#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.

the uncomfortable comfort blanket.

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).


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 (Brooks Adrenaline, my fav. shoe, 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. 


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.)


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.


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. 


So with that, I've got no excuses for Atlanta. It's gonna be sweet like Georgia peaches. Talk to ya in two weeks! 

#1: Jacksonville Beach, FL: "I feel happy. I feel healthy. I feel terrific!"

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.


SO, the 26.2 with Donna Half Marathon 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.

Arriving at the Jacksonville airport. 1 Day to go!

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:

My new "frog feet" in my fav. colors!                                           

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.)

Awesome medal display I'll need to hang my hardware after this adventure is complete

We signed the board :)

Signing the board why I'm running- they had these set up all along the course as motivation- so cool.

For my aunts.

Expo madness

When I showed my boss this picture, she knew exactly where I got my looks from :)

Best fan. My rock. My Mom. Thanks for coming with me!

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. 


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. 

Running stick= my best friend.

I don't wear 5AM too well. woof.

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.

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.

Photography compliments of Mary E, noted photographer.

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). 

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.

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.

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. 

Post race holding my "who I'm running for" signs

Told ya my foil coat was sexy. Free muffins...nom nom nom.

Concert post-race

Love you both.

Uh, don't mind my sweat. or my hair.

Running with the ribbon.

Mary E likes to call this one "Celebrating success". Beer & lunch post-race!

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. 

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.

ants in my spandex.

...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.


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. 


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.)


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.)

Pulling a switcheroo. 13 days to go.

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.


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.


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. 


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.


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. 


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.)

Roommate Runners Reunite & Resolutions

God 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...

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 from?" 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 you 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".

                                                     (Me & my boo Anna)

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.

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).

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.

                                                              (the fam)

                                               (my best friendos & supporters!)

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.

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.

Peace out, cub scouts.
ps. I warned ya I was long-winded.