tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67730125785640195572024-02-18T22:09:56.863-08:00America Runs on DunkleAmerica Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-39565258731714983432012-05-29T19:37:00.000-07:002012-05-29T19:37:35.043-07:00#13 Part II: The thank you edition.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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This is the part where I try to express my gratitude and
appreciation, by combining every line I’ve ever read in a Hallmark card, for
all the people who helped me through this year. I’m going to guess the Kleenex
(or whoever’s asset Kleenex is) stock is about to spike right about now thanks
to me being a crappy sappy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So without racking my memory of when I used to read a
thesaurus my grandma got me to find every other word for “gratitude”, I’ll
simply go with my favorite way of showing appreciation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is, “Thanks so much”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably would have done this crazy
adventure, with or without each of you, but you all made it a hell of a lot
better:</div>
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<br /></div>
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To my wonderful hosts throughout the year: Daytona Barker,
Maureen Sweeney, Alissa Revak, Carrie Barker, Marsha Papas, and Anna &
Michael Primeaux.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so
fortunate to know people throughout the country, but far more blessed to have
such kind friends WILLING to open their homes to me and support me on my crazy
dream.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To the few who were gutsy enough to run with me and cross a
finish line: Laura Jones, DeAnna Castello, my sister Lauren, and Anna…</div>
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<br /></div>
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…and the ones who were early birds enough to stand on the
sidelines to cheer me on instead: Mom, Dad, Daytona, Shaina, Alissa, Caitlin,
Brad, Sarah, Kelley, Katie, Matt, Mr. & Mrs. Klowden, Carrie, Kirstin, and
Michael- thanks for being there always and in-person.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To my old co-worker, Chris Jones- the first person I told my
crazy idea to one day at work and the first person to tell me what an awesome
idea he thought it was.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To every friend and friend-of-a-friend who came out to celebrate my best race, any race and my final race pub crawl, cheers to you. </div>
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<br /></div>
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To every friend, stranger, college buddy and high school
classmate who I’ve run into over the past year (admittedly, most at bars) and
told me what I was doing was cool, crazy, insane, inspiring, awesome, or just plain
stupid, thanks for motivating me...and listening to me obsess about running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Johnny Pyne, I’ll always remember how you told me my blog
was “cool and hilarious” last year when I ran into you at Charlie’s in
Elmhurst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea you were
following my blog until that moment and indirectly supporting me; it was those
random moments of support that helped me through the entire year.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A few of my best supporters:</div>
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Mel & Pete, Kevin & Heather, and Uncle Bruce- I felt
like you were all always there watching over me, waiting for updates from Mom,
and on-your-toes ready to congratulate me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks for being the best cousins and uncle a girl could ask
for.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Shaina- With every Facebook post about running, with every
blog post, you took every opportunity to send me a message of good wishes and
luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little things like that
don’t go unnoticed and I truly appreciate you being my “fan”!</div>
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<br /></div>
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My roommates and best friends- Caitlin and Sarah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think there was a single race
you two didn’t wish me luck, ask me how I did and tell me when I was “really
hitting my stride”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And thanks for
putting up with my sweaty ass on a nightly basis after every run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And making sure to ask me when I’d be
home after a 12 mile run so you’d know if you needed to send out a search party
along the lakefront.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Kirstin- what can I say to someone who laughs at how
emotional I get about sentimental things but who has become one of my closest
friends in the past year?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank
you, for designing my fundraising postcards (we got some hefty ROI), for
traveling with me to Indy, to giving me a new song for each race to add to my
playlist and for at least pretending like you cared about my race stories on a
regular basis even if you didn’t (but I think you actually did). </div>
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<br /></div>
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Brian Weil- I don’t know why, but you’re one of those people
I always say your last name with your first. Anyways, I think since the day I
met you and we gushed about our love for racing, you always found the time to
ask how my races went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You also
always managed to get my competitive blood going when you’d clock a faster time
than me. So thanks for always caring and for indirectly motivating me to kick
your ass in a race someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your
race-morning texts never went overlooked.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Chad- Aw, my main squeeze. This is where most girls would
gush about how amazing of a man their boyfriend is and how they couldn’t have
done it without them. Well, you know I’m not like that and I would’ve done it
with or without you so I have no idea why you put up with my weird antics. But
I do know that if you could somehow turn back the hands of time to have been
there since I started this journey just so you could support me all along, you
honestly would have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that
you actually considered dropping over $600 on a last-minute flight to Mobile,
AL to be there with me is just absurd…but also just shows how much you
care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Thank God you didn’t, you
know how effed up that place is from my stories).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your genuine support and charisma (and waking up
at 5AM to call me and wish me good luck) for my last few races truly meant a
lot to me, mister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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My dad’s slot car racer friends (for lack of a better
description…Hey Roberto!):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your
kindness and generosity baffles me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For being a group of “goofy guys”, you are all definitely “dads” at
heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for hosting a
race in honor of my breast cancer fundraiser and for the extremely generous
donations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for reading
my blog so much that when you’d ask my dad “how’d the race go?” You were taking
about <i>my races</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, not the slot car
races.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roberto, sorry this post
took so long. And sorry you’ll be short on reading material.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Marge and Aunt Linda- Thank you for
fighting the terrible disease of breast cancer so courageously and inspiring me
to take this journey on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you
for reminding me about the important things (people) in life; thank you for
being the whisper in my ear on days I didn’t want to train anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From both Heaven and Earth, you all
watched over me and supported me so very much.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And finally, Bob and Mary Ellen… the most supportive parents
in the entire world (I checked 13 states, so I think that description is fairly
accurate).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made you both a
promise a long time ago that I’d hook you up for life when I made it big so you
could live a luxurious and worry-free retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m utterly failing at that promise, and seeing that I just
spent my bank account to travel the country the past year, this isn’t looking
too hopeful…yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I did
accomplish one part of that promise: I feel like I made it big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without the values, courage, love,
dedication, discipline, motivation and work ethic you both instilled in me, I
would have never been able to accomplish this feat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Note: I did not say athleticism. I have no idea where I got
those freak of nature genes, because I know they didn’t come from you.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Combined, you were at 6 of my races and
I know if I had asked or not known people at the other 7, you would have been
there too (okay, maybe not the Alabama one. I don’t blame you).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From driving me 25 hours within 48 hours to
Atlanta and back to watch me run to sending me simple “Don’t forget to hydrate.
I love you” texts, you both were there for me in the greatest way possible.</div>
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Dad, I’ll always remember something you said in the car when
you picked mom and me up from the airport when we arrived back home from my
final race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat in the backseat
with Honey and thanked you for picking me up again from the airport, and you
responded, “Well, that’s always just been part of your marathon thing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I did my best to always ask you
and mom ahead of time if you could take me to/from the airport for my races,
you guys always just assumed you would and always seemed to be happy to do
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll always remember that
because it just goes how completely selfless and supportive you were whenever
you got the chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Fine, Honey
the dog was too…happy dad?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for the love and life you
both have always given me, but truly showed the past year more than ever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My donors-Thanks to you, I far surpassed my fundraising goal
by over $1,000.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More importantly,
thanks to you, someone out there with breast cancer is going to live a little
longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So to my donors, from the
bottom of my heart, thank you so very much: Sara Brown, Brian Weil, Marsha Papas,
Sue Hillsand, Sue (Mrs. Lepore- you’ll always be that to me!), The Lansdowne’s,
Shaina Chechang, Morgan Meyer, Caitlin Humrickhouse, Sarah Klowden, Katie Kieft
& family, The Sullivan’s, Chad Walker, Nick Henderson, Hayley Besheer,
Kirstin Whittington, Bryan Hauhe, Veronica Martinez (and her lil’ children!),
Amanda Plymale, Allison Gordon, Kiran Gummadi, Pete & Mel Dean, Kevin &
Heather Dean, Uncle Bruce, Steve Bauer, Lish Hammer, Steve Sorrentino & my
dad’s fellow racers, Larry & Molly Klowden, Hayli Dennis, Lauren Minger,
Mary & Pat McDonald, Alissa Revak, Uncle Don & Aunt Marge, Aunt
Lorraine, Bob Quitter, Carol Henderson, The Koehler’s, Cheryl & Manny
Zapata, Ashley Dick, Doug & Vivian Beach, Stefanie & Ray Zimny and my
parents…I really, really, really hope I didn’t forget anyone! Your generosity
has truly been humbling and so very much appreciated.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And so, the end has come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My roommate’s boyfriend, Matt, used to always tell me how I
should turn this blog into a book; while I’ve always dreamt of being an author,
I can’t say I’d want anyone to pay for my horrible jokes and pictures of my
smelly, sweaty 13.1 worn-self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
thanks for reading my free horrible jokes and not telling me how disgusting I
looked after every race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks
for holding me accountable and thanks for being here until the end for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The End.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-86666007658488058102012-04-24T19:46:00.001-07:002012-04-24T19:46:16.519-07:00#13: Part 1. "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Hello Internet world. I’m still alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two months since my last race, I’m
finally getting around to blogging about it…and in that time, I’ve managed to
clock a 14<sup>th</sup> half marathon that I was completely unprepared for
& decided to run 12 hours before race time, which just goes to show it’s
been far too long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sorry I
suck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will give myself the
credit of your average back-of-the-class C- student and say that I’ve had a LOT
of this written already but I just never got around to finishing it and posting
it until now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While most of you
probably think it’s due to a very lethargic attitude and intense
procrastination (fine, it kind of is), I have this itty-bitty inkling it’s also
the emotional twitch inside me whispering, “if you finish writing your last
blog, it really means <i>it’s over</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’m being dramatic, but the past
13 months have been remarkable. And I hate change. And I don’t really want it
to be over, like a desperate girl that just got dumped in a sappy rom-com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So here’s to the written word that will
end this adventure, but will keep my memories alive in cyberspace. I'm writing it in 2 parts: this first one will talk about my final race and part II will be what I like to call the "thank you edition". <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I ran and wrote about this exact race one year ago,
I won’t go into the details about the flight, the expo nor the majority of this
weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it’s because that
since my final race, I’ve seemed to perfect the art of laziness…okay, no it’s
not (I don’t consider running 10 miles tonight ‘lazy’).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, it’s because I simply want to
focus on the actual race itself—that proved to be powerful, emotional and
completely beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what I
want on this blog goes, bitches.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I must mention that I was not alone for this final voyage;
Mary Ellen made a repeat appearance and cheer section at the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do have to make one mention of
something expo and Mary Ellen related: she gave me one of the best gifts I
think I’ve ever received (excluding her unconditional love, of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a sterling silver necklace with a
tiny rabbit and when you look at the chain, you notice a little turtle in front
of the rabbit: it was a “Tortoise and the Hare” necklace to remind me that
“slow and steady wins the race”, as the old fable goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The perfect keepsake to remember this
race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary Ellen was accompanied
at that finish line with my cousin Kevin, who was incredible enough to make the
stop in Jacksonville on his business trip to Orlando.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3iR_ImLIDIGqXOM9TpjYSd8wocknLLSvnb-jvjSn4sLJx8b1Rknylh9IDfVkL7RTTS86ADAsjed6U0biOWgAdtQguzgWvVTg7p2c8r4RPej29jwx09XPlyEgXfOs4b52On5_Pn9c7T_T/s1600/IMG_2029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3iR_ImLIDIGqXOM9TpjYSd8wocknLLSvnb-jvjSn4sLJx8b1Rknylh9IDfVkL7RTTS86ADAsjed6U0biOWgAdtQguzgWvVTg7p2c8r4RPej29jwx09XPlyEgXfOs4b52On5_Pn9c7T_T/s320/IMG_2029.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving in Jacksonville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWeYfnxQ3Cj7HiICwzm9s2dsOG_rdEmdlWV5KTPfBLDOUniOrRuea73jPRZtpLNVnqZ4Z-cw1YEJBx2pnb2TfqTrKTVR0zVbdJ0FzMYOeFeSwgHxczdNW_hZbmWPmIFoC07Y0zQTZDPg0X/s1600/IMG_2031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWeYfnxQ3Cj7HiICwzm9s2dsOG_rdEmdlWV5KTPfBLDOUniOrRuea73jPRZtpLNVnqZ4Z-cw1YEJBx2pnb2TfqTrKTVR0zVbdJ0FzMYOeFeSwgHxczdNW_hZbmWPmIFoC07Y0zQTZDPg0X/s320/IMG_2031.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQEoZbkbGXeCttczhfl_OfBOXKYjdt1Nc4G6PWkRNVQm2uuGay9183OIsNFLquQSSN9FcxiE4I1MdkPheKNLImrMXb0WVgyABjU7PjlmJ02okMcR4x9kw_Iet2TJFOSeyX4FqYH2NPPPb/s1600/IMG_2032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQEoZbkbGXeCttczhfl_OfBOXKYjdt1Nc4G6PWkRNVQm2uuGay9183OIsNFLquQSSN9FcxiE4I1MdkPheKNLImrMXb0WVgyABjU7PjlmJ02okMcR4x9kw_Iet2TJFOSeyX4FqYH2NPPPb/s320/IMG_2032.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signing the boards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflfq7pMmHSNWj_8pUGycQI-wpCuCHvmLt8n3wwA3K7dPRLKpCrCrV4LmzV1aveFq6UBE-DAlHPkN4DK_3hAXIxp8BfuGgF-K2PymTWLxgMHsU2Z9K9SBelL7CC-JF_l8dszMhO09WXxFe/s1600/IMG_2033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflfq7pMmHSNWj_8pUGycQI-wpCuCHvmLt8n3wwA3K7dPRLKpCrCrV4LmzV1aveFq6UBE-DAlHPkN4DK_3hAXIxp8BfuGgF-K2PymTWLxgMHsU2Z9K9SBelL7CC-JF_l8dszMhO09WXxFe/s320/IMG_2033.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrHWKnmvx7WmFl0TMZxI-qgh2X_40LI-N9spAAwDoXVmc_wi58ourg82xjBQrlSUIJO6HJdEiqdtDAZVz1TRnpSV7VZaPcb9kjNqhcY3KiOmVKMvDRw2oAPds1hytkCPXNqHoOi4YYnIk/s1600/IMG_2034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrHWKnmvx7WmFl0TMZxI-qgh2X_40LI-N9spAAwDoXVmc_wi58ourg82xjBQrlSUIJO6HJdEiqdtDAZVz1TRnpSV7VZaPcb9kjNqhcY3KiOmVKMvDRw2oAPds1hytkCPXNqHoOi4YYnIk/s320/IMG_2034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom's signing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsjUQkLAd8psmuuGRIol9vKNwSGXUx8n52a4jHQvSjugVbl7bAWie3BgYPJdWl3eDKdGrnt8xt3BuAVd4JW6KXlcIVv91-_tAlKGvkefKcGNSZIJfJ4RTuTWYI2jKWaI4GcqJ0j6MVHVv/s1600/IMG_2036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsjUQkLAd8psmuuGRIol9vKNwSGXUx8n52a4jHQvSjugVbl7bAWie3BgYPJdWl3eDKdGrnt8xt3BuAVd4JW6KXlcIVv91-_tAlKGvkefKcGNSZIJfJ4RTuTWYI2jKWaI4GcqJ0j6MVHVv/s320/IMG_2036.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBp_PvKKfDm03O1C6dn_k38hH3eclZKc5xO-xM0Ycm6VCI8io2ViltcP8qmhI34dztJHyVtSmnKVTJVMc-UwdIXtV7qZSn74uekQ248vlfBl-anH2HkMK5_ajYaw2bHdcNFHAlyo5uxhRk/s1600/IMG_2037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBp_PvKKfDm03O1C6dn_k38hH3eclZKc5xO-xM0Ycm6VCI8io2ViltcP8qmhI34dztJHyVtSmnKVTJVMc-UwdIXtV7qZSn74uekQ248vlfBl-anH2HkMK5_ajYaw2bHdcNFHAlyo5uxhRk/s320/IMG_2037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaHenslsPCWWLpf0ejJh2RYSS7vJGqQMaNAf7O8405XyVXiMHTBIUYPgjBLY9h3zH7A8Dapr5eqx1B9KjD1CY81J4-RCAKDgeVADgSHpnkv8xSvZOaDukcFSiBTQSdEuIhmpbwGw9ebH1/s1600/IMG_2039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaHenslsPCWWLpf0ejJh2RYSS7vJGqQMaNAf7O8405XyVXiMHTBIUYPgjBLY9h3zH7A8Dapr5eqx1B9KjD1CY81J4-RCAKDgeVADgSHpnkv8xSvZOaDukcFSiBTQSdEuIhmpbwGw9ebH1/s320/IMG_2039.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to run at 5AM race morning in my custom tee!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ln7ne4juOqMviKMttqYuopZXXHv1i-hDRgD7RU5CnKLdaylBdZgbavax9dURFULv-wnOO_ZrWM8dlZ5hqJIgXcLUmzwrK6efDQ0kieOGXtpJAZCfcJTxiIwPJc2AbzKCFlz-p_z3HX4c/s1600/IMG_2127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ln7ne4juOqMviKMttqYuopZXXHv1i-hDRgD7RU5CnKLdaylBdZgbavax9dURFULv-wnOO_ZrWM8dlZ5hqJIgXcLUmzwrK6efDQ0kieOGXtpJAZCfcJTxiIwPJc2AbzKCFlz-p_z3HX4c/s320/IMG_2127.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My forever reminder that "slow and steady wins the race".<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a cold morning: 30 degrees that “felt like 21”
according to my landline of a cell phone that always needs to be plugged in to
stay charged but somehow predicts weather fairly accurately. This weather in
Florida is what Alec Baldwin might deem Frozen Planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my favorite black spandex race
shorts (thoroughly documented in pictures throughout this past year) and a
custom long sleeve race tee I designed so everyone I sped past would know what
I’ve accomplished and obviously care, I weaved my way to my corral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a fresh playlist that combined a
variety of recommendations from my Facebook Friends and Facebook strangers that
I happen to be “friends” with, I took out the race with a modest 8:17 first
mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promised myself to just <i>enjoy</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> this race, especially after my mental turmoil in
Alabama the month prior; I promised myself to run first with my head and then
with my heart; and among these promises I told myself that my time didn’t
matter for this one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun began
to rise at mile 2 and as I crossed the highway bridge nearing mile 3, with the
sun kissing the ocean to my right, my eyes welled with tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cue: The First Single by The Format, a
tune that kindly reminds me of the summer of 2008 and my best friend Daytona
that ensued a theme of thoughts surrounding pure happiness, friendship,
accomplishment and memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
trudged on, picking up my pace ever so slightly with each mile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miles 5 and 6 cued the next symphony of tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d tell you to close your eyes and
picture what I’m about to write, but then you wouldn’t be able to read it…and I
think poor HK (my girl Helen Keller) passed before she could whip up some brail
computer screens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on Apple,
get on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My feet resisted the damp
sand below my feet as I entered the two-mile stretch on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The breeze was frigid but the ocean
just yards to my right was soothing and breathtaking under the morning sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beach was lined with supporters and
just as last year, the large boards runners signed at the expo in memory and
honor of those who have fought, survived, are fighting and lost their lives to
breast cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t resist
the tears, it was worse than watching George Clooney crying in a Honda
Civic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was worse than baby
penguins in need of sweaters from an oil spill (it’s real, Google that
shit).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was entirely beautiful
and a flash of time I’ll treasure until I get old and senile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the tears filling up my eyes, I
was actually crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just
tearing up, crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And let me
tell you, crying and running is hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I suggest choosing between the two, and I’d 90% of the time go for the
latter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I do enjoy a good
cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spectators probably
thought I was bat-shit crazy: 1. For crying and 2. For being one of the few
morons in shorts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miles 7 and 8 were strong for me, clocking sub 7:30 paces
even with the cold wind fighting me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m always the weirdo smiling while I run—I swear it actually
helps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So as I passed the beach
houses, my eyes dried and I was bobbing my head to some super ghetto jams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I approached mile 10, I could
already anticipate the incline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had spent the entire race avoiding the dread of the uphill stretch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wind was brutal; it continually
smacked me in the face to the point that I couldn’t even feel if I was still
smiling or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mile 10
highway ramp started the incline as it wrapped around higher and higher to the
same bridge where I watched the sun rise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then the real battle commenced: mile 11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t say it was a battle of blood, sweat and tears; but
it WAS a battle of wind, tightening muscles, sweat and tears simply from the
wind’s power and my contact lenses drying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took everything in me to push as hard as I could as I
watched 95% of the runners give-into the battling winds and walk up the
hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all I could think was:
This is it, Jenna. This is your last race. Finish it knowing you gave all you
got.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mile 12 relaxes in a slight downhill fashion, allowing for a
speedy finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rounded the
corner to see the finish line and got goosebumps (1. Because I was freezing and
2. Because everything I had worked for the past 13 months was coming to an
end).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wind continued to resist
my stride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran and sprinted, as
hard as I possibly could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I darted
my eyes around the crowds in search of my mom and cousin, who were
out-of-sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And with my last
strides, and every ounce of strength left in my body, I pulled myself across
the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And puked (per
usual).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I was puking, my
heart welled with joy, pride, accomplishment and every overwhelming emotion
possible, leading to tears (go figure).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think I cried more that morning than an entire theater watching Rose
let go of Jack in 3D.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt like Luol Deng shooting a 3-pointer; I felt like that dog in The
Artist claiming its Oscar; but I was just an average 24 year old from Elmhurst, IL, finishing what I said I
would do with everything I had in me and that’s all that really mattered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing I realized, the race
volunteers were asking if I was okay and trying to get me into the medical
tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at them baffled,
thinking “uh yeah why wouldn’t I be okay?” and then I remembered, when most
people are puking and crying it means something’s wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t realize that’s just normal
behavior for me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an ideal world, I would have run my fastest time at my last race; in an ideal world, it would have been a perfect 55 degrees with a light breeze at my back; in an ideal world, my knees wouldn’t bear the pain of pounding on pavement for the past 400 days; in an ideal world, my eyes wouldn’t burn from the sweat my brows failed to catch; in an ideal world, I would've raised enough money to find the cure for breast cancer. But that's not how things work and I can't say I'd ask for it any other way (minus the curing BC); I ended up clocking my third fastest time 1:42:22, which I couldn't be happier about knowing I gave it my all. I surpassed my goal of $2,620 and raised $3,505.60 for breast cancer research through the Mayo Clinic thanks to the many fine people in my life. So after all is said and done, that sounds pretty ideal to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gathered my medal and in an instant spotted my mom and
cousin bundled in their winter gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was waving and smiling, trying to get their attention and they finally
spotted me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They threw their arms
in the air waving and immediately started snapping pictures; I tried to smile
but couldn’t- my face was literally frozen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My cousin Kevin said he could tell I was trying to smile but
just couldn’t manage as my cheeks were stained white with pink circles in the
middle from being so cold and wind- burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can still picture my mom, doing her “I’m so proud of you
stance” that goes something like this: She’s smiling so wide you think it’s for
a camera, she has a little shuffle in her feet as she bounces slightly from
side-to-side, she has her arms up and out, bent at the elbow, as if she’s about
to shake the shit out of some maracas, and just yells “WOOOO JENNA LYNN! YOU
DID IT, (starts shaking her arms up and down, getting’ those imaginable maracas
moving) YOU DID IT! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU” and pulls you in with her mini Mexican
drum-poised arms for a big hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s the best. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_dAjtFmksRESMKcAaZnKpr_mwlZt1P0_9YYf0tmPphcgFCsF1DQjaMoapJfj686sm3ZqqDRvg8eVmi3DHl7PcaCwNsx4yigx8Ha8bhv5uavsO4ao40xqEShJJ5QRcIYMc1qRiytxoUWu/s1600/IMG_2040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_dAjtFmksRESMKcAaZnKpr_mwlZt1P0_9YYf0tmPphcgFCsF1DQjaMoapJfj686sm3ZqqDRvg8eVmi3DHl7PcaCwNsx4yigx8Ha8bhv5uavsO4ao40xqEShJJ5QRcIYMc1qRiytxoUWu/s320/IMG_2040.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I DID IT!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Njrm53fgRDz3e9zSUN25zP_OFxFK_Ad3d_sP0QodyxpetVoJsJJkzXjmpiwLwKr9WbWBcWkL2UrreUD5vgXvzu9jInKZEpZrQ7SgBZddUskwtHkDvjFQaokr7nyXv31bD704m6r6oY4w/s1600/IMG_2041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Njrm53fgRDz3e9zSUN25zP_OFxFK_Ad3d_sP0QodyxpetVoJsJJkzXjmpiwLwKr9WbWBcWkL2UrreUD5vgXvzu9jInKZEpZrQ7SgBZddUskwtHkDvjFQaokr7nyXv31bD704m6r6oY4w/s320/IMG_2041.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best cousin for being there!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURdRg8wSufRIbtQ_0zhyGXkloTJxfLAAvM6K2dPYEAhsw2VnE32vV9IaQ4v9gata1jn8hFsd67M2keBjdhP33t5BJPrd8IRy3_z3Nzt4AxGmApF3Nu_hbRdaS_mwwPEunXPXEn08RH4Z-/s1600/IMG_2042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiURdRg8wSufRIbtQ_0zhyGXkloTJxfLAAvM6K2dPYEAhsw2VnE32vV9IaQ4v9gata1jn8hFsd67M2keBjdhP33t5BJPrd8IRy3_z3Nzt4AxGmApF3Nu_hbRdaS_mwwPEunXPXEn08RH4Z-/s320/IMG_2042.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTXPBS64zJKmtxfAp6k4KFduD9O4Ga3BsPKuOItKp41TFRekrnbX4n8DZqoiIKjK8TSmdujLzU3vLy5qwPXPawCqgjQ3jWbY86VASzHFEliBe38gIHO3EwgqRAHUPIY5VY6Ttm7vmHmBv/s1600/IMG_2043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTXPBS64zJKmtxfAp6k4KFduD9O4Ga3BsPKuOItKp41TFRekrnbX4n8DZqoiIKjK8TSmdujLzU3vLy5qwPXPawCqgjQ3jWbY86VASzHFEliBe38gIHO3EwgqRAHUPIY5VY6Ttm7vmHmBv/s320/IMG_2043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There she is, good ol' Mary E.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgzPjVS00uQnLQdp2MG3f64L8NKbVs1a0xlmk2eUgpq52EYfflghpt6YrKSP_w3X7Uk5ZwvHN1U3SHCesXWS5-XStr-tLPEDuoWv0B5R8z_xQFoGtDCbfjErZC3ha7Ig1nUmB0hrJ0I2W/s1600/IMG_2044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgzPjVS00uQnLQdp2MG3f64L8NKbVs1a0xlmk2eUgpq52EYfflghpt6YrKSP_w3X7Uk5ZwvHN1U3SHCesXWS5-XStr-tLPEDuoWv0B5R8z_xQFoGtDCbfjErZC3ha7Ig1nUmB0hrJ0I2W/s320/IMG_2044.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Words can't describe how much I appreciate you both being there for me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0G9b6DPxNgVB_av2WG_LNeTxitU0hhxhtt-e96FLBbEaMm2bHRjToaDpq8XTljQLywvW82cBSWFvyev05QjB1rNzc98J3aHvuzB2a771A9FdrrVB-OkoGutGoyITp1XLQevU5sCu1EUR/s1600/IMG_2046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0G9b6DPxNgVB_av2WG_LNeTxitU0hhxhtt-e96FLBbEaMm2bHRjToaDpq8XTljQLywvW82cBSWFvyev05QjB1rNzc98J3aHvuzB2a771A9FdrrVB-OkoGutGoyITp1XLQevU5sCu1EUR/s320/IMG_2046.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13 months. 13 medals.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqQIqrEfZoIA40BwDCgcsG34VUyDwPb5SQwRQl-7818FZ33N-n6lfhBuIlPZU0kzTasRxkxGSLpXoLBKxUUJ2gFNJ0hrv3W9Tl5oso5DbFQLL-WrzA0uVH4H2GbGOV2A0HDppEJ-gPkc8/s1600/IMG_2047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqQIqrEfZoIA40BwDCgcsG34VUyDwPb5SQwRQl-7818FZ33N-n6lfhBuIlPZU0kzTasRxkxGSLpXoLBKxUUJ2gFNJ0hrv3W9Tl5oso5DbFQLL-WrzA0uVH4H2GbGOV2A0HDppEJ-gPkc8/s320/IMG_2047.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to make an excited face but it was still too frozen.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After moments of hugging and letting my face thaw, we agreed
to meet up after I finished winding through the runner-area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After parting with them, the excitement
and emotions subsided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued
to try to take it all in, but in reality, my continued feelings were a bit
anti-climatic and it no longer felt like I had just finished my 13<sup>th</sup>
half marathon in 13 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
reengaged with my mom and cousin under a finishers’ tent, where I bundled on my
post-race apparel and celebrated with them quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kevin and my mom took turns taking pictures of me, with me
and asking strangers to take ones of our trio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 26.2 with Donna race to finish breast cancer does a
great job of offering post-race amenities and entertainment (this year was a
Sister Hazel concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looks like
they haven’t been doing much since they peaked when I was in middle school.) However, “All for you”
and free bananas wasn’t nearly as tempting as a hot shower and warm clothes as
we stood in 35 degree weather, so we headed to the hotel shortly after.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We finished the afternoon with a celebratory lunch and
beers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, finding an open,
normal restaurant for lunch in Jacksonville, FL when you have no idea where
anything is, is actually rather tricky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our first attempt at the café my mom and I celebrated after last year
didn’t open for another hour so the three of us proceeded to see all that the
hood of Jacksonville has to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We passed the ghetto, we passed strip clubs, we passed adult
superstores, we passed abandoned restaurants with fucked up names, we passed
more strip clubs until we finally found a road that lead to civilization and
normal eateries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point,
our definition of a normal restaurant was anything that looked open and had
cars in the parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we
spotted a Capital Grille, we realized any restaurant around there would do so
we opted for a brewery with a full parking lot. We dined, parted from my cousin Kevin, and headed to the Jacksonville airport for our trip home.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
When I started this journey last year, I was just bored and
wanted to do something crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was recently heart-broken, living with my parents (nothing upsetting about
that, just a matter-of-fact), and thinking this was a really fun idea without
fully thinking it through and understanding the commitment it would take
(financially, physically, and timely) or how hard it would be to stay
motivated…and on my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I
reflect on all the experiences I’ve had throughout this crazy adventure, I
realize how different of a person I am- for holding myself accountable, with no
true reward besides 13 generic medals, a sense of pride and being able to say I
accomplished something that not many will in their lifetime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve become so much more
self-motivated, disciplined and as a result have so much more respect for
myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though it may seem
boastful, it’s the honest truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
also strengthened many of my relationships and friendships- from getting to
visit/see my friends across the country to getting to see who <i>actually
supports me</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve gotten to see cities and parts of the country I may
have never gotten to see had it not been for this experience (honestly, why the
hell else would I EVER go to Mobile, AL?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I laugh at the times I thought I was stressed or had “so much going on”
before I had to commit hours of my weeks to training and traveling for
this;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laugh at things I used to
consider “hard”; I laugh at my weak self from a year ago who postponed training
for this journey a week to cry over my shithead ex-boyfriend; I laugh at the
brat I used to be towards my parents (okay, </span><i>sometimes</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> I still am) who were by far my biggest lifeline
through this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think
what I’ve come to realize is that when you set a goal that’s really big—and is
bigger than you, as a single being—and has a bigger meaning for others that can
benefit from it, you grow a little and you live a whole lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am happy to say I have done just
that.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct3ufMDz7hiud9aAntoMaj_fvBhyphenhyphendKVJkRa_csVJk7XWRNlrUO7O3H6wBqxnj6cfEfMMNdkLIlFX0zLy33_TMeTMzZ9aom4hmijW_yXJPoy_8peyobImxjl-RX0sK35HcWNE8miWC_nuS/s1600/IMG_2124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct3ufMDz7hiud9aAntoMaj_fvBhyphenhyphendKVJkRa_csVJk7XWRNlrUO7O3H6wBqxnj6cfEfMMNdkLIlFX0zLy33_TMeTMzZ9aom4hmijW_yXJPoy_8peyobImxjl-RX0sK35HcWNE8miWC_nuS/s320/IMG_2124.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All 13 race bibs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHma-9ANry23zsQSb-FfDMnZ2S0fCXTN7YIvVwtEruaApyTvR1IRjZcBnSKIoB6tgC11e76FFPkBe1XeHn7Tn6BKUFZ4lE-CVLthLOZTFEP-p0cG1rT5TsjTjZYxz4u20cwh0XO1ugk2OT/s1600/IMG_2126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHma-9ANry23zsQSb-FfDMnZ2S0fCXTN7YIvVwtEruaApyTvR1IRjZcBnSKIoB6tgC11e76FFPkBe1XeHn7Tn6BKUFZ4lE-CVLthLOZTFEP-p0cG1rT5TsjTjZYxz4u20cwh0XO1ugk2OT/s320/IMG_2126.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Wouldn't you say my collection's complete?"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks for reading, supporting, believing and putting up
with my long-windedness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been
real. Stay tuned for part-two: you may be thanked if you're important enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-73231794313203771322012-02-09T18:59:00.000-08:002012-02-09T18:59:30.323-08:00A Compilation of MotivationHere are 20 things that motivate me as I prep myself for my final race, in no particular order. Enjoy:<br />
<br />
1. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDJKy-FdJ-c">The Chicago Bulls starting lineup theme song</a><br />
2. My family & the undeniable support they've provided me throughout this journey (See below and Mel, Pete, Kevin, Heather, Uncle Bruce, Aunt Elizabeth, all of mom's cousins, Uncle Bob & Carol, and so many more! Oh, and Honey and Sassy, the dogs.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWW50koSHQXzyosAGzNrZQGrx-jP7z8g18cRoCXqqqiSMvzrpOhSwXW31gBC6m-hVL5wEfERb1JxjeOcc6E50doHCW_IWwZQWQxJOwzkGM-7COxxVqib_90BnMq3ZB3ZfK-tSxVbr1NYg/s1600/IMG_1587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWW50koSHQXzyosAGzNrZQGrx-jP7z8g18cRoCXqqqiSMvzrpOhSwXW31gBC6m-hVL5wEfERb1JxjeOcc6E50doHCW_IWwZQWQxJOwzkGM-7COxxVqib_90BnMq3ZB3ZfK-tSxVbr1NYg/s320/IMG_1587.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3hCUPBbWnqgSWVRSKFtAN_rYK0KEpT1NqbI-O_zl6hPT9ii-egPpCWCGVmzXcTcuPRdcriSl_Pf0vHiYqXTNR2NhDsH_7F8z6TLhyphenhyphenHvjsdRAg42h0pxbgkSV_gEd991KtpydHs3kbSg1/s1600/IMG_1588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3hCUPBbWnqgSWVRSKFtAN_rYK0KEpT1NqbI-O_zl6hPT9ii-egPpCWCGVmzXcTcuPRdcriSl_Pf0vHiYqXTNR2NhDsH_7F8z6TLhyphenhyphenHvjsdRAg42h0pxbgkSV_gEd991KtpydHs3kbSg1/s320/IMG_1588.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
3.<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnslrTTXQSA"> Eminem's "'Til I Collapse"</a> (The song I've listened to before and during every race since high school)<br />
4. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGJuMBdaqIw&ob=av2e">Katy Perry's Firework music video</a> (Stop judging.)<br />
5. My friends who have pretended like they enjoy hearing about running to a nauseating extent for the past year to show they support me (Below are just a few of my avid supporters)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRGZJRSJNyZcp553JmOUivRbpvnKbd4svfCw5sBaaiycreakiKivoVvnbOFRFppzu-VzqSOSGKVfgLv3XBw6DBZqe0iyUvud7QkZbXgm3sX2u0DxIvDSAXQthXpi0lBsbM63XauCw4aqA/s1600/IMG_1607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRGZJRSJNyZcp553JmOUivRbpvnKbd4svfCw5sBaaiycreakiKivoVvnbOFRFppzu-VzqSOSGKVfgLv3XBw6DBZqe0iyUvud7QkZbXgm3sX2u0DxIvDSAXQthXpi0lBsbM63XauCw4aqA/s320/IMG_1607.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwnNwsM2452s14T79zVNAhwS4Z-GWaenWeICe6JDvkFqOXcWGWnvhoqepgksDgZIruX9W7VvSdbTXbNt4tlxgs74x7oSacqu7f-8Xumd4hHmO89mOUF-N3p9EC58yy_E95NfoRBhW8Kez/s1600/IMG_1430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwnNwsM2452s14T79zVNAhwS4Z-GWaenWeICe6JDvkFqOXcWGWnvhoqepgksDgZIruX9W7VvSdbTXbNt4tlxgs74x7oSacqu7f-8Xumd4hHmO89mOUF-N3p9EC58yy_E95NfoRBhW8Kez/s320/IMG_1430.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSZNqJsJwiVNqQUSW_XMdT-9DS44gN3QjO3yFQ3U06H8qzo4m2VYN1VB-D65uWj7sv7xxPBe4SuyJDVTSq_dIG86n3a9d-dh1N87ijz9gJxUH4bcUon6r7BSId910Zj5N2bR_cEhoIRmg/s1600/IMG_1564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSZNqJsJwiVNqQUSW_XMdT-9DS44gN3QjO3yFQ3U06H8qzo4m2VYN1VB-D65uWj7sv7xxPBe4SuyJDVTSq_dIG86n3a9d-dh1N87ijz9gJxUH4bcUon6r7BSId910Zj5N2bR_cEhoIRmg/s320/IMG_1564.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVowNdOZG1BlMFtQyI42PlYu9wgsfbyoPijLrZyBuHu5JFkZ03bcTg5RNRwgiZPchNAQ7TZrbC3W5vieR_w9SoUhTSI-eehZ_Oh6gMRc5MbdHEMX0GCrKB1WsosopIbhBXFq0ZReSb_4X5/s1600/IMG_1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVowNdOZG1BlMFtQyI42PlYu9wgsfbyoPijLrZyBuHu5JFkZ03bcTg5RNRwgiZPchNAQ7TZrbC3W5vieR_w9SoUhTSI-eehZ_Oh6gMRc5MbdHEMX0GCrKB1WsosopIbhBXFq0ZReSb_4X5/s320/IMG_1203.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOL3TmCY_lmANHjdWqN17Dig4sklTMXsQ6idXYUvzuiA1oD5AdLqU6T-ykrbGvu_XXqV817LhOYgqjtpL6XSkJWzJImWaxQEMzWImr1zNia8e28M6Vbx6B00MZOR_QVpMNN7h0BOqryDV/s1600/IMG_1684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOL3TmCY_lmANHjdWqN17Dig4sklTMXsQ6idXYUvzuiA1oD5AdLqU6T-ykrbGvu_XXqV817LhOYgqjtpL6XSkJWzJImWaxQEMzWImr1zNia8e28M6Vbx6B00MZOR_QVpMNN7h0BOqryDV/s320/IMG_1684.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3owSBTWWeUXkLCTAjEYUXeG92ADR5jbpa1cWr_jn00_cRyejkb3WfoPPVzpDEs8PfWdyem69IpmuLsWtoQne0f3jCEm6nGXtjQrxqal8-7PQoayfo5WYVlRnHmAwS1dYCkhXRLEpszUC1/s1600/IMG_1630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3owSBTWWeUXkLCTAjEYUXeG92ADR5jbpa1cWr_jn00_cRyejkb3WfoPPVzpDEs8PfWdyem69IpmuLsWtoQne0f3jCEm6nGXtjQrxqal8-7PQoayfo5WYVlRnHmAwS1dYCkhXRLEpszUC1/s320/IMG_1630.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
6. Positive affirmations, including, but not limited to: I feel happy, I feel healthy, I feel terrific!; Ease your pace, smile on your face; I'm so FUCKING beautiful!<br />
7. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cM5A1K6TxxM">This. </a>Completely unbelievable.<br />
8. The Long Green Line documentary<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">9. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"A true Runner ran even when he didn't feel like it, and raced when he was suppose to, without excuses and with nothing held back. He ran to win and would die in the process, running to him was real, the way he did it the realest thing he knew...hard as diamond, it made him weary beyond </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">comprehension, but it also made him free." -Once A Runne</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 15px;">r</span></span><br />
10. The fleeting daydream that one of the following will be at the end of my race and say to themselves, hot damn I need that shawty (the shawty being me): (Don't worry Chad, I'll keep you around)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIWHDoow1WA4hE7eVDQwsE085LG-pXVqvmRbU_KFpfe78rDno95m5LM9SxwH7ysPZgn_XaZLXvgm5oQMxxrp1tnDdHyJ5AfIrJ22Mf-hfqTb-1b6JsCebmMwrUz_q9gbM6cNWAVGq83jc/s1600/40749_pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIWHDoow1WA4hE7eVDQwsE085LG-pXVqvmRbU_KFpfe78rDno95m5LM9SxwH7ysPZgn_XaZLXvgm5oQMxxrp1tnDdHyJ5AfIrJ22Mf-hfqTb-1b6JsCebmMwrUz_q9gbM6cNWAVGq83jc/s1600/40749_pro.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_EZhTZ7mioNkXrdQM0U_MwrZ9Q1EMABu25RhRPYp5xvkYlFS5YTVlfYM72skHEytyt7851lW-00cY5bqUC-m648TPI9FJfKShrgnFr4a4iEF6MB4DItmtY7ZNc2ldh7c6yetxSpt8M_U/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_EZhTZ7mioNkXrdQM0U_MwrZ9Q1EMABu25RhRPYp5xvkYlFS5YTVlfYM72skHEytyt7851lW-00cY5bqUC-m648TPI9FJfKShrgnFr4a4iEF6MB4DItmtY7ZNc2ldh7c6yetxSpt8M_U/s320/image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZLe4vnpQ3Y_X3uUonkcGRPRIZx6wCTWB_QzvT09drKmO1MWRtuRKECbHBzUVPvkw76Zu4EnU7QkEWE6ttYiH57UHCUVV7dIrn8fEu_8aTOm8JIjup_HaXimsZvboGrikBe0H33Wx2viB/s1600/LilWayne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZLe4vnpQ3Y_X3uUonkcGRPRIZx6wCTWB_QzvT09drKmO1MWRtuRKECbHBzUVPvkw76Zu4EnU7QkEWE6ttYiH57UHCUVV7dIrn8fEu_8aTOm8JIjup_HaXimsZvboGrikBe0H33Wx2viB/s320/LilWayne.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhzNizZDHLytr03Xx283ddSYqjXfO5Q5RJmECvRdAiYuQIEnLkS01ZiY0PAJov59NQ3I-FIrKTwbWD9AiGQ9pvo1JJ4ZK_NAJJ7i3NFAkrxeUxQ9FvyIqpqS9IECL4EmeLIYcq2YV_ue9/s1600/ryan-gosling-workout-secrets-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhzNizZDHLytr03Xx283ddSYqjXfO5Q5RJmECvRdAiYuQIEnLkS01ZiY0PAJov59NQ3I-FIrKTwbWD9AiGQ9pvo1JJ4ZK_NAJJ7i3NFAkrxeUxQ9FvyIqpqS9IECL4EmeLIYcq2YV_ue9/s320/ryan-gosling-workout-secrets-02.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XCMrAbGk6S11IMsAA0xdcdu8VWkAM-qaRwLYBzYglGyCBMRgDMErza2iYfEl0bHtxzz1Jk_7JNiMj7zbPZcLYo2f4GicRxLvDvg0Xrtzt_Dla0EKXIGZvnlLSK6lwPh9hGh8Lve4FcwX/s1600/widner-rocky-chicago-bulls-v-sacramento-kings-kyle-korver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XCMrAbGk6S11IMsAA0xdcdu8VWkAM-qaRwLYBzYglGyCBMRgDMErza2iYfEl0bHtxzz1Jk_7JNiMj7zbPZcLYo2f4GicRxLvDvg0Xrtzt_Dla0EKXIGZvnlLSK6lwPh9hGh8Lve4FcwX/s320/widner-rocky-chicago-bulls-v-sacramento-kings-kyle-korver.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
11. Seeing this everyday in my room. And the idea of adding one more to it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pZ4G01dnypAlR4mEO-COgtjji_B8EJ2COD3HP7H_lXoKuXqqZLQ5PKFabvk4UvPf_SFoIdMj_i5r9gYpx1Bh06bP0gfrtbCY0-mwgRBDEp3Gk5XYWxP8qdp1pFcBNeYfffHFG7TyP3BU/s1600/IMG_2028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pZ4G01dnypAlR4mEO-COgtjji_B8EJ2COD3HP7H_lXoKuXqqZLQ5PKFabvk4UvPf_SFoIdMj_i5r9gYpx1Bh06bP0gfrtbCY0-mwgRBDEp3Gk5XYWxP8qdp1pFcBNeYfffHFG7TyP3BU/s320/IMG_2028.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
12. The fact that I'll be able to say I finished something a very small percentage of people have accomplished.<br />
13. Sexy calves. Don't even get me started about how much I love a good set of calves.<br />
14. People I see running faster than me along the lake front<br />
15. The knowledge of how hard I've worked for this, my self-discipline and determination.<br />
16. Maybe if I keep running, my body will morph into this by swimsuit season. Maybe:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxv7wtWFSIKwGnjXW2C43rpnHbLMaWsmp8q7UOWX_PPJUfnjivUUcT5gv3D7oRb59uSjD3fkLqUr_Pxez8uAMBm2ub2RR3c0d7jxUvtE8xeNj2pscmbpfBBwCijpg7s6rGI62j2UQ7qdOf/s1600/victorias-secret-swimsuit.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxv7wtWFSIKwGnjXW2C43rpnHbLMaWsmp8q7UOWX_PPJUfnjivUUcT5gv3D7oRb59uSjD3fkLqUr_Pxez8uAMBm2ub2RR3c0d7jxUvtE8xeNj2pscmbpfBBwCijpg7s6rGI62j2UQ7qdOf/s320/victorias-secret-swimsuit.jpeg" width="157" /></a></div><br />
17. The feeling of finishing.<br />
18. All the survivors and fighters of breast cancer I'll be running along side this weekend.<br />
19. My Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Linda<br />
20. Chasing my goal of 1:39, but knowing that even if I don't hit it, I can guarantee I'll run with every last bit of energy and heart I have left in me.<br />
<br />
HOLYSHITMYLASTRACEISTHISWEEKEND.ICANNOTWAIT.THISISMYEXCITEMENT. Talk to you after I'm DONE with 13 HALF MARATHONS IN 13 MONTHS!America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-84338029949390407842012-02-06T19:01:00.000-08:002012-02-06T19:01:22.035-08:00#12. Mobile, AL: Running is 90% Mental...and Mobile is 100% Weird.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2782</o:Words> <o:Characters>15858</o:Characters> <o:Lines>132</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>31</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>19474</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1539</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">"Ummm because it’ll be hilarious”, has been my response to everyone who asked me why I chose Mobile, AL for my January race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(That, and I knew it’d be decently warm and there’d probably never be another time I’d visit the state of Alabama.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hilarious was an understatement.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The only thing I knew about Mobile, AL prior to my trip was that Kanye West’s workout plan got Alamay from Mobile, AL to date outside the family, a doublewide and she rode a plane (Mom- I’m sure you have no idea to what I’m referring, feel free to dig out my old Kanye West’s College Dropout CD from 2002 and listen to track 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s probably next to Avril Lavigne).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out Kanye’s stereotype was fairly accurate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a flight from Chicago to Atlanta, and then a packed connecting one from Atlanta to Mobile I arrived at the regional airport that resembled a lobby of a Holiday Inn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, the flight was packed because the Go Daddy Bowl Game was going on that Sunday night and it was between Northern Illinois University and Arkansas State.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I was among fellow northern Illinoisans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did I know I would soon be among the strangest breed of people I’ve ever met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people in Mobile, Alabama have got to be from a completely different planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Them and Lady Gaga…but I don’t think they’re from the same one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a mix-up with my car rental, I was greeted by my first Alabama alien: Miss Mary Tabb, my first of many cab drivers.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Miss Mary Tabb reminded me of an aspiring, hard to understand, slightly-hoosier Whitney Houston with spunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She informed me of the booming metropolis of Mobile, home to about 300,000 southerners (which surprised me with it’s size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what she said. HAR.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While she southern drawled about her trip to Chicago 12 years ago, I realized 1. The meter wasn’t running and 2. I’ll need a lot more cash than what I came with now that I’d be cabbing it everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary reassured me that she took credit cards though no machine was in sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Midway through the trek to my hotel, Mary stops at a red light and hobbles out of the car with no warning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t sure if she was doing some sort of Chinese fire drill or a rain dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She got back into the car with a credit card machine and an orange Fanta.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a flat $25 cab ride (which for all I know Mary could have ripped me off—though on my trip back to the airport the next day I learned she actually gave me a $2 discount. Thanks Miss Mary.), I arrived at the Comfort Suites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exhausted from my early rising, I decided to relax with Mindy Kailing’s <i>Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that read, I’ve decided she’s my second favorite Indian—second to the one and only, Aziz Ansari, aka T-Strike (Parks and Rec, anyone?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I strategically planned to make my way to the downtown area in the late afternoon so I could knock out 3 southern birdies with one stone: 1. Pick up my race packet 2. Eat my free pasta dinner and 3. See the Mari Gras parade and keep my shirt on.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I asked the front desk how far the government building in the downtown area was from the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a casual “oh just a couple miles; just straight up Dauphin, right on Broadway and left on Government and you’ll be there” explanation, I figured it couldn’t be too far and decided to hoof my way seeing that it was a beautiful sunny, 70 degree day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, let me go ahead and ask you this, readers, what do you think of those people you see just hoofing it alongside a busy road?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think they’re a crazy bum wandering along with no actual destination?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because that’s normally my first instinct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, that was me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only difference was this little nomad actually had a destination in mind but just no idea how to get there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while people drove by, assumingly thinking “dat bitch is cray”, many thoughts crossed my mind on this trek.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #1: what the fuck am I doing with my life?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #2:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is this street called Daphin?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep wanted to say dolphin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn, I wish I was at the zoo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #3: (context: just walked by a restaurant called "foosackly's") Must take a picture (click). How is there an entire restaurant devoted to just chicken fingers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s like an appetizer. Or a meal for 5 year olds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder what the variety of their tenders entails…</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #4: (thought ensued after a black teenager shouted out the car window of a truck, “Back dat ass up girl!”) Is he talking to me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why would he yell at a white girl with literally no ass when he’s in a town full of booty-licious apple bottoms? </div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #5: Where am I?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #6: (thought ensued after seeing two speed bump signs: one that read “speed lumps”, one that read “speed humps”) What.the.fuck.seriously. I guess they like their roads like they like their women: lumpy.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #7: That hotel dude is an asshole. Seriously, where am I?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #8: (it starts to drizzle) COOOOOL.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #9: (look at watch and realize it’s been an hour) This is definitely more than two miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I already pass Broadway?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thought #10:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This isn’t funny anymore.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">After a solid hour and a half, and 6 miles later (I came to learn based on my cab ride back), I arrived at a CVS on Government to get some water, which I decided would be my homebase for the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived in the skyline views (HAH) of downtown Mobile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two tallest buildings that served as the city’s only remotely skyscrapers (okay, they weren’t close to anything like Chicago) were hotels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wandered the streets of downtown; many of the old buildings reminded me of the French Quarter of New Orleans with a very European style (minus the berets); other shops were a bit run-down or out-of-business adding a tone of sadness to the otherwise lively streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The streets were crowded with Northern Illinois fans and Arkansas State, so in a sense, I didn’t feel too out of place-the NIU flags waved with familiarity in the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked down to the port harbor and then back to the government building to pick up my race packet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTMnNxpP1tiZLucC6Ebz8rW5ITkEGD7GkNjdg2yJyWywVN59NohmCSz542IuvYpXvfR8yfP0NoXf_aTOHl2FFuAT2U5YKqq2PaSF7HD6o1wFtFCfaNUCKtKioMhTf30xuR5XjXmoBhXvAp/s1600/IMG_1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTMnNxpP1tiZLucC6Ebz8rW5ITkEGD7GkNjdg2yJyWywVN59NohmCSz542IuvYpXvfR8yfP0NoXf_aTOHl2FFuAT2U5YKqq2PaSF7HD6o1wFtFCfaNUCKtKioMhTf30xuR5XjXmoBhXvAp/s320/IMG_1995.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mobile Regional Airport, reminiscent of a Holiday Inn lobby.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A restaurant devoted to strictly chicken fingers. Normal.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Mobile.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0XeSRC-iOfoFls218B2Sju86tTSl1HKh6Jv__kGahltjGWnCil-mdKZe7nets7_7ymP7qbVGAiy6Cg9GJ5rirPAh8-GD4l4jR_oJFDykiYKqv3v_KeXdnyopt65-n6RmkeoqSJY2oi3k/s1600/IMG_2002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0XeSRC-iOfoFls218B2Sju86tTSl1HKh6Jv__kGahltjGWnCil-mdKZe7nets7_7ymP7qbVGAiy6Cg9GJ5rirPAh8-GD4l4jR_oJFDykiYKqv3v_KeXdnyopt65-n6RmkeoqSJY2oi3k/s320/IMG_2002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit of home</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMis_l-FELrKemnDPoPxaftOXGuZ6EcUjERskzo3Z97xOCZiyt9v4_-inp1G80_b2hpxJCCBwvbJ0OOwwD4h4uLUzYmewQoP6E1L-Z8rsUgVFFaGiSq3q7V2DgNU0fPFu2atX3fQajuSEy/s1600/IMG_2003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMis_l-FELrKemnDPoPxaftOXGuZ6EcUjERskzo3Z97xOCZiyt9v4_-inp1G80_b2hpxJCCBwvbJ0OOwwD4h4uLUzYmewQoP6E1L-Z8rsUgVFFaGiSq3q7V2DgNU0fPFu2atX3fQajuSEy/s320/IMG_2003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mobile "skyline"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The building was crowded with runners and their respective family members eating the complimentary pasta dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was definitely a bonus as no other race offered this amenity fo’ free, AND it freed me of having to dine by myself in a restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that there’s anything really wrong with that, but I’m just not the type to dine out, go to movies or drink by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would just make me either an old, single retired person, a lonely cat woman or an alcoholic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m definitely not the first, I might be on my way to the second and I attempt to avoid the third.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked through the minimal vendors they had present at the small race packet pick-up area and spotted three girls in massive, debutant-like pastel dresses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yo, Little Bo Peep, where’s yo’ sheep?! They honestly looked like that and though I desperately wanted to take advantage of this hilarious photo opportunity, I just felt bad for these girls as I figured the race crew hired them as humiliation mascots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly retrieved my packet and two t-shirts and checked out the course map they had printed on poster board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was decorated with two post-it notes: one that said “hills start at mile 10.5” and the other that read “If you’re running the half and you go across train tracks, you’ve run too far”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great, mile 10.5 is typically when my legs begin to feel like the bricks of the Home Alone mansion and knowing me I’ll be completely zoned out and run off-course across train tracks and end up in the backyard of Alamay’s doublewide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Digging through my race bag, I noticed I had no time chip for my shoe- odd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I asked where the time chip was, this is what the woman said: “Oh there’s no time system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clock just starts when the gun goes off and your time is whenever you cross the finish line after that”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you’re wanting to run for time, I suggest you get to the front of the line.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, you’re actually serious about this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THIS.IS.BULLSHIT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually got intensely angered on the inside by this news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never in a million years would I have signed up for a race (let alone travel 3.5 hours on a plane to a town where I had more teeth than all its residents combined) if I had known there was no official time chip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made up my mind to channel my inner-Kenyan and make sure I was at the front of the pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I marched past the pastel bubbleyum freakshow girls and hit up the free pasta dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat with another loner and we exchanged a few well wishes of luck and I headed back out to line up for the Mardi Gras parade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within the hour, the streets were overflowing with Mobile locals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuck out like a sore thumb (another figure of speech that confuses me) as one of the only white girls inter-mixed with the majority of the Mobile population being black.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was caught in the middle of chanting Ll-A-BAMA football fans and watched the parade, which included a pissed off horse that wouldn’t behave (and crystallized my hatred for those beasts with killer hooves) and a large grocery shopping cart which reminded me that I had to do that when I got home. And I hate grocery shopping. I headed back to the CVS from earlier in the day and called a cab. Living in Chicago makes you forget that in most cities, you have to call-ahead for a cab; they aren’t as numerous as the amount of times you see Scalabrine on camera during a Bulls game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I stood in the parking lot (in what I later learned was “the ghetto” of Mobile…whoops. Whatupfoools) for a solid 20 minutes until my cab arrived.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The cab ride that lead to my discovery of my 6 mile trek earlier that day brought me back to the hotel to catch some ZZzz’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a goodnight’s sleep, I was ready for the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had pre-arranged my cab for pick-up that took me to the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the intersection at which the race started but when I arrived my normal hour in advance, I was perplexed with the lack of other runners present and a lack of start line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked a few people around where I could find the start line (because yes, I will talk to just about anyone and have no shame in asking strangers questions. My friend Kirstin, circa race #10 in Indy, loves this trait about me. And by love I mean, wants to taze me when I do this with her around).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They pointed to a neon orange piece of tape along the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No other signage indicated the start-line, but just a long strand of tape that you might find around the perimeter of a freshly painted door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gear check-in was equally as horribly visible, being a soccer mom mini-van with a poster-board sign on the side, half way up the street from where the race directors said it would be.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I finally took my spot at the front with my shoe nearly toeing the highlighter orange tape across the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Easter egg girls (still in their Barbie prom gowns and serving as humiliation mascots again) lined in front of the runners, next to the local Boy Scout troops and in unison, the entire crowd sang the National Anthem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feeling of community resonated throughout the singing patriotic crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I really think my vocal bliss added something special, especially considering my parents have a CD of my Sandburg Middle School drama solo performances in A Christmas Carol and Meet Me in St. Louis. I was quite the thespian.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the jammin’ local DJ (who probably had a name of like Mobile Mike) and the gun fired, we took off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was flying and felt great (which would later be the cornerstone to my demise)…until I realized I clocked a swift 7:18 first mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attempted to ease my pace, but with my adrenaline pumping and the surroundings of elite runners who can actually maintain a fast pace the entire run, I continued to take it out way too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By mile 4, I could feel my legs weakening; my hip flexors stiffened and my left knee whimpered with pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I maintained an 8 min./mile average until about mile 7 when I hit a wall; the worst part was realizing that I did this to myself simply by getting cocky and taking it out too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I played a mental blame game trying to convince myself that it was the RACE’s fault for my stupidity, with their lack of time chips FORCING me to the front; I knew it wasn’t such an intangible thing’s fault- it was my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the mental downfall ensued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was my first race wearing the Garmin Forerunner my dad gave me for Christmas and it’s awesome—it takes your heart rate, tracks your pace and elevation with a GPS, has a virtual race buddy—and does so much more (thanks again, daddio!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for all it’s incredible features, I focused on one: the feature of the pace buddy that darkens to a black background when you’re under pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With every mile, I solely concentrated on my pace that was increasing as I slowed: 8:07, 8:19…8:35.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I completely, mentally gave up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind threw in the towel as I focused on just staring at my slowing pace every few minutes—it was addicting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgot the fun and enjoyment and freedom running gives me and I was swallowed into a physical vs. mental war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And 1:47:01 later, I ran through the narrow finishers chute and walked through it, completed defeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No guts, no glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No puke, no heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, that shit I just made up is terrible, but I didn’t puke and while most of you are probably thinking “Um aren’t you happy you didn’t taste last night’s regurgitated noodles”, assuming I have normal, non-bullemic readers…I wasn’t happy about the non-vom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, I’ve puked immediately following the races I ran my fastest; the races I literally gave every last bit of energy I had in my body; the races where I ran so hard, I puked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I knew I didn’t give everything I could; I let my mind win and forgot to run with my heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimT1Ja6sJ1KNSTrwUVRZgENUAjFZ8weLuXbsy3Q5XXxBotEH9i4Vl6D4rhyAxC8NlC6tmxwQHyk1TKW3ERy9NSaLEslcK91H8hlgEqy0S36tN2dCCj6HYeH2R-eyZY5ZEOuy2eQUOkW9Qb/s1600/IMG_2004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimT1Ja6sJ1KNSTrwUVRZgENUAjFZ8weLuXbsy3Q5XXxBotEH9i4Vl6D4rhyAxC8NlC6tmxwQHyk1TKW3ERy9NSaLEslcK91H8hlgEqy0S36tN2dCCj6HYeH2R-eyZY5ZEOuy2eQUOkW9Qb/s320/IMG_2004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monster shopping cart in the Mardi Gras parade<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finisher.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny finish line<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bubbleyum twins, thanks for the entertainment!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWj9jRAXtTQBm7nKAlN3H0cjdHaOn8mSCOmqEGP8v23THOUrPQXu5HyOg8qZlAg9fUbdphyO40PqiHGWR6Y-ZdmfS5hHCG2cQYvEFFias7UQrNTEDBB02eVRONyz59sbRmIHpXpShh29_Q/s1600/IMG_2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWj9jRAXtTQBm7nKAlN3H0cjdHaOn8mSCOmqEGP8v23THOUrPQXu5HyOg8qZlAg9fUbdphyO40PqiHGWR6Y-ZdmfS5hHCG2cQYvEFFias7UQrNTEDBB02eVRONyz59sbRmIHpXpShh29_Q/s320/IMG_2013.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First marathon finisher</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Filled with disappointed and self-frustration, I continued walking through the chute to retrieve my medal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then that I remembered to put things in perspective and not be so hard on myself:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The First Light Marathon benefited a local charity, L'Arche Mobile, which is a home for mentally disabled and handicap citizens of the Mobile community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four of its residents sat in their wheelchairs, supervised, and passed out the wooden medals the home’s residents had painted and made for finishers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the one resident reached to hang the ribbon around my leaned in neck, I remembered that this is what my journey is all about—though I’m running to fundraise for breast cancer research, every individual race I sign up and pay for benefits a charity and helps others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may have not run my fastest time, but I did a good thing and the resident smiled with an unspoken “thank you”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but to think about my Uncle Dennis, my mom’s brother, who, too, is severely mentally handicapped and in a wonderful facility in Kankakee, IL, where its residents do arts and crafts, similar to the painted medal I had just received.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an emotional realization but a much-needed one for me to walk off the course with a small smile on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way to a bench to stretch and call my family and boyfriend awaiting my results.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Walking back to my home base (the sketchy CVS parking lot), I watched the first marathoner come in to the finish—the crowd roared with encouragement as he clung to his thigh in obvious pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This moment, too, reminded me of why I wake up at 5AM on one Sunday every month: the feeling of just finishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nearing the local CVS pharmacy, I made friends with two cops who were directing traffic for the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They immediately realized I wasn’t from their hood and whipped up some friendly conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was when I had the perfect chance to ask the perplexing question that had been on my mind all weekend: WHY were those girls dressed up like Princess Peach?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They explained to me that they were Azalea Trail Maids (I just had to wikipedia that shit because I kept calling them Amazon Ezekiel trail girls. My bad.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These girls are “official town ambassadors” that hone “southern hospitality” mannerisms of the old-time era in Mobile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to ask if they still had make-shift slaves just to remember “the old times” too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah that was pretty terrible of me, but I still don’t get the point of those cakepop girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which, led me to snap a photo of them without guilt as I discovered they CHOSE to dress like this and were not, in fact, used as freakshow mascots.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hung out in the CVS parking lot waiting for my cab where I was approached by a short, limping lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next words out of her mouth really just summed up my experience in Mobile, AL: “You wannnnntttt some Koooool-Aid?” she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my teacher’s pet, nervous, if gerbils-could-talk-this-is-what-they’d-sound-line voice I gently responded, “Umm…no, thank you.” As the effervescent advocate of her Kool-Aid she rebuttled with, “I’ve got allllll kinds of Kool-Aid” and hobbled off with her kooler pack on wheels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, there very well might have been some nice, refreshingly-chilled purple drank in that mini-fridge on wheels of hers, but I think it was most likely packed with drugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those drugs clearly ate away at this woman’s teeth and seeing that I was called shark by my 7<sup>th</sup> grade teacher because of my crazy grill, I have every intention of keeping my fixed beaver-like chompers in tact and just said no.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The cab company that I’m sure knew me by the sound of my Chicago voice retrieved me from the sketchy parking lot and I hopped in the shower upon returning to the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With nothing left to do in Mobile, I decided to just head to the Mobile Airport with plenty of time to spare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived there at 12:31PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only reason I knew this was because that was the time Chad (boyfriend) called and I told him I’d call him back once I was through security; I called him back at 12:44PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, a whopping 13 minutes to navigate through this “airport”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, as I pulled up my email to get my eTicket number to plug into the check-in kiosk, the woman behind the desk asked for my name and before I knew it, she was pointing to my name, flight number, confirmation number and eTicket number on her clipboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they had a clipboard with every single traveler’s flight information; I felt like I was checking in for a 4<sup>th</sup> grade field trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up the stairs, I stood in the short, single-file line that they deemed “security check”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The TSA worker that stood at a very student-council like podium chatted up a storm and may or may not have actually looked at my ID. The workers cackled about my “running stick” and seemed to lack any security protocol which got me to the gate area in minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since there were only 7 gates and my flight wasn’t for another 3 hours, I didn’t have a gate assignment so I set up shop at a table where I ordered a sandwich and finished my book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My flight was delayed by about 40 minutes but luckily didn’t affect my connecting flight in Atlanta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A flight of slumber, I was back in Chicago and welcomed by Bob and Mary E.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And that, ladies and gents, is Mobile, AL in a nutshell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can honestly say I’m glad I ventured there as part of this trip, but those 30 hours there were enough to last me a lifetime and I can’t fathom a reason as to why I’d ever return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Farewell, Miss Mary Tabb, keep driving your cab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And here I am, 6 days away from my final race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I.cannot.wait. Nor can I truly express my excitement so I'll restrain for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be posting one last time before the big finale. Stay tuned.</div><!--EndFragment-->America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-72081096717206971192012-01-06T18:29:00.000-08:002012-01-06T18:29:52.116-08:00#11. Dallas, TX: 13.1 Miles of Misery...I know, I'm being so morbid. But seriously, it was just fucking miserable and you'll understand why when you keep reading. What wasn't miserable about this race was the fact that I got to see and stay with my favorite newlyweds: Anna and Michael Primeaux. (Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson sucked compared to them. And they're divorced now so it's really no comparison).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet my attractive hosts: Anna and Michael. Yes this is a picture of a picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Not only was my flight to Dallas a steal of a century, it was the perfect excuse to see my boo and her mr. boo. (She doesn't call him that, I just felt inclined to right now). Anna made her debut in my blog longgg ago when she planned on doing all the races with me; but as explained in a much earlier post as well, she came to her common sense and opted not to but DID decide to do this one in her hometown with me which made me all giddy and shit. This was the third time I got to see my favorite mischevious boo in about a month in a half thanks to her bachelorette party, followed by her epic wedding and then this race. Anna had to work Saturday morning when I jetsetted so I was glad to see Michael didn't forget to pick me up. Foster the dog joined too.<br />
<br />
So it was just me and the boys. The car ride consisted of a lot of work talk, wedding recap, Michael tip-toeing around asking me if me and his friend were dating yet, and Michael's jaw-dropping at the length of my reverse city commute to and from work. When I told him I typically spend 2.5 hours in the car to go a full 44 miles round-trip, Michael reminded me of the nauseating comparable drive from St. Louis to Columbia, MO taking only 1.5 hours...for 125 miles. He couldn't comprehend the daily pergatory I put myself through...he doesn't do well with traffic, probably similar how I don't do well with olives. Or foam on hangers.<br />
<br />
Back at their Athropologie-esque apartment filled with creams and tans, Michael had some work to wrap up and I had some trashy TV to watch while waiting for Anna. Though Michael pities me for my brain-numbing commute, I can't say I envy him as a first year CPA who is literally always on-call for work. I think in the hour and a half we waited for Anna, he had to log onto his work computer three different times, took a work call and his phone made some weird little noises that I'm sure was code for "do this NOW Michael, xoxo, your boss". He did take a few breaks to show me all the tricks he's taught their dog Foster (who they also call Doodle, Uncle Schnoodle and I think just about any other name that rhymes with noodle. Poor pup must have daily identity crises). But let me tell you, Foster/Doodle/noodle brain has got mad skill: he sits, rolls over, high fives, twirls, fetches the remote, hand/paw shakes, and can probably play the keyboard too. He also has THE whitest teeth I have ever seen. Both canines and humans included. Now, I obviously don't check out dog's grills on the reg, so that just goes to show how eye-catchingly white his chompers are; his smile nearly made me melt (kidding). Then, there's Chauncey the cat. Chauncey and I go wayyy back: she was my roommate senior year. I lost the battle to my two cat-loving roomies and when the poor kitten was rescued from a hood of a car, how could I say no to providing such an innocent, harmless creature with shelter? Well, Chauncey wasn't harmless: she was a bitch. But a pretty cool one. And so, we met again. Now that she essentially suffered from the feline version of gingivitis leaving her with a mere two teeth and is declawed, she's pretty harmless and spends most of her day sun-bathing stretched out or playing her Friskie's fish game on the iPad. (Yes, there's an app for cats.) So let me recap Anna and Michael's pets: we've got multi-titled Foster who can do about 20% of the things humans can and Chauncey the cat who is tech-savvy enough to play on an iPad. The only pet I've ever had was Russell the hamster, who was the biggest (well, technically smallest) 1.4lb asshole. All he could do was chew through his plastic, colorful-tubed wonderland that I so graciously provided him with and roll around in a ball filled with his own droppings and slamming into walls while doing so. Russell just bit me and stunk up my bedroom. I'm not bitter at all by the fact that Anna and Michael's dynamic duo pets trump my worthless furball (who is now buried in a check box in my backyard, RIP).<br />
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Anna came home (I like how I'm talking like I actually live with these lovebirds) around 12:30 and with bellies growling we scoped out some brunch. The three of us (me being the mistress) ate a feast of veggie scramblers, breakfast burritos, homemade breads and potatoes at a restaurant that reminded me very much of the Egg Harbor Cafe in the good old Elmhurst. Post-brunch, Anna and I rid her hubby of the ride and headed off to the Texas State Fair Grounds, home to the race expo. Though the area the State Fair Grounds is in is questionable, Anna assured me that the last time she was there, the two gangsta teens that were circling her car on bikes didn't actually do any harm-- and trust me, no one messes with Anna. Or Texas.<br />
<br />
Making our way across the parking lot, the multiple-month Dallas drought decided it was bored and it was time to shit a torrential downpour on us. Anna always likes to blame these unfortunate times on karma paying her back for the time that she flicked off an entire school bus of little children. Looking like wet Raggedy Anne's we made it into the expo center home to all the warm, dry people that beat the storm. Anna originally wasn't planning on spending the $120 registration fee and running the race as a bandit, bib-less with me; but the atmosphere and my sweet race packet inspired her to officially register. In the race bag, runners typically get a bunch of marketing material, postcards for other races, sample muscle lotions, mini energy bars and a race shirt. What do you get in a Dallas, Texas race bag? An ENTIRE box of Cliff Bars and TWO shirts: one participant and one tech finisher tee. I guess everything really is bigger in Texas.<br />
<br />
The rest of the afternoon included curling up on Anna's couch; obsessing over Chauncey the cat; watching Michael leave for Petsmart; watching tv; obsessing over Foster the dog; obsessing over Chauncey; watching Michael return from Petsmart with Christmas pet toys (though Foster seems like he'd be more of a "Festivus for the rest of us" type of dog); stretching; ordering food; eating food; and Anna's friend Lyndey coming over to join us for a bit of our relaxing evening. Lyndey brought over Anna's belated wedding gift of the widest array of classy kitchen containers I've ever seen. Anna and Michael now have more wine glasses and flutes than a New Year's champagne toast; they also have EVERY small kitchen appliance you can imagine: a toaster, juicer, food processor, mixer, probably a Belgium waffle maker they have at Holiday Inn continental breakfasts, and something that looked like R2D2 on top of their cabinets. Lyndey told us she didn't register for the half marathon, but as a natural athlete, she would join us. Shortly after she left, Anna and Michael hit the sack and although playing middle spoon was tempting, I hit the couch.<br />
<br />
We awoke to even more Dallas drizzle in the morning. We layered on our race clothes for the predicted chilly temps (though I still sported my fave spandex shorts) and Michael played Nigel Barker, noted fashion photographer, shooting quick pre-race pics of his ladies (I love playing mistress.) He told us he'd catch us around mile 3 and Anna and I set out to pick up Lyndey. We fetched our third muskateer and slowly made our way to the race. Dallas did not think the traffic patrolling through which did not agree with Anna's road rage. Finally in the State Ground lot, we prepped ourselves to face the rain. On our walk to the race, we did spot Anna's high school boyfriend. Ah, sweet nostalgia. Hey, Grant, Anna's ex.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpa6155W50-RHwO7p8GDbg5uNh_DI4kcyJg5N2eiwwhfcYewWJ1b3QUtOvu_7Iu3w9iVKy5r1lk8bWdgN66hGXiJE6rEGzshSeOIVtpko8DFwvRKY87au2PavLc6Ho8_FxZBb3QRAXFD9a/s1600/IMG_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpa6155W50-RHwO7p8GDbg5uNh_DI4kcyJg5N2eiwwhfcYewWJ1b3QUtOvu_7Iu3w9iVKy5r1lk8bWdgN66hGXiJE6rEGzshSeOIVtpko8DFwvRKY87au2PavLc6Ho8_FxZBb3QRAXFD9a/s320/IMG_1948.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We waited in what seemed like a never-ending line to use the porta-potties. Who knew taking a shit could be so popular? We shivered our way to the starting corrals where I was asked by a preteen where we pick up our race bibs. I wanted to feel bad for the adolescent who was a day late, but I just couldn't and informed him with an "ummm yesterday?" and scampered off. The three of us somehow ended up in corral D-3 when I was supposed to start in corral A-2. So we weaved through thousands of people, past 10 minute mile pacers, 9 minute pacers, and runners securing their iPhones in ziplock baggies shielding their lifeline from the rain. We finally made it to the beginning of corral B which would have to do as the National Anthem commenced and fireworks went off; yes, fireworks. In all the races I've run, I've never seen this 4th of July sky artwork before a race (evidence #2: every thing's bigger in Texas). I'm actually surprised they didn't fly the Texas flag, because all Texans are obsessed with the Texas flag. Anna and mine's other roommate senior year, Katty, another Dallas native, is a prime example of having this Texas flag love affair. <br />
<br />
And the three of us were off as the clouds above held off the rain. We took the first mile out very modestly and then the rain ensued. From mile two until the end, we were running in frigid rain that smacked us in the face like tiny swords of a tiny man. Anna and I kept an eye on one another running almost side-by-side but after about mile 3 we lost sight of Lyndey. We looked for Michael but didn't spot him. The roads were slick and it didn't help that Dallas has streetcars that run along rail tracks through the road-- I observed this because I nearly twisted my ankle as I slipped on the cylindrical metal rod. There is really no other way to describe this race but completely cold and miserable. By mile 5, every positive thought had escaped my mind and I just wanted the race to be over. Anna and I stuck together til about mile 7, where she pulled away and got ahead. The competitive side of me tried to chase her but my legs felt like bricks and the rain seemed to push them back down every time they were lifted. My soaked clothes clung to me, but I honestly felt worse for the women around me running in yoga pants that were clearly not water proof and weighed them down. Actually, I felt the absolute worst for the small dog I saw tucked in a spectator's coat. Why would you bring such a helpless creature into a Dallas tsunami? Poor little guy. We ran through Highland Park- a very ritzy area of Dallas lined with spectators holding signs that read "Giddyyy-Up!" and the most gorgeous mansions; I tried to appreciate their visual appeal but my mind wouldn't clear itself of how miserable and cold I was. All I knew was that my legs were tightening, my hands were frozen, Anna was well ahead of me, I was soaking and I had a badittude. Nearing the finish line, my vision began to blur and I assumed it was my contacts being intercepted by the raindrops smacking me in the eye. But then I just felt like I was in complete vertigo. I crossed the finish line, threw up per usual, and couldn't gain balance. I was so out of it and shivering; my body wasn't warmed up at all after the entire 1:46 run (woof, back to my old times, I thought)- it was just cold and I was so light headed. The race directors tried to get me in a wheelchair but I resisted seeing that all I wanted was to be inside in warmth. <br />
<br />
I teeth chattered my way into the building to redeem my medal and the post-race snacks. Instead of just a goody bag worth of bananas and energy bars, Dallas offered a full buffet of food, even including fresh pancakes that smelled like Maple trees. Bags of pretzels, popcorn, Lara Bars, Gatorade, waffles, chocolate milk, orange juice were all present- I'm surprised they didn't have a sushi bar. Nothing really appeased my appetite besides one thing that caught my eye: hot chocolate. Yes, please. It warmed my veins and I held tightly to my wet belongings to start my trek back to Anna's car. On my way out, I noticed they had race officials with cell phones for runners to utilize if they needed to call any of their family, fans or spectators: brilliant concept. Of all the races I've run, I've never seen this type of amenity and it really does make a whole lot of sense. Then back out in the rain I trudged.<br />
<br />
I had originally thought the race was the most miserable two hours of my life when little did I know, the walk back to the car would be far worse. The State Fair Grounds are not exactly small, unless you're comparing them to China. There were so many different parking lots and the rain continued to pellet my face as I searched for our area. All I had as a point of reference was the Ferris Wheel and when I realized it was a good 3/4 of a mile in the distance, I knew I had a ways to go. With no extra clothes on hand, I kept dropping my free food in puddles because I was shivering so uncontrollably. Probably close to 25 minutes later, I reached Anna's car to find her trying to warm up in the heated vehicle and strip into warm garb. "HOLY SHIT JENNA, THAT FUCKING SUCKED" was I'm pretty sure the first words out of Anna's mouth. She, too, is vulgar, and if you think I despise the cold, meet Anna: she hibernates when it's like 50 degrees out. We laughed and bitched about the terrible race and discovered she finished about 3 minutes ahead of me. It was then I discovered that while my iPod had continued to bust out jams the entire race, not a single button of its face would work. The rain killed my dear iPod as if it was the Wicked Witch of the West herself. Good thing it was stuck on a favorite Christmas tune of mine: Hanson's What Christmas Means to Me. (Okay quit judging, it's feel good AND I'll proudly say that Hanson was in fact my first concert when I was 9 years old AND I owned the Hanson home video on VHS, which starred Billy Bob Thorton, which still perplexes me). Anyways, I flashed the parking lot of SUVs as I layered on a few warm items and we waited for Lyndey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqAWXamIE7T8G19dTRm3M0NjvgQi_kOV_3MP-rqD6Be7ATLCLMKBnHaSDNtciO7_I4kZz99Znw3emeRkkSj-peDe6pOdlfG9NKhTNDPSd5nD3HJTTA5B1iQj2dBLKVAbiPhNKqBDlyAXi/s1600/IMG_1949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqAWXamIE7T8G19dTRm3M0NjvgQi_kOV_3MP-rqD6Be7ATLCLMKBnHaSDNtciO7_I4kZz99Znw3emeRkkSj-peDe6pOdlfG9NKhTNDPSd5nD3HJTTA5B1iQj2dBLKVAbiPhNKqBDlyAXi/s320/IMG_1949.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race...Foster making an appearance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Not moments later, Anna looked at her phone to discover a text from Lyndey saying she quit and just bolted home during the race. I can't say I blame her- it WAS pure misery and we did run right by where she lives. Plus, seeing that she wasn't even registered and was more running this for "fun" and there was nothing "fun" about this race, I've got mad props for her intelligence. We stopped by her place on the way home to give her her keys and belongings and continued on to Anna's. I'm pretty sure we sat in her parking garage for a good 5 minutes avoiding getting out in the car and back into the frigid air. We shimmied our soaking bodies into her building and upon opening her apartment door, were greeted with big mugs of hot chocolate and a bar of dark chocolate (one of my faves), compliments of Michael. Whatta gem. I love being the third wheel and girlfriend to the married couple, especially at this moment. We warmed up with our chocolaty treat and hit the showers (separately). Upon reviewing Michael's photography skills of the race, we soon learned that he thought two random, strange women were Anna and me. What a bad photographer. And husband. Kidding, I love me some Michael. (But this explains my whopping two pictures from the entire trip as seen above). I continued my crucial role as third wheel to a Greek food market where we got linner (lunch/dinner...why hasn't anyone come up with an official name like brunch yet? Linner, it is...I should copyright that.) It was still raining. And then it was time for me to leave the rain forest of Dallas, Texas and my favorite couple (aside from Bob and Mary Ellen, obviously).<br />
<br />
I made a meal out of pretzels and chocolate milk at the airport because I'm clearly on Jillian Michael's diet. A flight in complete slumber, I was home in Chicago. I can't say Dallas was one of my favorite races (far from it), not only because of the external conditions, but also because I just lost sight about just enjoying the races and having fun with it. So, as I prep for my race this weekend in Mobile, AL (my second to last race, HOLY SHIT!) I just need to remember my love for the "game" (if one calls running a "game") and to ignore the alligators, racists, and hillbilly's I very well may encounter. And it's my first race flying solo-- it's go time baby. See ya when this little birdy returns from flying south. In the meantime, DONATE: <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns</a> only one more month to go! I'm SO close to my goal!!!!! Yay for self promotion. Bye.America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-31389003248960925152011-11-29T16:54:00.000-08:002011-11-29T16:54:10.643-08:00#10. Indianapolis, IN: Mustache rides in windy Indy<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2819</o:Words> <o:Characters>16071</o:Characters> <o:Lines>133</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>32</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>19736</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.1539</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">…The mustache will be explained later in this post; but no, it has nothing to do with No-Shave-November.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while the descripted wore their burliness proudly,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my friend Kirstin and I hit the road after a half day of work on Friday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How Kirstin and I became friends is a fairly recent and unfriendly way of becoming friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I had no idea what the speed limit was, which would cause this next issue:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ended up cruising behind a State Police car. Keeping my distance but pacing off the cop’s speed, I thought I was fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently so is getting behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments later, we watched the cop car exit, speed up the ramp and come back down chasing poor Lady Slipper’s blue ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damnnnn ittttt: pulled over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re too busy catching Ashton Kutcher in hot tubs in twenty-year olds that are probably named Kirstin, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How I got out of that with a WOMAN cop is beyond me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I normally assume successes such as this are due to my huge beaver teeth that people, including female cops apparently, just can’t resist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, if it’s massive orthodontia, tits or misunderstood retardation, who cares. CHEERS.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfamiliar with the downtown area, we were in search for the Convention Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kirstin made the sadly logical decision to just “follow the people wearing jeans with running sneakers”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ugh, she’s so right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Runners really have terrible fashion sense in that respect. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An eye roll followed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We then went in search for a restaurant at which I could stuff my face with noodles and bread, my very ladylike carbo-load.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along the way we noticed wooden planks in the middle of the road that were being used for a senior portrait photo shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Spaghetti Factory seemed like an obvious choice for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And babies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were so many babies just chillin’, droolin’, doing their chubby thigh thang there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While waiting, Kirstin ran into her old high school soccer coach, who too, was running the half marathon the following morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though we’re far too attractive for that stereotype.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Okay yes there are pretty lesbians, we just aren’t them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Salad served, Kirstin quickly learned that the chef decided to top her mixed greens with a brown paper towel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Post-dinner we headed 15 minutes across town to our pad for the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember my awesome host in San Diego who was my dad’s friend from childhood, Maureen?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, THIS was the home of Marsha, my dad and Maureen’s other best friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marsha was actually in Chicago for the weekend but so very generously opened her home to Kirstin and me for the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arrival, we noticed a few things: 1. The streets were seriously so freaking wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I think Marsha’s neighborhood street was wider than the Edens expressway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2. Marsha’s German Shepard, Gracie, was barking at us, loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it was a bit chilly in the abode…but nothing quite as chilly as the outside world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arriving at the race early, we sat in the car to avoid the brisk 35 degrees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my first of two porta-potty stops per routine, we took shelter in a large, heated tent with other runners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We parted ways after agreeing she’d try to catch me at mile 3 and the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept my eyes out for “monuments” as the name of the race “Monumental Marathon” promised me some legit, old buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was definitely a cool little area to run through and as I weaved around the bend, I kept my eye out for Kirstin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did and managed to take a few pics…and by pics, I mean she actually took videos of the banshee like arm wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race: 7AM's never looked so good.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we'll call this one: "smokin' fast!" har har.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post race: 1:42:33 later. #464 out of over 12,000!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, Will Smith does no wrong in my opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last three miles was where it actually got tough for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It also didn’t help that I was sporting shorts in 35 degree weather and my legs were tightening in the cold).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the nausea set in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My final miles are normally my fastest, as I typically kick with 7:10-7:30 min miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kirstin had warned me that if she saw me puke, she probably would too as she’s a “sympathy vommer”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Post race we weaved our way through the road closures all across Indy to take a quick shower and nap at Marsha’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A beautifully sunny, 60 degree day made it very opportune for a winery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so began our day of adult beverage drinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We headed downtown to the Easley Winery and really splurged on a $3 tour of the winery followed by eight tastings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tour guide was probably the most enthusiastic wine conessieur you could imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was sarcasm, my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he did know his shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our favorite part was obviously the actual tasting of the vino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever, I like to try new things, bucko.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our favorite was a white wine that was best paired with “muffins and relaxation” or something weird, according to the description.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The food pairings were pretty hilarious- I think one of them said it was best paired with a campfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mmm, nothing like a s’more to go with a glass of chardonnay.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We ended up getting a few bottles (some as gifts), and some cheese and crackers to enjoy on the patio outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bottle and block of cheese later, we were feeling good and overheard someone talking about a brewery across the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ears perked, we had the obvious answer for what we’d do next in our day of celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the street we became confused as we saw no winery in sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily for technology, Kirstin Googled that shit and we realized we were standing right in front of the brewery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, the building looked like a Knights of Columbus, which should have been our cue to what we’d encounter inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, we were greeted with tickets to redeem 6 free beer tastings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then we walked in the back to become the cutely-dressed, white girls black sheep of the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The general population in this ‘Sun Kings” brewery (an Indiana local beer) is very similar to the loyal customer base of Harley Davidson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously that place was weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who can pass up free beer and quality blog material?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there, we wandered the streets of Indy towards the more downtown area, picking up a fake mustache along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence, Mustache rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’ve never been to a good stache party, you’re really missing out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMe7tvt5NXcwHsj0xm9FqXmscdg9oy9GxFZBWe52fmR-Z6RrNmUgjl4Ine56JuTCFBsvWejVsPFTgBdwsqcekDQafPIeoC_LnWZpO16xC8iLFfSO4_zOV7rTqFfb45McA5H_BGovwcp8e/s1600/IMG_1797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMe7tvt5NXcwHsj0xm9FqXmscdg9oy9GxFZBWe52fmR-Z6RrNmUgjl4Ine56JuTCFBsvWejVsPFTgBdwsqcekDQafPIeoC_LnWZpO16xC8iLFfSO4_zOV7rTqFfb45McA5H_BGovwcp8e/s320/IMG_1797.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winery playtime</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figuring out the stache<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE Monument</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kirstin’s friend Andy (the one who moved there a few months ago) joined us for our night out on the streets of Indy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night of celebration became a bit hazy from there on out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next morning we slowly moved and packed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car ride home consisted of a lot of “hangover silence”, listening to Kirstin’s mix CD on repeat and no cops.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>26 marathons in 26 months?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kiddinggg…maybe. Actually, no, not a shot in hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I will need to figure out something to do with all my free time and to challenge myself more so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will admit that it will be nice to actually see my bank account INCREASE for the first time in a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Next stop: Dallas this weekend to run with my boo, Anna (remember her from an earlier post- my college runner roommate?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, afterall, everything’s bigger in Texas, right?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Talk to y’all after. Oh, have you donated yet? Go ahead and do so now, pleaseee :) <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns</a></div><!--EndFragment-->America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-29488741138092845142011-11-03T19:48:00.000-07:002011-11-03T19:48:40.090-07:00#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.<br />
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</div><div>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. </div><div><br />
</div><div>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. </div><div><br />
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</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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!"</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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! </div><div><br />
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</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>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. </div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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!</div>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-88175249049609402542011-10-19T19:00:00.000-07:002011-10-19T19:08:56.655-07:00Spotted: 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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: <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns </a>. Plus, it's Breast Cancer Awareness month. Duhhh.<br />
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We'll chat about Denver soon. Au revoir!America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-5981859910465227182011-10-06T19:45:00.000-07:002011-10-06T19:45:01.746-07:00#8. Chicago, IL: America Runs on DUNKLES!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>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?!<br />
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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: <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns</a>)<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ALS Walk <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The.Most.Boring.Course.Ever.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nom nom nom.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Normal friends the night before the race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Momma and her girls</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Hawaiian shirt dad, very patriotic.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">America Runs on the Dunkle sistas!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCdGzMMdhoFRVAmy5h_9B4oaa6gNiflye7oHcY5gxEiiuP7Y9KANqvDuJctSmXRqYKkilDqqlYUGDyevzLeQUkEhfveJAFWkm6YydaiA3xiT7aWHHaIxE_PIWKAd0iBx-qFOWI9ZVwyhK/s1600/IMG_1591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCdGzMMdhoFRVAmy5h_9B4oaa6gNiflye7oHcY5gxEiiuP7Y9KANqvDuJctSmXRqYKkilDqqlYUGDyevzLeQUkEhfveJAFWkm6YydaiA3xiT7aWHHaIxE_PIWKAd0iBx-qFOWI9ZVwyhK/s320/IMG_1591.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's my intimidation face.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2G59ETFGbkmKnnq5Beth_S6fGSKDcQ4Ft4_kXTAJyV-Ni9ZnMotgDIn0FI_AYBztpE7OMRBGjT5J7HF_hl4WwOaOEty7hFFGkUut6anDwwQOsjA4GYIYWBItIbwJbwp9iipCHPvMsSZ6/s1600/IMG_1592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2G59ETFGbkmKnnq5Beth_S6fGSKDcQ4Ft4_kXTAJyV-Ni9ZnMotgDIn0FI_AYBztpE7OMRBGjT5J7HF_hl4WwOaOEty7hFFGkUut6anDwwQOsjA4GYIYWBItIbwJbwp9iipCHPvMsSZ6/s320/IMG_1592.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lauren at mile 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRA9GUA2wT-TRMDcg7P29_qjsbeANsmyyBI2fA4xSDeIyiP3Mhc9LLkX4VivxTjCLQXmk6ree6o1T8cBUP3dI3r__tPsWvrZjV103ARfIOzArXgBzsrT79qCn-YAyKzptb4VGpVLyF_KEe/s1600/IMG_1593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRA9GUA2wT-TRMDcg7P29_qjsbeANsmyyBI2fA4xSDeIyiP3Mhc9LLkX4VivxTjCLQXmk6ree6o1T8cBUP3dI3r__tPsWvrZjV103ARfIOzArXgBzsrT79qCn-YAyKzptb4VGpVLyF_KEe/s320/IMG_1593.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random ass gold statue at the end of the race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fan club!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sNza5O38kBd-D-k-OlIIjdWMeuC07ZjwAx2HypJkXCmXWNcokPUHO-V46PgMXU7wEjBlxHULQntUuEx3B22pNY_ZwBDVfrdh90Bg9MSPNhCRLCsLi7ceLUCwamm6RdU85N5VBq27qdta/s1600/P1030021.RW2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sNza5O38kBd-D-k-OlIIjdWMeuC07ZjwAx2HypJkXCmXWNcokPUHO-V46PgMXU7wEjBlxHULQntUuEx3B22pNY_ZwBDVfrdh90Bg9MSPNhCRLCsLi7ceLUCwamm6RdU85N5VBq27qdta/s320/P1030021.RW2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So happy to see my best friends!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfKkHAaNXq5_UgtvdOqMQMWsT9gihfP1dO6bCziGYATe2aSAFZpbFeyZi5wcBbm2ay5F4kfuM-ytKatBe8jmbgsVIRMEJcmTnmQfgr7-WDI82qnAaNwJXuiNHaberK_hohQYkRpN6ZYgy/s1600/P1030022.RW2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfKkHAaNXq5_UgtvdOqMQMWsT9gihfP1dO6bCziGYATe2aSAFZpbFeyZi5wcBbm2ay5F4kfuM-ytKatBe8jmbgsVIRMEJcmTnmQfgr7-WDI82qnAaNwJXuiNHaberK_hohQYkRpN6ZYgy/s320/P1030022.RW2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...no really, SO happy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love my best friends...and Mattttty</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkC9m09HiIeuH6dYvbyTCxlpTMKqeCMCp7USHkQZYl3CO17eU7sD6YQrvUelxXkstP7-Fyyte7kYImDnlFqFdpgVlnIZjHpdsd8WjpmFl_scSDeUsngtzV6RkiNGdSLYY5LDFZNbyc8nV/s1600/P1030053.RW2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkC9m09HiIeuH6dYvbyTCxlpTMKqeCMCp7USHkQZYl3CO17eU7sD6YQrvUelxXkstP7-Fyyte7kYImDnlFqFdpgVlnIZjHpdsd8WjpmFl_scSDeUsngtzV6RkiNGdSLYY5LDFZNbyc8nV/s320/P1030053.RW2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The whole crew :) Minus Bob and Mr. Klowden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt7JSgUkeOQDEs-SSJ-YkO7mE9OZhOszolcmtfAcFEz-XUzRy0p9Od2uKO1gglL-0oaPVPOBmLpIpCcvcfvWDRHCsVejs-HL9PyYWlDRuLY-gwS1Y2mJIQrTWxZ4ShGWmopXT2AUKFvdU/s1600/IMG_1603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt7JSgUkeOQDEs-SSJ-YkO7mE9OZhOszolcmtfAcFEz-XUzRy0p9Od2uKO1gglL-0oaPVPOBmLpIpCcvcfvWDRHCsVejs-HL9PyYWlDRuLY-gwS1Y2mJIQrTWxZ4ShGWmopXT2AUKFvdU/s320/IMG_1603.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters finishing together</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTRun4DBkgFsmIBAUmTm73nCZgR85en66MbBvVMApxVUCRKWtBM2hcsq8kSiYk3gBr739S2nWw5oQ7ACcJ7fPvwwuKAmAUenicdE87TqXMBMA6pQayoy37bljKv6b3yXsPGxV4R6vMURG/s1600/IMG_1604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTRun4DBkgFsmIBAUmTm73nCZgR85en66MbBvVMApxVUCRKWtBM2hcsq8kSiYk3gBr739S2nWw5oQ7ACcJ7fPvwwuKAmAUenicdE87TqXMBMA6pQayoy37bljKv6b3yXsPGxV4R6vMURG/s320/IMG_1604.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the same stride :) sisterly love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02cQve2XCZF6qP3dFIId2HeD6QpnTFjWkr4VOvige7cTeSAuM4sHqrXyrGsqiqKmERgdplc9m-GNfkL0wP3qNtLSgTNAB3Tn8uP01XLxYtZZatp8KhAoy2I-wtoeSYXEcqkwaA3yjQV8k/s1600/IMG_1606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02cQve2XCZF6qP3dFIId2HeD6QpnTFjWkr4VOvige7cTeSAuM4sHqrXyrGsqiqKmERgdplc9m-GNfkL0wP3qNtLSgTNAB3Tn8uP01XLxYtZZatp8KhAoy2I-wtoeSYXEcqkwaA3yjQV8k/s320/IMG_1606.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SO proud of you!!<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>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.<br />
<br />
While Chicago may have not been home to my favorite course so far, it's exactly that: <i>home</i>. 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).<br />
<br />
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!!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Talk to you when I return to lower altitudes, my friends. Oh and donate, derka. <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns</a>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-34378764986157943662011-09-08T18:12:00.000-07:002011-09-10T13:52:47.768-07:00#7. Minneapolis, MN: I run faster than Wisconsinites drive.Three weeks after Portland, I found myself greeted with another race already. This time I had my trusty best friend of 18 years, Caitlin, riding shotgun for the weekend. Traffic out of Chicago on a Friday afternoon was predictable. What wasn't predictable were the Wisconsin drivers magnetized to the left lane driving right below the speed limit. Caitlin came to the fond conclusion that once she's done with grad school, she'll start a non-profit organization to educate Wisconsin drivers on proper left lane usage. And basic driving skills in general. I think if she brings a platter of cheese to the organization's meetings, she'll really be effective. Wisconsin drivers practically self-inflict pain and if it wasn't for the company Caitlin kept to my right, I would've gone mad and just gotten off at one of the 18 water parks we passed.<br />
<br />
So after about 6.5 hours of road rage and 6 inches of a Subway sandwich, Caitlin and I arrived at Ms. Alissa Revak's place in Edina, MN nearing 9:30PM. We were welcomed with the expected excitement that Alissa always seems to never run short on. It's the type of excitement that is best exemplified by 17 year olds who call into the radio and win tickets to see Joe Jonas (He's coming to the House of Blues soon, in case anyone's wondering. No, I'm not going and if you were actually wondering that, we can't be friends.) As she gave us a quick tour of her apartment, as it was my first time visiting Alissa up in Minnesota (I went to school with her and we met through our book slangin' days), we came to her bedroom where I found a hilarious poster she was in the midst of crafting for me. As an avid scrapbooker myself, I appreciated the glue-stick art including pictures of me at my previous races and a strange man running in a Dunkin' Donuts coffee cup costume. Why I haven't sported that look at a race yet is unbenounced to me. Caitlin's main squeeze, Brad (her boyfriend who lived about 45 min. outside of Minneapolis) came to collect his sugarlips and Alissa and I caught up on life as we got ready to hit the town. As we got ready, Alissa's roommate came home to also prepare for our evening out. She also brought her 14-year old dog, Snickers, who I still to this day think is blind. I love dogs and I feel most dogs sense that intense love and typically flock to me. Snickers, on the other hand, blatantly ignored my puppy hollers and kept nearly running into the walls instead. Snickers also had that white cotton glaze over his/her (let's pretend it's gender neutral) eyes which either meant it was drunk, wearing creepy contact lenses, or blind. Thus, my conclusion that Snickers is the four legged version of Stevie Wonder remains true.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYoaSzS1iYWI_ofUw3d_OS6jGYyF2uvTbF9aRDM2IlFC1PEeJ5uxXVnG6qw-314fZGgaYtKvrPoa98VJmLGAT5HT3Z_n_SbdG2z2BMqHUQHuchTELLB6Nm-ngFz1I3NyxBJ6Vyq9OnoAy/s1600/IMG_1499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYoaSzS1iYWI_ofUw3d_OS6jGYyF2uvTbF9aRDM2IlFC1PEeJ5uxXVnG6qw-314fZGgaYtKvrPoa98VJmLGAT5HT3Z_n_SbdG2z2BMqHUQHuchTELLB6Nm-ngFz1I3NyxBJ6Vyq9OnoAy/s320/IMG_1499.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lovely hostess and her artwork for me :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8Pz9gulvl5aHx1CkzbNQSz_yH_ChYOww7FzewWu6n21Sh5hrC5NP8kStbgLCjVQ2WniHq-raZTraj_nJtu-7B_9owv1bnkDeuCEETojxhcV1gFdI9F8xOUy6tII58MHDFNlPyEVxMaOh/s1600/IMG_1502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8Pz9gulvl5aHx1CkzbNQSz_yH_ChYOww7FzewWu6n21Sh5hrC5NP8kStbgLCjVQ2WniHq-raZTraj_nJtu-7B_9owv1bnkDeuCEETojxhcV1gFdI9F8xOUy6tII58MHDFNlPyEVxMaOh/s320/IMG_1502.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My momma is the best.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Binge drinking is never on my agenda the weekend of a race so some classic H20 was my drink of choice at the bar. One of Alissa's friends was moving to Boston for grad school so for them it was a "going away gathering" and for me it was a "meet & greet, hi & bye" ordeal. Lucky for me, her friends and roommates were super cool and welcoming to my sober self. Exhausted, we called it a night and Alissa and I found ourselves sleeping in later than I ever imagined. You see, my place in the city involves a symphony of car horns and crazy blues beats that jam from Kingston Mines across the street, combined with blinding sunlight that beams into my 4 bay windows. This is also topped with the rambles of questionable human beings that hang out at the pay phone and Cash Station across the street. Yes, I think we found the only corner with a pay phone/Cash Station combo to still be in existence post 1998. Alas, sleeping in doesn't really happen in my bedroom in Chicago. Alissa, on the other hand, lives in a peaceful apartment complex filled with some elderly and random grocery shopping carts in the hallways. With one window, her bedroom resembles a dark cave, probably very similar to the home of Big Foot that allows slumber to overcome the sleep-deprived.<br />
<br />
Eventually ready to take on the day early Saturday afternoon, Alissa and I headed to downtown Minneapolis to pick up my race packet and explore my Minneapolis virginity. Visiting naturally expressive and excited people like Alissa is great because they instantly become a tour guide as you stroll past just about any building. And, even if it's not the coolest building, you think it is because of their voice inflection while describing it. Alissa's wide eyes and cheery tone aside, Minneapolis is a really cool city. The city skyline seemed to be composed of skyscrapers with short man's syndrome: a seemingly low cityscape. But to the right, St. Paul, towered with the tall buildings I was used to see in a big city. One of the coolest facts my little tour guide shared with me definitely had to be the 8 miles of skyways Minneapolis had. You could essentially walk through the whole downtown area without ever having to take a foot outside. Very logical for a place opposite of paradise come November. Come on Chicago Mayor Emanuel, make a name for yourself and implement this shit in the windy city.<br />
<br />
Minneapolis appears to be a fairly young city and the vibe coming from the bars and restaurants we passed was pretty hoppin'. We retrieved my race packet from the Millenium Hotel. It was a quick stop as it wasn't a large, typical race expo and we wanted to peace out after being asked 20 questions by the doorman. From there, we passed the Target Corporate building, home to beautiful people according to Alissa; we passed the Mary Tyler Moore statue which was a fun reminder of my avid Nick@Nite following from my childhood. We later passed the apartment building that was used as Mary Tyler Moore's home in the show. Now it's apparently home to crackwhores in da hood. Good thing ya got outta there, Mary. We spent the rest of the day casually perusing through the city; it was refreshing to be able to stand on a street corner while trying to figure out which direction we wanted to head without being trampled over or sneered at-I bet the prostitutes love having the extra room on their corners. We kept ourselves busy until dinner time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKDZIxA_sHe5etJvVeOZoFu97vHYavoG7U-wosfsvX0pFpuOxA5wie8_Pnb3SEtEa3WcIORfBRDIEWvZoCfPSs8pnP-u6ImbcqoM-aD9AO2isX9d1NX5-CAN8ndbKX1_N8V5J6MKxZlBU/s1600/IMG_1503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKDZIxA_sHe5etJvVeOZoFu97vHYavoG7U-wosfsvX0pFpuOxA5wie8_Pnb3SEtEa3WcIORfBRDIEWvZoCfPSs8pnP-u6ImbcqoM-aD9AO2isX9d1NX5-CAN8ndbKX1_N8V5J6MKxZlBU/s320/IMG_1503.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minneapolis, obvi.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJeobTfnuuAWn8l3Y_dCxza6lN2p8h7a2EjvVjpyeJZLbHY5q34do7VGnwI8XaDfwxqSI3webmDZYPa4tWI2Ay-4GKD94PDqegXCW-LG463VZhXS57_4TmxA12mKGqQePWCkfcJBbEZx9w/s1600/IMG_1504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJeobTfnuuAWn8l3Y_dCxza6lN2p8h7a2EjvVjpyeJZLbHY5q34do7VGnwI8XaDfwxqSI3webmDZYPa4tWI2Ay-4GKD94PDqegXCW-LG463VZhXS57_4TmxA12mKGqQePWCkfcJBbEZx9w/s320/IMG_1504.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a section of the 8 miles of skyways!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxVsiA8UIieAcGxHkT7c-cGPlTewtjJs3CdmL-HvvOwxUL4pOD-MuPiOAz0r9XzqJXoPJa4PEXHweKVBtWzh7Rx62ZN9vTkYVtmWypMpoWHSTYjDGCl4vxUBzXm5pqM0NLsWVyWKo3l_R/s1600/IMG_1505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigxVsiA8UIieAcGxHkT7c-cGPlTewtjJs3CdmL-HvvOwxUL4pOD-MuPiOAz0r9XzqJXoPJa4PEXHweKVBtWzh7Rx62ZN9vTkYVtmWypMpoWHSTYjDGCl4vxUBzXm5pqM0NLsWVyWKo3l_R/s320/IMG_1505.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLIEpPykelnqAtdJcU_kdmlf3ZHKoG0PoQnc6jfZCC9qOkom4JcTbSMmFuRETpBlN8nvJXwERKBFeyzTdsWiMN563WHgLht1PWwDQ7BaMR99J7Opw_dajmP-MuWEWvy2QDjMGPNSyfYzd/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLIEpPykelnqAtdJcU_kdmlf3ZHKoG0PoQnc6jfZCC9qOkom4JcTbSMmFuRETpBlN8nvJXwERKBFeyzTdsWiMN563WHgLht1PWwDQ7BaMR99J7Opw_dajmP-MuWEWvy2QDjMGPNSyfYzd/s320/IMG_1508.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Tyler Moore statue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZu44yEL5HJSScVw6PkndTiVlIqRBviHhAlYJkQB0cE4qU_TBrYz-iesRuFIuqF5ImRV4993ehAS1lh7hMyv13wQ7XY9HMoN_NfmfVuaTXYz5SJdMWQbPNPXZZ_9SRZaQ1oTeHDbYYdvdX/s1600/IMG_1512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZu44yEL5HJSScVw6PkndTiVlIqRBviHhAlYJkQB0cE4qU_TBrYz-iesRuFIuqF5ImRV4993ehAS1lh7hMyv13wQ7XY9HMoN_NfmfVuaTXYz5SJdMWQbPNPXZZ_9SRZaQ1oTeHDbYYdvdX/s320/IMG_1512.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP Regal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alissa, the little planner she is, made reservations for us and her roommates at Bar LaGrassa, fine pasta dining with the most unique dishes. Between her, her roommate Masha and myself, we managed to order 6 half portions and devour most of it. I don't know much Italian... okay, any Italian...so I really have no idea what the hell I ate, but in English it'd be what we deem as "absolutelyfuckingdelicious". One of my dishes involved lamb meatballs and the other had really spirally noodles that reminded me of T. Swift's blonde locks (Not that it tasted like hair, because it didn't). Post fine-dining, Alissa and I planned to head to Mall of America just so I could see it. I really didn't care if I did because I can imagine it's Woodfield on steroids and much like most malls: stores and food courts. I've also heard there's an amusement park plotted amidst the shops but seeing that when I was 7 I threw up on a tire swing signifying my horrible motion sickness, I knew I wouldn't be too "amused". And good thing I didn't care about it much because we didn't actually make it there. Alissa's beaut of a vehicle (a forest green 2000 Buick Regal) wouldn't start. Those fine four wheels weren't going anywhere. So a tow from her cousin and a ride from her roommate later, we were back at Alissa's apartment for bed.<br />
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For the couple of trips that I've stayed with friends, I always feel bad about hitting the sack at the bedtime of a 6 year old. It's always a Saturday night and I feel like I'm totally cockblocking my host from having a crazy Saturday night, which isn't what I'd classify as a proper "thank you for letting me stay with you". Lucky for me, Alissa was wiped from her busy week at work and was happy to crash at the early hour. I didn't sleep much though. Fearing that I'd be seduced by the darkness of her blackhole of a room again and sleep through my race, I slept on edge and awoke every hour. It's that feeling you get in college when you know you have an exam in your 8AM class. I hopped out of bed as 5:15AM alarmed. Halfway through my race morning routine and 15 minutes before we'd have to leave, Alissa was still hibernating like a polar bear. With a loud whisper and a quick time threat, she was up. Amazingly, we only left her apartment five minutes later than I originally wanted; this is amazing if you've ever seen Alissa get ready.<br />
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A quick trafficless drive later, we were at the start line. Alissa studied the course map and marked the miles at which she was going to attempt to see me while I frequented the port-a-potties per usual. Alissa was utterly disgusted by the long lineup of moveable johns, but as I always mention, these puppies are hot commodities before the race. As the other 2,000 runners neared the start line I made my way to the corral between the 1:40 and 1:50 flags. I set my iPod to my playlist and relaxed waiting for the gun. Meanwhile, Alissa played paparazzi. It was actually really sweet of her because she remembered how I had asked my mom to document EVERYTHING for my first full marathon (which of course Mary e even took pictures of nearby grass) so Alissa made sure she took lots of pics for me to remember my Minneapolis experience. Standing near me was a hippie-like girl wardrobed in purple: purple "buns" (underwear-like running bottoms, for those of you who didn't get the pure joy of wearing them on a high school cross country team), purple sports bra, purple shoelaces, purple heart-shaped earrings, purple socks and purple barettes held the two braids she had pinned to the top of her head, similar to if Princess Lea's head was to be flattened by a steamroller. I'm going to guess this girl also had purple underwear on, but that could be a really far off assumption. It's people like my nearby purple princess that makes me LOVE people-watching. For example, just the other week I was third-wheeling it with my roommate Sarah and her boyfriend through the streets of Lincoln Park and we were behind a girl who had the Chicago "El" system tattooed on her upper right shoulder. At first it looked cool, but then I pictured that girl trying to explain the sentimentality of public transportation permanently engraved in her skin to her children and I thought "what an oddball".<br />
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Back to the race: With the number of runners being much less than what I expected (but obviously 20x that in Portland for my last race), a fog horn cued the start rather than a gun. And we were off! The start line was tucked along an array of little bars and restaurants and below our feet lay an old brick road giving the area a bit of an Oliver Twist character. Beyond the first mile or so, it was onto normal paved streets. We even ran across the road bridge that collapsed a few years back so I made sure I scampered across that real fast in case the bridge thought I was a fatass and didn't want to hold me up. I eased into the first five miles, remaining a few strides behind the 1:45 pace group (running 8 minute miles consistently). At mile 3 I looked for Alissa who had met up with Caitlin and her boyfriend Brad at this point to cheer me on. No friends in sight, I continued the flat course that was one thin row of trees and a narrow running path to the right of the lake. I ran beneath a bridge tattooed with the gold and maroon University of Minnesota "M" which looked more like an upside down "W" if you ask me. Yes, I realize a W is practically an upside down M but it's not the same and the Minnesota M has some pretty wide "legs" so it looks like a squatting "M". Yeah, that's it.<br />
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Anywhooooo, beyond mile 5 I decided to pick up my pace ever so slightly. The next three miles involved me running 7:50-7:55 paces. When mile 8 came (still no signs of friends), I realized I felt awesome and made up my mind it was time for a new PR. I always know that I'll be tired at the end of my race regardless if I run slow or if I run fast and I had it in me to just book it from here on out. The weather was perfect; the course was flat and fast with a surprise of a large downhill that never returned upward; I had run first with my head and then with my heart and it was time to go. Mind made up and smiling the entire way, I chased every person in sight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeP4rhyWyxTPmR5EIgNvhe6NTZVoJfP-euJsxMj6tlbHNPjesJW0pmzf7JrG2CgOOGx4ZLORsajojz7tVE7HcOKg9yQAlVH_HkNGjqHNZufraYk9N-zMFPHf_VY4JSdDFLoay4vPk8PDAV/s1600/IMG_1515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeP4rhyWyxTPmR5EIgNvhe6NTZVoJfP-euJsxMj6tlbHNPjesJW0pmzf7JrG2CgOOGx4ZLORsajojz7tVE7HcOKg9yQAlVH_HkNGjqHNZufraYk9N-zMFPHf_VY4JSdDFLoay4vPk8PDAV/s320/IMG_1515.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We make 6AM look good.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR2v_8xuU4QYN8bZVe7xReGAUmU0QkxjapGN4v-yXP9WGb-RMggsDwjAg1ALfJGrKvzNBzXWSzshbZW_CzP2iPbcfJOJKZXGLLYiCeGv7ekQsXle5_A9TzXWNDB129lS726IddZ5BtZBa/s1600/IMG_1516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR2v_8xuU4QYN8bZVe7xReGAUmU0QkxjapGN4v-yXP9WGb-RMggsDwjAg1ALfJGrKvzNBzXWSzshbZW_CzP2iPbcfJOJKZXGLLYiCeGv7ekQsXle5_A9TzXWNDB129lS726IddZ5BtZBa/s320/IMG_1516.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWsFxt4mCnrwCqoAmu-7xFWfHDz1kmzWyU3yzaiZyVYvWpb067oLM4-407L5pb9jfTNsJ0Y8CaGXoIKjYCgzK0Of2Pgu2nTOTS82tL09uaYOiHaJgaIWEeSQNtHhlI04jS8afIc7YPynl/s1600/IMG_1519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuWsFxt4mCnrwCqoAmu-7xFWfHDz1kmzWyU3yzaiZyVYvWpb067oLM4-407L5pb9jfTNsJ0Y8CaGXoIKjYCgzK0Of2Pgu2nTOTS82tL09uaYOiHaJgaIWEeSQNtHhlI04jS8afIc7YPynl/s320/IMG_1519.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The last two miles wrapped around Lake Nokomis. This portion became slightly daunting because you ran a mile and then pivoted around a cone and headed back the same direction you came from. Intelligently, the race had one of the timers that clocked your chip at the cone so runners couldn't "cheat" the course. My legs had begun to grow weary around mile 10.5 but I just kept my mind positive, set on running my best time. The greatest feeling is crossing the finish line with your legs like jello knowing you gave it every last ounce. I can honestly say I did that this race because my last two miles, as my legs felt as mushy as mashed potatoes, were my fastest, clocking about 7:10 paces. I had negative split my race (meaning my second half was faster than my first half), which is every runner's goal. 100 yards from the finish line, I saw Alissa, Caitlin and Brad screaming and waving the homemade poster for the first time my whole race. I gave a disgusting open-mouthed grin and threw my hands in the air as I passed them anticipating my personal best time.<br />
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I was the happiest girl on the face of the earth at 8:43AM Central Standard Time on Sunday, August 21st crossing the finish line with my FASTEST TIME EVER! I ran a 1:40:32, which is a 7:40 per mile pace having dropped over 4 minutes from my previous fastest time of 1:44:50. Not only did this race mark my fastest but it was the first time in these past 7 months that I had improved since my very first race. The line up of free food was fairly unorganized but that was the last thing on my mind. With my head stuck in cloud 9, I was so out of it I thought the Michelob Ultra packet handed to me at the line was a packet of beer. It turned out to be a damp towel, which obviously makes a lot more sense than beer in a plastic pouch. Within minutes I spotted my 3 supporters and practically skipped to them with a smile smeared across my face. I still could not believe that I ran <i>that </i>fast. I know I'm acting like I just qualified for the Olympics and I know some people can run that in their sleep, but I can't and I <i>did</i>. Alissa, Caitlin and Brad were equally as excited for me and joined me in the beer tent as I wiggled my bottom like a dog wagging its tail and called Mary E to tell her the exciting news.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyoIYQFIhiNRL0tA6stQveS6Cq6DZbhlxOHcyL-v8TZ4HO9ofi4SzZFJ1Uq51lkaz1AQPoQBpZHpDc-t87GWVDp7e9pjZTS5qPjdhifYB3cqHxkhH2DplJUaqJNkknGp4cTvH4YFt0R4Z/s1600/IMG_1529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyoIYQFIhiNRL0tA6stQveS6Cq6DZbhlxOHcyL-v8TZ4HO9ofi4SzZFJ1Uq51lkaz1AQPoQBpZHpDc-t87GWVDp7e9pjZTS5qPjdhifYB3cqHxkhH2DplJUaqJNkknGp4cTvH4YFt0R4Z/s320/IMG_1529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happiest girl in the world</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYU0vSLmrglXUlQqHNNgyXOQyi_QJ4EMs07AUugZUu7HqV29bGbwDYCpQFxfIBzcuEzVO486yfG4Fb5IerKSDsEjMnJOgiuqZ753kUShkWUpHJcX_WdQP5Tleera4Bug61k1eV-DkW8qb/s1600/IMG_1531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYU0vSLmrglXUlQqHNNgyXOQyi_QJ4EMs07AUugZUu7HqV29bGbwDYCpQFxfIBzcuEzVO486yfG4Fb5IerKSDsEjMnJOgiuqZ753kUShkWUpHJcX_WdQP5Tleera4Bug61k1eV-DkW8qb/s320/IMG_1531.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish line</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhkadodci6kzExIB1_iGwsU4XgmSLxDFk4HRi4UUfibWcMGTwWnamsB5Nu1LkSYid6Q5QbMlMiW96TI6JloMcZ73q5rqAUukv27BnjJXJwH5rVc2N5_R_gg1rAndsAQpzNJiE15bXBRy9/s1600/IMG_1532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhkadodci6kzExIB1_iGwsU4XgmSLxDFk4HRi4UUfibWcMGTwWnamsB5Nu1LkSYid6Q5QbMlMiW96TI6JloMcZ73q5rqAUukv27BnjJXJwH5rVc2N5_R_gg1rAndsAQpzNJiE15bXBRy9/s320/IMG_1532.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HOLY SHIT I JUST RAN MY BEST TIME</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojvcimXI5KXMb4FKp4QlWqaF6rejtxRNzjHRtH576erDTN18k8xiyoKV-v24xSP7egojIGYMNSyScznGcUtl9rJZUue-Lln-bUFw92XrlfNXMUTDVm2sOn5Drn6iDWvtZVzQI-Vu1sZIF/s1600/IMG_1533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojvcimXI5KXMb4FKp4QlWqaF6rejtxRNzjHRtH576erDTN18k8xiyoKV-v24xSP7egojIGYMNSyScznGcUtl9rJZUue-Lln-bUFw92XrlfNXMUTDVm2sOn5Drn6iDWvtZVzQI-Vu1sZIF/s320/IMG_1533.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race #7 complete: 1:40:32</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTiwd6gv_IK6sBZPgaP2KqxEJScqlndA0V95tcKl1lmKkW2WRk4rdW_WE3CbPje61duupMXaNfY0F1dpHy2rk75IBsvwagIql6bIXZUdQqyshMeT4-aGknnBQjUrqjumVVDRQ-9Lgmat9/s1600/IMG_1534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTiwd6gv_IK6sBZPgaP2KqxEJScqlndA0V95tcKl1lmKkW2WRk4rdW_WE3CbPje61duupMXaNfY0F1dpHy2rk75IBsvwagIql6bIXZUdQqyshMeT4-aGknnBQjUrqjumVVDRQ-9Lgmat9/s320/IMG_1534.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3lEQzoBCwQyOMMdmC_oGXGQr1qXg-FdSnSE5D081u8pC11pV_lwjy6qprQQo3itjba5nczD3lHg2eQSuTGntwlE5UD9ljK0YLYJ2P3hyfZdm6XkLGhRriMRAiKF24Aj3ITu-xkBXjRaZ/s1600/IMG_1535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3lEQzoBCwQyOMMdmC_oGXGQr1qXg-FdSnSE5D081u8pC11pV_lwjy6qprQQo3itjba5nczD3lHg2eQSuTGntwlE5UD9ljK0YLYJ2P3hyfZdm6XkLGhRriMRAiKF24Aj3ITu-xkBXjRaZ/s320/IMG_1535.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for cheering me on :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyQ1tCWin6ipumr-sqPIsSCiOGZCo0lyOBc7WcdM9_8bUxhabAOyoo_bfZkv2ODsY41ZDISEvEH_SMBZquAlT-lzt0NNwnHBto3yPlRMpc8MLaCQFNS2WLnO83chDesW8YIg7Xa2VyWZZ/s1600/IMG_1540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyQ1tCWin6ipumr-sqPIsSCiOGZCo0lyOBc7WcdM9_8bUxhabAOyoo_bfZkv2ODsY41ZDISEvEH_SMBZquAlT-lzt0NNwnHBto3yPlRMpc8MLaCQFNS2WLnO83chDesW8YIg7Xa2VyWZZ/s320/IMG_1540.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating with a 9AM beer</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zXbT2VONLF2GtKTCF6VNR_tD3Sd1gtFMzg4S5q3UNHpwtguCPvT5TE-dQ7hOGn-4C5j0l6vzB5nWRL8BqJAaaT58Fidwx38QgJjCEORiD7OoRKIYfsoHOe2OY1AJhv6TfKnEIa28uyLo/s1600/IMG_1541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zXbT2VONLF2GtKTCF6VNR_tD3Sd1gtFMzg4S5q3UNHpwtguCPvT5TE-dQ7hOGn-4C5j0l6vzB5nWRL8BqJAaaT58Fidwx38QgJjCEORiD7OoRKIYfsoHOe2OY1AJhv6TfKnEIa28uyLo/s320/IMG_1541.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6VW2n-8cEITTjELeNObj7Fh05MDVgdvBUdM3_mBDI9jm_UYTvw_a6Wp4BxFRtLSZeBi7QtFS4V-LCbQOQncSBcNSD_zZ1PuyfCbrYEGCBRTkdAYTRmo3bFFXvA2REB0kSmpzJ162VHL8/s1600/IMG_1543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6VW2n-8cEITTjELeNObj7Fh05MDVgdvBUdM3_mBDI9jm_UYTvw_a6Wp4BxFRtLSZeBi7QtFS4V-LCbQOQncSBcNSD_zZ1PuyfCbrYEGCBRTkdAYTRmo3bFFXvA2REB0kSmpzJ162VHL8/s320/IMG_1543.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But I don't wannnaaaa leaveeee you</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDI58W0X3Srp6LTQCH5YAN0GMJL0o5nW1BWhzqEY43OvgOQS4dTcOX71JBn6qoHa_Xqpwgo9AKb3Rn1NKqoUfpY2nmaa2rGQej-My-n89ZXrQcNRpkYnA4TLNgRysbPvuRl7NzM1cBCEj/s1600/IMG_1545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDI58W0X3Srp6LTQCH5YAN0GMJL0o5nW1BWhzqEY43OvgOQS4dTcOX71JBn6qoHa_Xqpwgo9AKb3Rn1NKqoUfpY2nmaa2rGQej-My-n89ZXrQcNRpkYnA4TLNgRysbPvuRl7NzM1cBCEj/s320/IMG_1545.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to head home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We hung out in the post-race area for a little bit before we made our way back to Alissa's where I would take great refreshment in a shower. From there the 4 of us went to restock on all the carbs I had just burned at a pancake house. For the first time in my life I experienced pumpkin pancakes. And it will most definitely not be my last. Imagine the taste of pumpkin pie without the funky texture, topped with warm maple syrup and a dollop (okay a stupid large helping of) whipped cream. Now picture eating that while being on ecstasy. Okay I don't actually know what that's like but I'm assuming people who take x feel as good as I did that day. Drugs aside, the pumpkin pancakes were the heatttt. During breakfast, Brad decided to ask me if I ever ran a race with the intention of winning it. I explained no for the simple sake that there are freaks of nature who can run half marathons in about 65 minutes (I clearly call them freaks out of pure envy). He seemingly ignored my response and told me next time I should just try to win it. I'm gonna guess he packed these crazy answers with him in his suitcase from Jamaica, his homeland.<br />
<br />
After breakfast, it was time to bid adieu to my lovely hostess. Alissa spent a good amount of time listing the reasons why I should move to Minneapolis. It was a decent effort, but Chicago is north and cold enough for me my darling; if I move, I'm goosin' it south to San Diego. Caitlin offered to drive the entire way back as I played damsel in distress from my legs being too sore to drive. She didn't seem to mind since I had chauffeured her the entire way there, but she did share the same road rage towards Wisconsin drivers as I. They really do just suck. Caitlin also made it a point that my singing sucks, especially when I don't know the words. Okay, it does. Needless to say, it was a fun ride home and when we arrived, it felt <i>good</i> to be home. <br />
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As I reflect on my race in Minneapolis, a surge of joy and satisfaction still rushes through me. While it's great, I always have to do a self-check and remind myself not to have really high high's and really low lows. I also need to remind myself that my success in that race does not determine the success or failure of my next 6 races. But, I can relish in the fact that at least know I'm capable of it. A large group of friends and I actually "relished" in it the following Friday with a drinking event we deemed "The Amazing Race" in honor of my PR. I can't say I did anything differently for Minneapolis, besides tapering my training a bit the week of. (However rather than that being intentional, I think it was more a direct effect of a weekend at my friend's lakehouse the week prior.) <br />
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Regardless of what happened 3 weeks ago, this weekend I'll be taking on my home stomping grounds in Chicago. Three days away, I'm super excited to run this bad boy on my training turf. My older sister Lauren will be running this as her first half marathon, so I'm equally as excited for her. My best friends will all be in attendance and guess who else? Bob and Mary E, of course. With such an awesome support system, I am going into this race feeling entirely too blessed; I'm feeling ready to take on another race; I'm feeling ready to break 1:40.<br />
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It's go time baby. 7 races in the bag, I'm more than half way done. Talk to you after #8. Time for you to DONATE: <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns </a>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-3107998599597004022011-08-18T19:00:00.000-07:002011-08-19T04:19:01.482-07:00#6. Portland, MI: Small town, Big heart.Race #6 took place in small town America: Portland, Michigan. The kind of place where you can imagine just about everyone running home to mama's house for sunday dinner with a side of cornbread.<br />
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I chose this race for a very limited amount of random reasons. 1. I had never been...or heard of, Portland, MI. So the Curious George in me said sure why not... and curiosity only killed the cat, and I'm no feline. 2. The flight to Portland, OR and the remainder of the west coast races (where I wanted to run) was over $500... my 2 tanks of gas to Portland, MI were $40. I obviously had a premonition of the stock market crash that was to come. 3. It was the town's Relay for Life, so in all honesty, it was a great cause (and it allowed me to take a stroll down memory lane to high school when my group of friends religiously participated dressing up as football players to "tackle cancer" and sported a rainbow of fruit flavors as we were "Lifesavers" another year. I was pineapple. That's the best flavor, obviously.) So that's how I ended up spending my last weekend of July in a town with a population of 3,500...cows included.<br />
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Because it was only a 4 hour drive to the middle of nowhere, Mary E and I didn't have to hit the road quite as early as usual on Saturday. So Friday night, I used my mad sales skillz I learned from selling books-door-to-door to convince Bob to let mom & I take the Miata convertible for the projected perfect-weathered weekend. And by sales skillz, I mean I flashed my beaver teeth, batted my mascaraed eyelashes and conveniently was the last child to be born in my immediate family to make Big Bobby cave into passing the keys to his baby. The "baby" in this case, is not me, but rather his car. My mom and I came to the conclusion on the drive to Portland that my dad has 3 "things" he refers to as baby, listed most important to uh, least important for lack of a better rating scale: 1. Honey (the dog) 2. his Miata 3. my mom. Poor Mary E, 30 years of marriage and you get the shaft behind the k-9 and style bars. It's okay, you're #1 on my list (but I don't refer to you as "baby"). I will admit that my dad's farewell to me resembled the current Subaru commercials, where the father is giving all the safety advice to the striped-shirt little girl in the driver's seat; it was quite sentimental, especially when Bob ends his fatherly advice with "and don't break my car". So as Mary E and I pulled away Saturday morning around 8:30, the glisten in Bob's eye wasn't because he'd miss us, but rather because he feared the wind would screw up his ride's recent wax job.<br />
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The doppler was right: perfect weather. Mary E and I cruised with the top down all the way through Indiana and up to Michigan. I did all the driving as mom held onto her dear Mizzou baseball cap while trying to text and update her Facebook and earning herself a really sexy seatbelt tan by the time we neared our questionable destination. You know those hidden wine country towns tucked behind rows of shrubbery along the highway that you barely notice they even exist? The ones that you see the "welcome to" and "you are now leaving" signs in the same stretch of road? The ones that you pass the gas exit intentionally even when you're running on "E" because you don't know when the hidden meth lab there is going to explode? Welcome to Portland, MI. (Or so that would be the judgment made from highway view). As I drove past the Portland, MI city limit sign and saw nothing but fields of whatever Portland is known for growing, the city girl in me sneered and asked "who the hell would actually <i>live</i> here?" These types of small towns perplex me in the same way that the people I see eating at La Bamba when I get home from work do. As I pass the window to the burrito franchise at 4 PM on Fridays and see booth-goers chowing down on the soupy white cheese and crumbly cat meat, I can't help but think one of two things: 1. Why are these people drunk at 4 PM? 2. If they aren't drunk, why are they deliberately asking the burrito gods for digestive problems before a <i>Friday night</i>?<br />
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We actually drove past Portland intentionally. I booked our hotel in Lansing, about 20 miles further north as our resort for the weekend. I had actually heard of Lansing prior to my small town expedition, which made me feel a bit more at ease about sleeping in butt-fuck nowhere. Also, when I went to book a hotel in Portland, I had an overwhelming two options. The first was a Motel 8, which not only roared classy but also was sold out (Lord knows what, besides the race, drew a hotel crowd of people to Portland). The second option was another motel that looked like the bathroom stall Jamie Lee Curtis cowered in during Halloween H20 as the masked man tried to murder her. Lansing was clearly the better choice. Even with my GPS, I managed to miss the exit so Mary E and I took the "scenic route" through "downtown" Lansing. (Note: my use of "scenic" is not to be interpreted as the same definition as when I used this word to describe San Diego in June). Hungry as hippos and wind-blown as Kelly Osbourne's hair, Mary E and I grabbed some lunch and shopped for a wee bit. Shopping with my mom is fun, but my credit card continually gives my mom the stink eye. You see, Mary E encourages all my purchases and somehow her justification always seems logical. When I tell her that she's a bad influence on me, she always relies on the same rebuttle: "I don't justify ALL your purchases. Like if you wanted to spend $35 on that panda hat that Daytona bought, I would've told you 'no'". That's her only ammo. And sorry Daytona, your panda hat was a freak-of-nature purchase that only you could justify. But my mom appreciates having a comeback, thanks to you.<br />
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After we supported the local Lansing economy, it was time to pick up my race packet. All my races thus far have been at least 15,000+ people and hosted pre-race expos the Friday and Saturday prior to the run. Portland's hometown race, on the other hand, set up a race packet pick up table at Cheeky Monkey's from 3-6 PM on Saturday. We back tracked to Portland and parked the car right outside of the smiley baboon shop, in between two pick-up trucks. As I entered the coffee shop, my entire perception of the town changed and I realized exactly why people live there. Walking into Cheeky Monkey's was home to population Pleasantville. Four women stood behind the counter chit-chatting and showing pictures of their families and kids from prom to one another; a man standing behind a table welcomed us; a teenager volunteering to work the packet pick-up table sat at the counter eating his lunch that was probably "on the house"; a kids area crafted for creativity stood ground in the back of the shop. The coffee shop was quaint with character. I walked to the table to pick up my race goodies and was handed my bag by Jane Bower. Jane Bower was a charming woman with a kind smile and the sweetest demeanor tucked behind her small-town accent. When I asked her how many people were running the half marathon (they also had a 5K race), she smiled, "Just about 80!" 80 people. That was about the same amount of girls on my high school cross country team. I texted my friends the seemingly humorous amount of competition and the majority excitedly replied "OMG, win it!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl40TPOQIImiZvwWt6xZVLMVEgjux9r8cjlUUzthBlJ6X3-rNAh1XYR_3PQE575NydwlAYLZL8bgxbkhKK5Llwyn-NJwOnuIKCss7NkEnnQRMjlUEcbq_m34mD8Qw4JpZvxkx3i0ipfvD/s1600/IMG_1441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl40TPOQIImiZvwWt6xZVLMVEgjux9r8cjlUUzthBlJ6X3-rNAh1XYR_3PQE575NydwlAYLZL8bgxbkhKK5Llwyn-NJwOnuIKCss7NkEnnQRMjlUEcbq_m34mD8Qw4JpZvxkx3i0ipfvD/s320/IMG_1441.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheeky Monkey's Coffee House<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzueJxJVMwW_-XCfnqAx500PDisbmrGDy5Lbjxw__keWzPxwz3Y80Ul1nPF_0b06_KHgfHJuLjTHYDqsGVFyKLv1VgDIIV1RGS-PO6xW1Qyg3_dJdkI0tvip3VDLJiyYdwYK7CXGqHqKK3/s1600/IMG_1442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzueJxJVMwW_-XCfnqAx500PDisbmrGDy5Lbjxw__keWzPxwz3Y80Ul1nPF_0b06_KHgfHJuLjTHYDqsGVFyKLv1VgDIIV1RGS-PO6xW1Qyg3_dJdkI0tvip3VDLJiyYdwYK7CXGqHqKK3/s320/IMG_1442.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portland's Main Street</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1O89P_PXLJZVLSelsLzBAyvjDZYW2ujRbm5R1niO4DjbCXIN_aCNWt72wYWUkFMBGfHtnXzIgZKxEIPXEuC1p-yYtr1ERkHHayuK0X2dp7Lwa6MPPmadf3HvVSQhafP3aa3qKW_EZrhb3/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1O89P_PXLJZVLSelsLzBAyvjDZYW2ujRbm5R1niO4DjbCXIN_aCNWt72wYWUkFMBGfHtnXzIgZKxEIPXEuC1p-yYtr1ERkHHayuK0X2dp7Lwa6MPPmadf3HvVSQhafP3aa3qKW_EZrhb3/s320/IMG_1444.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In front of Cheeky Monkey's supporting Relay for Life</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJ8o_w6l9h0G7wLlMHHizosrpnjUeVCaHV87Vi56bWKB1onwqytZJQnTseqzOx_636Y9gEG6lwNW_KRBS7ZexggFneTs2637LPiTSXUv9bSzwmotOkUQNk6W3FN6CDpMCkE78AwvW2K2D/s1600/IMG_1445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJ8o_w6l9h0G7wLlMHHizosrpnjUeVCaHV87Vi56bWKB1onwqytZJQnTseqzOx_636Y9gEG6lwNW_KRBS7ZexggFneTs2637LPiTSXUv9bSzwmotOkUQNk6W3FN6CDpMCkE78AwvW2K2D/s320/IMG_1445.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary E along the river</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mary E and I decided to split a delicious smoothie as we were entranced by this adorable place that was obviously a staple in the town. It became clear that Portland was the type of place where everyone knew everyone. My mom complimented the owner (who was working the register) on her storefront and the woman asked where we were from? I might as well have said "Neptune" with the wide-eyed look she gave us when I said Chicago. Wondering how we ended up in Portland, I told her about my races as she wrapped up the souvenir mug I just had to purchase. (That mug now supplies me with my caffeine fuel daily in my cubicle at work). We left the coffee shop as the owner packed up the baked goods she made for the runners post-race. For being a such a small town, it was actually home to two rivers. I'm not sure which ones but I can promise you it isn't the Mississippi, so you can narrow it down from there. Mary E and I walked along the high rivers and decided to hop back in the car and locate the high school so we'd know where the race started. We saw the ENTIRE town in the matter of 5 minutes, as Main Street encompassed most of what Portland had to offer.<br />
<br />
Time killed, we went back to our hotel to relax with some NCIS and headed to dinner. Pasta managed to escape the menu (this happened race #4 in Cleveland as well) so salmon it was. (I'm beginning to think American restaurants are cutting back on the Italian food offered as Jersey Shore cast members continue to disgrace us.) One table behind my mom & I sat a mother with two little girls who we shortly learned had very large mouths and made me wanna go Silence of the Lambs on them... not hannibalistic, but just silence them. With Lamb Chop (the kid-friendly puppet, of course, not the meat). The mother kept telling Jenna (the youngest of the two) to sit down. So being my name twin, I really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and like the adolescent twiglet, but she really was just giving all the Jenna's in the world a bad name and I couldn't help to worry that I was starring at the future of America. Once the mother muted the little wildebeests with the food served, Mary E and I enjoyed our meal and the delightful mother-daughter conversations we find ourselves often having. Back to the hotel, we made a quick pit stop for corn and chocolate. It's my favorite combo. ...kidding. Frozen corn for my bothersome hamstring that had been hurting for about a week and a half and chocolate for the obvious reason: we're women.<br />
<br />
I zonked out and awoke at 6AM (later than usual, knowing that traffic for 80 runners would not cause a delay) for the 7:30 race. I was really excited for this race, hoping to get a personal best. With the exception of my pain-pinging hamstring and aging left knee, I felt really strong in my weeks of training up to this race. My 5th race in San Diego had taken place the first weekend in June and this race #6 was occurring the last weekend in July, so it had been nearly 2 full months since my runner's adrenaline surged and I kicked it into high gear for a race. After a minor mishap of forgetting my ipod at the hotel but realizing this quickly, Mary E took the wheel and we headed to Portland's high school for the start. <br />
As we arrived in the school parking lot, visions of high school races flashed as the atmosphere felt so similar (or maybe it was the scenery of a big high school building and track that rewinded my mind 7 years). All the runners were calm, casually stretching near their cars, or catching up with a friend. Runners could still register the day-of so by the time the race began, the 80 original runners had probably reached the triple digits. No large stereo system and mic were needed for announcements, but merely the power of a megaphone. The race coordinator (Jane Bower's husband) explained that with the recent rainstorms they had earlier in the week, the rivers overflowed and submerged half the original course under water so they did a quick rerouting. The course would start downhill, we'd do a 5 mile loop-twice and then end uphill. With the groans from the crowd of the unfortunate uphill news, Mr. Bower replied "Well, that's just the way God made it" in the true Alabama twang he sported in central Michigan. So the runners made their way to the start line (I found myself near the front with the white kenyan men) and rather than a gun fired, a town local said "You guys ready? On your mark, get set" Fog horn. And we were off.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race Pace TAT!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pace leader...on a bike? Yupp.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around mile 6.3</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53furuc4agrCx_0iOe6zKT4l8iU_UUU6x6eyHdYLOkWLyF-5Ep6gmglC7_agXbOCnhqYTCzYvEvXAPEzi-WId485gNSe0mtMYSXVYfSbd63fANQNdaBYh6ToJD1Vq1HjSMHB-8fj1m_G5/s1600/IMG_1458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53furuc4agrCx_0iOe6zKT4l8iU_UUU6x6eyHdYLOkWLyF-5Ep6gmglC7_agXbOCnhqYTCzYvEvXAPEzi-WId485gNSe0mtMYSXVYfSbd63fANQNdaBYh6ToJD1Vq1HjSMHB-8fj1m_G5/s320/IMG_1458.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom thought this was funny. Small town charm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 1.5 miles to go!</td></tr>
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I took the race out a bit too fast, but with The Black Keys blasting, I was in the zone. It was actually pretty cool having it as a smaller race because the course took place along a running path- no more than 10 feet wide. Usually, the 30,000 racers I accompany elbow one another as we all try to squeeze our strides through the city streets and avoid tripping over fire hydrants. This race didn't pose these obstacles and instead offered a clear, tree-lined path reminiscent of my home Prairie Path. The first few miles went really well but offered a couple ups and downs worth of hills that I wasn't expecting in this Michigan pasture land. Mile 6.3 began the start of the second 5 mile loop where I spotted Mary E. In between making friends with the locals she stood near, she managed to support me with her motherly good spirits which I always appreciate. I knew she befriended the locals because as I passed I heard a tall, unfamiliar dude yell "Go Lincoln Park! Yeah Chicago!" It turns out this was the son of the race coordinator and as Mary E befriended him she learned that he, too, was from Lincoln Park, Chicago. Then she proceeds to tell him the intersection and restaurant I live above (which he knew exactly where it was), so if random men ever come a-knockin', I'll have my own mother to blame. Thanks mom.<br />
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Along the way, the volunteers at the water stations were some of the friendliest and loudest supporters. One station even had two little boys with drenched towels who would whip them around, causing a bit of a sprinkler effect cooling off the runners. (This also seems to be a very strategic parenting tactic- let the boys be rambunctious and tire them out at the same time...all while doing a good thing for others. Those will be some good men, right there.) The second 5-mile loop was challenging, mentally more than anything else. It's knowing that you have to re-run what you just ran for the past 40 minutes. My pace eased and as I took one of the mini hills around mile 8, my hamstring pulled with pain. The remaining 5 miles were a hurting hobble as I favored my right leg, trying to avoid putting my weight on the left.<br />
<br />
Up the hill and around the high school parking lot, I finished the race in pain, but strong coming in at 1:47:37. I've always been the consistent type in a lot of aspects of my life, and this is deeming true in these races as well as I keep running approximately the same time. My roommate Sarah and I were just talking about this; with the exception of St. Louis (remember the medic tent scene?) all my other races have been within less than 4 minutes of each other. I should probably expect this, seeing that I don't switch up my routine and when I do it normally just means me adding more mileage because I get on a runner's high. Anyways, my hamstring tightened as I tried to walk it off, hearing Jane Bower congratulate me from the near finish line.<br />
<br />
Cheeky Monkey's cookies, muffins, breads and fruits distracted me from my painful leg muscle, but the best of all was the cooler with ginormous popsicles in it. Yum. It was seriously better than any Flinstone push up or ice cream sandwich, so I'm not entirely sure why people do absurd feats for a Klondike Bar when they can just have a tastey red popsicle instead. Awards came about an hour later as runners continued to trickle in. Not only did I get my normal "participant/finisher" medal, but I was also announced over the megaphone and dazzled with a second medal for being the top finisher in my age group of females 20-24. I was also the 5th female overall to finish the race. With double the hardware, my chain was fa sho hanging low.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivQKErSU319iSKx-nrplnmZf1G8d30MGJii5uYhzY5O0gjI5CLSQgVsakQC-GEbZOfe0nXpOiDCBcBCiSDwntjHOkYCRKalTm0W7eCCCQ_jHUgBu0dj0c8QbX-0qalq463CNQmQj-c-68/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivQKErSU319iSKx-nrplnmZf1G8d30MGJii5uYhzY5O0gjI5CLSQgVsakQC-GEbZOfe0nXpOiDCBcBCiSDwntjHOkYCRKalTm0W7eCCCQ_jHUgBu0dj0c8QbX-0qalq463CNQmQj-c-68/s320/IMG_1463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race 6 complete! 1:47:37</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRGRUSH10RqP7S1DVn1uStdTtnLYYsQNMLoJbjBt7a04PxMrnQ0nPEaTVtL5XSWAIsthNsqAj5mf_1NC9Hat76x9hneWw3mqMhq0ookRAFER2I0nF0Yd7lJTh4DgK9NYPcGI2w-_7iUcC/s1600/IMG_1465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRGRUSH10RqP7S1DVn1uStdTtnLYYsQNMLoJbjBt7a04PxMrnQ0nPEaTVtL5XSWAIsthNsqAj5mf_1NC9Hat76x9hneWw3mqMhq0ookRAFER2I0nF0Yd7lJTh4DgK9NYPcGI2w-_7iUcC/s320/IMG_1465.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Topping the charts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio08aPHcSH6Tv8qvrKxMBuNsYiteRfKoNZotm0Dj_7P2knbw5TJ5C5Ws06XqqvLdFnJv78izcojGKXnDtmvGY5o1AyDw23rKKBzCdosIiQD_BLUW-EDpzJewx0b0gnjW9nDtFFmar4S_QA/s1600/IMG_1467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio08aPHcSH6Tv8qvrKxMBuNsYiteRfKoNZotm0Dj_7P2knbw5TJ5C5Ws06XqqvLdFnJv78izcojGKXnDtmvGY5o1AyDw23rKKBzCdosIiQD_BLUW-EDpzJewx0b0gnjW9nDtFFmar4S_QA/s320/IMG_1467.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting my "top finisher" medal, like a boss.</td></tr>
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After collecting my bling, Mary E and I headed back to the car. Along the way we were intercepted by Jane Bower, with her heart of gold, who wanted to make sure I was okay after seeing the pain I was in from my hamstring. Her and her husband were the coordinators of the race and it was then that she informed us this was the first year they tried the half marathon as their Relay for Life. I commended her for such an organized race and just genuinely good people supporting the cause and the runners and we parted in good spirits. Mary E was beaming with pride as always; I'm really surprised she hasn't made a button to wear on her sweatshirt like she used to do when I played AYSO soccer in my Mia Hamm-wannabe glory days. She was extra chatty as we headed back to the hotel and I have Cheeky Monkey's to thank for only serving regular, caffinated coffee at the race. My mom ONLY drinks decaf coffee, so when she has caffeine she's like a wind-up toy controlled by a four year old on a sugar high. (Okay, that was mean, sorry momma) but she is a riot. We grabbed our minimal luggage for the weekend and hopped back on the road to Elmhurst.<br />
<br />
Overall, I was <i>so</i> happy I did this small town race; it was fun and very different from every other race I've run. My perspective of Portland changed entirely from the time I judged the fields of nothingness from the highway to when I actually saw how thrilled someone like Jane Bower was with the turnout and support of her town. As I continue to always be "on the go" for these races, it's places like and the people of Portland that remind me to slow down and really remember what's important in life. It's always the people; a place is only as good as the company of the people there.<br />
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Well I've gotta go pack for race #7. I leave for Minneapolis tomorrow and I can't believe it's already here- it snuck up on me! I literally feel like I just ran Portland, though it was 3 weeks ago. So I'd be lying if I said I felt completely prepared for this one. But as always, I know it'll be awesome. And my best friend Caitlin is coming with me. And I'm staying with my crazy cool friend Alissa. Good people. Good times. Good night. DONATE: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span>http://donate.breastcancer</span></a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: block; float: left; margin-left: -10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span><span>marathon.com/2012Marathon/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break" style="display: block; float: left; margin-left: -10px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span>JennaDunkleRuns</a></span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-27944713098003000622011-07-24T13:30:00.000-07:002011-07-24T13:30:50.020-07:00Running for a Reason: October 1994.Preface: Prefaces don't really exist in blogs, but I decided this needed one. It's really more of a warning but I didn't want to write "warning" because that just reminds me of a pack of cigarettes. Ew. So the preface is that this post isn't my normal sarcastic verbal blunder. But it is important to me so if you normally read this for my terrible jokes and crude humor, you may opt not to read this one but instead I ask you scroll to the bottom, click on the link and donate. Here it goes.<br />
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I was 7 years old when my Aunt Linda lost her battle to breast cancer. Having been so young, I don't remember much and I couldn't empathize with the struggle; what I do remember is looking at her laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an oxygen tank in the middle of her living room and looking up to my mom and asking, "When do you think Aunt Linda will be able to take us to Navy Pier like she promised?" I didn't understand. My mom didn't know how to answer. And I didn't realize that a few days later, she'd be gone.<br />
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Get Well cards from my aunt's students draped the living room walls. My oldest cousin Peter was by Aunt Linda's side when breast cancer took her away. While that's about the extent of my memory regarding the dwindling days of her life, what I do remember and know is far more important. I remember my aunt for the crafty, creative projects she'd do with my sister and me. Whether it be appliqueing a shirt, or bejeweling my new shoes for kindergarten, she was the best at that. I remember her taking me to see Beauty and the Beast on Ice as she had a love for all things Disney and a bigger love for all things family. I remember her for the mother she was to my two amazing cousins, Kevin and Peter, who are now unbelievable parents themselves, shadowing my aunt's footsteps. I remember her for the best friend and older sister she was for my mom.<br />
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I also remember that just two years ago, my Aunt Elizabeth faced the same battle. Strong headed and hearted, you probably would have never known. In my early twenties, I understood much better this time around... but not really. I didn't know nor fully understand the pain and exhaustion my aunt was going through. But that's not what my aunt would want attached to her name. Instead, she's a staple in her community with her personal pet business; she's a genius when it comes to anything dog related; she's a fabulous cook and host, a well-read teacher, and one of the hardest workers I know always on the go. And she's a warrior against breast cancer.<br />
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There are always statistics and studies shared about the number of people a disease is affecting, or an improvement in medicine. There are thousands of life-threatening diseases and luckily, ten fold that number of volunteers and advocates raising money to find cures. I don't sit here and write this to say my cause trumps any other, nor do I say this disease is by far the worse. I also won't sit here and promise that your donation WILL find the cure to breast cancer.<br />
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Instead, I will say that had it not been for breast cancer, my aunt would have been there to see her two sons marry two great catches, Mel and Heather. Aunt Linda would now be wearing a "World's Best Grandma" sweatshirt for her five beautiful grandkids and would have welcomed the eldest, Riley, of those grandkids home from Europe just last week. Had it not been for breast cancer, my best friend and role model, my mother, wouldn't have lost her best friend.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgWxZgqrU8HmK_iqGGhlglF36mvl_9rbOaqYBt91RC2Afw-EvWKBQUCocaCIFeHrP2uG5ugKF5v7GTPV47Y8TfAq4T3aGTmdllhQon8SgQxQ6Tp-asDdwebtTaKdibyJ-39nWbaRMFlMI/s1600/IMG_0719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjgWxZgqrU8HmK_iqGGhlglF36mvl_9rbOaqYBt91RC2Afw-EvWKBQUCocaCIFeHrP2uG5ugKF5v7GTPV47Y8TfAq4T3aGTmdllhQon8SgQxQ6Tp-asDdwebtTaKdibyJ-39nWbaRMFlMI/s320/IMG_0719.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins Mel & Heather, baby Noah, me & momma</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For those of you who knew my Aunt Linda, reading this is probably a struggle as memories rush back to your heart and minds, tears well in your eyes (I am finding myself a blubbery mess right now all over my keyboard). For those of you who know my Aunt Elizabeth, you probably smiled as you know how strong and the fighter she is (sorry for ending in a preposition). While I could have easily and unemotionally requested you to donate to breast cancer, framing it with perspective and sharing the stories of my aunts makes it so more real and I hope that it only inspires you.<br />
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I've said this before, but there are PLENTY of days that I dread my training. While I love the "sport" (...or hobby/activity for all you "running isn't a sport and neither is tennis type of people"), there are days after work I'd rather do a happy hour with friends. While running brings me clarity of mind and stress, at times the aches and pains I get from it are what causes that stress. But it's not about "those days"; it's about the bigger picture. When I tell friends, acquaintances, strangers at bars, what I'm doing, I get a variety of reactions. Many people find it "cool", "crazy" and I've even had one stranger say I'm the most interesting person he's ever met because of it. (I'm still not sure if that was meant as a good thing). But inevitably, they always follow it up with a "why?" Why am I doing this? Why am I running 13 half marathons in 13 months?<br />
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In my first post, I said I had no idea why. I correlated it to the countless spontaneous decisions I've made in recent years. I've given numerous answers ranging from "it seemed like a good idea at the time", "It's my news years resolution", "It took my mind off of my heartless ex", "It keeps me in shape", "It lets me see parts of the country I might've never otherwise visited", "I don't know, I didn't want to do another full marathon, so I wanted to do a half...well, 13 of them" to "I constantly want to challenge myself", "It's just one of those once in a lifetime things I wanted to do", "I don't like things that come easy to me so why not?". While all those responses have held their truth at some point during this process, those reasons aren't what gets me out on the path, even in 95 degree weather as my body screams "f*&$ you", 4 days a week, clocking over 40 miles in that duration. Those reasons are not going to give me that unbelievable feeling of accomplishment come next February in Jacksonville, FL. Perhaps some of those reasons GOT me going, but they are not what KEEP me going. Running for a purpose...for something far greater than me...for someone far more exceptional...for a cause with so much meaning is what makes it worth hitting the pavement every week. Selfishly, I do love the challenge and the betterment it's given my life. But I've run for myself for 12 years and have never felt the passion and commitment I've felt these past 6 months of this process. I am running for a reason, for my aunts. And for all the other survivors and fighters, mothers, daughters, husbands, sons, uncles and friends that have been touched by breast cancer.<br />
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So as I wrap this up, I'll leave you with this: Coworkers and family members have told me I should set up a Paypal account and have my readers and "fans" donate to fund my journey. While my average race costs me about $500 (after registration, flight, gas, hotel, meals, etc.), I am blessed and fortunate enough to be able to fund myself. I don't need nor want the money. So instead, I'm raising money for the National Marathon to Finish Breast Cancer (my first and final race of this journey in Jacksonville Beach). The patients and families need it far more than I ever will. My goal is to raise $2,620 by February 12, 2012 for my final race. (A marathon is 26.2 miles...so I figured in true Jenna form I'd do a little play on numbers). I ask you that if you think what I'm doing is cool, crazy, interesting, asinine, ridiculous, marvelous...or if you have an aunt, mother, sister, friend, you donate. If I can get the half of my Facebook friends that I actually know to donate just $5 (that's the cost of ONE beer, people), I'll have just about reached my goal. If one beer is too much to ask, I request $1. Anything and everything helps.<br />
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If I hit my goal, I'm going to do something really super cool. I'm not sure what yet, as my brain doesn't function thinking that far in advance. I'll let you know. But please, just donate. Not even for me, but so 5 adorable grandkids can meet their grandma. And so one mother doesn't have to miss her best friend. Here is the link to my fundraising page: <a href="http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns">http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns</a> And thanks so much...it truly means the world to me and keeps me running.<br />
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Here is a link to an article that was written about my journey in my local newspaper a couple months back. It'll give you a little more about my story and the link to the donation page can also be found at the bottom of that article: <a href="http://triblocal.com/elmhurst/community/stories/2011/05/america-runs-on-dunkle">http://triblocal.com/elmhurst/community/stories/2011/05/america-runs-on-dunkle</a>/<br />
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P.S. I promised I'd let you know where I was headed for my July race. Have you ever heard of Portland...Michigan? Great, neither have I, but I'm going there next weekend for my first small town race. And it's going to be awesome...and hilarious.<br />
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And guess who's coming with me? My best friend, Mary E. Sarcastic blunder to come next post, promise.America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-82283281544886965012011-06-26T07:18:00.000-07:002011-06-26T07:18:02.478-07:00#5. San Diego, CA: half marathon, half vacation...and a WHOLE lot of fun! This trip truly solidified my love affair with this Cali-city. Normally as I pack my bags last minute on Saturday mornings, I prepare and get excited for the race; this time, my excitement resided in my memories of the Gaslamp District from Spring 2009. Flip flops, bathing suit...oh, and I guess running clothes...packed, the 4 hour flight for my 3-day vaca seemed never-ending.<br />
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I landed in my favorite city on a day that resembled a postcard that reads "Wish you were here". 70 and sunny welcomed me and I was on my way to wait in the unnecessarily long line at the car rental place... I guess that's what I get for reserving at "Dollar Rental". Lucky for me, there was a family with 6 adorable, little blond girls that resembled the Olsen Twins (pre- eating disorder phase) in line right behind me. I recall one named Summer and another Savannah and I just kept praying they weren't following in the Duggar Family's 19 Kids and Counting footsteps. Poor children. Anyways, I finally made it to the counter to pick up my "economy car" I had put on reserve. I couldn't wait to see the rims on the 4 wheels of my: Chevy Aveo.<br />
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The one good thing about my little Aveo was that it did suit my need to sit dangerously close to the steering wheel. Anyone who's ever driven with me can attest to the fact that if I ever get into an accident, I'm sooo totally dunzo, like Kristin Cavallari's car (see: Laguna Beach, season 1) due to the fact that I find it illogically necessary to sit about 6 inches from the wheel. It's the perfect car for little people. And I don't mean midgets, I mean just small, compact people. But other than that, it sucks. And I don't know how anyone drives Smart cars, because cars that small just make me feel stupid. Har har har. This was by far the smallest car I had been in since cruising the burbs in Caitlin's Prius, which we nicknamed the "Sex Kitten" in high school (for no logical reason, of course.) But, the Aveo would serve me well for my 3-day getaway to Cali and off to the expo I putted.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdepc840rTYeGmohA9OcFRuiBeJXPqozVqNSAyIWgWAscf5xcGey2Val7BeU6ckutT3J_tA-zDSGzvtQbmTKVKhoABHGYXDMffg9malEOVKs5-uiwVvqNZdgPhbfICfSNVsrt4Fvy4SZ_/s1600/IMG_1299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdepc840rTYeGmohA9OcFRuiBeJXPqozVqNSAyIWgWAscf5xcGey2Val7BeU6ckutT3J_tA-zDSGzvtQbmTKVKhoABHGYXDMffg9malEOVKs5-uiwVvqNZdgPhbfICfSNVsrt4Fvy4SZ_/s320/IMG_1299.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out my rims for the weekend</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yNT6jY4_RfD7dYcyM-5jVcumBxsiwtLalayMFkHLAxbRWdK839zsCGXkp-_oovG_4DVTYjvsdH-yRoien5S1HkLu6sCmjmPfr4qDWCwkddyo-P7TWCkZiwbMvARGKmUUonsVcMV1aDhr/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yNT6jY4_RfD7dYcyM-5jVcumBxsiwtLalayMFkHLAxbRWdK839zsCGXkp-_oovG_4DVTYjvsdH-yRoien5S1HkLu6sCmjmPfr4qDWCwkddyo-P7TWCkZiwbMvARGKmUUonsVcMV1aDhr/s320/IMG_1300.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Paradise</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOq9jIkx9I4nIxRHbvDm_s93GTNUpC0vOZk_wOqCaMb0lb-PFVAUX93OeuoWcp8o1tBeN0Wa8wqjYVCKNvhJGAAC1u3PIJ7fklHLDUCe957jFUYTkwzSlGZ6z0T1Vehq_mviFx0Zo9lFoJ/s1600/IMG_1303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOq9jIkx9I4nIxRHbvDm_s93GTNUpC0vOZk_wOqCaMb0lb-PFVAUX93OeuoWcp8o1tBeN0Wa8wqjYVCKNvhJGAAC1u3PIJ7fklHLDUCe957jFUYTkwzSlGZ6z0T1Vehq_mviFx0Zo9lFoJ/s320/IMG_1303.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OCEAN<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRH3VrXekfL3npgFPVPDt6RsG34E60G91pc8XpeV1_yLmSe25zpezJ1whuyyuekwF20g02B0YDPG0-akTt-ud-oA4AtXKVBvV9wFCHI7b-_YXikaf0aGWR0ur1CuAQA9Lj3IllU7EAKT4/s1600/IMG_1304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBRH3VrXekfL3npgFPVPDt6RsG34E60G91pc8XpeV1_yLmSe25zpezJ1whuyyuekwF20g02B0YDPG0-akTt-ud-oA4AtXKVBvV9wFCHI7b-_YXikaf0aGWR0ur1CuAQA9Lj3IllU7EAKT4/s320/IMG_1304.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could get used to this</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6zjAYCP8zc0p0ENC9eNfOqXpxj7HWmDTaRbU90AvFXmnV8_uSD_JEB1skS6rvswjLSTGSP8w9KgvSPqgFZ_juetKUC3Flz_LMAfgXndZSuURAB39xM05UsBdjfZrTksinhAQTqjG4lWzn/s1600/IMG_1305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6zjAYCP8zc0p0ENC9eNfOqXpxj7HWmDTaRbU90AvFXmnV8_uSD_JEB1skS6rvswjLSTGSP8w9KgvSPqgFZ_juetKUC3Flz_LMAfgXndZSuURAB39xM05UsBdjfZrTksinhAQTqjG4lWzn/s320/IMG_1305.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awkwarding at the expo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpG4JI3k89qxvuLqEGzPIIab9xNFMzG6i1aPGgI0hscwEPIKrTxOgC3kRjBt3gQALiKP8RE0ZPqWCo5tYTKjFo_yDVcaPpOroKmKELlOce0RqmPuaNxQ0Q5wapRVcS9WSgoQkkMYqqVeQ/s1600/IMG_1306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpG4JI3k89qxvuLqEGzPIIab9xNFMzG6i1aPGgI0hscwEPIKrTxOgC3kRjBt3gQALiKP8RE0ZPqWCo5tYTKjFo_yDVcaPpOroKmKELlOce0RqmPuaNxQ0Q5wapRVcS9WSgoQkkMYqqVeQ/s320/IMG_1306.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The Expo for this Rock 'N Roll Marathon was the largest by far this year. Sponsored by Brooks, I was in merchandise paradise. I dicked around there for a while, enjoyed the city and met up with my girl Madelaine Hahn, who I hadn't seen since I pomp & circumstanced in black & gold a year ago. Madelaine was hilarious navigating through the expo- like a little lost pup. At this point, I feel a bit like an "expo pro" (which really is nothing of which to be proud) and knew where all the hot spots were- aka the vendors with free food and shit.<br />
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Post expo, I miraculously found my midget car wanna-be in the lot and cruised to my hosts in Solana Beach. Solana Beach is about 20 minutes north of San Diego. But really, it's just 20 minutes of unbelievable views. After finding a radio station that wasn't in spanish (which was relatively challenging to do, but an imperative task, seeing that the extent of my espagnol includes only 'mas cervesas' and 'donde esta el bano?'), my windows were rolled down, with music blasting and I was dreaming Californication.<br />
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I pulled up to Maureen and Richie's beach abode and made my way to the music festival to meet up with them...and by meet up with, I mean, meet the people I'd be living with for the long weekend for the first time. Yes, that's correct, I had never meet my hosts before. So how did I end up staying with them? Well, it just so happens Bob went to grade school with Maureen and when my stupidity surfaced again postponing my hotel booking, Bob connected with his long lost friend. Alas, Maureen being the awesome human being she is (which will be explained further in the post) opened her home to me no questions asked. So back to Solana Beach: As a tourist, I had no idea where I was walking to, but luckily music is loud and much like a dog following a smell, I trailed the sound (I can't imagine how Helen Keller ever got around.)<br />
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Meet my hosts: Maureen and Richie. They were AWESOME; quite possibly two of the coolest people I've ever met- and I'd consider myself fairly well-versed in 'coolness' (when you extract the two years I wore a fanny pack and sold books door-to-door, of course.) Maureen was so welcoming and excited to see me- as if I was one of her own kin. We enjoyed the music festival which was about 200 feet from the ocean, surrounded by farmer's market-like vendors, a beer garden and local bands. Maureen was a dancing machine posting up front and center stage and with Richie sporting a Napolean Dynamite tee, I knew I'd get along with them just superbly.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My AWESOME hosts for the weekend!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Around 7:30 we went to dinner at this adorable little restaurant. When Maureen and Richie asked what I was craving, I explained to them that before races, my only prerequisite on restaurants are as long as they serve pasta with red sauce. I enjoyed talking about my job with them, followed by a hilarious conversation with Maureen and Richie that could easily be generalized as "all guys are nice until they aren't." This conversation solidified that yes, my ex is still in fact a giant douche bag. Speaking of guys...every male specie I saw in San Diego was beautiful. (okay, maybe not the unshowered, dreadlock men) So were their calves. I think the San Diego sun perfectly sculpted every dude's calf and roasted it into complete solid muscle. (Is that weird?...Okay, yeah it is, whatever.)<br />
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I ended up being the party pooper, as George Banks would coin, on Saturday night. While Maureen wanted to continue getting her groove on at the festival, my 3:30 wake-up call haunted me like Jaws, so I called it a night. Yes, I forgot to mention that when registering for this race, I failed to realize the 6:15AM start time. I also failed to realize that if driving, you had to park at the airport authority lot to be shuttled to the course and had to arrive at the lot between 4-5:30AM. So a few short hours later, my alarm sounded and I was on the road by 4AM.<br />
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The Aveo and I cruised smoothly along I-5 for 15 minutes until the Washington exit neared. The Washington exit was the exit that all 33,000 runners in their respective cars were all trying to funnel toward. At once. Come 4:45, I was still stopped in the standstill traffic. It was when I started seeing the runners abandon their drivers and cars and walk along the highway to get to the exit that I knew I needed to pull a Fievel Goes West and go on a little adventure. Moving 10 feet further, the car in front of me took a small exit so, in a monkey-see, monkey-do fashion, I followed. As I took the turn, I read a sign labeled "No race parking access". Perfect. Genius. I continued to follow the car ahead seeing that I was clueless and in bufu. We ended up U-turning in a Marine Corps base, so with a quick salute, I drove right back outta there seeing that 'Merica wasn't my number one priority at that moment. A few side streets later, we arrived at the destination lot. The sign clearly lied like a rude teenager and I wish I could've high-fived the local in front of me who paved the way.<br />
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A short shuttle ride later, I arrived at the course around 5:30, with plenty of time to spare. I did my port-a-potty thang and made my way to gear check. This was the first race this year that I didn't have anyone to hold my goods while I raced. From there, I found my corral- #6 of 42 at the start line. 42 corrals. 33,000+ racers. Holy balls. The San Diego sun was already above head when the gun went off. As I neared the start, the announcer mentioned that Alli and Roberto from last season's The Bachelorette were at the start line to cheer us on. I anxiously looked around to see my D-class celebs and realized that moment encompassed two components that take up the majority of my free time: running & trashy reality TV. I didn't see the prime time lovebirds, but I'm sure they were cheering for me as hard as I cheered for Alli to pick Chris L instead of Roberto.<br />
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I was trotting along again, for this race #5. I wasn't entirely mentally "in it"...and I really didn't care. I had enjoyed the minimal stress my Cleveland race caused me and thus decided to just enjoy this one as well. In fact, my dedication to this race really lacked. This could be exemplified in the 5 inch wedges I sported the day before the race for 8 hours and my training that has plateaued. (Minus the speedy 15 miler I did the Sunday before in a torrential downpour that resembled a wet dog version of Baywatch). However, my heart has been feeling much better and I haven't collapsed anytime recently so all systems were a "go". So yes, I know I should be pushing myself harder to get a faster time, but I still have 8 more races and I'd rather just enjoy this journey. Along the course, I witnessed some unusually interesting things. The first and weirdest had to be the caveman running. (Apparently running is so easy, a caveman can do it! ...I'll cool it with the jokes). But seriously, this guy was a pre-historic man, completely naked with only a canvas butt-flap. His thick, black hair was longer than mine and untied; he wore no shoes and instead had his time chip looped around a twine anklet. He received more praise than a prize poodle from other runners. I may have given him a thumbs up if his white, hairy man thigh hadn't starred at me. Man thighs gross me out so much. If I was Jane, I would've most def. not been interested in this modern day Tarzan. The next interesting thing I saw was a group of Elvis look-alikes. Now, every race seems to have at least one of these Graceland wannabes, but this was an entire group and I just so happened to see them as we passed one of the rock band mile markers singing "Jailhouse Rock".<br />
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Most of the race took place on highway roads, which is def. not my fav. However, Highway 163 (I think that's what it's called) was beautifully decorated with greens and florals as I trotted along. If there was any question whether my ass exists or not, I can assure you it does because mine burned as I took the ramps and hills with great fervor. The course even veered toward the nationally noticed San Diego Zoo. I knew this because 1. the course description told me so and 2. because at one point, the aroma of the breeze made me look around to see if I was running through the monkey house. Yes, it smelled like Rafiki's ass. Highways and ramps, sceneries and shops, I finished the course 1:49:31 later. At approximately 1:49:33, I blew chunks everywhere again. This time I believe it was due to being a little water-logged, as I could hear the liquid swishing in my belly like the oceanic waves not far from me. (I drank more water during this race, preparing for the heat...although, it really wasn't too roasty.) Slower than normal, I wasn't thrilled...but I wasn't disappointed. I was content and happy that I enjoyed the California course. I met some rando runners and made temporary friends and called Bob & Mary E to let them know I made it out alive and wasn't currently laying in the hospital.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Music Festival</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweNN4T8fbL3qHfLmKUluQd9a20p3J-fdqwB5YtoFoSr3n_UXPAkGLekEKwf9THctkGoTZnNkCAQc0pX2ax6H0VyACLVmND4ay7yoW-V3HqW8WRm45qcnx8xByu4W06I5_NY0DYjzuwT-W/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweNN4T8fbL3qHfLmKUluQd9a20p3J-fdqwB5YtoFoSr3n_UXPAkGLekEKwf9THctkGoTZnNkCAQc0pX2ax6H0VyACLVmND4ay7yoW-V3HqW8WRm45qcnx8xByu4W06I5_NY0DYjzuwT-W/s320/IMG_1310.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race #5 complete!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish Line</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R9fZuabxsk3UNu71ZkkXdpNrAI4xyLMvaG3kzz5w8JE99uRSUXIoIWgRWNksd-9KBvvv1HXVclNCxMLYDpk2Y7qquJTyxPkxKxyJCHZmFED6UxDmJKiMHVRtd6qhJZGGq4EMkm2795PS/s1600/IMG_1313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R9fZuabxsk3UNu71ZkkXdpNrAI4xyLMvaG3kzz5w8JE99uRSUXIoIWgRWNksd-9KBvvv1HXVclNCxMLYDpk2Y7qquJTyxPkxKxyJCHZmFED6UxDmJKiMHVRtd6qhJZGGq4EMkm2795PS/s320/IMG_1313.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making random runner friends<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIoyiVuHbj5a0qbLj-RuI86FUisI1-fgCbaVq5lsh6f4oFbUbWuIO2V21Od6DWh2fSsiPnbsX2qyhQ6EYSviZ6fzbEf4u33EmIYhsxNml_79vKlgMJbw5erxR3Ya3Grl9BJ7KrsDfXsq4/s1600/IMG_1320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIoyiVuHbj5a0qbLj-RuI86FUisI1-fgCbaVq5lsh6f4oFbUbWuIO2V21Od6DWh2fSsiPnbsX2qyhQ6EYSviZ6fzbEf4u33EmIYhsxNml_79vKlgMJbw5erxR3Ya3Grl9BJ7KrsDfXsq4/s320/IMG_1320.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach time</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HrZo285mi_kV6odmGfC9_YmhisS-XhFR0CzkS8AEMsaTKh2IMtOGoD_34KVfa8xS_PsG4MmiA99XXCzHejJ0ht7lGUKfNPpDoT8k0cvOOoPZlFozgE7TmJuPXxMv_YEyiAlRq52h1cjz/s1600/IMG_1321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HrZo285mi_kV6odmGfC9_YmhisS-XhFR0CzkS8AEMsaTKh2IMtOGoD_34KVfa8xS_PsG4MmiA99XXCzHejJ0ht7lGUKfNPpDoT8k0cvOOoPZlFozgE7TmJuPXxMv_YEyiAlRq52h1cjz/s320/IMG_1321.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild Child</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYKiJOACN9Ll4MYAe_9Zt2_-R1SHm-WuSb1FFR6aSJcQVgCBjr_MvZUErmr-7ifiq21OWwYY2yaev-ymIgnOWX3lQW1Z2XJC3DmbrNSlD_081TujWsPdBt6TOSqQ1e7YS5RMXZnqlDmy5/s1600/IMG_1323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYKiJOACN9Ll4MYAe_9Zt2_-R1SHm-WuSb1FFR6aSJcQVgCBjr_MvZUErmr-7ifiq21OWwYY2yaev-ymIgnOWX3lQW1Z2XJC3DmbrNSlD_081TujWsPdBt6TOSqQ1e7YS5RMXZnqlDmy5/s320/IMG_1323.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perfect way to end my weekend: Nathan's hot dog & TCBY</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the race, I made my way back to my pad for the weekend. The following hour involved me sun-bathing in the hot tub, in low 60 degree weather at 10:30 in the morning. Complete bliss. My leggies felt much better with the jets loosening up my tired muscles. A shower and nap later, Maureen, Richie, his nephew and brother headed back to the music festival to rock out to Wild Child (The Doors minus Jim. RIP Mr. Morrison). We enjoyed the jams as my shoulders sizzled like bacon in the sun. Maureen and I walked to the ocean and strolled through the vendors. This part of the day included having a guy ask me if I just graduated high school. Hmmph. Some day I'll grow into my Chicklet teeth and get Shakira-like hips, ahhh someday; and while I'd like to blame the guy for being a moron, he was only off by about 5 years and many times I see preteens and say "oh wow, look at that cute 7 year old"- I suck at guessing age. So I guess I'll cut the dude some slack (I was more offended he insinuated I had the rack of an 18 year old.)<br />
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The rest of the weekend included sushi dining, touring Maureen's garden that flourished just about every vegetable imaginable, relaxing and reading by the pool. The time came to bid adieu to my favorite hosts and return my beloved Aveo to catch my flight home on Monday afternoon. I ended the weekend with a Nathan's hot dog and TCBY in true fatass form at the airport. Though I didn't want to leave, I know I'll be back to San Diego. I could honestly see myself living there, as long as it's not mandatory to get some sort of plastic surgery after the age of 40 (which I got the vibe it is against the law to have saggy, pale skin there). San Diego just won't know what hit it when I return in my glowing Irish skin and real buttox assets.<br />
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With race 5 down, I'm currently scrambling to plan my July race. I did some race rearranging to make sure I could make it to Mizzou's 100th Homecoming in October, which made me change my October race to Denver, which made me cancel Colorado Springs for July. Which makes me raceless...which is almost as bad as being pantless. So I'll be sure to post before my July race to let you know where I'll be headed.<br />
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Signing off to figure out my race for July...which is next week. Shiiiiiit. Byeeeee.America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-19468968920418816052011-05-31T20:11:00.000-07:002011-05-31T20:24:27.577-07:00Race #4. Cleveland, OH: Cleveland rocks...and rains..<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">..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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Facebook</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> page to find that some dude was selling 20 race bibs. Thanks Mark </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Zuckerberg</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dunkle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">" 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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bamba</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> ("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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dunkle</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and I still have a Missouri ID. whoops. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Akon</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. Stop judging me, at least it's not </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Miley</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Cyrus.) The museum was a perfect pass-time as the rain continued to dance upon the streets of Cleveland outside.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pre</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">carbo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-load was put to standstill with the limited menu, it didn't irk me too much. And the salmon was scrump-dilly-a-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">dumptious</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4:45AM came too soon. Mainly because my body thought it was 3:45 with the time-zone going all </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Criss</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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 (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ahhh</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, 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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pre</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-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 :)!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjibjj4U2lyKlHD85E_4GiPSJNnVuJrC3pEDHdInQl1fpmnn7ANRU_f2z-xO8AB9g6SlW8aRZcpEnLS_pTLEUHh1FO33RFYWAiRMg-2TQ_I4ePNgKZWmD1UFS-QwWOEydupSEWQF4CoE-zl/s1600/IMG_1277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjibjj4U2lyKlHD85E_4GiPSJNnVuJrC3pEDHdInQl1fpmnn7ANRU_f2z-xO8AB9g6SlW8aRZcpEnLS_pTLEUHh1FO33RFYWAiRMg-2TQ_I4ePNgKZWmD1UFS-QwWOEydupSEWQF4CoE-zl/s320/IMG_1277.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Don't mind my outfit.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrabO0OWgtl83JbQulXwjtUb8gCQU5XJ2RxpgUkdFf4HQXSBE7tRZtT4x09sT3Da_4tLlIkT2XAQvrNGl0zDRV7vtS1gj5ZdLvZGzYKircEQmj4NaZ6Iozb_bhysa4X9-0BL4K9sJjXoB5/s1600/IMG_1279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrabO0OWgtl83JbQulXwjtUb8gCQU5XJ2RxpgUkdFf4HQXSBE7tRZtT4x09sT3Da_4tLlIkT2XAQvrNGl0zDRV7vtS1gj5ZdLvZGzYKircEQmj4NaZ6Iozb_bhysa4X9-0BL4K9sJjXoB5/s320/IMG_1279.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame...and rain.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANX2ZAD0nCZW-dUUV3sWPzvLsmSqLg5RvYhsbx7rSEYLpAwXoaM34p6adwAvp7nZS8VSS9be771dYDxrtrtxtP1WHcIHKJWihE4-eoC22aM6OuVbO0scYSb7o5aHxMwVtn9iA0U2nIlqZ/s1600/IMG_1281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANX2ZAD0nCZW-dUUV3sWPzvLsmSqLg5RvYhsbx7rSEYLpAwXoaM34p6adwAvp7nZS8VSS9be771dYDxrtrtxtP1WHcIHKJWihE4-eoC22aM6OuVbO0scYSb7o5aHxMwVtn9iA0U2nIlqZ/s320/IMG_1281.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In front of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8t2wISwHuWgtLPqIAqYMZvkIJZ15lBOlCMP6yaS_8HIFEDeVdrg77nHJBUKah6bG4cR7ykMi7RUZwHsD8_B8ysua2qkr6x9BTgOgLQ0_V2q_enOXEbjS59i8xxqIUYqzSO55sKEGEj66c/s1600/IMG_1282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8t2wISwHuWgtLPqIAqYMZvkIJZ15lBOlCMP6yaS_8HIFEDeVdrg77nHJBUKah6bG4cR7ykMi7RUZwHsD8_B8ysua2qkr6x9BTgOgLQ0_V2q_enOXEbjS59i8xxqIUYqzSO55sKEGEj66c/s320/IMG_1282.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bob's turn!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aySX7pNyBUaK69yu_x-Kx9mHYYQz_0wV3t9LJy-adC0ADfuYERd6sQY1FM1S2iqX45DO7uYIjoSgBVT4hOHqx9vAyOTvaVMA0_qNwniFGVzwQR8ztvsWeV6nRSw6mH9SEAud4F1gOta_/s1600/IMG_1283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6aySX7pNyBUaK69yu_x-Kx9mHYYQz_0wV3t9LJy-adC0ADfuYERd6sQY1FM1S2iqX45DO7uYIjoSgBVT4hOHqx9vAyOTvaVMA0_qNwniFGVzwQR8ztvsWeV6nRSw6mH9SEAud4F1gOta_/s320/IMG_1283.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pre</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-race</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCLBvk6uCyEaPh8ha-h4cb3sTxFgVg1UlZwbPa3kEdj9mVfzS8UY_pJbcgsFKTiNC2I8yjEOvczJDYBk9eDgFLFr-P4ge7wK7mnNatDYYuEOOleFrCjZMNe0q6RF0x4j1jXLwmmssHToH/s1600/IMG_1284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCLBvk6uCyEaPh8ha-h4cb3sTxFgVg1UlZwbPa3kEdj9mVfzS8UY_pJbcgsFKTiNC2I8yjEOvczJDYBk9eDgFLFr-P4ge7wK7mnNatDYYuEOOleFrCjZMNe0q6RF0x4j1jXLwmmssHToH/s320/IMG_1284.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dad found me in the pack </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pre</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-race</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNykQ_DOrxl7reml2kpYjrWWrAWYItZ7l34UaiAWJnh3hD7XtnkNnhoxuVF3DsMJZj_BBNElVlE9Tr6Fy38UaCDxTmG2Kq72-vYXWRv-ymquG3lOSbT-Ygc3lWtTHCmZwUXIY__RPgyOh/s1600/IMG_1286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNykQ_DOrxl7reml2kpYjrWWrAWYItZ7l34UaiAWJnh3hD7XtnkNnhoxuVF3DsMJZj_BBNElVlE9Tr6Fy38UaCDxTmG2Kq72-vYXWRv-ymquG3lOSbT-Ygc3lWtTHCmZwUXIY__RPgyOh/s320/IMG_1286.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just doing my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">thanggg</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdv9HrOdvvrp_g0qtboKi968FW80DJrLwJkAsYljlGCY3zMzkyWsiM4U3i9u6x4GyV_UVRi0TF_mfvpA86PMm2vgq-Gus0xsra4WVyCAgY-9bDMmdDxl4-CyR26ys-aYHsziVveqTSn6u/s1600/IMG_1290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdv9HrOdvvrp_g0qtboKi968FW80DJrLwJkAsYljlGCY3zMzkyWsiM4U3i9u6x4GyV_UVRi0TF_mfvpA86PMm2vgq-Gus0xsra4WVyCAgY-9bDMmdDxl4-CyR26ys-aYHsziVveqTSn6u/s320/IMG_1290.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">FINISHED! Race #4 complete: 1:46:45!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">playlist</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and I literally, dilly-dallied as the rain served as a refreshing shower. I had so much fun just </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">dicking</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> around, people-watching. I was running, but I wasn't focused on it. I was enjoying the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pitter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-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, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">eHarmony</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, that lady won't be needing your services.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As a quick advertisement, I would HIGHLY recommend the <a href="http://www.clevelandmarathon.com/">Rite Aid Cleveland marathon and Half marathon</a> 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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">old's</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">whatevs</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">), 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. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'll admit that I'm more excited just to visit San Diego and see my long, lost </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mizzou</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-71899302114922014162011-05-13T18:12:00.000-07:002011-05-13T18:12:17.540-07:00#3. St. Louis, MO: 1 race, 2 race, 3 race...FLOOR.<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqt9FGF-_D5wa58okYMcNV52FqaSjV8aHAjCr4igUATKqYFPz9r6QGQp8wZwhvkL_2cBGd4JsKq-hAsr6sp4_lmPKhoUk0mldANM-WJrzoNlhkS5cKzzXIDGo2PuINvOED5wwVLl3lPaxz/s1600/IMG_1264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqt9FGF-_D5wa58okYMcNV52FqaSjV8aHAjCr4igUATKqYFPz9r6QGQp8wZwhvkL_2cBGd4JsKq-hAsr6sp4_lmPKhoUk0mldANM-WJrzoNlhkS5cKzzXIDGo2PuINvOED5wwVLl3lPaxz/s320/IMG_1264.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brook's Bus at the Expo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_dPjAlpPzYsbtdOuwHpy-m4YY8vuadFr4hgZbl5BLw_ymmbuRNFW-r3FSscoc-EsSxfLQWynce-hvYyh7o4ZgA7hbTTOsVE3keSYzzx6G3raKAvZ2TGclEsh5Yx3-FWLH3DaNSGgeT6sb/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_dPjAlpPzYsbtdOuwHpy-m4YY8vuadFr4hgZbl5BLw_ymmbuRNFW-r3FSscoc-EsSxfLQWynce-hvYyh7o4ZgA7hbTTOsVE3keSYzzx6G3raKAvZ2TGclEsh5Yx3-FWLH3DaNSGgeT6sb/s320/IMG_1265.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">STL Arch at 6 AM</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85v2CsE9ei_sFPhqHMbKqBVLUNyGqt0SU-3ZoLOWAe3wXkg4QzZ2sgb9Iywk9pfgwIuOl1-cnsjYRF4yeOUnABGwxXAG6nHqcRwTWLUBs0JB4bNP2Qf834mucuUjAohdBGa7EG6-qPFF5/s1600/IMG_1268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85v2CsE9ei_sFPhqHMbKqBVLUNyGqt0SU-3ZoLOWAe3wXkg4QzZ2sgb9Iywk9pfgwIuOl1-cnsjYRF4yeOUnABGwxXAG6nHqcRwTWLUBs0JB4bNP2Qf834mucuUjAohdBGa7EG6-qPFF5/s320/IMG_1268.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 6...SWASS (woof.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBowFt6xA-oYs8DxDUPPKthpvSavknmu4GkmaCXjK183izZzGp2W5dJG-mvEQqGR6ezAV0eU6JuwF0NQWzDlwpU9PHgyHsdW7keIjFAULuDN5nywM5boif5BukiXbnl0K2LHZHUWBYFlgi/s1600/IMG_1269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBowFt6xA-oYs8DxDUPPKthpvSavknmu4GkmaCXjK183izZzGp2W5dJG-mvEQqGR6ezAV0eU6JuwF0NQWzDlwpU9PHgyHsdW7keIjFAULuDN5nywM5boif5BukiXbnl0K2LHZHUWBYFlgi/s320/IMG_1269.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Struggling to finish... Clearly</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-eGdAwY-P2ZFMcnqQ_UaeIV62q8i4FEJdLpSTDnJmHBhfpSrVI_3I59WH2kCPl-Vh82SPkN7TuqQrXd1Ttgo7FkYjchyxce7V-ke3OxQY0fR64FyJqCviwZPFhwFPogL1ghbiI2PP8pc/s1600/IMG_1270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-eGdAwY-P2ZFMcnqQ_UaeIV62q8i4FEJdLpSTDnJmHBhfpSrVI_3I59WH2kCPl-Vh82SPkN7TuqQrXd1Ttgo7FkYjchyxce7V-ke3OxQY0fR64FyJqCviwZPFhwFPogL1ghbiI2PP8pc/s320/IMG_1270.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and FAINT.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRG-ERfxHlQ-vWLLZL1P2y0xo-k1EAMp3CIhMK2SSQSA2pDb2kX15ocqVKdrAYd9RnQy64E_Xqribd_ogBhbxvNuHaOQnUIi-_j6DCr_sALR0jYUVi-BpDWpGAs4uYNLRUIxpdfmXFOmZ6/s1600/IMG_1272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRG-ERfxHlQ-vWLLZL1P2y0xo-k1EAMp3CIhMK2SSQSA2pDb2kX15ocqVKdrAYd9RnQy64E_Xqribd_ogBhbxvNuHaOQnUIi-_j6DCr_sALR0jYUVi-BpDWpGAs4uYNLRUIxpdfmXFOmZ6/s320/IMG_1272.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daytona: muh main girl supporting me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XJEcaCiSzFOpoFrsYQ9gpT1CHB7teTOgz-UtIWP9AFXujFu-T8cWylAHuLicqgO2OQenKnEnCg5XAo8kDdCz4eRWXHIY5Aq1FG53ODCgodehz-tM23yCTg3wXxjvexBIHTx4PSg-chYf/s1600/IMG_1273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XJEcaCiSzFOpoFrsYQ9gpT1CHB7teTOgz-UtIWP9AFXujFu-T8cWylAHuLicqgO2OQenKnEnCg5XAo8kDdCz4eRWXHIY5Aq1FG53ODCgodehz-tM23yCTg3wXxjvexBIHTx4PSg-chYf/s320/IMG_1273.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SO proud of LL Cool J & DeAnna for running their first half!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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 </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">did</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">#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. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">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. </span><o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-12399226131327904262011-03-26T19:29:00.000-07:002011-03-26T19:29:12.899-07:00#2. Atlanta, GA: Holy Hills.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did I go to Atlanta or San Francisco? And Was I on Jack and Jill's never-ending journey to fetch a pail of water? Because that's how I felt. Atlanta was a constant incline. And the chance of the course coming to a plateau was slim to none...and Slim just left town. Okay, it really wasn't THAT bad, but it was a hell of a lot hillier than I expected.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The weekend commenced with a father-daughter road trip. We (mostly Bob) drove from about 5:30 PM on Friday until 1:30 AM to some really classy hotel in No-Mans-Land Tennessee. (It may have been 12:30 AM but driving in and out of central and eastern time zones really confused me. And I already consider myself a relatively confused person.) We crashed for about 4 hours and were back on the road before the sun came up. Along the way, my dad met a "nice man" at a rest stop who trailed behind him into the bathroom and within 5 minutes invited him into a stall with him. I'm not sure how my dad had the willpower to turn down such a charming request. We bolted. The remainder of the drive was fairly uneventful, with a soundtrack of throwback John Mayer and snacks provided by Mary E (thanks momma). Bob and I haven't had that type of bonding since probably Indian Princesses. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's like the daddy-daughter version of Girl Scouts, without the thin mints. And instead of cookies, it's camp-outs and monthly pow wows where little girls make fun of the Kickapoo tribe (maturity has yet to develop at age 6) and act completely politically incorrect as if we were the ones who feasted with the Pilgrims back in the day. And I'm pretty sure the dads just always got drunk. Needless to say, the road trip was a Father-Daughter moment that lasted for almost 13 hours.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We finally made it to Hotlanta and it was exactly that. Hot. And Sunny. And filled with people wearing khakis. (I really am wondering if that's an Atlanta thing for the amount of sand colored slacks I witnessed.) We checked into our actually classy hotel and strolled a few blocks to the Georgia Dome, where the pre-race Expo was occurring. The great thing about the Publix Georgia Marathon is that Publix is a grocery chain. So the expo had FOOD. And Bob and I came hungry. LaraBars, boxes of granola, soy bread, crackers...to eat there and throw in my pre-race bag. It was every broke college kids dream of free food. From there we walked around as I gawked at all the running gadgets and my chips & salsa sample digested. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYnvUmkkffoJy29v74gx-PDbR6vhrcl_DuaEenLlqrk3QabT2sb5x3zMGWVyur4w6bBTOUbJvH7QpchVpOGLqNkIRGkx6AwURZ1j4YsiqVBBmCyBgDSxXo09FFMNIkG4zepoLxjxgClh3/s1600/IMG_1229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYnvUmkkffoJy29v74gx-PDbR6vhrcl_DuaEenLlqrk3QabT2sb5x3zMGWVyur4w6bBTOUbJvH7QpchVpOGLqNkIRGkx6AwURZ1j4YsiqVBBmCyBgDSxXo09FFMNIkG4zepoLxjxgClh3/s320/IMG_1229.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rolling up to ATL after 13 hours in the car</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGeOctsSt2KeFGZpx-WzblgPgcd3ouX70LSkba9Nx9KBRSM5GLFgfb12WVkLAmd3JZh8L7Q7hwA4QaqyOvr-E45yBWWc3thf-am2-KUHMjvixfzX-gAhVsXdqCgJzP8P8q__IHQjjQYj9/s1600/IMG_1230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGeOctsSt2KeFGZpx-WzblgPgcd3ouX70LSkba9Nx9KBRSM5GLFgfb12WVkLAmd3JZh8L7Q7hwA4QaqyOvr-E45yBWWc3thf-am2-KUHMjvixfzX-gAhVsXdqCgJzP8P8q__IHQjjQYj9/s320/IMG_1230.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob at the Expo</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYELqXud-zETAmTofIzCJdgQj4xpozgsXmV549InX-fb4H0z84pGXIOhBlySsSc1MDhojhEAIHgWfa66E8HJsGSq-iSUsmA8TJkqeyqy7oWKxRyjEaE5lDlG_T-LS2b109Y-6HF0XH0k2/s1600/IMG_1231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYELqXud-zETAmTofIzCJdgQj4xpozgsXmV549InX-fb4H0z84pGXIOhBlySsSc1MDhojhEAIHgWfa66E8HJsGSq-iSUsmA8TJkqeyqy7oWKxRyjEaE5lDlG_T-LS2b109Y-6HF0XH0k2/s320/IMG_1231.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In front of the Georgia Dome</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNEFpLB3usWTREQ1jjw25lOjzIgqH9sBKDpsPGIYDMF8Wdy8TFIJ_sFLOw6RZXEw_h_sdypRTG7KtCjUT-bQiSqrHnkVUoEqTXh-rpNoxp3HRkLGfNl8cA2X0W6g1mzhyphenhyphen0Ddp0ICtLP98/s1600/IMG_1232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNEFpLB3usWTREQ1jjw25lOjzIgqH9sBKDpsPGIYDMF8Wdy8TFIJ_sFLOw6RZXEw_h_sdypRTG7KtCjUT-bQiSqrHnkVUoEqTXh-rpNoxp3HRkLGfNl8cA2X0W6g1mzhyphenhyphen0Ddp0ICtLP98/s320/IMG_1232.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peach Trees. EVERYWHERE. So confusing.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rest of the day consisted of tourism- roaming the hilly streets that all appeared to be named Peach Tree. I was warned by my friend Mark who had just been in Atlanta the day before that EVERYTHING was named Peach Tree. He was right. After determining that Peachtree NE and Peachtree NW really did not run NE or NW, we found a delicious and highly recommended Italian restaurant for dinner, Azio. The food coma came shortly after back at the hotel. And stretch, hydrate, fill out my emergency contact info on my bib and I was out like a light.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5:30AM came with a still nighttime sky when Bob and I headed to the start line. I felt pretty baller, because I was placed in Corral C (3rd of 16 starting corrals) because of my expected finish time. Corral C was the "fastest runners" behind the elite and sponsored runners. So on a celeb scale of Jennifer Aniston (I love her and I'm watching Marley & Me, so it seemed fitting to name drop her right now) down to Carrot Top, I felt like a solid Sarah Jessica Parker...minus the horseface. Pre-race, I made my routine stop at the "Honey Buckets" (I'm still baffled by who actually named a portable toilet a term of endearment). These are actually hot commodities before a large race as this one and with the long lines you'd think we were all lining up with our golden ticket to see if the schnauzberries really taste like schaunzberries. While in line, I listened to a woman panic about how it was nearing race time. Annoyed, I decided to start talking to her, mainly so she'd just stop talking to herself. Asking her if she's run this course before was a bad choice. She proceeded to tell me how it was very challenging and she's running it again because she didn't finish the first time. Cool. Nice to meet you too Negative Nancy. I'm surprised if she even had to go to the bathroom after that since she had already shit on my spirit. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Race pack momma packed for me :)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggM8heh4ayeC0hw1dlUrF07_ioa7u042R7VnT7_JfWYy32ItyZBjeXzlbRfnUZU6ntqQzigYaUQ4sIy_rEg4GefxnqkAnNyInI6KKZ5iEtmhBHbnWllDFkatd_Dz8L_HImNy4Rsy6c09V1/s1600/IMG_1235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggM8heh4ayeC0hw1dlUrF07_ioa7u042R7VnT7_JfWYy32ItyZBjeXzlbRfnUZU6ntqQzigYaUQ4sIy_rEg4GefxnqkAnNyInI6KKZ5iEtmhBHbnWllDFkatd_Dz8L_HImNy4Rsy6c09V1/s320/IMG_1235.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Does this make me look gay?" Yes dad. haha</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb5kUIuPF8sexv2OuqJWOcIPu53R5wp1qEd1aGv5SUmIfVHepXtXtKKOAK1AQvcYyQVfRQZ5MRjmyP4JZHTswxnaFs2r8jXR_MaGFLzuoUiwnwcuLl07sZe1SEtA8drqFEc0Hv6QAsspl/s1600/IMG_1236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb5kUIuPF8sexv2OuqJWOcIPu53R5wp1qEd1aGv5SUmIfVHepXtXtKKOAK1AQvcYyQVfRQZ5MRjmyP4JZHTswxnaFs2r8jXR_MaGFLzuoUiwnwcuLl07sZe1SEtA8drqFEc0Hv6QAsspl/s320/IMG_1236.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chicks dig scars, guys dig bruises...right?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOwi9na1ptSHA0IqV7vkVZfELrqxAG0mjsji8tNazCuRibHFgq0mae_-mhUFnsKTdE67_Vrx5gbL5likLvpElSgfE1Fw_NnxCU5ToEKXRIUhqDqK-Ncii6fl1AZtZGYvqLxpS94C4UUJv/s1600/IMG_1238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOwi9na1ptSHA0IqV7vkVZfELrqxAG0mjsji8tNazCuRibHFgq0mae_-mhUFnsKTdE67_Vrx5gbL5likLvpElSgfE1Fw_NnxCU5ToEKXRIUhqDqK-Ncii6fl1AZtZGYvqLxpS94C4UUJv/s320/IMG_1238.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heading to the start line</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2iaJYWxdaOH_01LwEpVlvMs2K141I_NnlQWyedNY4FTcNVr26315iK_U-X17cJQi2W4uA3Dm2rAS-_PhI1zfhJwPC6Xq6tuEGycX7ou523zgce3rj0ftGcQu5HoJDkG9yi9O3sGBqqThB/s1600/IMG_1247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2iaJYWxdaOH_01LwEpVlvMs2K141I_NnlQWyedNY4FTcNVr26315iK_U-X17cJQi2W4uA3Dm2rAS-_PhI1zfhJwPC6Xq6tuEGycX7ou523zgce3rj0ftGcQu5HoJDkG9yi9O3sGBqqThB/s320/IMG_1247.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dad did a good job documenting the other runners</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkKBtRyZ3_wNgLa57DvM2TTyi8N-VWDG7QxXZcw3vMe0MhEqnNcGNd8MT4jvJ3j008rcYNr2RLDb9CkU2SV2PR0RWBb7T9mMFgDNudwKnvpUfZrOAXJRw6MSyrld6-7PKQZaSFmcgUv5y/s1600/IMG_1248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRkKBtRyZ3_wNgLa57DvM2TTyi8N-VWDG7QxXZcw3vMe0MhEqnNcGNd8MT4jvJ3j008rcYNr2RLDb9CkU2SV2PR0RWBb7T9mMFgDNudwKnvpUfZrOAXJRw6MSyrld6-7PKQZaSFmcgUv5y/s320/IMG_1248.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He spotted me at between mile 1 and 2!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdz1OzXLq6miLm1UhjCQOKBXqKSsmN8_9kdHThcbdzMfMMRhWlw57BPXk9xRcvGaszzYlDqMZSHB2abb-6Pu5UnzglZy-DSKxQkECdS8TvoPOO5GrayKIj2WbaubMf86543a95YJdRI1P/s1600/IMG_1249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdz1OzXLq6miLm1UhjCQOKBXqKSsmN8_9kdHThcbdzMfMMRhWlw57BPXk9xRcvGaszzYlDqMZSHB2abb-6Pu5UnzglZy-DSKxQkECdS8TvoPOO5GrayKIj2WbaubMf86543a95YJdRI1P/s320/IMG_1249.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The gun went off and so did the runners. One would've thought we were running at 10 at night by the glow of the streetlights in the murky sky and 60 degree weather. The crowd of runners overwhelmed the street course causing me to hop on the sidewalk and dodge the fire hydrants that popped up in my way. The incline of the course was steady and neverending and I felt as if I was exerting twice the amount of energy to only go half the distance. Honestly, by mile 4, my legs wanted to call it quits. Mind over matter. I was running an 8 minute pace for the first half, so while my body felt weary my mental strength kept me going. There were some downhills as well, but I spent the majority of my race praying for a plateau in the course. The course was challenging, paved with some streets that reminded me of New Orleans and others that reminded me of Nashville. I realized that I enjoy the parts of courses that are through neighborhoods- I think it just calms me. Perhaps it reminds me of home on my journey around the country. I kept telling myself to not focus on my time and the finish line finally arrived an 1:46:19 later. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Compared to Florida, I felt physically weak. But while I so badly wanted to beat my 1:44:50 I ran in Florida, I was satisfied with my 1:30 slower time because I gave it my all and that's all I really can do. By the time I hit mile 9, I honestly didn't think I'd be finishing anywhere near running an 8:06 pace per mile. Post-race, I hit the shower and attempted amputating my toe. Which was disgusting and painful and I'll spare you the details (for once). And back to the roads with Bob. The road trip ended having clocked 1,450 miles on good ol' Lady Slipper to run 13.1 and 25 hours to run for 2 hours. And no sight of Ludacris. sigh.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks for road tripping & supporting me pops!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Race #2 COMPLETE! 1:46:19</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, St. Louis is up next. I ran the full marathon in 2009 and made it my bitch, so I'm not worried about this one at all. It's a fairly easy course and I'm dragging Daytona (my bestie, not the beach or the car race) out of bed to cheer me on. In fact, I'm attempting to drag all my friends from Mizzou and the book kiddos from Columbia all the way to St. Louis to cheer me on... but mainly so I can see them. (And by drag, I mean, once you guys read this, you should get the memo to be there- got it?) I'm also totally stoked because my #1 blog follower THE Shaina Chechang & Laura Jones (some of my fav book kids from Iowa) are running the race too! Wahoooo! The race is two weeks from tomorrow and this past week, I've already upped my speed for hard training. I've got two people to beat in STL: myself and my ex. Yes, I found out he's running it and his chance of beating me is about the same as his chance of him being a good person. And I'm also pretty sure he reads my blog, so Hi, you're going down. And you still suck. But more importantly, I can't wait to destroy my Florida time with a sub 1:43 time. Fingers crossed, laces tied.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So to quote my debut performance in Sandburg Middle School... Meet me in St. Louieee! (Clearly my acting didn't go far. I'm sticking to running.) Adios muchachos. </span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-56152960312448044352011-03-16T19:42:00.000-07:002011-03-16T19:42:50.008-07:00procrastinator or dumbass?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both. Let's just say that when I checked flights to Atlanta for race #2 three weeks ago, they were a steal of $220 roundtrip. And then let's also say that when I finally decided to try to book my flight a week ago, Priceline, AirTran, Fly.com, Cheaptickets and every other searchable means of flights gave me the dirty look that I give people who smack their lips and flashed a fatty $530 price tag my way. It was Priceline Negotiator vs. Flight Procrastinator...and seeing that I'm the flight procrastinator in this case, I'm also the dumbass.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what does this mean for my travel itinerary this upcoming weekend? ROAD TRIPPP! (No, not with Tom Green. I don't hang out with people who marry Drew Barrymore. Or like her in general.) Instead, I'll be hitting the road with good ol' Bob (my dad, for those of you creepy people who still don't know me but still insist on reading my blog). Within minutes of telling my dad about my flight dilemma, his instant response was "Why don't I just drive ya there?" So let me take this moment to say that, yes it's still early in 2011, but I'm pretty sure the Academy's votes are in already for Parents of the Year and it goes to Bob & Mary E. Honestly, whose parents would drive 25 hours roundtrip through the night to watch their daughter run for less than two hours? Mine. Now that I think of it, maybe they're on drugs...Which might also explain why each wall of our basement is painted a different neon color... (okay, that was my doing in middle school. Sorry mom & dad for making your house look like a Pink Flloyd/Lisa Frank lovefest). Okay, I'm kidding about the drugs...I think. But Mary E and Bob do it because they're the best. And awesome. And so selflessly loving and supportive. Seriously, I can't believe you're actually doing this for me daddio.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when you look at it as 25 hours to run for less than 2, it sounds like a really fucking stupid idea. But, when you think of it as the big picture and "doing absolutely whatever it takes to achieve a year-long goal", it sounds a lot better. So I'll go with the latter. Plus, road tripping with Bob is going to be hilarious. Minus when he tries to get me to listen to old man music. I'm currently trying to convince him we should take his Miata and enjoy the 80 degree Hotlanta weather this weekend with the topdown (So I can pick up hot hitchhikers with my hair blowing in the wind, obviously). But for now, it looks like Lady Slipper will be paving the mountain roads. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Runs this week have been awesome, so I'm super excited for race #2. (With the exception that I think I sweat out an entire case of Bud Light on my long run thanks to my apocalyptic celebration of St. Patty's Day in Chicago this weekend. Good decisions as always.) But that aside, I'm not focusing on time, I'm just going to run as fast as I possibly can, just like Florida. And then I'm going to search for Ludacris, since I'll be on his stomping grounds.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I wrap this post up I've gotta say Happy (early) Birthday Kel-Dawg. Yes, it's true I planned a race on my best friend's birthday and won't be there to celebrate, so the least I can do is give a shout out on my blog to my 14 followers...even though you aren't one of them I know you read this haha. But seriously, I'm sorry. But you're 23. And old. Come Sunday, we'll both be feelin' like MJ in his early days.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgptbxRdVAtsMTlupm15hnMWxS-RXOlWL0f49KS1TFjZa7jsRA_MUDixNrqOe7duPVAYrwFPZZ6q20lJhKyekbCPO56lTfU_eaDnW1uMQyf5cRgkr59X9XEUshbuYiu0JYL5HGvZE5wab70/s1600/IMG_0965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgptbxRdVAtsMTlupm15hnMWxS-RXOlWL0f49KS1TFjZa7jsRA_MUDixNrqOe7duPVAYrwFPZZ6q20lJhKyekbCPO56lTfU_eaDnW1uMQyf5cRgkr59X9XEUshbuYiu0JYL5HGvZE5wab70/s320/IMG_0965.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love you birthday girl- CHEERS!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alright, pictures & posting to come after I destroy Atlanta! We'll chat then.</span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-33640183007377577302011-03-06T19:57:00.000-08:002011-03-06T19:57:45.414-08:00the uncomfortable comfort blanket.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After my novel of a post from last week, I truly had no intention of blogging today. But unpredictable me is throwing a curveball at you after a 15-mile thought on my run today. It's typically on my long runs outside on Sundays that my mind gets racing as well. And today was no different. In fact, my thoughts on today's run were so provoking that they even caused me to pause my iPod for the majority of my run, inevitably shutting up Rihanna from sharing her excitement towards chains and whips. (Sorry, Barbados babe). And thus, causing me to share with you. (Again, the narcissism is kicking in, assuming you care).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I realized running is my uncomfortable comfort blanket. Yes, I also realized that's an oxymoron...but I'll get to that. As a kid, my "comfort blanket" was sucking my thumb. (Thank God I didn't come out a raccoon, I don't know what I would've done without that wonderful opposable digit... Not to mention Mary E probably would've been pissed if I came out a raccoon). I thankfully outgrew that comfort blanket. But since I was 12 and started running, I have yet to outgrow this one. Running has always been my release. As cliche as it sounds, it has always made me feel free. My mind wanders; my emotions ease; and the road ahead is always welcoming to the pitter-patter of my sweet kicks (</span><a href="http://talk.brooksrunning.com/2010/11/02/brooks-adrenaline-gts-11-wins-runners-worlds-best-update-award/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brooks Adrenaline, my fav. shoe</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, in case you've forgotten). It calms me; it excites me; it makes me feel good. Probably about as good as the woman from Northwestern's scandal of a sexual demonstration felt. Kidding. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But at times, today being one of those times, my verb of a comfort blanket becomes uncomfortable. Because running can be so challenging at times and take me well out of my comfort zone physically...and mentally. Today was a mental feud for me, at least before my run. I'm two weeks from race #2 in Atlanta and I found myself telling my friends and family that my confidence that I'll do well and run fast is dwindling. I've been battling a nasty sinus infection for about a week now. It's me vs. mucus. And shit's getting real. Thus, affecting my breathing on runs and creating a bit of a handicap in my mind. And then I focused on how I hadn't run more than 11 consecutive miles since my last race. And then I nauseated myself with the idea that Mary E, or anyone for that matter, will not be at my next race and I'll have to really plan ahead with the minor details such as, "who will I give my bag of crap to right before race time? Or who will I look for in the crowds of fans when I'm losing motivation at mile 9?" These thoughts coupled together sent me in a turmoil of anxiety. And Xanax ain't the answer. (Ain't? Who am I? Gross.) So what do I turn to when I'm feeling anxiety? My comfort blanket: running. Which is coincidentally what was causing my anxiety in the first place. (Don't worry, not once did falling back on sucking my thumb cross my mind. Small children who do that also watch The Wiggles. And I fucking hate those frolicking, singing men.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the beauty of a comfort blanket is that it's always there until YOU DECIDE you've outgrown it. So I hit the pavement running in true fashion (fashion meaning, routine in this instance, not my sexy spandex) in hopes of releasing my tension and regaining my mental strength for my races to come. And sure enough, my comfort blanket didn't let me down. I ran a solid 15 miler in the muck-residue from the Chicago snowfall yesterday at an 8:20 pace and felt great. (Sinus infection aside. I still currently hate my nose and ears. Damn you senses). This run reminded me of why I'm taking on this adventure. (And it led to this post, so clearly it was good since it's providing you with reading material on this fine Sunday evening.) As I passed fellow runners on the prairie path, I also humorously realized just how comfortable runners get within the realm of the sport. (i.e. runners, like myself, think it's entirely normal for male runners to wear short, tight shorts that showcase their junk). But yet, when I see a bronzed beach bum doing the same in a speedo number, I want to vomit. (Sorry dad for talking about "male junk". Don't worry, I'm still your "little girl".) Alas, the virtue and power of the comfort we weirdos find in running.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this post was a bit off-beat and rant-ish... but that's my style. (And I like to think I have good style. Minus the spandex.) But the point is, you can only find comfort in things if you decide to. No matter how comfortable your blanket (or person, or teddy bear or ice cream flavor) may be, if you focus on how itchy and old it is, rather than reveling in the positivity it brings you, you've consciously made the decision to lose the battle of overcoming uncomfortable, sucky situations. You've focused on the negatives (sometimes of even the most comforting things in your life) and used those as excuses to keep you from your goals. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So with that, I've got no excuses for Atlanta. It's gonna be sweet like Georgia peaches. Talk to ya in two weeks! </span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-26575569999404974332011-02-27T15:37:00.000-08:002011-02-27T16:02:20.849-08:00#1: Jacksonville Beach, FL: "I feel happy. I feel healthy. I feel terrific!"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So apparently I'm fast at running and slow at blogging. Yes, it's been two weeks since my first race and I have yet to post. My only excuse is, Lady Gaga was a vision as an egg at the Grammy's, causing me much distraction post-race and last weekend I jet-setted to Vegas for the week for work. Thus, my blog suffered and my apologies go out to my main girl Shaina Chechang, who is officially my accountability buddy to make sure I post.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">SO, the </span><a href="http://www.breastcancermarathon.com/index.php"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">26.2 with Donna Half Marathon</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> in Jacksonville Beach, FL was so good to me. Before I get to the exciting news, I'll give you a quick run-down of how the weekend went...and by quick, I mean, quick for a long-winded person so it won't actually be quick. Mary E and I arrived around 11am the day before the race and headed to our classy pad for the weekend, the Best Western. (But really, it was classy for a Best Western. It was practically a 5-star compared to the one in Morton Grove, IL circa Fall 2010... Daytona Barker and Will Metscher can vouch for that.) At this point, I've already realized my $5,000 budget for this 13 half marathon excursion is not going to last me seeing that the cab from the airport was $50. Minor detail. I'm sure I can jingle some extra cash from my piggy bank...or the ATM.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXFSY_L_QBhGTHfAigM7Mqp9jmjlfqaT9EtswRNZ-yZ6ho3gjOK1IRMepqY7QYXtyAcoFE5yNOdbwdpul6V3WGnvjTuODo5WQSNfrxidQLuj-Lq9TON-rWlKjgE5bqDDyBhCiyCWIaTu2/s1600/IMG_1153+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXFSY_L_QBhGTHfAigM7Mqp9jmjlfqaT9EtswRNZ-yZ6ho3gjOK1IRMepqY7QYXtyAcoFE5yNOdbwdpul6V3WGnvjTuODo5WQSNfrxidQLuj-Lq9TON-rWlKjgE5bqDDyBhCiyCWIaTu2/s320/IMG_1153+1.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Arriving at the Jacksonville airport. 1 Day to go!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyways, from there we were off to the EXPO to pick up my race packet. Our cab driver, Bruce, became a dear friend of mine and Mary E's for the weekend. Minus the fact that his jamaican accent be jamaican' us crazy as we didn't know half the shit he was saying. But good ol' Brucey got us there. Walking into the expo was like walking into a Polly Pocket with the amount of Breast Cancer pink plastered everywhere. But it was amazing. Mary E and I spent a good 2-3 hours walking the floor as I drooled over obnoxious quantities of running gear ranging from bracelets that "keep you in balance" to energy jelly beans. Mary E did surprise me with a Valentine's day gift of Fut Gloves...yes, these are actually running shoes:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9rp9Bq8LCpBs4ryrkJywelOf6WWN6Rd9qITivYRrJlJ22ctYozIKeAkHyP0QgPI07wVkNjnF09L95hyphenhyphenWKg0IsJ8RY-3L19I7y85hPtisTlkEQWzTyqe5WcWmVZToyS3DTH18KbbxsFlK/s1600/IMG_1166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9rp9Bq8LCpBs4ryrkJywelOf6WWN6Rd9qITivYRrJlJ22ctYozIKeAkHyP0QgPI07wVkNjnF09L95hyphenhyphenWKg0IsJ8RY-3L19I7y85hPtisTlkEQWzTyqe5WcWmVZToyS3DTH18KbbxsFlK/s320/IMG_1166.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My new "frog feet" in my fav. colors!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They're like running barefoot, but with soles. They're meant to strengthen your feet and calves and I love them. Don't judge me on the colors- they're obnoxious, but so are frog feet shoes anyways. Go big or go home, right? Here are some other pics from the Expo. (Note my clever placement of pics to break up my paragraphs, thus making this post seem shorter so you continue to read. Muaha, I fooled you.)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaJcI3q6LOgsWTd_5gnMMfeaD3a3TA4U3eDHyNTEs3HRrMO-Thmhqk8BO0SN1x0Jz627h6mNgG8-gIuks_4cZWXo5rskeEEBHzMQ5m62hyphenhyphenrkB2WTdUJ-FeNkB3EPtjeLEQbIee9bdryAL/s1600/IMG_1157+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaJcI3q6LOgsWTd_5gnMMfeaD3a3TA4U3eDHyNTEs3HRrMO-Thmhqk8BO0SN1x0Jz627h6mNgG8-gIuks_4cZWXo5rskeEEBHzMQ5m62hyphenhyphenrkB2WTdUJ-FeNkB3EPtjeLEQbIee9bdryAL/s320/IMG_1157+1.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Awesome medal display I'll need to hang my hardware after this adventure is complete</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyf-V2Hc_vLKA5Y328gl80Gz2P45oo8s6ybIGzxBxjYueHhIx88Hz4RrbHtNGwm-ydjhCWRnIo1OqEyXqNS4KOoHnsj9LnHTM06ExzXfay1Id9yFltqI7jUW-hz4nkO34uMAD2fvPMYGNz/s1600/IMG_1162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyf-V2Hc_vLKA5Y328gl80Gz2P45oo8s6ybIGzxBxjYueHhIx88Hz4RrbHtNGwm-ydjhCWRnIo1OqEyXqNS4KOoHnsj9LnHTM06ExzXfay1Id9yFltqI7jUW-hz4nkO34uMAD2fvPMYGNz/s320/IMG_1162.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We signed the board :)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9xKH7ypH1e1xwP_m5qlWtt0vkorN4C_H7YaMND0kjiMrM2EzFMoFVkoGrBevFKYEeT0eVuoafMB_AOtYlUn-PMtEszhTFhukeV6YEQqQ1q4t-euocWc7vOm_QCRpxz0QYMzjgnt7sf99/s1600/IMG_1158+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9xKH7ypH1e1xwP_m5qlWtt0vkorN4C_H7YaMND0kjiMrM2EzFMoFVkoGrBevFKYEeT0eVuoafMB_AOtYlUn-PMtEszhTFhukeV6YEQqQ1q4t-euocWc7vOm_QCRpxz0QYMzjgnt7sf99/s320/IMG_1158+1.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Signing the board why I'm running- they had these set up all along the course as motivation- so cool.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwOP6WE2nhNcgRL_JDL6pXDLEKmfAstpjS65wwErP9zacaGkr_Zijp1cuNwQYRrPnwnYuuhxUjOOez5NhjzKszA6d2rJ4w-6NffUCGdCNYjJ98Ez1NWi4IlDSVB6IAOlEE2gsPyRZHLzi/s1600/IMG_1159+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwOP6WE2nhNcgRL_JDL6pXDLEKmfAstpjS65wwErP9zacaGkr_Zijp1cuNwQYRrPnwnYuuhxUjOOez5NhjzKszA6d2rJ4w-6NffUCGdCNYjJ98Ez1NWi4IlDSVB6IAOlEE2gsPyRZHLzi/s320/IMG_1159+1.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For my aunts.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1iHhceAJOqxpScKpNt6T4ZdyU1-2oiBG1WAF6l2eywuPO3AnAe8hwS9XphWf9PtrdDueWHRlWWACDCrRfhfTLJh_olvjVhZoKSl6gVZ8-k55yBfp4ntveATUl8vTyHcP2TJZktLg5QSlq/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1iHhceAJOqxpScKpNt6T4ZdyU1-2oiBG1WAF6l2eywuPO3AnAe8hwS9XphWf9PtrdDueWHRlWWACDCrRfhfTLJh_olvjVhZoKSl6gVZ8-k55yBfp4ntveATUl8vTyHcP2TJZktLg5QSlq/s320/IMG_1156.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Expo madness</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59Ftym6rRa1_prXEczCWETEl0XVD7HfGQTHuARpl5aoTfY0VEEeVn5HuQWIjqK59IxBl0wGZC4mS8oasxDr6KxFEyr3MDTU1a9_Al9QXBT0f3Ruc6KBN4FWnCrba2Jy06X9NDHj6_yRNE/s1600/jacksonville1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59Ftym6rRa1_prXEczCWETEl0XVD7HfGQTHuARpl5aoTfY0VEEeVn5HuQWIjqK59IxBl0wGZC4mS8oasxDr6KxFEyr3MDTU1a9_Al9QXBT0f3Ruc6KBN4FWnCrba2Jy06X9NDHj6_yRNE/s320/jacksonville1.jpg" width="209" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I showed my boss this picture, she knew exactly where I got my looks from :)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW4mpzpiD1DGimwIFx6Xj8PMj3L0EeFbEcVr3nDY5BfaPelqJXss8LBTZ7EYwjfNIBrxnAWXwfM8mCJGjP2TyGubWBqY6NZCdURmwA2YqaRQaPfJ42jS69Dt25RjmdO_ed_AVpQ6KA9np/s1600/jacksonville2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaW4mpzpiD1DGimwIFx6Xj8PMj3L0EeFbEcVr3nDY5BfaPelqJXss8LBTZ7EYwjfNIBrxnAWXwfM8mCJGjP2TyGubWBqY6NZCdURmwA2YqaRQaPfJ42jS69Dt25RjmdO_ed_AVpQ6KA9np/s320/jacksonville2.jpg" width="208" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best fan. My rock. My Mom. Thanks for coming with me!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Post-expo and bag of goodies, we strolled the streets of Jacksonville. Admittedly, if I didn't commit to starting and finishing at the same race a year later, I can't say I'd return to that "city". It was weird. and empty. and hobo-ish. (Note: on race day, we saw a much more civilized part of Jacksonville which warmed me up slightly to the idea of returning there). The rest of the day consisted of carbo-loading, stretching and passing out at a 3 year old's bedtime. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5AM my alarm sounds and I'm up and at it, ready to run this bad boy. (Bad boy=the race, if you didn't catch my drift). Stretch, hydrate, half of a Clif Bar, and out to parking lot to wait for the shuttle bus at 5:45. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bU4UmlY-QH-pRfGLsfvFwmbrW65_Yq2GztGulRMc0IeJNlcRGfhvR1pHDucuGDhdiomNL71Z5bg-lGGQP0Wyax0coHkNMRXmElNjGrcG0wqftK6HOJ2GcuXELkzEyjlWc3JG9Z7eGBgK/s1600/IMG_1169+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bU4UmlY-QH-pRfGLsfvFwmbrW65_Yq2GztGulRMc0IeJNlcRGfhvR1pHDucuGDhdiomNL71Z5bg-lGGQP0Wyax0coHkNMRXmElNjGrcG0wqftK6HOJ2GcuXELkzEyjlWc3JG9Z7eGBgK/s320/IMG_1169+1.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Running stick= my best friend.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVC_rL1RkXSjpFKH7WsTI_FxsWO2_NAilqJZaiayzpbq04oEr6zH9oHOAZMHAhuRWql87VmeIutGISFE3Hdgxw06fsPtdW1LwGVzzlH8dk7SQiGpZ4DzzdVXvLQbsXD_ZQZbfisnFpJSL/s1600/IMG_1171+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVC_rL1RkXSjpFKH7WsTI_FxsWO2_NAilqJZaiayzpbq04oEr6zH9oHOAZMHAhuRWql87VmeIutGISFE3Hdgxw06fsPtdW1LwGVzzlH8dk7SQiGpZ4DzzdVXvLQbsXD_ZQZbfisnFpJSL/s320/IMG_1171+1.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't wear 5AM too well. woof.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm sure you're assuming that it's warm in FL, seeing that I assumed the same thing. Well you know that saying, assume makes an "ass" out of both "u" and "me"? Well, Mother Nature made an ass out of me greeting me with 32 degree weather as I sported my spandex shorts. Mary E and I stood in a line of easily 400 people until 7:05 AM! (Mind you, the race started at 7:30. If Mary E wasn't there to keep me calm, I would've started stressing like Lindsey Lohan in court). The shuttle service was whacked up, but luckily we made friends with a running clan in front of us. This one lady was running her 110th marathon and was absolutely hilarious. She also knows the man who holds the world record for running the most marathons in 1 year: 107 marathons. That's more than 2 per week. Gawk. At that, I felt like a dog with my tail tucked between my legs (much like Sassy) as I thought my 13 half marathons in 13 months was impressive. Whatever, at least I'll still have functional knees when I'm 50 unlike that dude.</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The shuttle got us to the line at 7:20, just enough time for me to strip down to shorts, squat in a luxurious port-a-potty and hit play on my iPod. No stretching. No warm-up jog. No way I could get to the proper pace group behind the start line. The gun went off and within moments I realized that there is only one bad thing about races with a good cause: a shit-load of walkers. And I was behind them. I spent my first mile running more laterally than forward, chasing this lil' munchkin of a woman who seemed to be doing the same to break-free from the power walkers of America. Checking my watch after the first mile pushed me to run fast the second mile, as my pace was very turtle-like among the walkers. From there, I told myself I wouldn't concentrate on the time- I just enjoyed the scenery, bobbed my head to Lil' Weezy and got into a good groove. The course was pretty awesome- downhill to begin and then through a little beach village of houses and countless supporters.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmpMRRtEoUmnuCSJ6XDY5DXNe5xBtI8KJoNqxwYWJjE61QIdpMk9arJWmqy7HP2C2cRZSxOGBOH-eKV1jWpPpiv56_4pT8pwvoCRf_XwQDSFp8KNDES83tDE4JrraMCnvC-3NwotCazP1/s1600/IMG_1173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmpMRRtEoUmnuCSJ6XDY5DXNe5xBtI8KJoNqxwYWJjE61QIdpMk9arJWmqy7HP2C2cRZSxOGBOH-eKV1jWpPpiv56_4pT8pwvoCRf_XwQDSFp8KNDES83tDE4JrraMCnvC-3NwotCazP1/s320/IMG_1173.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Photography compliments of Mary E, noted photographer.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichwFhsqoS4nPfAkxxjPi3R5un7UoUwQzHCoghze1zWVrmrYdNlKIPdJRDEHmP1niWszs4vDPAzAO8AQyfka3ffgREAK2iKMPOdhyCQ8Aip3BPE8CkSFmuxSJ7i-DFmENvSyZFHJUI9vbl/s1600/IMG_1174+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichwFhsqoS4nPfAkxxjPi3R5un7UoUwQzHCoghze1zWVrmrYdNlKIPdJRDEHmP1niWszs4vDPAzAO8AQyfka3ffgREAK2iKMPOdhyCQ8Aip3BPE8CkSFmuxSJ7i-DFmENvSyZFHJUI9vbl/s320/IMG_1174+1.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I played Where's Waldo looking for Mary E in the crowds. (I knew her blue coat would stick out in the pool of pink pride). When Where's Waldo failed, I played I Spy. Still no luck...Mary E is a sneaky one. Come mile 5, no sight of momma so I quickly glanced at my watch: 39:38...just under an 8 min. mile pace. Although I felt great, I immediately thought I'd burn out. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the next and refocused my attention on the course and Ke$ha jams. Miles 5-7 took place on the beach. Let me just say, the snow in Chicago was no resistance compared to the sand that pushed back with every stride I took. But the scenery was beautiful, endless ocean just meters away. I excitedly waved to a Mary E look-alike only to find out as I actually passed her that it was in fact, a non-Mary E lookalike who just sported the same colored apparel as momma. Whoops. Off the beach and I just kept truckin' like a Ford (maybe a Chevy). I was practically smiling the entire way, enjoying the run. I felt strong, and I found myself saying "I feel happy, I feel healthy, I feel terrific!" repeatedly. (Book sellers of America know how helpful that positive affirmation is. Ew, I just ended that sentence with a preposition). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward to mile 9 and my strength starts to slightly wither. My stomach was hungry and my legs began to get a wee bit sore. One foot in front of the other, do what you know you can do, Jenna. And then came the dreaded Mile 11. Remember how I mentioned the course was awesome and slightly downhill? Well remember that old saying, what goes up must come down? That saying works vice versa. So Mile 11 decided to be a nasty bitch: entirely uphill, up a highway ramp, which inevitably attracted no cheerers. A quick glance at my watch had me shocked: 80 min. at the start of mile 11. Still holding my 8 min. pace. What? How could this be? I've been training on a treadmill. I've never run this fast before.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me remind you from my last post, I said I would not focus on time for my first two races; I just said I'd be under 2 hours. What I didn't mention was that my goal (which I think I had only told to my ex back in December) for the entire YEAR of races was to eventually get down to 1h45min...which is an 8 min. per mile pace. So needless to say, seeing that I was 2.1 miles short of hitting my goal time for the entire year, became an exciting/petrifying reality. I honestly struggled mile 11. My legs burned; I was surrounded by very few runners, lacking the synergy of running with a pack; not a supporter in sight; the hill was endless. Momentarily, I thought "I can just slow down and end up running an 8:10-15 pace, that's fine." And then my two years of book-selling kicked me in the ass with a haunting yet motivational reminder of "it's not how you start, it's how you finish". And I recalled how when the summer of knocking on strangers' doors seemed to last a century, I just took it day-by-day, goal period-by-goal period. So I took that mile stride-by-stride. I picked one person and chased them down. I picked a man in a pink tutu (hey, it was a breast cancer run, but still, there's no way a man in ballerina drab was going to beat me) and chased him down. I repeated my positive affirmations and made it to the top of the hill to find the 12th mile marker. From there, it was all downhill- literally. I took off, telling myself not to look at my watch. I didn't care what my time was at this point, all I knew was that I had to run as fast as I possibly could. Mile 12 was a blur of cheerleaders and empty Gatorade cups lining the ground. And the finish line was in sight: faster, stronger, sprinting across the line, hitting my watch. I looked to see a 1:44:56 and threw up everywhere. (I should warn you that any runner is always graphically inappropriate about bodily functions, sorry. But I'm not really that sorry). I literally ran so hard I puked (this happened after my first full marathon in St. Louis in 2009). A sweet lady called for a wheelchair moments before I put my head back up after spewing everywhere and told her I was fine and walked off to collect my medal and search for the missing Mary E.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it hit me. I beat my goal time. I ran the fastest I've ever run in my life. In not concentrating on the time and just enjoying the run, I did what I believed was impossible...or at least until late 2011. Finding Mary E in the crowd, I beamed with excitement. I wrapped myself in a really sexy foil coat (it keeps your body heat in...and yes at this point it was a whopping 37 degrees at 9:30AM), collected free food and found out my official chip time was 1:44:50. BOOM BABY. 4th in my age division of "Females 20-24" out of about 200 in the group. I am absolutely thrilled. Like seriously. I couldn't be happier with my first race. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqH2BFkrF890DRuSd2FCsjib-rhSZiB-aFGo3Bci0_bJiS3bXzMj3X8jvXYdVOo_6TEB_qZEy5tFprRqQLI7iUB8n08tzQ_m_XxVsZKXZRe9UMEkGaMMCV8ZyHmyZlVVyWqOPb7TlaIlge/s1600/IMG_1179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqH2BFkrF890DRuSd2FCsjib-rhSZiB-aFGo3Bci0_bJiS3bXzMj3X8jvXYdVOo_6TEB_qZEy5tFprRqQLI7iUB8n08tzQ_m_XxVsZKXZRe9UMEkGaMMCV8ZyHmyZlVVyWqOPb7TlaIlge/s320/IMG_1179.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Post race holding my "who I'm running for" signs</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8BpN8dYt8kd6oP06Jx9_fu4gQRXUj4J2Z1ewjIPBELHt3O86vYzpmj3S2wf6eFom2FXThzH7xmPpoO6TZ77MsqefMFFyTtl3_tgUyDwNAKPH5RKKgxEKn6a0Urkh1KvDbOcL0vA8RJKaO/s1600/IMG_1180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8BpN8dYt8kd6oP06Jx9_fu4gQRXUj4J2Z1ewjIPBELHt3O86vYzpmj3S2wf6eFom2FXThzH7xmPpoO6TZ77MsqefMFFyTtl3_tgUyDwNAKPH5RKKgxEKn6a0Urkh1KvDbOcL0vA8RJKaO/s320/IMG_1180.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Told ya my foil coat was sexy. Free muffins...nom nom nom.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSvEzHy2ZnyqQWzvSCacUetSR9KHkggP0xlMKF6_hrIfCIm9-ld5woB2Hlx4v3GYKiRU5Q1swAo8vWKugCc5-g8QJ4DfWS3w0OpUkQs8jhBER7cyTTnZLccAM8r_Vn7_xPzPvmhvPTSZy/s1600/IMG_1181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSvEzHy2ZnyqQWzvSCacUetSR9KHkggP0xlMKF6_hrIfCIm9-ld5woB2Hlx4v3GYKiRU5Q1swAo8vWKugCc5-g8QJ4DfWS3w0OpUkQs8jhBER7cyTTnZLccAM8r_Vn7_xPzPvmhvPTSZy/s320/IMG_1181.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Concert post-race</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIt2EBf_2AI9GdJNVtDeaVvuSHrKRTHxsgpAa-z2XLt7cdeGyQlN6yU5_xqlArmaGo4j3MGIecy3pDlANxco_G60xHax-t9n2nKeZaWOkPUKxjS22EsZlq1nX9OoAYGlnh7uJR2Ka26g0/s1600/IMG_1182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIt2EBf_2AI9GdJNVtDeaVvuSHrKRTHxsgpAa-z2XLt7cdeGyQlN6yU5_xqlArmaGo4j3MGIecy3pDlANxco_G60xHax-t9n2nKeZaWOkPUKxjS22EsZlq1nX9OoAYGlnh7uJR2Ka26g0/s320/IMG_1182.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love you both.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aaB6epBLl6l91N57PoEFfXjP0PNAL9DGO0eG5ZidlbmdAZOcHNe3eQ0AkZdmB8ktm6SweqQ1OeK_36hp5C2ES3gH8NiZbdJJcMoxs1hhT8wewzXiVwH5hLXE-8P-Wcud6oh6Ead2iiEm/s1600/IMG_1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aaB6epBLl6l91N57PoEFfXjP0PNAL9DGO0eG5ZidlbmdAZOcHNe3eQ0AkZdmB8ktm6SweqQ1OeK_36hp5C2ES3gH8NiZbdJJcMoxs1hhT8wewzXiVwH5hLXE-8P-Wcud6oh6Ead2iiEm/s320/IMG_1183.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Uh, don't mind my sweat. or my hair.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IfDSrnfHZqFEcYOPYfSCRLOQl38EAW-HaKT9D7YsUI-apKKPG_yl4yv_NmbjOb-jwSURNUgoptqG7Lkb9azyflwbq_fE_5JtBjIYy9XWoQWP_uZ_G6UqfIS61AX9sn9WgPPoaSkElag8/s1600/IMG_1184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IfDSrnfHZqFEcYOPYfSCRLOQl38EAW-HaKT9D7YsUI-apKKPG_yl4yv_NmbjOb-jwSURNUgoptqG7Lkb9azyflwbq_fE_5JtBjIYy9XWoQWP_uZ_G6UqfIS61AX9sn9WgPPoaSkElag8/s320/IMG_1184.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Running with the ribbon.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI67KcarXFgt1PRDMQT39-u5AAowqMwUeDQihOdH5qTbyf5fhFzT-_ndT-FlpmlUVxZy7ZuxJrLhWWhyzKjSEIyHWL5-qmhxjyxO0qwI9OCyYwDuxPLMBBPh2YKcnq87FdapB9vODxypws/s1600/IMG_1185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI67KcarXFgt1PRDMQT39-u5AAowqMwUeDQihOdH5qTbyf5fhFzT-_ndT-FlpmlUVxZy7ZuxJrLhWWhyzKjSEIyHWL5-qmhxjyxO0qwI9OCyYwDuxPLMBBPh2YKcnq87FdapB9vODxypws/s320/IMG_1185.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary E likes to call this one "Celebrating success". Beer & lunch post-race!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That being said, I am downright scared for the next 12. I'm scared of what I can actually accomplish, now that I have to completely reset my goals. Granted, I know all races won't go as well and perhaps I won't run as fast on some of them, but now I just think to myself, "How fast can I get?" (Let me add the footnote for all you non-runners that 8 min. mile pace is not THAT fast. I'm by no means going to be the next Jesse Owens, BUT it was a fast pace for ME and my goals and that's all that matters). I can't compare to other runners, I can only challenge myself. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, 3 weeks away from race #2 in Atlanta, I'm prepping to challenge myself. (Well, currently I'm fighting a wicked sinus infection which is cramping my training but that's just rubbish). I'll hopefully post one more time before Hotlanta (I'm sure Shaina will get on my case about it :)). Maybe after race #2 I'll have to change my blog name to a makeshift Jimmy John's slogan, like "Jimmy Jenna's" cuz I'll be so fast you'll freak. Yupp, my jokes still suck. Okay, I'm done. Adios friends.</span></div><div><br />
</div>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-58723578552034131462011-02-07T19:50:00.000-08:002011-02-07T19:50:49.300-08:00ants in my spandex.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...Because I don't run in pants and my excitement for my first race this weekend is pulling a NASA and is outta dis world. Even though I've been training now for 6 weeks it hasn't felt like I've started this journey- but it finally starts this weekend! wahoooo! Andddd it's 65 degrees & sunny in Florida according to the meteorologist man. Seriously, running anywhere but this midwest make-shift Alaska will be great. I honestly felt like Bambi on ice on my 11 miler this past Saturday. And when I got to the "Welcome to Lombard" sign on the prairie path, it might as well have said "Lombard welcomes you with 3 foot snow drifts. Turn around now, dumbass". So I did. If you're wondering if this Charlie Sheen dream of having white powder cover every inch of running ground this past week has affected my training, it has. I missed a day of training thanks to the fact that I couldn't decide if running in shoes or boots would be more effective. But not to worry my kiddies (and adult-ies?), my motivation has not suffered.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fact, it was highlighted on my run today. After working late and sitting in traffic for almost two hours, I thought my run was headed in the direction of my relationship with my first boyfriend in 6th grade: Short and pathetic. Why did I think it would resemble this? Well, for starters, I forgot socks. Woof. And then I forgot bobby pins. So by the time I actually hopped on the treadmill, I was bitter about missing the live showing of The Bachelor and resembling a short-haired version of Cousin It (with a touch of Little Rascal's Alfalfa, noted in the ridiculously high pony tail I was sporting). And then I realize my iPod is more like iHateYouBecauseMyBatteryIsDead. Needless to say, it wasn't an ideal start to my run. But this isn't the first time I've run pissed off (need I remind you of my lousy ex?) and looking like a nappy headed fool. So I pumped up the speed and flew through a nice 6 miles- 4 of them averaging a 7:30 pace, bookended by a warm up and cool down. And it felt awesome. So am I ready/totally stoked/cant wait for this weekend? Fluff yes. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here's the deal: I've got goals, because well, how else do you measure success? But seeing that I don't want to burn out in month #1 of 13 and that I've again been restricted to the monotonous motion of a treadmill, I'm not focused on time for the first two half marathons. I will say that I will fa sho be under 2 hours. If I'm not, don't talk to me Monday. (this is your warning). But I have full faith I will be, seeing that that's slightly over a 9 minute pace (totally doable) and my first half of a FULL marathon was run in 1:52. Cocky? Nah, confident. I'm confident in the training I've accomplished, the motivation in my mind and the passion in my heart. (That was so MLK of me... in honor of Black History Month, of course.)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'll keep this one slightly shorter and sweeter, and when I post next, I'll be 1/13 closer to achieving my goal. Jacksonville Beach, get ready for me! (And Mary E., she's coming too remember.)</span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-26977449254233646892011-01-31T20:22:00.000-08:002011-01-31T20:22:23.422-08:00Pulling a switcheroo. 13 days to go.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a while, I know. So prepare for a long one. (Whatever, you're snowed in anyways so make some hot cocoa, hibernate like a bear and read this shit). But all that you've missed is 5 weeks of training involving long runs, speed work, fartleks (it's a runners' thing) and many runs on treadmills resulting in an accidental whack of the "emergency stop" button (almost resulting in an embarrassing face plant that could've inevitably knocked out my precious chicklet teeth). Luckily, the latter was not the result and my pearly whites are intact. Anyways, I've really just been up to training so I don't find a weekly post necessary, because I'll even admit, my jokes get old. har har har. But for the most part, my training's gone great. I'm hitting the times I want and running a lot of mileage 4 days a week. I plan on posting my training schedule in the near future, but I mainly haven't because many of my runs have taken place on a treadmill...which I hate. Why? Because when I wake up and when I get home from work, Chicago's winter is as dark as Natalie Portman's eye make up in Black Swan. And I'm not really afraid of the dark, but I am afraid of the snakes that hide in the dark. Okay, really that's not my logic but it's just not safe and as momma always said, safety first, Jenna Lynn. However, I have considered getting some reflective running gear. But when I consider it, I have this embarrassing flashback to my elementary school days of sporting a neon orange belt as a safety patrol--ya know, to make sure them kiddies don't run on the sidewalk. And then I immediately think the reflective gear can wait.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So the treadmill it's been for about 80% of my runs. But that makes me run that much harder on the weekends when I get the pleasure of running outside- it's the greatest feeling. Yesterday ended my 5th week of training and I clocked 16 miles at an 8:55 pace. It felt fairly slow and gradual but it's reassuring that my legs could handle the resistance of the snow having had 0 resistance on the old t-mill and it didn't really wear me out. So, I'm satisfied with it considering my face was numb from the cold and the face plant that I referred to earlier actually happened--except this time on the ice. Whatta bitch. Yet again, my chicklet teeth survived and at least now I can give myself a badass name like Ice Box from the Little Giants.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Training aside, a decent amount has changed since I last posted. First and foremost, my excitement of reuniting with my bestie on a monthly basis ended when she realized how much scrilla (mom- scrilla is a ghetto fab word for money, FYI. And you know I like to get a little ghetto sometimes) getting to/from/staying at races would be needed to fund this ambition. She probably realized that she could buy a decent, used car for the same amount. But it's totally fine with me because I'd rather run than deal with a sketchy used car salesman. BUT, Anna will be joining me on some of the more local races, so it's all good in the hood (I guess I'm feeling pretty ghetto on this Monday eve.) And, I'm slowly recruiting others for some of my other races so it'll be tiiiiiightt. Secondly, MY FIRST HALF MARATHON HAS CHANGED. Yes, it's true, Danny Tanner will have to continue vacuuming his carpets without me in San Fran. A few reasons brought this change about, but the main one is that there's this awesome seminar at our local library about how to get your book published successfully on Feb. 5th (the day before the San Fran half) and I have to go. (I realize the nerd alert probably just went off, but you already knew that about me since I'm blogging about running 13 half marathons in 13 months.) But for realz, I've had this children's book manuscript collecting digital dust on my computer and I feel this is a perfect chance to embark on another dream of mine- to get it published. In fact, it's a series that I've thought up in my mind but I won't bore you with the details on that. So basically, Bob Saget and Cali have to wait so I can become the next Dr. Seuss. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So where will the white girl version of Carmen Sandiego be headed instead? Jacksonville Beach, FL for a February 13th race. (I actually just realized that it's the first of my 13...on the 13th in 13 months. Woahhhh, tripppyyy. I swear I don't have seances and Voo-Doo dolls). So my first race is in fact postponed by a week. But this race is actually really cool for a few reasons: 1. It's on a beach (and I'm SNOW over this Chicago weather- told ya my jokes got old). and 2. 100% of funds and proceeds go to breast cancer research. And it just so happens that breast cancer runs in my family, so I am running against it. In all seriousness (I know, me serious is like Katy Perry with small boobs), this race will be so amazing and humbling because I'll be running alongside survivors and fighters and in memory of my Aunt Linda, whom this terrible disease took her life, and in honor of my Aunt Elizabeth, who has battled it and survived. And it gets cooler, because even though I registered late and therefore haven't fundraised, this means that I'm finishing at this same race next year and have the entire year to fundraise for the race in 2012. My goal will be $2,620 (a marathon is 26.2 miles). I'll post the site for donations once they open up the 2012 fundraising. But honestly, I couldn't be happier that I've found a purpose to run these 13 races this upcoming year beyond doing it for myself. And THAT will motivate me more than anything.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So on a less mushy-gushy, sobby-wobby note, here's another awesome thang about my Jacksonville Beach half marathon: MARY ELLEN'S JOINING ME :) (that's my mom for those of you who don't know me and are just creepily reading my blog). I couldn't be more thrilled that my #1 fan will be there for my first race. My mom is seriously the bomb.com. (Mom, that's a good thing). So with Mary Ellen's witty inspiration I know she'll say before the race, coupled with a great cause and a beach- it's bound to be a good race. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, I suppose I should start stocking up on a lifetime supply of peanut butter since everyone thinks this snowstorm is the 2011 version of Y2K. I'll fa sho blog next week as I continue to get ants in my pants (even though I prefer no insects getting all up in my goods) as I prepare for race #1 in 13 DAYS! Til then, peace out dawgs. (I promise to return to my actual race and white girl lingo next time. Maybe.)</span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-15690992086603316782011-01-02T16:20:00.001-08:002011-01-02T16:20:57.429-08:00Roommate Runners Reunite & ResolutionsGod I love alliteration. One day into the new year, and I can already tell it's going to be much better than the last. Perhaps it is my somewhat airhead optimism, or maybe it's because the previews for Jersey Shore season 3 look trashier than ever and I can't wait. Or maybe it's because I got a call this past Friday (pre-New Years Eve shenanigans) that made me even more thrilled about running 13 half marathons in 13 months: my bestie and roommate from college, Anna Zapata (aka zappy) was so excited about my new year's goal that she, too wants to do it! Yes, I lived with equally as insane people as I, which is probably why we clicked the second we met each other. Actually, I'll briefly take a jog down memory lane (jog... get it? I blame my mom for my terrible jokes.) and give you a little detail on how Anna and I become inseparable buddies for 4 years...<br />
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I was moving into Cramer Hall (RIP) on some ungodly hot day in August with all the other pencil-sized girls there two weeks prior to classes starting who all had one intention: to rush a sorority. So you can only imagine the high-pitched soundtrack of this event. Anyways, I had to go grab the key to my new crib (aka a 12x12 cement square) from Pershing Hall (I would later find out that Pershing Hall constantly smelled like a septic tank filled with spoiled eggs). While in line, I decided to make small talk with the girl in front of me...Anna Zapata. I can't remember what I asked her, but what I do remember was the second she answered, I became immediately confused by the twangy, twisted language that came out of her mouth. Then, I immediately became socially inept by blurting out, "Where are you <i>from</i>?" in a highly disgusted tone (great way to make friends on a 28,000 person campus when I knew no one). Luckily, the feisty Anna rebutled with a "Dallas...where are <i>you</i> from?"spoken in an equally curious and disgusted manner. Up until then, I was completely naive of my Chicago accent that made me sound like my IQ was dropping at a rapid pace. And there you have it, a friendship was born. Anna and I lived with each other for 3 out of the 4 years in college (due to an interruption of sorority laws making us live in-house for at least a year) and became the bestest of friends. Hence, the title of this post: roommates. Do realize that she is more than just a roommate but "Best friend" just didn't work with my obsession of the MLA handbook's definition of "alliteration".<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoFXvRp-YPYp2CvCSKmowfDUtJLgcUumqmw8Ej_vkvEckbLUXADWS9jkuxKoLMXfxfSrrOoohyhLrJiG2SIPqMSOn7RdcI9fH0l0GQqE20pHmzPWLoNR3ucaBt3tld34wZsvFSY-IuM4M/s1600/30762_857991431290_15934575_46766220_341199_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLoFXvRp-YPYp2CvCSKmowfDUtJLgcUumqmw8Ej_vkvEckbLUXADWS9jkuxKoLMXfxfSrrOoohyhLrJiG2SIPqMSOn7RdcI9fH0l0GQqE20pHmzPWLoNR3ucaBt3tld34wZsvFSY-IuM4M/s320/30762_857991431290_15934575_46766220_341199_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></div> (Me & my boo Anna)<br />
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This explanation of our friendship appears entirely irrelevant to my training of the 13 half marathons, besides the fact that now I have an official running buddy for all of them which I'm thrilled about. Getting to see my fav texan once a month is already a sign of a good year. Which brings me to my next topic of this post: resolutions.<br />
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Resolutions are made for the purpose of bettering yourself, achieving a goal...or just jumping on the bandwagon for a month and then forgetting about it by February. I'm in the boat of doing this to achieve a goal, but in the process I realize I'll also better myself. I just finished my first week of training (and actually am currently thawing out from my 10 mile run in 20 degree Chicago weather. Thanks Mother Nature.) and it has given me so much to think about. My obnoxious repetition of listening to "Stereo Love" has reminded me I need to learn how to pace and not speed when I'm hoppin' to da beat. The beat also kind of makes me want to do hard drugs in the back of a swanky club. (Don't worry mom, Fitz's isn't remotely swanky and the only thing I'm addicted to is string cheese these days. Ps. I think we're running low.) However, when I'm not bobbin' my head to the beat, I'm thinking. A lot. Sometimes I think about cutting my long pony tail off, but then I realize that I won't be able to "whip muh hair back and forth" and I don't want to piss off 9-year old Willow Smith. But most of the time, I'm thinking about life. (I know, I'm so deep. And, I'm not referring to Opera's narration series).<br />
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I think about why things have happened, why friendships have ended, why my sister's dogs bark at leaves blowing in the wind. This past week though, I thought about how truly blessed I am. I have the greatest friends in the world (mad props to Keldawg, Caitlin, Sarah, Kimmy & Katie) who have already asked what races they can come to, to cheer me on (I'm still working on convincing them to actually RUN one with me!) I also have the greatest family who are supporting me through this thick and thin. (Mary E even offered to start cooking healthy meals...and by that I mean, start cooking in general. Love you mom.) My sister is also planning on training for the Chicago half with me, and I was blessed with the presence of my cousins and their kids and Portillo's this week. I have great co-workers; Jen loves the updates on my training. Thus, furthering the idea that I really am blessed with amazing people in my life right now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66eMiHPXWYIfSyQl23drf8wCeJcdqsLWidRdkoQNVJ4peJSqWJc1qarFTP3mnNiesxIVRtZQ-sdjWAS1J0wvsR4EkN2y9dCuE-JIo4ltYEHFdfgfs_lbxNe97-cybQdaCRDc_wp9pSCd4/s1600/30762_857991650850_15934575_46766241_2172404_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66eMiHPXWYIfSyQl23drf8wCeJcdqsLWidRdkoQNVJ4peJSqWJc1qarFTP3mnNiesxIVRtZQ-sdjWAS1J0wvsR4EkN2y9dCuE-JIo4ltYEHFdfgfs_lbxNe97-cybQdaCRDc_wp9pSCd4/s320/30762_857991650850_15934575_46766241_2172404_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> (the fam)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhx6VSgCrUOowY6k-d6KFa-npDqio5_62b16qw67QyNgdqFmDADtbg-pXmEJ5pDQNjQJvV1q7splx3dAnK4jlRUXrHGBt9_1hKbeChkUg9SgR9KC7BXfvP2WhMy2U1JZhqsPjzsiT68re/s1600/155488_945743525390_15934575_49536763_1699811_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhx6VSgCrUOowY6k-d6KFa-npDqio5_62b16qw67QyNgdqFmDADtbg-pXmEJ5pDQNjQJvV1q7splx3dAnK4jlRUXrHGBt9_1hKbeChkUg9SgR9KC7BXfvP2WhMy2U1JZhqsPjzsiT68re/s320/155488_945743525390_15934575_49536763_1699811_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> (my best friendos & supporters!)<br />
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And as I finished my first week of training today on the Prairie Path, I realized two more things: 1. The path was slightly rerouted near the gazebo on Spring Rd. (Oh Elmhurst Park District, how you toy with my mind) and 2. I live in a great town. In a town of 47,000 some-odd people (give or take a few who probably counted their cats as people in the recent census), Elmhurst has a small-town feeling. As I ran past complete strangers, they smiled and waved as if I was their own kid they were seeing off on a school bus. How much more enjoyable can training me when I'm surrounded by smiles? (Okay, I just sounded like Barney. Damn you, purple dino). Again, I am blessed.<br />
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So as I go into week 2 of training, I presume I'll have more thought-filled trots. Potentially some not as deep (i.e. what will happen on this season's The Bachelor which starts this week), but perhaps I'll come across more good feeling thoughts about this resolution. Because the fact of the matter is, I'll come out of this goal a better, stronger (maybe skinnier?!) person with people who will support me regardless if I cross the finish lines with fire in my eyes, or tears in my eyes. And that, my friends, makes me want to run that much faster.<br />
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Peace out, cub scouts.<br />
ps. I warned ya I was long-winded.America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6773012578564019557.post-60502229636537057052010-12-26T16:56:00.000-08:002010-12-26T16:56:03.638-08:00Because I've actually convinced myself that you care I'm running 13 half marathons in 13 months<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why am I doing this? If I could ever answer that question that would explain how I end up doing a lot of things in my life, like eating a repulsive amount of hot dogs from a traveling cart or spending summers playing "where's waldo" with children's swing sets as I sold books door-to-door.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I really don't have an answer for why I'm setting a new year's goal of running 13 half marathons in 13 months, besides that a few weeks ago, I got this unexplainable, crazy, extreme, excited urge to do it. I found myself craving adventure beyond my cubicle located on Pfingsten Road and it was decided.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, what was decided was 12 half marathons in 12 months. But after sharing the idea with my lousy ex, he came up with a not-so lousy idea: to start and finish at the exact same race a year later. Hence, 13. And it just so happens that there's 13.1 miles in a half marathon so it keeps up with the "13 theme"...and I enjoy a good theme. (So I hope I've cleared the air for anyone that thought I was into superficial numbers and Friday the 13th's peppered with Lindsey Lohan's earth-shaking performance in Freaky Friday). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This blog will document my races throughout the year. I'll share goals, times, random thoughts that ran through my head, descriptions of the courses and basically whatever the hell else I feel like writing about. I'll update it periodically throughout my training and post after each race (assuming I don't have another Nashville marathon incident circa 2010). I should warn you now I'm long-winded. But if you're reading this, you probably already knew that. And if you didn't, you probably don't know me, so you're creepy. (It's fine, I get creepy at times too.) But I honestly don't care since I'm writing this hoping that someone besides my no. 1 fan Mary E will read my random thoughts. (Hi mom). Not to mention I clearly have a big enough ego to name my blog after the idea that the entire country can't function without me. Sorry Obama. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">SO, my adventure will start in February, because my non-existent ass hasn't kicked itself into a high enough gear to be ready for a January race. It will start in San Francisco, mainly because San Fran seems pretty tight. And because I hope they play the Full House theme song during the entire race. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About half of the races will be in "cool" places throughout the country and the other will be within the stomping grounds of cows (the good old midwest). Please note that "cool" is defined by a girl raised in Elmhurst, IL so you may not find the places cool at all. Unless you're from Oklahoma. Below is the schedule. It's fairly set in stone, but I do enjoy a good persuasion so if you feel the need to convince me into doing a different race during a particular month, convince away. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. February 6th: <a href="http://xnet.kp.org/sanfrancisco/index.html">Kaiser Permanente San Francisco Half Marathon</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. March 20th: <a href="http://www.rungeorgiamarathon.com/">ING Georgia Half Marathon (Atlanta)</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. April 10th: <a href="http://www.gostlouis.org/">GO! St. Louis Half Marathon</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. May 1st: <a href="http://www.lacrossefitnessfestival.com/">La Crosse Fitness Festival Half Marathon (La Crosse, WI)</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. June: TBD</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6. July 17th: <a href="http://races.zoomarun.com/colorado/">ZOOMA Colorado Half Marathon (Colorado Springs)</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7. August 20th: <a href="http://www.131marathon.com/13_1_Minneapolis.htm">13.1 Marathon Minneapolis</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8. September 11th: <a href="http://www.chicagohalfmarathon.com/">Chicago Half Marathon</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">9. October 16th: <a href="http://www.desmoinesmarathon.com/site51.aspx">IMT Des Moines Half Marathon (Des Moines, IA)</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10. November 5th: <a href="http://monumentalmarathon.com/">Indianapolis Monumental Half Marathon</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11. December 4th: <a href="http://www.raceplaceevents.com/event.php?event=401003">Fiesta Bowl Half Marathon (Scottsdale, AZ)</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">12. January 2011: TBD</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">13. February 2011: San Fran...again!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I post this schedule with the intention to brainwash you into clearing your schedule the days following the races so you'll read this. Okayy, AND I post it hoping that someone, out there wants to run one or a few of these puppies with me. Okayy, AND I post it hoping that Brooks Running will see that I only sport the best shoes everrr (Brooks Adrenaline) through my journey and give me my dream job at some point. (I'll need it after I realize that a good chunk of my salary is funding this insanity. Very reassuring.) So holla at cha gurllll if you want to run with me.... come cheer me on...or heckle me for actually thinking this is a good idea. But what you might think is asinine, I see as running down a dream. (Thanks, Tom Petty). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm actually really excited about this. And if you've ever seen me excited, it's a similar expression to that of a preteen seeing Justin Bieber in concert. It's a new challenge that I'll do because I said I'm going to do it. And I'm stubborn, so I will actually do it. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Welp, training starts tomorrow. I should probably start praying now. </span>America Runs on Dunklehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09488517716845215893noreply@blogger.com0