#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.

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.

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.

Check out my rims for the weekend

Welcome to Paradise

OCEAN 

I could get used to this

Awkwarding at the expo

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.

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.

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.)

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.

My AWESOME hosts for the weekend!

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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".

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.

Music Festival

Race #5 complete! 

Finish Line

Making random runner friends 

Beach time

Wild Child

The perfect way to end my weekend: Nathan's hot dog & TCBY

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.)

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.

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.

Signing off to figure out my race for July...which is next week. Shiiiiiit. Byeeeee.

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Don't mind my outfit.

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

In front of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Bob's turn!

Pre-race

Dad found me in the pack pre-race

Just doing my thanggg 

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

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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brook's Bus at the Expo

STL Arch at 6 AM

Mile 6...SWASS (woof.)

Struggling to finish... Clearly

...and FAINT. 

Daytona: muh main girl supporting me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#2. Atlanta, GA: Holy Hills.

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.


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.


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. 

Rolling up to ATL after 13 hours in the car 

Bob at the Expo

In front of the Georgia Dome 

Peach Trees. EVERYWHERE. So confusing.

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.


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. 

Race pack momma packed for me :)

"Does this make me look gay?" Yes dad. haha

Chicks dig scars, guys dig bruises...right?

Heading to the start line

Dad did a good job documenting the other runners

He spotted me at between mile 1 and 2!

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. 


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.

Thanks for road tripping & supporting me pops!

Race #2 COMPLETE! 1:46:19

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.


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. 

procrastinator or dumbass?

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.


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.


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. 


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.


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.

Love you birthday girl- CHEERS!

Alright, pictures & posting to come after I destroy Atlanta! We'll chat then.