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!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
#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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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| ALS Walk |
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| The.Most.Boring.Course.Ever. |
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| Nom nom nom. |
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| Normal friends the night before the race |
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.
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| Momma and her girls |
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| Sweet Hawaiian shirt dad, very patriotic. |
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| America Runs on the Dunkle sistas! |
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| It's my intimidation face. |
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| Lauren at mile 2 |
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| Random ass gold statue at the end of the race |
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.
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| Fan club! |
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| So happy to see my best friends! |
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| ...no really, SO happy! |
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| Love my best friends...and Mattttty |
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| The whole crew :) Minus Bob and Mr. Klowden |
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.
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| Sisters finishing together |
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| Note the same stride :) sisterly love. |
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| SO proud of you!! |
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
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