Race #4. Cleveland, OH: Cleveland rocks...and rains.

...Seriously. Bob and I didn't see the sun the entire time we were in the state of Ohio. Did I mention that Bob was tagging along for this race as well?  I don't think I did, but I think I have mentioned that my parents are awesome on numerous occasions so you could easily have assumed one was joining me.


Bob and I hit the road by 6:30 AM on Saturday, May 14th. Lucky for me, Bob cruised as I snoozed. It was pretty much like I had a personal chauffeur the entire weekend, except Bob lacked a goofy suit (well, the suit part at least...his wardrobe is fairly questionable) and my backseat lacked swanky leather seats and free booze. About six hours later and one time zone eastward, we rolled up to Cleveland and were greeted with clouds hovering near ground level.  The clouds and fog were so intense that tops of buildings disappeared into the gray abyss as my windshield wipers threw punches at the rain.  We headed straight to the Expo, which was actually held in a suburb of Cleveland, due to road construction. The building in which the expo was held was...interesting, reminding me of an indoor petting zoo from the outside. Luckily, no donkeys were inside and the facility was surprisingly decent.  We followed the signs because half of the expo center was being used for a "Gem and Jewel show". I didn't know those existed. But what I do know is that most girls may consider diamonds their best friend, but I consider my running shoes that so I opted for the marathon expo and ditched the bedazzled 14K gold.


Picking up my race packet and bib was the same as always. Except this goody bag of running stuff actually had good shit in it, compared to most. To be honest, I was relieved to see that I HAD a race bib. You see, the race sold out 6 hours before I got registered thanks to the fine procrastination skills my college degree earned me. But, having my mind set on racing Cleveland and quick wit, I navigated to the race's Facebook page to find that some dude was selling 20 race bibs. Thanks Mark Zuckerberg and race-bib hoarding dude. After a few emails, I learned the bib hoarder dude (let's call him Charlie, for simplicity's sake, seeing that I can't remember his name. And because I like the name Charlie) was selling these bibs on eBay. This process screamed sketchy. But once I learned that "Charlie" bought these bibs for a charity for a little boy with Leukemia, I realized that getting a race bib in a dark alley was sketchy. This was not. And I felt like a pretty good Samaritan. So $85, a few emails and one fax later, I was registered and happily greeted with my race number, 4 safety pins and bubble gum pink race shirt.


This being the 4th race expo I've attended in 4 months, they start to look the same. But every time I seem to make a purchase. I think it's a mixture of retail addiction and running obsession. Very healthy. Bob made the purchase and this time it was a "shoe pocket". First of all, for those of you who have gone from creepy people not knowing me to dedicated fans with some "Jenna Dunkle" knowledge (that's not a real Jeopardy category, I made it up), you should know that I LOVE pockets (almost as much as I love hot dogs). They're seriously awesome. And so underrated. So a shoe pocket is totally right up my alley, seeing that my spandex lack my favorite "accessory". It's essentially a little pouch that Velcros within your shoelaces to hold your ID and house key. Why on earth would someone need one of these you ask? Well, seeing that I'm moving to my swanky Lincoln Park pad above La Bamba ("Burritos as Big as your Head!") July 1st, I'll need a place to keep my key as I run, since leaving your door unlocked in Chicago is "unadvised".  Mainly though, Bob liked that it could hold my ID in case my ticker ever stops working and I pass out on a long run (since that seems to be becoming a somewhat regular habit for me). So rather than sporting the Jane Doe look if I ever pass out, my shoe pocket will let them know that I'm Jenna Dunkle and I still have a Missouri ID. whoops. 


Post-expo, Bob and I headed to the the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It's a really cool structure and has a ton of ridiculous paraphernalia, ranging from purple velour suits worn by Elton John to Billy Joel's handwritten lyrics of "We didn't start the fire". Bob drooled over the decades of music as I walked around like an idiot saying, who's The Who? (KIDDING. I know who The Who are. And I also enjoy good music, regardless of the fact that I have a guilty pleasure for Akon. Stop judging me, at least it's not Miley Cyrus.)  The museum was a perfect pass-time as the rain continued to dance upon the streets of Cleveland outside.


Hotel check-in? Check. And then it was dinnertime.  My normal choice for a pre-race meal is pasta with red sauce, as any experienced runner would agree.  Bob and I opted to avoid Mother Nature's continual frown of a downpour outside and headed to the hotel's restaurant...a.k.a. the only restaurant I've ever been to without a single pasta dish. (Waffle House doesn't count as a restaurant).  So salmon it was.  I was okay with this irregular choice as Cleveland was a "take it easy" race, if you recall from my last post.  So although my normal precarbo-load was put to standstill with the limited menu, it didn't irk me too much. And the salmon was scrump-dilly-a-dumptious. 


4:45AM came too soon. Mainly because my body thought it was 3:45 with the time-zone going all Criss Angel on me. By 5:30, we were strategically parked in downtown Cleveland on a street that would allow us to escape the racecourse without pancaking runners post-race. Some genius decided to have ALL parking garages closed so this was our only option.  The race was EXTREMELY well organized. While most races spend a pretty penny on port-a-potties (ahhh, alliteration, my fave), this race started and finished at the Browns football stadium. Thus, providing substantial shelter from the misty skies and giving access to an uncountable number of bathrooms--every runner's dream pre-race. With an hour of stretching time, Bob commented on how many fat people were running. Cool dad, fat people have dreams too, ya know. And I think they'd prefer being called "big boned". This lead him to ask if I think he's capable of running the Chicago half with my sister and me in September. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't...but we agreed it would probably be better to start small with a 5K...go daddy, go :)!

Don't mind my outfit.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...and rain.

In front of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Bob's turn!

Pre-race

Dad found me in the pack pre-race

Just doing my thanggg 

FINISHED! Race #4 complete: 1:46:45!

It was finally race time and Bob and I parted ways. His last words to me were, "No need to rush this one". Very motivational before a RACE...thanks dad. However, I knew it was the caring dad in him worried that I my heart would beat with pain and I would push myself too hard. I nestled myself in the pack, further back than normal, planning to take this run slowly. I had come to terms that I would walk this one if I had to...and I was oddly okay with it.  The race began and we took off to the tunes of Drew Carey chanting "Cleveland Rocks!"  My pace felt like a jog.  I was going much slower than usual, as I was trying to be "smart" and cautious of my health. At the mile, I glanced at my watch to see a slow 9:28 pace.  I didn't care. My head bobbed to my playlist and I literally, dilly-dallied as the rain served as a refreshing shower. I had so much fun just dicking around, people-watching. I was running, but I wasn't focused on it.  I was enjoying the pitter-patters of feet around me as I took it easy. The course was a decent amount of highway road, which normally I dislike. But I really liked running through Cleveland. It's an extremely industrial city, giving it character. At one point, we trotted (and by we, I mean, I  trotted and my fellow runners, ran) through a historic area that had flags of all different countries painted on the cement cylinders holding up the viaduct under which we ran.  The supporters were unlike any other as Cleveland burst with camaraderie. Even the smallest of streets were paved with people cheering, or someone pulled to the side in their car blasting their radio for entertainment.  My favorite supporter had to be the lady on the sidelines with a massive sign above her head with arrows pointing down toward her that read, "MEN: single AND supportive". I like her style. Sorry, eHarmony, that lady won't be needing your services.


Before I knew it, the stadium was in sight. My pace had increased but I hadn't noticed.  My feet continued to rise and fall against the slick pavement.  A man in a flesh-colored body suit sped past me.  Half of this body suit had the muscular system painted and the other half sported the skeletal system. He was wearing frog feet and I couldn't believe a weirdo like that was actually going to beat me. The finish line honestly snuck up on me- I wasn't expecting it.  So one final surge of energy and I was done.  Time check? 1:46:45! I'M BACK IN THE GAME- was my first thought. After a disaster of a race in St. Louis and weeks of disappointing training and numerous doctor visits, my time didn't suffer.  I ended up running only slightly slower than my Atlanta race, clocking an 8:08 pace. I was ECSTATIC.  As I swam through the crowds in search of Bob, I caught him out of the corner of my eye. And I'm pretty sure what I saw in his eyes, were tiny tears. He was expecting me to finish well over two hours, as I had told him I might have to walk part of the race depending on how my heart felt, so my early arrival was a surprise and a relief, all in one for him. While excitement raced through my body, I knew that the glisten in his eye was a sigh of "Thank God, you're okay". Needless to say, he was proud. Chilled from the rain and my drying sweat, Bob and I headed to the car as I told him all about the race.


As a quick advertisement, I would HIGHLY recommend the Rite Aid Cleveland marathon and Half marathon for any runner or one-time marathoner warrior.  As I said before, the race was extremely well organized; and the course was flat as an 11 year old's chest. It was an easy and fast course.  Most importantly in my books (I never understood that figure of speech, because I don't just have "books" but whatevs), the people there were so nice and supportive.  Bob agreed that he really enjoyed this race, even having had to stand in drizzle for nearly two hours. 


Testimonials aside, Cleveland was a good race for me.  Not because of my time, because let's face it, it still isn't my personal record. Instead, it was a sign of hope.  In a race that I thought would be a huge disappointment, I finished strong.  As I continue to chase this goal of running 13 half marathons in 13 months, I am learning that there are days after work that I dread training; there are days that my body is sore; there are Saturday nights that I'd rather enjoy 8 beers than run 15 miles the next day; there are times that I wonder "why the hell am I doing this?" But as long as I keep faith and know that I am doing this to accomplish a once-in-a-lifetime goal; that I will come out so much stronger; that I am practicing discipline and dedication on a daily basis...I will finish this journey proudly, regardless of what the clock reads after each race. Cleveland reminded me of this and has prepared me to enjoy and take on San Diego this upcoming weekend. 


I'll admit that I'm more excited just to visit San Diego and see my long, lost Mizzou and P90X buddy, Madelaine Hahn than I am to race.  I've been there once and I knew I would return, so San Diego will be home to race #5.  


If I don't come home, don't come looking; it probably means that I found a rich, handsome runner man in one of my (and Ron Burgundy's) favorite cities and I'm totally okay with that. Ta-ta. 

#3. St. Louis, MO: 1 race, 2 race, 3 race...FLOOR.

Or maybe it's 1 tequila, 2 tequila, 3 tequila...floor? Yeah, that's it. But this witty saying regarding my beverage of choice seemed very applicable to race #3 in STL.

Let me back up. Hi. Sorry it's been over a month.  If I had the same dedication to blogging as I did to running, this wouldn't be an issue. However, if I had that same dedication, you also would probably be really sick of hearing from me. 

Race #3 in STL was way back in the day, before sweet baby Jesus rose again, on April 10th. And many events ensued that weekend. For the first time during this adventure, I was traveling solo. Lady Slipper (my loyal set of wheels, in case you've forgotten) hit the road Thursday after work. 4.5 hours later and the shortest trip yet, I was in serious canoodle sesh mode with my bestie Daytona, my hostess for the weekend. Daytona and I hadn't seen each other since what I coin as the worst night of my 2010 year, 4 months prior. Not only had we not seen each other, but after her December graduation, she skipped town across the pond to see and do things much more exciting than running 40 miles on a weekly basis. I mean, I've never been to Thailand, but I'm going to assume it's a little cooler than the Illinois Prairie Path. Just a guess. So to keep this post as short as possible...which you should know by now, really won't be anything Danny DeVito style, I'll summarize: Daytona and I canoodled; the notorious "ex" and I communicated cordially for the first time in 4 months (woooof); I claimed my tennis ball of a race shirt at the expo; I played sober sally Friday night and people watched entertaining, drunk fools; and I played Martha Stewart in the kitchen whipping up a little pasta party meal Saturday night.

I'll remind you that this race I had some company! My avid blog follower, Shaina Chechang opted to not race but she did in fact road-trip from Iowa to support myself and a few of my fav. book gals Laura Jones (who I like to call LL Cool J) and DeAnna, who were also running- this being their first half marathon! So Saturday night, we carbo-loaded, stretched, inspired, laughed and went to bed a little later than we probably should have. Who says slumber parties are only for 13 year olds?

Here came the 5:30AM alarm, a once-a-month routine. Well, at least for me. Daytona managed to lay in bed until the very last minute and still not be the last one out the door. I did my morning thang of hydrating, clif bar munching and stretching. With all three race bibs pinned to our shirts, LL Cool J, DeAnna and I were starting a new fashion in Daytona's apartment building.  Daytona dropped us off at the race with plenty of time to spare after agreeing upon mile 6 as the cheer spot at which her and Shaina would post up. 

Brook's Bus at the Expo

STL Arch at 6 AM

Mile 6...SWASS (woof.)

Struggling to finish... Clearly

...and FAINT. 

Daytona: muh main girl supporting me!

SO proud of LL Cool J & DeAnna for running their first half!

I strategically placed myself between the pace groups of 1:40 and 1:45 finish times (hoping for my 1:43).  I took off and felt good, running strong within the pack.  Around mile 3, I started feeling a bit "off".  I'm not even quite sure how to describe it; a bit of nausea and light-headedness (yupp, that's not a word. So sue me, Webster) ensued. Mile 4 came and so did the upchuck. The nausea took over and I knew it was coming, so I veered to the sidewalk of the course and the second I stopped to catch my breath, the insides of my stomach were splattered on the pavement. (Sorry, to go all Quentin Tarantino on you). I still cannot figure out why I felt/got sick to my stomach as the pasta dinner the night prior and my energy bar that morning were routine habits. I still think the charming ex poisoned my red sauce. 

From that point on, my physical strength was gone...which dwindled my mental strength. I felt weak, light-headed and my chest hurt with pings of pain. The heat continued to rise and so did my pace. My once "I feel happy, healthy and terrific" mentality turning into "Just get through this race." The worst part about it was that I KNEW I was mentally defeated, and didn't do anything to change that. Mile 6 graced Daytona and Shaina's cheers and warning that ex was ahead of me at this point. But to be entirely honest, at this point I didn't care. I just wanted to finish. The rest of the race was a blur of exhaustion, captioned with chants of "Keep running for beer" from the sidelines. Wearing a shirt that says "will run for beer" inevitably asks for this but seeing that I felt on the verge of unconsciousness, the only thing I wanted at this point relating to beer was my couch that I park it on while hungover. 

The finish line was finally in sight.  The digital, red numbers on the clock ticked with disappointment as I neared the inflatable archway of finishing. Not more than 200 feet from the line, my legs collapsed and I hit the ground. I was completely depleted of all energy. Dizzy and light-headed, I picked myself up and got across the line.

The next thing I saw were medics hovering over me in a tent. An IV was in my arm and those electrode things served as third, fourth and fifth nipples (ew that's a gross word) on my chest beneath my sports bras.  I had collapsed right past the finish line and been carried by some unfortunate, good-hearted people to the local med tent. It was like Nashville 2010 all over again... except this time, I finished and this time it wasn't a hospital. Of course this was the one time I didn't fill out my emergency contact information on the back of my race bib. (I was never good at remembering permission slips for field trips in my K-5 years either. ) Anyways, I lay there annoyed, knowing my time wasn't what I wanted. But hey, at least I wasn't the girl next to me; she passed out before she even started the race. I'm still not exactly sure what she was doing in the tent 2 hours later, but I guess it did seem like a pretty sweet hangout...if you're into gauze and shit. 

Luckily, Daytona and Shaina saw my timberrrr of a fall and made their way to the med tent. But apparently, the tent had some pretty stiff bouncers because they had to wait outside. How discriminating. Daytona later informed me that she nearly punched a fellow spectator in the face as she tried to barge through people when she saw me collapse...ahhh, true friendship right there.

I made sure I got my medal and collected my goodie bag of free food. I didn't even use my ticket for my free beer, so you KNOW I wasn't feeling too hot. Bummed with my time and the fact that yes, the notorious ex did beat me, my dampered mood didn't last long. After all, I finished, having done the best I could do with what I had, where I was; I had awesome support from Daytona, Shaina and virtual text message cheers from afar friends; and LL Cool J and DeAnna killed their first half marathon.

My official time was 1:57:02. I don't write that proudly, but I also can't say I'm ashamed. It was a matter of elements, rather than excuses and for that, I cannot be upset.  So 3 races down, 10 more to go!

#4 is actually coming up this weekend in Cleveland. (Yes, I pulled a switcheroo and nixed the LaCrosse, Wisco race).  I needed a little more time to physically (and mentally) prepare post STL collapse. Docta's orders haven't been too promising as it involves no running for the time being. Anemia and my whacky thyroid disease is taking a toll on my body so my runs have been...pathetic/nonexistent. Until I get both those things in control the next 2-4 or so weeks (the time the doc said it'll take), I'm taking it easy. A heart ultrasound is also in order soon to make sure my main gurl is pitter-pattering as she should (yupp, def. just feminized an organ). My normal stubborn self wouldn't listen and do my own thang, but seeing that my body continually gives me the middle finger every time I throw on my Brooks, I'm actually listening. Kinda. So Cleveland is going to be one of those "just get through it races". Yes it might involve some jogging/yogging and dare I say it, WALKING. But right now that's all my body can handle. So we'll see how this one goes. And I promise to blog in a timely fashion post-Cleveland. 

I also promised I'd try to keep this short. Welp, PSYCH.  Let's just hope Drew Carey was right and Cleveland does in fact, rock. Til next time, homies.