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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Don't mind my outfit.

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

In front of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Bob's turn!

Pre-race

Dad found me in the pack pre-race

Just doing my thanggg 

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

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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brook's Bus at the Expo

STL Arch at 6 AM

Mile 6...SWASS (woof.)

Struggling to finish... Clearly

...and FAINT. 

Daytona: muh main girl supporting me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#2. Atlanta, GA: Holy Hills.

Did I go to Atlanta or San Francisco? And Was I on Jack and Jill's never-ending journey to fetch a pail of water? Because that's how I felt. Atlanta was a constant incline. And the chance of the course coming to a plateau was slim to none...and Slim just left town. Okay, it really wasn't THAT bad, but it was a hell of a lot hillier than I expected.


The weekend commenced with a father-daughter road trip.  We (mostly Bob) drove from about 5:30 PM on Friday until 1:30 AM to some really classy hotel in No-Mans-Land Tennessee. (It may have been 12:30 AM but driving in and out of central and eastern time zones really confused me. And I already consider myself a relatively confused person.) We crashed for about 4 hours and were back on the road before the sun came up.  Along the way, my dad met a "nice man" at a rest stop who trailed behind him into the bathroom and within 5 minutes invited him into a stall with him. I'm not sure how my dad had the willpower to turn down such a charming request.  We bolted.  The remainder of the drive was fairly uneventful, with a soundtrack of throwback John Mayer and snacks provided by Mary E (thanks momma).  Bob and I haven't had that type of bonding since probably Indian Princesses. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's like the daddy-daughter version of Girl Scouts, without the thin mints. And instead of cookies, it's camp-outs and monthly pow wows where little girls make fun of the Kickapoo tribe (maturity has yet to develop at age 6) and act completely politically incorrect as if we were the ones who feasted with the Pilgrims back in the day. And I'm pretty sure the dads just always got drunk. Needless to say, the road trip was a Father-Daughter moment that lasted for almost 13 hours.


We finally made it to Hotlanta and it was exactly that. Hot. And Sunny. And filled with people wearing khakis. (I really am wondering if that's an Atlanta thing for the amount of sand colored slacks I witnessed.) We checked into our actually classy hotel and strolled a few blocks to the Georgia Dome, where the pre-race Expo was occurring.  The great thing about the Publix Georgia Marathon is that Publix is a grocery chain. So the expo had FOOD. And Bob and I came hungry. LaraBars, boxes of granola, soy bread, crackers...to eat there and throw in my pre-race bag. It was every broke college kids dream of free food.  From there we walked around as I gawked at all the running gadgets and my chips & salsa sample digested. 

Rolling up to ATL after 13 hours in the car 

Bob at the Expo

In front of the Georgia Dome 

Peach Trees. EVERYWHERE. So confusing.

The rest of the day consisted of tourism- roaming the hilly streets that all appeared to be named Peach Tree. I was warned by my friend Mark who had just been in Atlanta the day before that EVERYTHING was named Peach Tree. He was right. After determining that Peachtree NE and Peachtree NW really did not run NE or NW, we found a delicious and highly recommended Italian restaurant for dinner, Azio. The food coma came shortly after back at the hotel. And stretch, hydrate, fill out my emergency contact info on my bib and I was out like a light.


5:30AM came with a still nighttime sky when Bob and I headed to the start line. I felt pretty baller, because I was placed in Corral C (3rd of 16 starting corrals) because of my expected finish time. Corral C was the "fastest runners" behind the elite and sponsored runners. So on a celeb scale of Jennifer Aniston (I love her and I'm watching Marley & Me, so it seemed fitting to name drop her right now) down to Carrot Top, I felt like a solid Sarah Jessica Parker...minus the horseface.  Pre-race, I made my routine stop at the "Honey Buckets" (I'm still baffled by who actually named a portable toilet a term of endearment). These are actually hot commodities before a large race as this one and with the long lines you'd think we were all lining up with our golden ticket to see if the schnauzberries really taste like schaunzberries. While in line, I listened to a woman panic about how it was nearing race time. Annoyed, I decided to start talking to her, mainly so she'd just stop talking to herself. Asking her if she's run this course before was a bad choice. She proceeded to tell me how it was very challenging and she's running it again because she didn't finish the first time. Cool. Nice to meet you too Negative Nancy. I'm surprised if she even had to go to the bathroom after that since she had already shit on my spirit. 

Race pack momma packed for me :)

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

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

Heading to the start line

Dad did a good job documenting the other runners

He spotted me at between mile 1 and 2!

The gun went off and so did the runners. One would've thought we were running at 10 at night by the glow of the streetlights in the murky sky and 60 degree weather. The crowd of runners overwhelmed the street course causing me to hop on the sidewalk and dodge the fire hydrants that popped up in my way.  The incline of the course was steady and neverending and I felt as if I was exerting twice the amount of energy to only go half the distance. Honestly, by mile 4, my legs wanted to call it quits.  Mind over matter.  I was running an 8 minute pace for the first half, so while my body felt weary my mental strength kept me going.  There were some downhills as well,  but I spent the majority of my race praying for a plateau in the course.  The course was challenging, paved with some streets that reminded me of New Orleans and others that reminded me of Nashville.  I realized that I enjoy the parts of courses that are through neighborhoods- I think it just calms me. Perhaps it reminds me of home on my journey around the country. I kept telling myself to not focus on my time and the finish line finally arrived an 1:46:19 later. 


Compared to Florida, I felt physically weak.  But while I so badly wanted to beat my 1:44:50 I ran in Florida, I was satisfied with my 1:30 slower time because I gave it my all and that's all I really can do.  By the time I hit mile 9, I honestly didn't think I'd be finishing anywhere near running an 8:06 pace per mile. Post-race, I hit the shower and attempted amputating my toe. Which was disgusting and painful and I'll spare you the details (for once). And back to the roads with Bob.  The road trip ended having clocked 1,450 miles on good ol' Lady Slipper to run 13.1 and 25 hours to run for 2 hours. And no sight of Ludacris. sigh.

Thanks for road tripping & supporting me pops!

Race #2 COMPLETE! 1:46:19

Well, St. Louis is up next. I ran the full marathon in 2009 and made it my bitch, so I'm not worried about this one at all.  It's a fairly easy course and I'm dragging Daytona (my bestie, not the beach or the car race) out of bed to cheer me on. In fact, I'm attempting to drag all my friends from Mizzou and the book kiddos from Columbia all the way to St. Louis to cheer me on... but mainly so I can see them. (And by drag, I mean, once you guys read this, you should get the memo to be there- got it?)  I'm also totally stoked because my #1 blog follower THE Shaina Chechang & Laura Jones (some of my fav book kids from Iowa) are running the race too! Wahoooo! The race is two weeks from tomorrow and this past week, I've already upped my speed for hard training.  I've got two people to beat in STL: myself and my ex. Yes, I found out he's running it and his chance of beating me is about the same as his chance of him being a good person. And I'm also pretty sure he reads my blog, so Hi, you're going down. And you still suck. But more importantly, I can't wait to destroy my Florida time with a sub 1:43 time. Fingers crossed, laces tied.


So to quote my debut performance in Sandburg Middle School... Meet me in St. Louieee! (Clearly my acting didn't go far. I'm sticking to running.) Adios muchachos. 

procrastinator or dumbass?

Both. Let's just say that when I checked flights to Atlanta for race #2 three weeks ago, they were a steal of $220 roundtrip. And then let's also say that when I finally decided to try to book my flight a week ago, Priceline, AirTran, Fly.com, Cheaptickets and every other searchable means of flights gave me the dirty look that I give people who smack their lips and flashed a fatty $530 price tag my way. It was Priceline Negotiator vs. Flight Procrastinator...and seeing that I'm the flight procrastinator in this case, I'm also the dumbass.


So what does this mean for my travel itinerary this upcoming weekend? ROAD TRIPPP! (No, not with Tom Green. I don't hang out with people who marry Drew Barrymore. Or like her in general.) Instead, I'll be hitting the road with good ol' Bob (my dad, for those of you creepy people who still don't know me but still insist on reading my blog). Within minutes of telling my dad about my flight dilemma, his instant response was "Why don't I just drive ya there?" So let me take this moment to say that, yes it's still early in 2011, but I'm pretty sure the Academy's votes are in already for Parents of the Year and it goes to Bob & Mary E. Honestly, whose parents would drive 25 hours roundtrip through the night to watch their daughter run for less than two hours? Mine. Now that I think of it, maybe they're on drugs...Which might also explain why each wall of our basement is painted a different neon color... (okay, that was my doing in middle school. Sorry mom & dad for making your house look like a Pink Flloyd/Lisa Frank lovefest). Okay, I'm kidding about the drugs...I think. But Mary E and Bob do it because they're the best. And awesome. And so selflessly loving and supportive. Seriously, I can't believe you're actually doing this for me daddio.


And when you look at it as 25 hours to run for less than 2, it sounds like a really fucking stupid idea. But, when you think of it as the big picture and "doing absolutely whatever it takes to achieve a year-long goal", it sounds a lot better. So I'll go with the latter. Plus, road tripping with Bob is going to be hilarious. Minus when he tries to get me to listen to old man music. I'm currently trying to convince him we should take his Miata and enjoy the 80 degree Hotlanta weather this weekend with the topdown (So I can pick up hot hitchhikers with my hair blowing in the wind, obviously). But for now, it looks like Lady Slipper will be paving the mountain roads. 


Runs this week have been awesome, so I'm super excited for race #2. (With the exception that I think I sweat out an entire case of Bud Light on my long run thanks to my apocalyptic celebration of St. Patty's Day in Chicago this weekend. Good decisions as always.)  But that aside, I'm not focusing on time, I'm just going to run as fast as I possibly can, just like Florida. And then I'm going to search for Ludacris, since I'll be on his stomping grounds.


Before I wrap this post up I've gotta say Happy (early) Birthday Kel-Dawg. Yes, it's true I planned a race on my best friend's birthday and won't be there to celebrate, so the least I can do is give a shout out on my blog to my 14 followers...even though you aren't one of them I know you read this haha. But seriously, I'm sorry. But you're 23. And old. Come Sunday, we'll both be feelin' like MJ in his early days.

Love you birthday girl- CHEERS!

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

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.