#10. Indianapolis, IN: Mustache rides in windy Indy

…The mustache will be explained later in this post; but no, it has nothing to do with No-Shave-November.  I actually think that concept is disgusting, primarily because it combines laziness, prickly facial hair and guys’ cockiness who think they’re a “man” because they can grow such shrubbery on their face.  So while the descripted wore their burliness proudly,  my friend Kirstin and I hit the road after a half day of work on Friday.

            How Kirstin and I became friends is a fairly recent and unfriendly way of becoming friends.  She started at our place of work last December; we became acquaintances by March, friends by April, and now spend far too much time together. And I don’t hate it. The delay for our friendship is not because we share a common belief that all work places should have a natural peanut butter pump machine, think Aziz Ansari is the god of all humor, or think weiner dogs are shiny, beautiful little beings…because we do- instead it’s because she happens to have the same name as the 19 year old my ex decided to “pursue” in an elevator in Jamaica last year.  So I obviously thought anyone with that name was the devil. But low and behold, this friendo is awesome so I was more than happy to hear she wanted to visit her friend who recently moved to Indy and would join me for race #10.

            The trip started with Kirstin popping in her mix CD she made for the trip which we ended up never taking out of the player.  That’s right, we listened to a full 7 hours roundtrip of everything from The Naked and Famous to Queen to Kanye and Jay-Z. (Kirstin also painstakingly listened to my valiant efforts to hit Beyonce’s high notes.)  We passed a “HELL IS REAL” billboard (On the reverse side it said “JESUS IS REAL”. Thank GOD.), a Christian school bus in the middle of a field and not a single speed limit sign.  So, I had no idea what the speed limit was, which would cause this next issue:    We ended up cruising behind a State Police car. Keeping my distance but pacing off the cop’s speed, I thought I was fine.  But when the cop got over in the right lane and slowed down, I took that as my cue to do the same, seeing that speeding by a cop would just be blatantly stupid.  Apparently so is getting behind them.  Moments later, we watched the cop car exit, speed up the ramp and come back down chasing poor Lady Slipper’s blue ass.  Damnnnn ittttt: pulled over.  The woman with a horrendous twang and a uniform that made her look like the trunk of a Weeping Willow told me she pulled me over for three reasons: 1. She was going 80-85 mph but that does NOT mean I can do the same because according to her she’s “trained in driving” and she’s sick of dealing with idiots everyday.  Ummm okay treebark lady, I have a license too, does that make me “trained” in driving? Andddd are you insinuating I’m one of those idiots?  Because I, personally, think I’ve got a higher IQ than the average coconut. 2. It was a very “smartass” move to get behind her when she slowed down rather than pass her, which she thought I was going to do.  No, that is a SMART move, you ASS. Again, passing you rather than getting behind you would just be saying, Please give me that ticket sugar momma. 3. My passenger side brake light was out.  Okay, not only do I not have eyes in the back of my head, I sure as hell don’t have them on the back of my car so how am I supposed to know that?  I mean, I know I’m pretty much a celeb at this point but it’s not like I have paparazzi chasing me and letting me know these things.  They’re too busy catching Ashton Kutcher in hot tubs in twenty-year olds that are probably named Kirstin, too.  The cop took my license (which is still Missouri and completely invalid seeing that I’ve lived back in Illinois now for a good year and a half) and walked back to her car. She dicked around in there for a while and probably played some Words With Friends or some shit because when she came back she had no ticket in hand and handed Kirstin a warning through the passenger side window.  How I got out of that with a WOMAN cop is beyond me.  I normally assume successes such as this are due to my huge beaver teeth that people, including female cops apparently, just can’t resist.  Kirstin thought it was either because she was sporting some cleave or she thought the cop thought something was wrong with me because I sit so close to the steering wheel and just felt bad for me.  Well, if it’s massive orthodontia, tits or misunderstood retardation, who cares. CHEERS.

            The rest of the trip was smooth sailing and after 3.5 hours in the car and entrance into a new time zone, we arrived in downtown Indy.  From here on out, I’ll refer to Indianapolis as Indy, because Indianapolis is a stupid long name, just like people of royalty who have four first names followed by Roman Numerals.  Unfamiliar with the downtown area, we were in search for the Convention Center.  Kirstin made the sadly logical decision to just “follow the people wearing jeans with running sneakers”.  Ugh, she’s so right.  Runners really have terrible fashion sense in that respect.  Which might surprise you since I’m a runner and quite the fashionista with unmatched socks and the seam of my skinny jeans always being twisted because they barely squeeze over my massive man calves.  We entered the glorified world of running paraphenalia and I fetched my race packet while simultaneously reminding Kirstin she could STILL register if she REALLY wanted to.  An eye roll followed.

            We then went in search for a restaurant at which I could stuff my face with noodles and bread, my very ladylike carbo-load.  Along the way we noticed wooden planks in the middle of the road that were being used for a senior portrait photo shoot.  Besides providing a wicked background to make that 18 year old look like a badass, we were very confused as to the purpose of these wood islands.  The Spaghetti Factory seemed like an obvious choice for dinner.  Inside we waited a solid 40 min. after a projected 20 minute wait time among other runners (we knew this because yes, they were wearing jeans with running shoes. Okay, and they had race packs).  And babies.  There were so many babies just chillin’, droolin’, doing their chubby thigh thang there.  There was one teeny, tiny baby in a polka dot dress and headband who literally looked like she just popped out…presumably, fully dressed in polka dots.  The reason I mention all these little critters is not only because there were so many it really added to the experience at the restaurant but also because Kirstin and I have very similar feelings towards such little beings and the birthing process in general so this situation made us feel nervous, awkward and disturbed.  While waiting, Kirstin ran into her old high school soccer coach, who too, was running the half marathon the following morning.  Finally seated, Kirstin and I found ourselves to be placed at a four person table that could have comfortably seated eight. It was such a large square of a table that we considered sitting next to each other like awkward, overly-romantic couples do; we decided against it for fear we’d look like an awkward, overly-romantic lesbian couple.  Even though we’re far too attractive for that stereotype.  (Okay yes there are pretty lesbians, we just aren’t them).  Salad served, Kirstin quickly learned that the chef decided to top her mixed greens with a brown paper towel.  Now, most terrible-soul people cause a rukus about such a gross accident; but, being the classy ladies we are who really don’t give two shits about such nonsense laughed it off but carefully inspected the remainder of our meal for trolls, stickers or any other random objects.

            Post-dinner we headed 15 minutes across town to our pad for the weekend.  Remember my awesome host in San Diego who was my dad’s friend from childhood, Maureen?  Well, THIS was the home of Marsha, my dad and Maureen’s other best friend.  Marsha was actually in Chicago for the weekend but so very generously opened her home to Kirstin and me for the weekend.  Upon arrival, we noticed a few things: 1. The streets were seriously so freaking wide.  Honestly, I think Marsha’s neighborhood street was wider than the Edens expressway.  I mean, I know nothing about real estate but if I were ever trying to sell a house in that neighborhood of Indy, I’d include “very spacious street, perfect for an epic block party” in the description to really seal the deal.  2. Marsha’s German Shepard, Gracie, was barking at us, loudly.  Of all things Kirstin and I have in common, love for dogs is not one of them she possesses (note: unless it’s a wiener dog).  I’m pretty sure the only thing Kirstin liked about hearing we’d have a K9 roommate for the weekend was that it was German like her.  But after entering with a baby-talk “Hi Gracie!”, the dog warmed up to us and enjoyed her visitors. 3. Marsha’s house was darling.  She has quite the knack for decorating in an eclectic manner, which didn’t surprise me based on the charming and wonderful personality she hones. 

            Saturday morning I was greeted with Kirstin in knee high argyle socks and a North Face (mind you, this is the same girl who the day prior mocked runners for their terrible fashion sense).  To be fair, I had forgotten to turn up the heat after Marsha warned me she keeps it lower for the dog during the day.  So it was a bit chilly in the abode…but nothing quite as chilly as the outside world.  Arriving at the race early, we sat in the car to avoid the brisk 35 degrees.  After my first of two porta-potty stops per routine, we took shelter in a large, heated tent with other runners.  Kirstin seemed to enjoy the people watching of all the freaks of nature (myself included) who willingly wanted to run in cold weather for 1-6 hours.  We parted ways after agreeing she’d try to catch me at mile 3 and the finish line.  Shivering til the start next to the State Capitol building, the gun went off followed by the cliché “And the bass keeps running and running and running running…” Black Eyed Peas, Let’s Get it Started in Here blared.

            I took out the race a little faster than I prefer- running a 7:42 my first mile, but fell into my normal groove shortly thereafter.  It was still fairly dark out when the race started and steered us through the minimal streets of downtown Indy (it really isn’t that big).  I kept my eyes out for “monuments” as the name of the race “Monumental Marathon” promised me some legit, old buildings.  Nearing mile 3, the course veered to “Monumental circle” that possessed the only monument I saw the entire race, towering high above and decorated with hundreds of spectators at its base.  It was definitely a cool little area to run through and as I weaved around the bend, I kept my eye out for Kirstin.  Sure enough, I spotted her right away and threw my arms in the air, waving like a wild banshee in hopes she would spot me in the pool of runners.  She did and managed to take a few pics…and by pics, I mean she actually took videos of the banshee like arm wave.  With a pep in my step from seeing my fan, I trudged on to later be entertained by a step group in all black sweats shaking their thangs and stomping their steps.

Pre-race: 7AM's never looked so good.

we'll call this one: "smokin' fast!" har har.

Post race: 1:42:33 later. #464 out of over 12,000!

            While Indy isn’t a very large downtown area, the course did a really nice job of taking runners winding through the streets to enjoy what the city does have to offer.  The middle miles seemed to go by pretty quickly as I was extremely satisfied with my recent addition of Will Smith’s “Miami” to my race list.  Seriously, Will Smith does no wrong in my opinion.  The last three miles was where it actually got tough for me.  While all races are physically challenging, I’ll admit that Indy was kind of a rough race for me in the sense that, come mile 10, I just wanted it to be over.  I’m not entirely sure why but my guess is with my extremely busy October, my longer runs suffered and thus my legs became adapted to only running 8-12 miles, making that final stretch a painful challenge.  (It also didn’t help that I was sporting shorts in 35 degree weather and my legs were tightening in the cold).  And, it was WINDY: straight into the icy wind the last three miles. It burned to breath; it stung my thighs; my damp-with-sweat hair painfully struck my face like little icicles.  And the nausea set in.  My final miles are normally my fastest, as I typically kick with 7:10-7:30 min miles.  The end of this race, I was doing 8:10s at best as I tried to lift my legs higher and faster but they numbed with exhaustion.  I spoke my normal words of positive affirmation including my newest addition recommended by Kirstin and told myself: “I’m SO fucking beautiful.” Admit it, it’s awesome. and hilarious.  The finish line in sight, I finally made it across 1:42:33 later—another second fastest time, #464 out of over 12,000, wobbled and puked what I had left in me on the streets of Indy.  Kirstin had warned me that if she saw me puke, she probably would too as she’s a “sympathy vommer”.  She did indeed spot my moment of ill glory but luckily locked it up and greeted me moments later as I collected my medal and free hat they passed out to all finishers.  I debriefed the race for Kirstin as I layered my sweats on, was content with my time and we snagged some free Jimmy John’s sandies.

            Post race we weaved our way through the road closures all across Indy to take a quick shower and nap at Marsha’s.  A beautifully sunny, 60 degree day made it very opportune for a winery.  And so began our day of adult beverage drinking.  We headed downtown to the Easley Winery and really splurged on a $3 tour of the winery followed by eight tastings.  The tour guide was probably the most enthusiastic wine conessieur you could imagine.  That was sarcasm, my friends.  But he did know his shit.  Our favorite part was obviously the actual tasting of the vino.  I managed to “surprise” the tour guide with my choices of the wines I wanted to taste as I’m a young lady and I was apparently choosing wines typically consumed by the age 62 male demographic.  Whatever, I like to try new things, bucko.  Our favorite was a white wine that was best paired with “muffins and relaxation” or something weird, according to the description.  The food pairings were pretty hilarious- I think one of them said it was best paired with a campfire.  Mmm, nothing like a s’more to go with a glass of chardonnay.

            We ended up getting a few bottles (some as gifts), and some cheese and crackers to enjoy on the patio outside.  A bottle and block of cheese later, we were feeling good and overheard someone talking about a brewery across the street.  Ears perked, we had the obvious answer for what we’d do next in our day of celebration.  Across the street we became confused as we saw no winery in sight.  Luckily for technology, Kirstin Googled that shit and we realized we were standing right in front of the brewery.  Well, the building looked like a Knights of Columbus, which should have been our cue to what we’d encounter inside.  Inside, we were greeted with tickets to redeem 6 free beer tastings.  This was seriously the least I’ve spent on alcohol aside from my college days of .75 cent triple wells at Big 12 and the free drinks I scheme for in Vegas.  And then we walked in the back to become the cutely-dressed, white girls black sheep of the crowd.  The general population in this ‘Sun Kings” brewery (an Indiana local beer) is very similar to the loyal customer base of Harley Davidson.  We sipped on our beers (some tasty, others a bit too bitter) among the interesting crowd that included a man wearing a tee that read “I’m not a baby but I still love nipples”.  If that doesn’t scream class and my new best friend, I don’t know what does….well, maybe the shower that was in the bathroom there.  Seriously that place was weird.  But who can pass up free beer and quality blog material?  From there, we wandered the streets of Indy towards the more downtown area, picking up a fake mustache along the way.  Hence, Mustache rides.  If you’ve never been to a good stache party, you’re really missing out.  Kirstin hadn’t as I suppose it could be a trashy Missouri leisurely activity, but we enjoyed our newfound fake upper lip decor until it lost its stickiness and we entered an area of the general public.  We did a little drunk shopping (don’t worry, I was very satisfied with my purchases the next day) and ended our day of drinking with Mexican Food and chugging H20 to sober up for the ride back to Marsha’s only to start drinking again an hour later.

Winery playtime

Figuring out the stache 

THE Monument

Celebrating

            Back at Marsha’s we changed into evening wear, played with Gracie who had an ironic fond liking for Kirstin the K9 hater, which of course I found amusing.  Kirstin’s friend Andy (the one who moved there a few months ago) joined us for our night out on the streets of Indy.  We started our night with Andy’s choice of whipped Cherry vodka, a bev unfamiliar to Kirstin and myself, which ended up being quite delish when paired with root beer (the only dark pop I’ll drink without alch…that I chose to drink with alch).  Per Andy’s recommendation of Broad Ripple, a younger, party strip of Indy as opposed to the classy bars downtown, we headed to a bar called Rock Lobster.  This is not to be confused with Red Lobster, an eating establishment I’ve never graced with my presence and probably never will. Although I hear their cheddar biscuits are the heat. (Heat= awesome, Mom. FYI).  Rock Lobster had an interesting choice of tunes and music videos (Interesting= 90’s Destiny’s Child, Marky Mark, Spice Girls and Cotton-Eye Joe.), which led the three of us to shoot the shit while anticipating if 98 degrees or Boys II Men would be next.  The night of celebration became a bit hazy from there on out.  I do remember a dance floor, which obviously means I shook my lack of ass. And Kirstin later informed me the night ended with me running up the street to a hot dog cart and demolishing the processed meat in the matter of seconds. Typical.  Needless to say, we really took advantage of the fact that I had a Saturday race and were able to celebrate the accomplishment THAT night in full force.

            The next morning we slowly moved and packed up.  The car ride home consisted of a lot of “hangover silence”, listening to Kirstin’s mix CD on repeat and no cops.

            Not only was race #10 exciting because of my second fastest time and a great weekend all-around, reality set in that I only have three of these puppies left.  It’s really both exciting and a bit sad as I’m beginning to think what the hell I’m going to do after my next three races.  26 marathons in 26 months?  Kiddinggg…maybe. Actually, no, not a shot in hell.  But I will need to figure out something to do with all my free time and to challenge myself more so.  I will admit that it will be nice to actually see my bank account INCREASE for the first time in a year. 

            Next stop: Dallas this weekend to run with my boo, Anna (remember her from an earlier post- my college runner roommate?)  Well back then, she was Anna Zapata, but after a ring, an exchange of “I do’s” and an amazing wedding, the newlywed Mrs. Primeaux will be joining me for race #11.  I’ve been nursing a wicked cold and strep throat combo for the past week and a half which has totally cockblocked my running schedule, so this could be interesting. But eh, with a quick yee-haw I’m thinking this will still be a good one.  I mean, afterall, everything’s bigger in Texas, right?

Talk to y’all after.  Oh, have you donated yet?  Go ahead and do so now, pleaseee :) http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns

#9. Denver, CO: 13.1 miles, 5,280 feet up.

There's a very good chance I left my heart in Denver.  No, I did not meet some charming man candy; instead, the city stole my heart.  One of my coworkers once asked me what I would do with all my plans to travel overseas (in hopefully the not far future) if I met a special man candy.  I told him that no man will ever be as interesting as the world.  And Denver was no exception.

Early Friday morning, my parents ritually drove me to the airport to catch my flight for my first visit to Colorado.  Landing a few hours later, I was anxiously excited to see my friend and hostess for the weekend, Carrie.  Little did I know, the Denver airport would be quite the trippy situation around which to maneuver.  Finding ground transportation was an interesting task.  First of all, you had to go down an escalator.  Okay, yes that's normal for an airport. But it doesn't change the fact that I hate down escalators.  Have you ever seen Elf?  How Buddy the Elf is both perplexed and afraid of the moving staircase?  Now have you ever seen Kristen Stewart speak publicly?  It's awkward and fearful.  Combine the two and you have me facing a downward escalator.  I let others pass and normally take a few moments to hop on board.  Next, I had to get on a tram.  It reminded me of the El in Chicago, but much cleaner and most of the people onboard seemed to have homes.  Then, up an escalator...back down a different one only to find out I was on the wrong side of the airport because there's an East and West side for ground transportation pick up.  Had I known that I would've packed my compass. So back up the escalator, directly across the airport and down another moving torture chamber also called an escalator, I found Carrie Barker.  Not to be confused with Carrie Bradshaw.  Carrie Barker has much better taste in avoiding belly shirts, frizzy hair and ugly men. 

Carrie was awaiting in her sweet, new ride.  This little gal pal rearranged her work week to make sure she could spend all of Friday with me.  (I also learned that she in fact planned on devoting her entire weekend to hanging out with me and playing tour guide. She was seriously THE BEST).  We headed to a hip, modern and Denver-local breakfast joint for brunch called Snooze.  Picture The Jetsons' furniture mixed with organic greens and you've got Snooze.  Popular by demand, we had to wait but it was definitely worth it and we had plenty of catching up to do.  Toshimoto, our waiter who disclaimed that wasn't his real name (Really?  Could've fooled me), steered us away from my go-to breakfast order of an omelette or veggie scrambler and in the direction of the best breakfast I've ever eaten.  Snooze allows you to do half portions so I went with a Caprese Benedict and a massive chocolate chip pancake topped with chocolate, carmel and other delicious fattiness that I'm sure went straight to my thighs that were to carry me 13.1 miles just two days later.  If my arteries had closed up after that meal, it would've been well worth it.  (Okay, that's an exaggeration).  But Toshimoto was awesome, even though every time I looked at him I thought of my 4th grade Tomagatchi pet. 

Post brunch, we headed to Carrie's place just south of Denver.  Decorated in all shades of elegant purples, Carrie's apartment was both charming and welcoming with an array of mountains in sight.  Carrie finished up some work as I watched early episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians (pre-wedding and pre-divorce episodes, of course.  I'm talking early episodes where they still had name captions, like "Kim" when they spoke because no one knew who these socialites were. Or knew how big her ass was yet.)  From there, we ventured to downtown Denver to the Convention Center to pick up my race packet.  Prior to arriving in Denver, my friend Tony (who was also Denver born and raised) had scared the shit out of me about the altitude.  When I told him I was running a half marathon there after a weekend in Vegas and I would only be there two days before the race (leaving very little time to adjust to the mile high air), he basically gave me a look of "You're screwed" and directed me to drink 3x as much water as I normally do.  Keeping that in mind, the first thing I had to do when we arrived downtown was race to the bathroom in the Convention Center.  (I continued to do this the entire weekend as I had engulfed myself in about 2 gallons of water every day leading up to my arrival).  Inside the expo, the woman who handed me my race packet gave me the same look as Tony did when she saw my license was from out of state.  When I told her I hadn't felt any altitude symptoms she proceeded to warn me about her constant headaches and bloody noses.  At that point I actually was worried I'd get a bloody nose during my race since I tend to get them at more than interesting times.

The great thing about going to the expo with Carrie was that she became equally enthralled with the running culture as me as we collected free snacks, including tomatoes.  Yes, someone was passing out baby tomatoes at the expo. And yes, I ate them.  We spent a good amount of time at the expo as I eyed some running sunglasses.  Now, normally when I see runners in those shades I think they look like a douche. Or a lesbian.  Not that there's anything wrong with those two types of people, but I just don't want to look like either.  But Carrie warned me at how piercing the Denver rays could be.  But risking I'd look like a sporty Ryan Seacrest, I veered away from the sunglasses and toward the Brooks station.  Carrie, too, sports Brooks Adrenaline and upon learning that we were both avid Brooks customers, a Brooks worker willingly snapped a photo for us.  We voiced a thank you but inside I was screaming, "TELL ME HOW YOU GOT YOUR JOB. IHATEYOUBECAUSEIMSOENVIOUSKBYESTRANGER!"

Post expo, Carrie played tour guide to the city of Denver.  It's a lively city with plenty of people roaming the streets and buildings towering above.  We made our way to I guess what would be considered a "main" street (as I'm forgetting its actual name) that is lined with shops and restaurants, bars and boutiques.  The best part of all is that main street is a pedestrian mall for blocks upon blocks.  That feature gave it a darling charm and calmed the traditional hustle and bustle of a normal city street.  We walked down the bricked mall making our way to their old Union Station that possesses a lot of character architecturally.  We stopped in a quaint, traditional bookshop reminiscent of You've Got Mail so I was quick to look for Meg Ryan behind the counter.  (By the way, if anyone wants to let me know what the hell happened to her, and Helen Hunt for that matter, feel free to write me.)  In a world of super-sized department stores and online distributors it was refreshing to see such a shop in the middle of a big city with plenty of foot traffic.  Within the books there were even recommendation cards from the workers, almost an old fashioned Yelp.com. We finally strolled up another street dazzled with tea lights strung between old fashioned clocks that was home to some very unique (and pricey!) boutiques.  Our favorite had to have been the hat shop.  It was literally a shop filled with hats; and no, not trashy baseball caps like Lids in Yorktown Mall.  Instead, it was Charlie Chaplin meets Kate Middleton hats that could make anyone look instantly stylish and sophisticated.  For about $120.

Making our way back to the car, I snagged some pictures of the large blue bear that "leaned" against the glass Convention Center.  I'm not exactly sure its purpose but Carrie said it was a touristy-thing to capture, much like The Bean in Chicago.  It's amazing how a city can make any ordinary object King Kong sized and people stare at it like a child looking at a shiny object.  It was cool, but in essence it looks like a huge ploy-doh Berenstain Bear. We were stopped by a couple women representing Dodge.  Dodge is always a key sponsor of the Rock 'N Roll Marathon Series so it was no surprise they were staked right outside the Expo center.  In true human instinct, we initially said no to their offer to test drive one of their rides.  But as any good sales person knows, people have to say "no" before they say yes.  Well, then came our yes.  But it was only after they told us that Dodge would donate $20 to a charity of our choice just for taking a ride around the block.  Rough life, riding a 2012 Fiat for breast cancer.  After a brief survey and a breathalyzer, we hopped in the mini ride and cruised around town.  We tested the convertible version; for being such a small car it actually felt quite roomy.  So I didn't feel half as dumb as I did when I rocked the Chevy Aveo in San Diego.  Plus, the Fiat did retro right and retro has to be done right unless you want to look like a shithole Goodwill store.  The ride was smooth and the Dodge lady that joined us chatted with me about the 50 half and full marathon combo she did in two years.  Seriously, my 13 halves in 13 months is starting to look like amateur hour if I keep meeting people like that.

After our test drive, we hopped back in Carrie's car and drove up to Boulder to visit her boyfriend Brice. I hadn't seen Brice since we graduated from college either and he's a great guy who can pull off a fierce bow tie so I was excited to see him.  The three of us roamed the streets of Boulder, a typical but neat college town, in search of any restaurant that had a wait time of less than 45 minutes.  When that prerequisite failed, we opted for a bar/grill nearby to take shelter from the chilly evening.  Finally seated we enjoyed a tasty meal with good company.  I've gotten really used to this whole 3rd wheel concept so I felt completely normal on this tricycle date (...but I will say I prefer being a back wheel).  After dinner, we went into this fun vintage shop that was on Pearl Street, an awesome avenue of vendors and art.  Any kid that goes to CU really lucked out with their college town experience, if you ask me.  Talk about a tight town.  And the tight town ended our Friday full of adventures.

Saturday I woke up to Carrie practically shaking me exclaiming, "it snowed last night! It snowed last night!" like a little tot on Christmas morning.  October 8th: snow in Denver; October 8th: 68 and sunny in Chicago.  Mother Nature is such a jokester sometimes.  And by jokester, I mean huge, raging bitch.  With the outside world just looking cold, Carrie and I spent the majority of the day curled under blankets, relaxing on the couch.  A perfect lazy Saturday.  Early afternoon, we pulled ourselves together to go for a little run; I really wanted to see how my lungs would tango with the highly-gossiped altitude.  We headed to Washington Park, home to a lovely flurry-paved running path in the heart of Denver.  Carrie, being a Mizzou cheerleader alum and a generally athletic gal, had no issue keeping up with my steady trot.  The air was thick and brisk and I'd be lying if I said it didn't burn to breath. But for the most part, the little effect the altitude appeared to have on me was reassuring for my next day race.

Once showered, Whole Foods warmed us with their soup.  It was the largest Whole Foods I had ever seen: a palace for the nutrition obsessed.  I'm actually beginning to think that the size of Whole Foods markets is in direct proportion to the health of the city in which it dwells.  For example, Denver is known as the healthiest city in America- thus, the Whole Foods was like a mini amusement park.  Chicago is known as a fairly fat city (thanks to people like me who snack on hot dogs on the reg)- thus, the Whole Foods are comparably small.  Which makes me believe that Alabama and Mississippi must have zero Whole Foods markets.  But I'll let you know once I visit Mobile, AL in January.  But again, this is just one of my theories.  Very similar to my theory that every dog I encounter loves me.

We picked up some groceries for a pasta dinner and headed back to Carrie's parents' house for the evening.  Pre-cooking, we continued our lazy Saturday with watching Blue Valentine (starring Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling) on onDemand.  We were intrigued to watch this rather depressing film hoping Ryan G would play his normal sweet heartthrob role.  Instead, he rocked a cig half out of his white trash mouth the entire movie.  Along his side, Michelle Williams played her normal depressing, dirty-haired Dawson's Creek role.  I mean, if I had a smokin' hot hubby like Heath Ledger that starred in one of the greatest movies to date (10 Things I Hate About You. Stop judging me, it's hilarious), and he died, I'd be emo 24/7 too.  Needless to say, the movie ended leaving us in question about whether we actually enjoyed it or not.  Carrie played Chef Boyardee as I de-tailed the shrimp.  We wined and dined (well, I drank water) and I went to bed a happy carbo-filled camper.

Do I even need to say that my alarm went off dark and early on Sunday morning at this point?  Well, I think I just did.  It was a chilly 42 degrees so I battled with running in my normal spandex shorts or my capri tights.  I'm not a big person for change and racing in capris is untested, dangerous waters so I went with my shawrts. (I felt like J Kwon there for a second, sorry).  Carrie dropped me off; I hit up my porta-potties, dropped off my race bag and wiggled into the start line crowed.  Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle yeahhhh. With a gun shot, I was gone.  I took this race out slower, more strategically, nervous that I'd be choked by the hands of the mile high man.  We ran past the stadium which was when I realized that right ahead of me ran a woman in a Abercrombie & Fitch winter coat that the cool kids in middle school sported.  (That did not include me, as for a good chunk of junior high I had 3 rows of teeth (yes, 3 rows), glasses and permed hair that I didn't know how to style with gel).  The coat was unzipped and the woman ran with her hands in the pockets, as if the puffy burgundy winter wear almost served as wings.  It looked terribly uncomfortable and awkward to say the least.  Mile 4 had a single hill that posed as the only fairly challenging section of the course.  I was happy to see that, unlike the Chicago half marathon, Denver's was planned so runners could actually breath in the city as they ran.  Nearing the final 4 miles or so, the course winded through a park and neighborhood area.  I ran under a wide-legged Brooks inflatable rock star right before mile 10--when the altitude suffocated me.  I became headachy and light-headed but trudged on.  At this point, Rhianna was shouting about how she found love in a hopeless place for the 38th time in the matter of 3 minutes; at this point I let the fight in me take over.  I looked at my watch, noticed I was running my recent average pace and found the finish line 1:43:27 later.  My second fastest time...by 6 seconds. hah- HEY, it still counts.  And then of course, I left my mark on Denver by throwing up repeatedly all over the street.  Apparently this is routine for me now.  I made my way to find Carrie and was handed the normal free food and the notso normal free food: a hot breakfast burrito.  I really didn't want it, but how could you pass up a hot sausage wrapped in flour?! I gave it to Carrie when I found her and she was beaming.  She was seriously such a trooper; not only was she so happy for me, but she also just loved taking in the entire atmosphere of the race.  Her excitement as they announced the first marathoner coming in at an ungodly fast time would have made you think she was a dedicated runner that lived for this kind of stuff like me.  It made my experience and post-race celebration that much more exciting!  

We got my race bag full of warm clothes and I called my parents to let them know I finished and was alive.  The great thing about races with "text tracking" is that when it works, people from afar can know how you're doing.  But the thing is, it never works; and thus, when my parents don't get updates after I start, they immediately think I'm dying in a hospital somewhere.  When I called my mom, she started to cry; she had been so concerned about how I'd do with the altitude and to hear I had my second fastest time brought out the happiest tears of a proud momma bear.  Even half way across the country, my parents have a way of being the most supportive and amazing people for every single one of my races.  When I was done getting all Hallmarky with my mom & dad, we headed back to Carrie's car to take advantage of the remainder of the beautiful Denver day.

Carrie continued to play tour guide and drove me to see the Red Rocks ampitheater.  Only one of the most picturesque places I have ever seen in my entire life.  It looks as if someone dipped their large Crayola paintbrush in the top of a dusty, red volcano and painted Pride Rock from The Lion King.  The only thing missing was Simba with that gooey shit on his forehead.  But seriously, the Red Rocks were amazing.  And someone obviously let the insane asylum near Denver loose because there were people RUNNING and biking up these things.  I'm not a physics whiz, but I really don't think gravity is supposed to work like that; I'm still dumbfounded by how they didn't just roll backwards down the steep slopes.  Of course Carrie reminded me that if I were to ever move there, I'd be one of those people.  And she's probably right.  The ampitheater looks like such a legit place to see a concert.  And in the visitor's center there, it listed every artist and band that's ever performed there and on what date they performed.  Talk about some serious documentation.

 

After Red Rocks, we enjoyed some Mexican food at the foot of the landmark.  Carrie mentioned that this was a very frequented restaurant by Red Rock visitors.  It doesn't surprise me because the fish tacos were the tits; and the decor of the restaurant included pictures of their 1994 Mardi Gras party that could've been mistaken for a Brandy Bunch pool party at the YMCA.  After lunch, it was time for me to say my goodbyes to Carrie and Denver.  Neither were very difficult because I was going to see Carrie just a week later at Mizzou's 100th Homecoming and I KNOW I'll be back to Denver.  I've said time and again that I'd move to San Diego in a heartbeat.  Well, while San Diego has beaches of beauty, it also has more fake boobs than the Mattel Barbie factory.  So from a strictly city love affair and realistic place of where I could actually picture myself living and fitting in: Denver has my heart. 

What I've loved so much about this journey is that I've gotten to visit some of my favorite places, places home to some of my favorite people and places that I've never been.  Denver was the latter, but has become a favorite place and a place I someday hope can be home with some of my favorite people.

But for this weekend, Indy's on my mind for race #10.  It's my first SATURDAY race which means I'll be racing double digits Saturday morning and double fisting by Saturday night. I'm roadtripping with my main girl Kirstin tomorrow after a half day of work.  We'll be sure to thoroughly document the weekend since this will be quality material for when we become famous from our reality tv sitcom that's in the works.  I'll try to blog when I get home Sunday.  But you know I'm not very good about the whole timeliness shit.  And I'm not sure what time we'll be home...mainly because the Indy time zones and the fall back time change confuses the crap outta me.  So until some unknown time, bye bye!

Spotted: Dumbass in the rain.

Okay, first of all, you're right- I have not blogged about race #9 in Denver.  But cut me some slack; I plan on doing it this weekend, which is my first and only weekend that I'm home in October. Ah, I have such the crazy life of a celeb. (Minus the drugs). And I may or may not have had a beautiful love affair with Denver so as any good love story goes, it requires time and effort which I don't have on this fine Wednesday evening.

What I do have is a bowl of hot soup and a brief story that will automatically make you feel better and smarter than me. (Not that I'm implying you aren't smarter than me anyways, but I did get a lot of colorful "A+" stickers back in my elementary days).  I am also sporting a very fashionable look as I write this: my purple bath robe and knee high Juicy Couture socks.  I LOVE my robe and wear it on quite the regular basis, as my roommate's boyfriend has pointed out.  If you don't own one, I highly suggest putting this warm fluffy garment of joy on your next shopping list, right below a jar of Peter Pan Reduced Fat Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter. The Juicy Couture socks I could normally do without; I hate wearing socks. And besides these socks, I pretty much hate everything Juicy Couture.  Especially those gross, embossed, velour jumpsuits. So I'm sure you're wondering why I'm wearing such a heinous outfit and telling you about it. Well, it's because I'm freezing. And a dumbass.

It is currently 45 degrees outside, pouring rain, with tornado-like winds that cut through you like the whipping nunchucks of TMNT Michelangelo (my fave hero in a halfshell).  I would know this because about 20 minutes ago, I was running in it...by choice. As I sat in an hour and 20 minutes worth of traffic on my 22 mile commute home earlier this evening, I chose to ignore the rain that was causing everyone to drive like morons.  But that's not too stupid of me, because no one on the Edens knows how to drive when it's sunny out either. I also chose to ignore the radio caster's suggestion to stay inside because the waves along the lake were reaching 20 feet.  So, when I got home I slid into my spandex, zipped up my running jacket and headed out to face the wrath of Mother Nature.

I headed to my normal route and when I reached the path along the lake, taxis were posted up waiting for the poor pedestrians and bikers that got caught in the heat of Mother Nature's bitchslap. Why I didn't think it was a good idea to turn around this short 9 minutes into my run is beyond me. Southbound was impossible to head as the waves crashed, drenching the entire path.  Northbound, there is a large amount of grass area between the lake and the path.  So I ran about a half mile north.  However, I underestimated the distance 20 foot waves could reach. And I'm pretty sure it's more than 20 feet. Because the path separated by a mini Chicago pasture was no safe haven. And I was soaked. As the waves crashed over me, the sleet hit my face. And I felt as cold as Kate Winslet did in Titanic as she hogged the door and let Jack drown. (Seriously, that bitch could've made room).  The wind fought me and I had to turn around. There was no way this was happening. This is not passion, this is insanity.

I made it back to the corner of Fullerton and Clark, frigid and soaked watching people struggle with their umbrellas which nearly poked me in my little blue eyes. Nearly 5 minutes from my apartment a.k.a. warmth and dryness, I looked around and took off again.  I seriously have to be out of my damn mind. I ended up getting completely lost and was miserable my whole 8 mile run.  While my thoughts are normally positive or reflective as I run, all I was thinking was how I wanted to just quit my job so I could hibernate until July.  My feet were drenched and numb.  I tried to think about how fighting the wind was good resistance training but as the sharp ends of my pony tail whacked me in the face I could only think about how I hope the Lincoln Park zookeepers brought all the animals inside as I ran by so they didn't have to suffer in this shit.  The only good part about my run was seeing a little dog in a rain jacket. (I love a well-dressed dog). And I finally, was back on Clark and made my way home.  It was seriously the craziest, windiest, wettest, coldest and most moronic run of my life.

And here I am: trying to warm up. with a windburned face. In purple fluff. And a complete dumbass. And, I just received a text from my friend Kirstin who couldn't believe I ran in this shit that told me I needed to go on that show "My Strange Addiction". She might actually be right. So, run along and feel better and smarter than me now.  But I bet you'll really feel better if you donate for a good cause: http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns .  Plus, it's Breast Cancer Awareness month. Duhhh.

We'll chat about Denver soon.  Au revoir!

#8. Chicago, IL: America Runs on DUNKLES!

That's right.  Two Dunkles took on our hometown stomping grounds in sweet home Chicago!  Me and my sister, Lauren.  But because no travel was necessary,  I didn't even know what to do with myself, as Fridays and Saturdays are normally my travel days to my races. And on non-race weekends, Fridays are days for raging in the city.  This made for a really exciting Friday night full of grocery shopping and watching the Mizzou game...sober. What's a girl to do?!

After a good night's rest, I woke up early for a Saturday morning to join my parents, neighbors and family friends to walk against ALS along Montrose Beach in honor of my neighbor.  It was the perfect way to loosen up my leggies the day before the race and spend time with the Highland Ave. clan of Elmhurst.  ALS is a terrible, degenerative disease, currently with no cure.  However, I learned at the walk that a group of dedicated doctors have recently discovered a commonality among all cases of Lou Gehrig's Disease, which is a step in the right direction.  When I hear stories like this, it makes me more and more confident and dedicated to my fundraising for breast cancer. (By the way, have you donated yet?  Do it: http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns)

Post-walk, Bob and Mary E dropped me off at the Race Expo, held at Navy Pier.  I thought this location was a nice touch for all the tourists among the 22,000+ racers to see a staple of Chicago...especially considering the course was the least scenic race. ever. (More on that later).  I strolled the rows of vendors, thinking I'd see something new and exciting among the reflective shirts, 26.2 engraved jewelry and GU packets but alas, the same goods. But, there is something about the atmosphere of a race expo that just gets me all excited...and reminds me I'm not the only crazed person obsessed with running.  I stopped at the CARA booth (Chicago Area Runners Association) to become a member so I can finally meet more runners in the area since every single time I ask my friends to go running with me they just laugh in my face and tell them I'll run too fast or too far. Seriously people, I'm accommodating and will run at any pace for a pal.  Unless you start to annoy me, then, I'll take off.  Anywhooo, I ended up winning a free year membership to CARA which is tight because that saves me dollhairs.  But also because I never win anything from random drawings like that.

Saturday evening I attempted to be Paula Dean. Minus the 4 sticks of butter. I have a tendency to go by "Big Momma" when I'm in the kitchen.  My roommates Caitlin and Sarah know when to stay out if Big Momma's cookin'.  I'm not sure why I go by that nickname but I think it has something to do with me thinking it sounds like the name of someone who bakes muffins all the time mixed with the fact that I thought I was black when I was 15 and I'm not ready to let that go.  It might also have something to do with my aspiration to have a little black pomeranian at some point in my life and name her Rosa Barks.  My cooking abilities can easily be compared to the talent of Bruce Jenner's plastic surgeon: I get the job done eventually, but the result is kind of effed up.  It's not that I can't cook; it's more that when the recipe says it'll take 20 minutes to prepare, it takes me two hours.  This evening was no different.  I really need to invest in one of those garlic clove cutter-uppers because I'm pretty sure I spent a good 42 minutes trying to chop that shit.  After 2-3 hours of Big Momma in the kitchen, homemade italian herbed garlic bread, italian sausage and peppers and rigatoni with fresh mozzarella and tomatoes was the spread on our table.  Soupy tomato sauce all over the counter top and a spatula melted to the skillet may or may not have also resulted.  But Caitlin and Sarah, Keldawg and Matt (Sarah's boyfriend) seemed to enjoy the meal.

ALS Walk  

The.Most.Boring.Course.Ever.

Nom nom nom.

Normal friends the night before the race

A few hours later, my older (and only) sister Lauren arrived to spend the night as she was joining me for this race as her first half marathon.  We hit the sack immediately upon her arrival (actually, I hit the sack before she even arrived and just woke up when she called since I sleep as much as a fat cat the night before races).  I tossed and turned the entire night and ended up on the couch; my heart was pounding with anxiety and I didn't know if it was because I was actually nervous for this race or if the italian sausages were running around inside of me like they do at Cubs games.  I felt as though I had only slept for about three hours when my alarm sounded at 4:30AM.  After practically whacking Lauren  awake, we packed our race bags and headed out the door to catch the Red Line.  Leaving my apartment at 5AM on a Sunday morning means the Kingston Mines die hards were still finishing up their night.  And the story was no different on the El.  A third of our fellow commuters were also runners; another third were homeless bums and the final third were party animals stumbling their way home.  These crazy kids included a handful of Europeans who upon boarding the public transportation noticed all the runners in red, white and blue and said, "What thee bloody hell is goewing on in'Merica?"  It's 9/11, assholes.  Welcome to our country.

A good portion of the runners had purchased shuttle tickets and exited the Red Line a few stops later.  However, my sister and I stayed on until our stop on the south side due to my extreme naivety.  The stop we were getting off at was well past the Cell (home of the White Sox) and in the heart of what one might define as the absolute ghetto.  My sister was well aware of this and rolled her eyes at me when I said "oh well thank goodness you're here, I would've taken this by myself anyways!"  At times, she is both older AND wiser.  But only sometimes.  Our company for the remainder of the commute was a bit questionable.  Our stop finally arrived and we galavanted across the street to catch the bus to take us to Jackson Park.  The morning was still dark as night, but there were about five other runners with us at this point waiting for the bus.  While I never felt uncomfortable in the area, it really was sketchy as shit.  This premonition was solidified by the fact that about seven of us white runners stood at the bus stop for a good fifteen minutes and a police car pulled over to ask if everyone was okay.  On the bus packed full of runners, we finally made it to Jackson Park where the race started.

Bob and Mary E were waiting for Lauren and me.  I had told my parents that the pre-race emails encouraged runners and spectators to wear red, white and blue in honor of the 10th anniversary of September 11th so I was really hoping Mary E would be sporting a flag hat or freakish fireworks socks.  Instead, Mary E looked Eddie Bauer chic in red and Bob wore his normal apparel: a Hawaiian shirt. With weird safari animals all over it.  And no patriotic hues.  The emotional National Anthem rang as I spotted two girls in patriotic tutus and a very pregnant woman.  Seriously, that baby can probably run outta the womb and say it completed a half marathon since it was practically part of this world at this point.  It doesn't get much better than patriotism coupled with people watching interesting human beings.

I made my way to the start line and surprisingly, within the 22,000 runners ended up right next to my roommate Sarah's older sister Katherine and her roommate Janelle!  It's always fun to see a friendly, recognizable face.  Once the gun went off, I disappeared into the pool of strangers.  The beginning of the course was neat, beginning in Jackson Park, home to the Museum of Science and Industry.  American pride poured through the streets and many participants carried American Flags high in the air as they ran.  My parents said they'd be standing at mile 2, 4 and the finish line, but come mile 2, no Bob and Mary E in sight and mile 4 was the same parental disappearing act.  (It turns out they WERE at mile 2 and we both missed each other but they didn't make it to mile 4 in time because they waited at mile 2 for Lauren...or so they say, dun dun dunnn).  Beyond that, the course was straight north up Lake Shore Drive.  I passed my routine course along the lake that sat to my right as I trucked my way down the very flat course.  Flat as in not hilly and flat as in...boringggg.  The course literally consisted of running north on LSD for about 6 miles, going up an exit ramp, coming back down that same entrance ramp, and heading south on the same LSD course back 6 miles.  As I progressed mile after mile, the heat rose and more so, the humidity.  On the 6 mile trot back, the course became mentally draining as I stared ahead at the endless road ahead.  I seriously felt bad for anyone who came from out of town to check out Chicago and run this bad boy because the course did not do our great city any justice.  I seriously do love Chicago, minus the cold weather.  I hate the cold.  I even hated how cold I used to get when I'd flirt with my boyfriend in the Cold Stone Creamery freezer when I was 15.  (Yes I worked at Cold Stone. Yes I sang freakshow songs. Yes I dated a guy that worked at Cold Stone and sang the freakshow songs, too.  Yes he dated me when I was 15 and thought I was black).  Anyways,  one of the few good things about the course was that it provided overhead sprinklers which gave a nice cool mini shower for 1.5seconds every mile or so. I began to tire around mile 9.  And when mile 10 hit, I began to feel a bit queezy.

Momma and her girls

Sweet Hawaiian shirt dad, very patriotic. 

America Runs on the Dunkle sistas!

It's my intimidation face.

Lauren at mile 2

Random ass gold statue at the end of the race

Uneasy stomach aside, my arms shot into the air and I cheesed as hard as I possibly could when I spotted my best friends at mile 12! Sarah, Keldawg, Caitlin, Katie, Matt, Mr. & Mrs. Klowden (Sarah's parents) all cheering in a row like little ducklings!  I was 100%, whole-heartedly ecstatic to see them.  It meant the  world to me that they all woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on a Sunday morning to see me take on one of my races.  I could tell I sped up with excitement as I passed them and fell back to my slower pace shortly thereafter as I felt like I could spew my insides everywhere at any second.

And finally, the finish line... kick. Hard. Fast. Drop arms. Look for mom & dad. Smile in case you see Mom & dad. Question what the hell that huge gold statue represents. Cross finish line. PUKE.

Fan club!

So happy to see my best friends!

...no really, SO happy!

Love my best friends...and Mattttty

The whole crew :) Minus Bob and Mr. Klowden

I felt a million times better after that, collected my medal and realized I ran my second fastest time in 1:43:33.  I'll take it.  Bob had walked down to the finish line and I spotted him as I collected my free grub and washed the vom taste away with some water.  Lou Malnati's offered free pizza to all runners at race end.  Mmmm, nothing like a big plate filled with gooey cheese roasting in the humidity. No thanks.  Bob and I headed over to Mary E's stakeout near the finish line and they showered me with their normal congratulatory hugs and kisses which I always enjoy but really I just needed a shower.

Mary E was set on holding her VIP view to see Lauren cross, though we knew she was very far behind me.  Guess who else was?  Apollo Ohno.  Yes, that's right, I'm faster than an olympian and finished well before him.  Okay that's not fair because he'd literally outskate the shit out of me and lap me 20 times assuming I could even keep my balance on ice skates.  Let's face it, my YMCA rink days are long gone. Apollo (we're on a first name basis, obvi) was running his first half marathon to prep for a full marathon for which he is training.  Ah, a man after my own heart.

Meanwhile, Bob and I headed to mile 12 in hopes of seeing my friends and my sister.  My friends were gone, greeting Sarah's sister Katherine at the finish line so dad and I set up shop, awaiting my sister.  With every minute that passed and every ambulance that sounded, my dad was convinced Lauren was the passed out victim in need of medical attention.  Not that he didn't think she could do it, but more just the worrisome father he is for a daughter who has never run a half marathon.  I kept trying to reassure him by reminding him that her guesstimated finish time hadn't approached and there were still plenty of other runners on the course.  And finally, he clenched my shoulder and pointed to her with pride, "There she is!  There she is!"  Still going strong, my sister was headed toward us.  I handed my medal and race bib to my dad and jumped back on the course to join my sister for her final mile.

I asked her how she felt; I grabbed her water; I told her how proud I was of her already; I racked by brain to do and say anything and everything to keep her going and make sure she was okay.  I knew she was when she just said, "I feel fine but this last mile fucking blows."  Typical Lauren.  We ran/walked her final stretch and I told her we'd jog for 3 minutes and walk for 1, and repeat.  She liked that idea.  But with the wide, final chute in sight, we raced, hard.  Lauren revisited her sprinting days from Sandburg Middle School track and we threw our arms in the air and waved wildly to Mary E as we passed her and we crossed the finish line... the second time of the day, for me.  Lauren did it.  She finished. And in under 3 hours, which was her goal.  Even though I'm the youngest, I felt like a proud, big sis.  I was so happy for her.  And Bob was so relieved.  And Mary E was happy as a clam, per usual.  We made the long walk back to the car and I bitched about how sore my legs were.  It's true, I can fairly easily run 14.1 miles (yes, 13 with the plus one from finishing with my sister) but I can barely walk a mile.  Rough life.

Sisters finishing together

Note the same stride :) sisterly love.

SO proud of you!!

A quick shower later, the whole crew of all my friends and family and the Klowden family celebrated with meals and drinks and watching da Bears.  So many laughs were shared in just a general, light-hearted atmosphere as we were all cheersing to accomplishment.  Bob and Mr. Klowden picked up the tab as I heard Mary E say, "we don't want the kids to pay"...the table was full of 23-27 year olds but that's the thing, in our parents' eyes, we'll always be "the kids".  Which is probably why my parents have been at 5 out of my 8 races so far.  Which is probably why Bob always asks if I put him down as the emergency contact on the back of my race bib, "just in case".  Which is probably why Mary E still packs me race goody bags, like she did for my big cross country meets in high school.  Which is probably why every time I finish a race,  they act like I just finished my first.

While Chicago may have not been home to my favorite course so far, it's exactly that: home.  And that meant having my absolute favorite people there to watch me do my favorite thing.  And that makes me happiest.  I've loved all the places I've visited thus far, but there really is no place like home.  (...shit, I really wish I had a midget dog like Toto right now).

Since that race, nearly a month ago, I've invested in my 3rd pair of running shoes (Obviously still my Brooks Adrenalines).  Though I really should be on about my 4th pair with the amount of mileage I've run.  Regardless, when I went into Fleet Feet in Elmhurst to pick up my feet candy, the woman standing behind the counter asked if I was America Runs on Dunkle when I said my last name.  Why, yes, yes I am.  She was concerned I'd be creeped out but honestly, I take it as flattery and love that others stumble upon my terrible jokes and running chapters.  So I have to give a shout out to Lisa and Vera at Fleet Feet!  You both made my day!!

Well, tomorrow I leave for Denver for race #9 this Sunday.  I'm SO excited to see this city as I've heard nothing but awesome things, but even more excited to see my lil' hostess Miss Carrie Barker!!  To be blunt, I'm not expecting much outta myself this week.  I'm 3 days fresh off of Vegas which consisted of hydrating with vodka tonics and I hear the altitude really messes up lung functionality.  So my goal?  Finish and don't pass out.  I'm really dreaming big this time.

Talk to you when I return to lower altitudes, my friends.  Oh and donate, derka.  http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns