs?" I was puzzled. I said, "Uh..... What? Why?" She replied, "Your legs are sick. When you run your muscles are ridiculous." Oh my God. I giggled so hard. Apparently, I wasn't the only one eyeballing the competition. And, I'm not bad for an old broad either I guess.
Six weeks after my St. Maarten race I ran the Race to Wrigley 5k. I was so excited to finish a race by running the hallowed grounds of Wrigley Field. I had friends sign up with me. But, come race morning it was pouring rain and cold. Absolutely miserable. Every single one of my friends pulled out. Everyone but me. I was going dammit. I stood in the start corral, freezing, while rain pelted me in the face. I was shivering. It was awful. But, we sang Take Me Out To the Ballgame and off we went.
As we started to run I got warm. The rain felt great. The crowd was fun. It was moving well. No walkers (I ALWAYS get walkers). The energy was great. I was alone, but I didn't feel alone. I kept pushing myself. I felt like I was moving forward as opposed to being passed by people. It kind of felt awesome. For once. As we neared Wrigley for the finish I got a surge of energy. I hit the concourse area and screamed with everyone else "Go Cubs" as it echoed throughout the the stadium. And, as soon as we went in... we came out the other side, right through the finish line. I gave it all I had as I crossed. Nothing left in me at all. The finish line was under at least several inches of water. So splash! splash! splash! across the line I went. And, then I was done. By myself. I was done.
They had immediate readouts for your splits, finish time, and place. Holy crap. A PR for me. By a few minutes actually. 27:26 (8:55). 20th in my division. Hey, look at me. Still not the fastest. But, happy as a clam with being fast for me. It continued to pour. But, I stood there in the rain and let it all soak in. I was pretty damn happy.
This St. Patrick's Day I'm racing a 5k. In my head I want to PR. But, in reality I know I'll get nowhere near my Wrigley Race. Perhaps I never will again. But, that's okay.
I will never be the smartest. The prettiest. The funniest. The tallest. I have to learn to know that it's all okay. I may be witty and charming instead of intelligent smart. Someone may find me pretty out there in the world. I think I can make some people laugh sometimes. I'm certainly taller than Gwen.
And, fast? Well, I really have to learn that it's okay that I'm not. I got broke. I got fixed. But, I'll never be where I was before. Partially because I just cannot physically. Partially because I cannot mentally.
I'm not racing to win. I'm not racing to beat some faceless person whom I have no business racing. I'm there to race me. The me that I was. The me I've yet to become. And, whatever the result, I'm okay with that.
Ok, now who's up for a game of "I Never"............
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. 
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 Nathan ). 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 happy. But, running makes me healthy.
