#8. Chicago, IL: America Runs on DUNKLES!

That's right.  Two Dunkles took on our hometown stomping grounds in sweet home Chicago!  Me and my sister, Lauren.  But because no travel was necessary,  I didn't even know what to do with myself, as Fridays and Saturdays are normally my travel days to my races. And on non-race weekends, Fridays are days for raging in the city.  This made for a really exciting Friday night full of grocery shopping and watching the Mizzou game...sober. What's a girl to do?!

After a good night's rest, I woke up early for a Saturday morning to join my parents, neighbors and family friends to walk against ALS along Montrose Beach in honor of my neighbor.  It was the perfect way to loosen up my leggies the day before the race and spend time with the Highland Ave. clan of Elmhurst.  ALS is a terrible, degenerative disease, currently with no cure.  However, I learned at the walk that a group of dedicated doctors have recently discovered a commonality among all cases of Lou Gehrig's Disease, which is a step in the right direction.  When I hear stories like this, it makes me more and more confident and dedicated to my fundraising for breast cancer. (By the way, have you donated yet?  Do it: http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns)

Post-walk, Bob and Mary E dropped me off at the Race Expo, held at Navy Pier.  I thought this location was a nice touch for all the tourists among the 22,000+ racers to see a staple of Chicago...especially considering the course was the least scenic race. ever. (More on that later).  I strolled the rows of vendors, thinking I'd see something new and exciting among the reflective shirts, 26.2 engraved jewelry and GU packets but alas, the same goods. But, there is something about the atmosphere of a race expo that just gets me all excited...and reminds me I'm not the only crazed person obsessed with running.  I stopped at the CARA booth (Chicago Area Runners Association) to become a member so I can finally meet more runners in the area since every single time I ask my friends to go running with me they just laugh in my face and tell them I'll run too fast or too far. Seriously people, I'm accommodating and will run at any pace for a pal.  Unless you start to annoy me, then, I'll take off.  Anywhooo, I ended up winning a free year membership to CARA which is tight because that saves me dollhairs.  But also because I never win anything from random drawings like that.

Saturday evening I attempted to be Paula Dean. Minus the 4 sticks of butter. I have a tendency to go by "Big Momma" when I'm in the kitchen.  My roommates Caitlin and Sarah know when to stay out if Big Momma's cookin'.  I'm not sure why I go by that nickname but I think it has something to do with me thinking it sounds like the name of someone who bakes muffins all the time mixed with the fact that I thought I was black when I was 15 and I'm not ready to let that go.  It might also have something to do with my aspiration to have a little black pomeranian at some point in my life and name her Rosa Barks.  My cooking abilities can easily be compared to the talent of Bruce Jenner's plastic surgeon: I get the job done eventually, but the result is kind of effed up.  It's not that I can't cook; it's more that when the recipe says it'll take 20 minutes to prepare, it takes me two hours.  This evening was no different.  I really need to invest in one of those garlic clove cutter-uppers because I'm pretty sure I spent a good 42 minutes trying to chop that shit.  After 2-3 hours of Big Momma in the kitchen, homemade italian herbed garlic bread, italian sausage and peppers and rigatoni with fresh mozzarella and tomatoes was the spread on our table.  Soupy tomato sauce all over the counter top and a spatula melted to the skillet may or may not have also resulted.  But Caitlin and Sarah, Keldawg and Matt (Sarah's boyfriend) seemed to enjoy the meal.

ALS Walk  

The.Most.Boring.Course.Ever.

Nom nom nom.

Normal friends the night before the race

A few hours later, my older (and only) sister Lauren arrived to spend the night as she was joining me for this race as her first half marathon.  We hit the sack immediately upon her arrival (actually, I hit the sack before she even arrived and just woke up when she called since I sleep as much as a fat cat the night before races).  I tossed and turned the entire night and ended up on the couch; my heart was pounding with anxiety and I didn't know if it was because I was actually nervous for this race or if the italian sausages were running around inside of me like they do at Cubs games.  I felt as though I had only slept for about three hours when my alarm sounded at 4:30AM.  After practically whacking Lauren  awake, we packed our race bags and headed out the door to catch the Red Line.  Leaving my apartment at 5AM on a Sunday morning means the Kingston Mines die hards were still finishing up their night.  And the story was no different on the El.  A third of our fellow commuters were also runners; another third were homeless bums and the final third were party animals stumbling their way home.  These crazy kids included a handful of Europeans who upon boarding the public transportation noticed all the runners in red, white and blue and said, "What thee bloody hell is goewing on in'Merica?"  It's 9/11, assholes.  Welcome to our country.

A good portion of the runners had purchased shuttle tickets and exited the Red Line a few stops later.  However, my sister and I stayed on until our stop on the south side due to my extreme naivety.  The stop we were getting off at was well past the Cell (home of the White Sox) and in the heart of what one might define as the absolute ghetto.  My sister was well aware of this and rolled her eyes at me when I said "oh well thank goodness you're here, I would've taken this by myself anyways!"  At times, she is both older AND wiser.  But only sometimes.  Our company for the remainder of the commute was a bit questionable.  Our stop finally arrived and we galavanted across the street to catch the bus to take us to Jackson Park.  The morning was still dark as night, but there were about five other runners with us at this point waiting for the bus.  While I never felt uncomfortable in the area, it really was sketchy as shit.  This premonition was solidified by the fact that about seven of us white runners stood at the bus stop for a good fifteen minutes and a police car pulled over to ask if everyone was okay.  On the bus packed full of runners, we finally made it to Jackson Park where the race started.

Bob and Mary E were waiting for Lauren and me.  I had told my parents that the pre-race emails encouraged runners and spectators to wear red, white and blue in honor of the 10th anniversary of September 11th so I was really hoping Mary E would be sporting a flag hat or freakish fireworks socks.  Instead, Mary E looked Eddie Bauer chic in red and Bob wore his normal apparel: a Hawaiian shirt. With weird safari animals all over it.  And no patriotic hues.  The emotional National Anthem rang as I spotted two girls in patriotic tutus and a very pregnant woman.  Seriously, that baby can probably run outta the womb and say it completed a half marathon since it was practically part of this world at this point.  It doesn't get much better than patriotism coupled with people watching interesting human beings.

I made my way to the start line and surprisingly, within the 22,000 runners ended up right next to my roommate Sarah's older sister Katherine and her roommate Janelle!  It's always fun to see a friendly, recognizable face.  Once the gun went off, I disappeared into the pool of strangers.  The beginning of the course was neat, beginning in Jackson Park, home to the Museum of Science and Industry.  American pride poured through the streets and many participants carried American Flags high in the air as they ran.  My parents said they'd be standing at mile 2, 4 and the finish line, but come mile 2, no Bob and Mary E in sight and mile 4 was the same parental disappearing act.  (It turns out they WERE at mile 2 and we both missed each other but they didn't make it to mile 4 in time because they waited at mile 2 for Lauren...or so they say, dun dun dunnn).  Beyond that, the course was straight north up Lake Shore Drive.  I passed my routine course along the lake that sat to my right as I trucked my way down the very flat course.  Flat as in not hilly and flat as in...boringggg.  The course literally consisted of running north on LSD for about 6 miles, going up an exit ramp, coming back down that same entrance ramp, and heading south on the same LSD course back 6 miles.  As I progressed mile after mile, the heat rose and more so, the humidity.  On the 6 mile trot back, the course became mentally draining as I stared ahead at the endless road ahead.  I seriously felt bad for anyone who came from out of town to check out Chicago and run this bad boy because the course did not do our great city any justice.  I seriously do love Chicago, minus the cold weather.  I hate the cold.  I even hated how cold I used to get when I'd flirt with my boyfriend in the Cold Stone Creamery freezer when I was 15.  (Yes I worked at Cold Stone. Yes I sang freakshow songs. Yes I dated a guy that worked at Cold Stone and sang the freakshow songs, too.  Yes he dated me when I was 15 and thought I was black).  Anyways,  one of the few good things about the course was that it provided overhead sprinklers which gave a nice cool mini shower for 1.5seconds every mile or so. I began to tire around mile 9.  And when mile 10 hit, I began to feel a bit queezy.

Momma and her girls

Sweet Hawaiian shirt dad, very patriotic. 

America Runs on the Dunkle sistas!

It's my intimidation face.

Lauren at mile 2

Random ass gold statue at the end of the race

Uneasy stomach aside, my arms shot into the air and I cheesed as hard as I possibly could when I spotted my best friends at mile 12! Sarah, Keldawg, Caitlin, Katie, Matt, Mr. & Mrs. Klowden (Sarah's parents) all cheering in a row like little ducklings!  I was 100%, whole-heartedly ecstatic to see them.  It meant the  world to me that they all woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on a Sunday morning to see me take on one of my races.  I could tell I sped up with excitement as I passed them and fell back to my slower pace shortly thereafter as I felt like I could spew my insides everywhere at any second.

And finally, the finish line... kick. Hard. Fast. Drop arms. Look for mom & dad. Smile in case you see Mom & dad. Question what the hell that huge gold statue represents. Cross finish line. PUKE.

Fan club!

So happy to see my best friends!

...no really, SO happy!

Love my best friends...and Mattttty

The whole crew :) Minus Bob and Mr. Klowden

I felt a million times better after that, collected my medal and realized I ran my second fastest time in 1:43:33.  I'll take it.  Bob had walked down to the finish line and I spotted him as I collected my free grub and washed the vom taste away with some water.  Lou Malnati's offered free pizza to all runners at race end.  Mmmm, nothing like a big plate filled with gooey cheese roasting in the humidity. No thanks.  Bob and I headed over to Mary E's stakeout near the finish line and they showered me with their normal congratulatory hugs and kisses which I always enjoy but really I just needed a shower.

Mary E was set on holding her VIP view to see Lauren cross, though we knew she was very far behind me.  Guess who else was?  Apollo Ohno.  Yes, that's right, I'm faster than an olympian and finished well before him.  Okay that's not fair because he'd literally outskate the shit out of me and lap me 20 times assuming I could even keep my balance on ice skates.  Let's face it, my YMCA rink days are long gone. Apollo (we're on a first name basis, obvi) was running his first half marathon to prep for a full marathon for which he is training.  Ah, a man after my own heart.

Meanwhile, Bob and I headed to mile 12 in hopes of seeing my friends and my sister.  My friends were gone, greeting Sarah's sister Katherine at the finish line so dad and I set up shop, awaiting my sister.  With every minute that passed and every ambulance that sounded, my dad was convinced Lauren was the passed out victim in need of medical attention.  Not that he didn't think she could do it, but more just the worrisome father he is for a daughter who has never run a half marathon.  I kept trying to reassure him by reminding him that her guesstimated finish time hadn't approached and there were still plenty of other runners on the course.  And finally, he clenched my shoulder and pointed to her with pride, "There she is!  There she is!"  Still going strong, my sister was headed toward us.  I handed my medal and race bib to my dad and jumped back on the course to join my sister for her final mile.

I asked her how she felt; I grabbed her water; I told her how proud I was of her already; I racked by brain to do and say anything and everything to keep her going and make sure she was okay.  I knew she was when she just said, "I feel fine but this last mile fucking blows."  Typical Lauren.  We ran/walked her final stretch and I told her we'd jog for 3 minutes and walk for 1, and repeat.  She liked that idea.  But with the wide, final chute in sight, we raced, hard.  Lauren revisited her sprinting days from Sandburg Middle School track and we threw our arms in the air and waved wildly to Mary E as we passed her and we crossed the finish line... the second time of the day, for me.  Lauren did it.  She finished. And in under 3 hours, which was her goal.  Even though I'm the youngest, I felt like a proud, big sis.  I was so happy for her.  And Bob was so relieved.  And Mary E was happy as a clam, per usual.  We made the long walk back to the car and I bitched about how sore my legs were.  It's true, I can fairly easily run 14.1 miles (yes, 13 with the plus one from finishing with my sister) but I can barely walk a mile.  Rough life.

Sisters finishing together

Note the same stride :) sisterly love.

SO proud of you!!

A quick shower later, the whole crew of all my friends and family and the Klowden family celebrated with meals and drinks and watching da Bears.  So many laughs were shared in just a general, light-hearted atmosphere as we were all cheersing to accomplishment.  Bob and Mr. Klowden picked up the tab as I heard Mary E say, "we don't want the kids to pay"...the table was full of 23-27 year olds but that's the thing, in our parents' eyes, we'll always be "the kids".  Which is probably why my parents have been at 5 out of my 8 races so far.  Which is probably why Bob always asks if I put him down as the emergency contact on the back of my race bib, "just in case".  Which is probably why Mary E still packs me race goody bags, like she did for my big cross country meets in high school.  Which is probably why every time I finish a race,  they act like I just finished my first.

While Chicago may have not been home to my favorite course so far, it's exactly that: home.  And that meant having my absolute favorite people there to watch me do my favorite thing.  And that makes me happiest.  I've loved all the places I've visited thus far, but there really is no place like home.  (...shit, I really wish I had a midget dog like Toto right now).

Since that race, nearly a month ago, I've invested in my 3rd pair of running shoes (Obviously still my Brooks Adrenalines).  Though I really should be on about my 4th pair with the amount of mileage I've run.  Regardless, when I went into Fleet Feet in Elmhurst to pick up my feet candy, the woman standing behind the counter asked if I was America Runs on Dunkle when I said my last name.  Why, yes, yes I am.  She was concerned I'd be creeped out but honestly, I take it as flattery and love that others stumble upon my terrible jokes and running chapters.  So I have to give a shout out to Lisa and Vera at Fleet Feet!  You both made my day!!

Well, tomorrow I leave for Denver for race #9 this Sunday.  I'm SO excited to see this city as I've heard nothing but awesome things, but even more excited to see my lil' hostess Miss Carrie Barker!!  To be blunt, I'm not expecting much outta myself this week.  I'm 3 days fresh off of Vegas which consisted of hydrating with vodka tonics and I hear the altitude really messes up lung functionality.  So my goal?  Finish and don't pass out.  I'm really dreaming big this time.

Talk to you when I return to lower altitudes, my friends.  Oh and donate, derka.  http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns

#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.

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.

My lovely hostess and her artwork for me :)

My momma is the best.

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.

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.

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.

Minneapolis, obvi.

Just a section of the 8 miles of skyways!

Mary Tyler Moore statue

RIP Regal

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.

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.

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".

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.

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.

We make 6AM look good.

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.

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 that 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 did. 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.

Happiest girl in the world

Finish line

HOLY SHIT I JUST RAN MY BEST TIME

Race #7 complete: 1:40:32

Thanks for cheering me on :)

Celebrating with a 9AM beer

But I don't wannnaaaa leaveeee you

Time to head home

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.

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 good to be home.

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.)

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.

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: http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns 

#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.

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.

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.

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 live 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 Friday night?

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.

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!"

Cheeky Monkey's Coffee House 

Portland's Main Street

In front of Cheeky Monkey's supporting Relay for Life

Mary E along the river

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.

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.

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.
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.

Race Pace TAT!

Start line

Pace leader...on a bike? Yupp.

Around mile 6.3

My mom thought this was funny. Small town charm.

About 1.5 miles to go!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Race 6 complete! 1:47:37

Topping the charts

Getting my "top finisher" medal, like a boss.

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.

Overall, I was so 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.

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: http://donate.breastcancer
marathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns

Running 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cousins Mel & Heather, baby Noah, me & momma

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.

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?

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.

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.

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: http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns And thanks so much...it truly means the world to me and keeps me running.

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: http://triblocal.com/elmhurst/community/stories/2011/05/america-runs-on-dunkle/

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.

And guess who's coming with me?  My best friend, Mary E. Sarcastic blunder to come next post, promise.