Observations

Just a few observations I have had over the past few days...

1) You know it is time for an eating-intervention when you are running, turn off your music for a bit, and are immediately frightened by what sounds like someone running at your exact same pace behind you... only to realize it is the sound of your thighs rubbing together.

2) Going to a gym at a university is one thing. Going to a gym at a medical school is another. Surrounded by 50 Todd's from Scrubs. Awful. Just awful.

3) This website is amazing.

What's next?

Lookie what I did...

drum roll...... PART 3!

MY GOD could this be any more drawn out?! It isn't even interesting to you anymore, is it? You probably forgot I even exist. It's ok. I understand. And I take full blame. Forgive me?

Dig back down in your memory. I ran a marathon.

I left off at mile 20 as I prayed for death. Salty face Amy, somehow managing to still be in motion. I kid you not when I say the last 6 miles were both a complete dream-like blur, and the most vivid and memorable steps of my life.

Eszter ran with me for a few minutes around mile 21. The distraction was nice, but I literally couldn't focus on making sentences at that point. So, Eszter, sorry if my conversation consisted of me saying things like, "Chicken crossing popsicle with the umbrella goes bulldozer, right?!" I had to conserve my energy, and cognitive abilities were the first to go.

Kevin sent me a text around mile 22: "Everyday I'm shuffling." Thanks, Kev. Real funny. But seriously, my feet weren't even really leaving the ground at that point. I looked like a broken old man. I am sure I gained the pity of the few remaining spectators that sat along the road, bored and complete out of pep.

There was this older man, probably in his late 50's, that I kept playing leapfrog with. He had on elvis sunglasses and was about 8 foot 9 inches tall. We were next to each other at one point, me taking 8 steps with my little midget legs for ever 1 of his gargantuan giant leg steps, and an ice cream truck slooooowlllyyyy droooovveeee byyyyy. Mocking us. Pointing and laughing. Salt in our already salty wounds. We just looked at one another, scowled, and started yelling profanities at the truck driver.

Mile 23 may have been the first time I actually SERIOUSLY thought about quitting. YEA, I KNOW, "ONLY A 5K LEFT!" Shut up about your effing 5k. After the epic battle I had been fighting in for the past 5 hours, every single step was nothing less than a sheer miracle. I thought to myself, "Now is the time. Now. Shower myself with the emotions. Remind myself of WHY I am doing this. Pull out that envelope I tucked away, open it up, and bask in the emotion. Let it carry me to the finish line!" I tried. I really did. I wanted so badly to remind myself of WHY I was doing this and to let emotion carry me. But honestly, I couldn't. I just couldn't. The ONLY thing that was in my mind was, over and over and over and over again, "One. More. Step." I was so exhausted at this point, even emotion was too much. In retrospect, that upsets me. I wanted to be able to feel that pride and that emotion and let it be my wings those last few miles.

Instead, Yamaha came on my iPod.



This is the most ridiculous song in the entire world. Hands down. But, thanks to my lovely boyfriend, it ended up on my "I'm running a marathon" playlist. A few weeks before the race, I was stealing some of his music to add to my playlist. I jokingly asked if I should add this ridiculous song, to which he replied, "If you wanna kick ass, you will." Done. And would you believe, he was right? The second I heard that synthesizer, I couldn't help but smile. OK maybe it wasn't the emotional shower I was hoping for, but it was surely the boost I needed to remind myself that I would make it and wouldn't end up as roadkill.

I could tell everyone around me was really feeling it at this point. Around mile 25, the comradery really started to show. We were all in it together at that point. One woman started walking next to me. I looked her square in the eyes and screamed, "WE HAVE ON THE SAME SHOES! OUR SHOES MATCH! NOW RUN! YOU CAN DO THIS! RUN!" She laughed, started running, and yelled back,"BROOKS GHOST 4 POWER! RUN!" Strangers instantly become bonded.

Mile 26 is evil because it is straight up an exit ramp. I want to stab whoever threw that kicker in. I am not joking.

I will admit that the last .2 miles were a complete blur. I know I managed to pick up my pace and actually lift my feet off the ground. I know I screamed a lot. I know the sense of pride that was beginning to shake my entire body and soul was uncanny. I remember seeing Paige and Ashley. I remember my body being so completely numb I could have been shot with a muzzle-loader and not have felt it. I remember seeing Maureen and Kevin, and the first wave of tears coming. I remember hugging a few strangers. But most of all...

I remember seeing the finish line, crossing the finish line, and knowing that I did it.

Thank you, Ashley, for capturing this miracle!

The moments immediately following the race are also kinda blurry- lots of pictures, laughing, praise, high-fives, texting, etc. I somehow got some food (and beer, of course) in my system, somehow got home, and somehow got into an ice bath. It was then, there, about an hour after the race, sitting in a tub of sub-arctic temperature water, that the emotions hit. I started sobbing like a child. Despite all the bullsh*t I faced along the way, I did it. I didn't hold back, I let the wave of emotion I was earlier craving wash over me, and I basked in its warmth (which was very welcome considering I WAS IN AN ICE BATH!).

A fellow runner sent this in an email. It couldn't be more true:

Because we can.

Because we have something to prove.
Because we don't want regrets.
Because we are able.
Because we want to kill the doubt.
Because we have a goal.
Because of the voice within.
Because we can handle more than we think.
Because it's never too late.
Because we want to run farther.
Because we want to run faster.
Because we won't give up.
Because it's better to give than to receive.
Because we have strength to endure.
Because we believe in miracles.
Because we have faith.
Because I'M A RUNNER.

My final breakdown is quite pathetic, but whatever. I was upset for a little while that it took me that long, but all things considered, I shouldn't have even run the damn race, so I gotta let it go.

Aaaaand cue mushy, deep, emotional reflection time:
Looking back, the whole experience seems completely surreal.
Sometimes it seems so insignificant, like it was no big deal.
But sometimes, I close my eyes and remember the feelings I felt as I crossed the finish line, and I can't help but smile.
1 year ago, I was in such a different place in my life. I have accomplished so much, both physically and mentally, through this challenge. I am a different person.
It was worth every tear, ache, pain, early morning, painful step, and hours spent exploring the streets of Memphis by foot.
To those who shared this experience with me, and those of you that donated to St Jude and helped me become a true HERO: there are no words. I thank each of you from the bottom of my heart. Each of you were there with me the entire way.
This experience changed me, and I am forever grateful.

I wore the shirt I got from the race today. We went out to breakfast. I was in the bathroom, and the woman next to me at the sink says, "Did you really run a marathon?!" She proceeds to go on and on about how amazing that is, what an accomplishment it is, and how proud of me she is- she even gave me a hug. Thank you, random stranger, for reminding me of how monumental those 5.5 hours of running and 12 months of training really were.

Ok ok ok ok FINE, enough of that emotional junk. It slips out from time to time, I am SORRY. Jeez. Tough crowd.

THE END.

I'm baaaaaack....

No, this is not part 3. No, I have not gotten around to writing about that yet. Yes, I am going to continue to let you squirm and wonder. Yes, I am milking this whole experience for all it is worth and dragging it out as long as I can. Deal with it.

To quote the ever-famous Andy from 40 Year Old Virgin... "Is it true that if you don't USE it, you LOSE it?"

Well, my friends, in the case of my mad running skills, it is INDEED true. As I mentioned in my last post, the month of December has been, well, let's just say "unhealthy." It has included, but is not limited to, 1) copious amounts of horribly unhealthy food, 2) allowing myself to drink more than 1 Michelob Ultra per sitting, 3) sitting on my ass for days at a time, 4) the extent of my exercise being to go back and forth between the couch and the fridge, and 5) a glazed-over, confused look if you mention the word "running".

If you are curious as to how this type of sloth-like behavior effects the body, fear not, for I shall share with you the truth behind the life of a complete lazy slob. I literally, completely not kidding, wish I could be lying, 100% sarcasm-free, girl scouts honor gained 10 full pounds over the past 2 months. On a midget like me, towering an amazing 5 foot 2 inches tall, THAT'S A LOT. Also, even the task of walking up 2 flights of stairs to my office at work leaves me out of breath, gasping, and flopping like a fish out of water. Pathetic. PATHETIC!

I won't bust out the big guns regarding my running goals for 2012 just yet, but OF COURSE I would get back into it. Though there were many times during the marathon that I swore I would never run again and would rather be forced to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair, we all knew that I am about as addicted to running as Charlie Sheen is to women/drugs/booze. OK maybe not THAT seriously addicted- I would not break the law or shame my family's name just to get a run in, but you get the point. So yea, I set January 2nd as the official "MOVE, BITCH" date. I decided I would start from scratch with my training- back down to 3 miles, completely start over, do it right, prevent injury from the beginning, etc etc etc. Smart, right?

Little did I know: my body forgot what running was. Completely.

Picture it... little Amy Mary, all dressed up in her fancy winter running gear, all decked out, equipped with a fancy new Garmin watch (thanks, Kev!), new runderwear (thanks, Mom!), with an extremely detailed plan written down in my new running diary (including tempo/speed runs, cross training, and strength training), feeling like I could conquer the WORLD. I take about 5 steps and my body is immediately like, "WTF! STOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! GO BACK TO THE COUCH AND EAT ANOTHER BOX OF CHEEZITS! YOU FAT ASS, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING! STOP! STOP NOW! SERIOUSLY, STOP!!!!!"

Worst. 3. Miles. Of. My. Life.

Ok, 1 bad run, no big deal. So my legs felt like they had cement blocks tied to them. And my lungs literally burned like a smoker of 47 years. And I almost passed out. And I ran a 12 minute pace. Whatevs. It happens. Too bad this "1 bad run" turned into a string of about 10 bad runs.

After about 2 weeks of misery, I burned out. Totally threw in the towel. Was ready to swear off running forever. I was not enjoying it at all. It was a chore. I didn't look forward to it, and I didn't feel good after it. The pressure of my detailed, insanely in-depth, psychotic, freakizoid training plan ultimately took the fun out of it. I took 5 days off because, frankly, the thought of working out made me want to throw a brick at someone or something. How could I go from running a MARATHON to THIS?! No comprendo.

This past Wednesday, I was feeling especially antsy and anxious, and I needed SOMETHING to take my mind off life. So... I gave it another try. But this time, all planning went out the window. I set out with no distance, time, pace, or direction in mind. I just... ran. I still wore my Garmin, but rather than checking it every 30 friggin' seconds, I kept it under my sleeve and only checked it at the end to record my distance and time. And ya know what??? IT WAS AN AMAZING RUN. I did 5 miles and felt spectacular. I did the same thing yesterday and hit just under 6 miles. Feeling like Rocky. Arms in the air. Cheay, mutha f*cka.

Lesson learned: Quit setting unrealistic expectations, remove the pressure, and remember that I DO THIS FOR FUN. While, yes, I am training for races, turning this into a chore will not help me AT ALL in the long run (ha, pun). For other more experienced runners, this type of strict training regimen may be helpful, but for me, it just sucked all the fun out of it and turned me into a cranky asshole (keep your remarks to yourself, please).

So for those of you that think I fell off the face of the earth and was planning to ditch running and never blog again, I hate to break it to you, but I ain't goin' nowhere. More to come soon. I promise. Marathon Part 3. Soon. Seriously.

Marathon- Part DOS

I've kept you on the edge of your seat with the anticiaption of part 2, haven't I? Well, I can't say that the reason I have taken 2 weeks to write is because I have been staying healthy, in shape, and maintaining my running lifestyle. Quite literally, I have done the opposite: the fat, happy, glutenous slob lifestyle has taken over. So my only excuse for not writing is, well, I am lazy.

So where did I leave off? Oh yes: Mile 10 made me realize I was on a suicide mission. I just got tired, that's really the only way to explain it. My mind was all "You can do this, you can! Keep going!" but my body was all "Shoo gurl, I is tired, enough wit dis runnin' sh*t." I have never been one to complain about the hills of Memphis because, well, there aren't any. But as I came up to the 1% incline on Poplar just before LeBonheur Children's Hospital, I swear to you, I was either delirious or the road ACTUALLY morphed into a 15,000 foot tall volcano of death. I know Memphis is not known for volcanoes, but I swear to you, I am not making this up. I just put my head down, distracted myself with a GU gel, and tried to think of something else... like elephants, my favorite childhood outfit, and my future/non-existent wedding day- anything that randomly flew into my head and distracted me from the lava surrounding me as I plowed up the volcano on Poplar Ave in Downtown Memphis. Add it to your list of tourist attractions the next time you come visit.

Once I made it past the volcano, I began to feel a little better. Then the 1/2 marathon group slipt off. As I approached the giant flashing lights saying " <---- FULL MARATHON, HALF MARATHON ---> " I kinda felt all badass and super-hero, like "Yea, that's right, I am going left, what of it? Ain't no thang, just runnin' a marathon!" I felt like I was the center of attention of the entire world at that moment, making the (insane) decision to go left, to pass the point of no return. That whole super-hero feeling lasted about, oh, I'd say 23 seconds- until I realized that the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of runners AND the streets lined with spectators were a thing of the past. Cue western theme music and tumbleweeds. Again, maybe I was delirious or hidden speakers ACTUALLY started playing Celien Dion's "All By Myself", I don't know. I am beyond the point of trying to decipher what actually did happen during the race and what was a byproduct of my running-induced psychotic break that began around mile 10.

Miles 12-15 were so... effing... boring. Literally in the Memphis ghetto, not a spectator in sight, maybe 4 runners ahead of and behind me within eyesight... I'm not gonna lie, it sucked ass. Luckily, I had my killer music to keep me going. I had a little dance party in my head, and that kept me from crying of loneliness.

How was I feeling? My ankles were fine, oddly enough. My right knee/IT band was in pain. My lips were so chapped. It was starting to get pretty hot out. I was slowing down a bit, but I was still at about a 12 minute pace.

At mile 16 I saw Kevin and Maureen. All I could say was "My lips hurt real bad, I need chapstick." Those are the only words that I could form into a sentence that would make sense. But, again, seeing them made my heart fill with doodles of butterflies and hearts and flowers, which carried me 1 more mile until I saw Eszter and got another photo shoot.

At mile 17.5, I think I met Jesus. There was a bartender from the Slider Inn standing on the corner handing out cups of beer. I literally stopped running, stood in front of him, and asked, "Is that beer?" "You betcha! Want one?" "Will you marry me?" I took the beer, pounded it, threw the cup, screamed, and moved on. Yes. That's right. I drank a beer at mile 17. HOW BADASS AM I?!

When I got to mile 18, I was all "Wow, hey, check this out, from here on out, every single step I take is the farthest I have ever run!" That was cool and all, and I basked in that glory for a good 5 minutes, but I could feel myself quickly approaching THE WALL. Oh dear, the wall. That lovely mythical running nightmare. Well, let me tell you, my friends, IT AINT NO MYTH. Literally, one minute I was feeling like 7 more miles was totally doable, and the next minute I was getting ready to call a cab and ask him to bring an axe to cut my legs off. Instead, I called Omar for a pep-talk. That was much more productive.

It was hot as balls now. The sun was frying me- who things to put on sunblock for a race in friggin' December?! Not this girl. Bring on the farmer's tan. I started taking 2 cups at each water station- 1 to drink, and 1 to throw over my head and face like a sexy super model. I actually pictured myself in slow motion as I did it, shaking my head from side to side, looking all sensual... again, psychotic delusions running rampant, cuz lord knows I was the furthest thing from a Playboy model at that point.

I saw the cheerleaders at mile 20.5ish, and this picture says it all, I don't even need to explain:

I think I may have actually been telling Kevin to find a crossbow and put me out of my misery, not sure. Ask him.

OK that is all you get for now. Bye!

I ran an effing marathon- PART 1

I bet you've been checking my blog every 48 minutes, on the edge of your seat, just waiting for me to tell you all about THAT TIME I RAN A MARATHON! Well, alas, my friends... the time has come!

There is so much to share, so I am going to do it little by little as to not overload and post a 8173757 paragraph entry, which I am famous for, seeing as how I never know when to shut up.

OK, so let's start with the obvious... I FINISHED! You bet your sweet ass I crossed that finish line, screaming my face off, practically doing cartwheels. So there, now that I ruined the surprise (oh, while I'm at it with ruining surprises: Santa doesn't exist, and Dumbledore dies), let's talk about just how I managed to cover 26.2 miles. By foot. Without cheating.

Last week, I was a mess. I mean it. I don't know how I didn't chase away every friend, coworker, family member, and grocery store attendant I encountered... I think I even freaked out the homeless people begging me for money. "Money?! MONEY?! I'm running a marathon in 2 days! Don't ask me for MONEY!" So, to those of you that were unfortunate enough to cross my path last week, my apologies, and thank you for still wanting to be my friend.

I spent the entire week being as sedentary as possible. I didn't do any sort of physical activity that might further impede my (already minimal) chances of running the marathon. I did everything short of wrap myself in bubble wrap and wear a surgical mask. I wore my running shoes every day to keep my ankles happy. I wore KT tape 24/7. I iced, rolled, stretched, and rested the F*CK outta myself.

My neck slowly recovered after 3 adjustments at the chiropractor. Ok, go ahead, insert your comment about how the chiropractor is a quack and blah blah blah WHATEVER. After 2 sessions, I could finally look to the left without pain, and was no longer a spitting image of Zoolander as an ambi-turner. So say what you will, but the man fixed me, and I am forever grateful.

Somehow I made it to race day without a complete mental breakdown. I woke up (after a lovely 3 hours of nervous sleep) on Saturday morning, put on Journey as loud as it would go, and chugged a gallon of water. I somehow made it to the start line (wearing a pair of maroon Goodwill velour pants to keep warm), managed to make it to the port-a-potty and squirt out 3 nervous-pre-race-peeing sessions, and then found my way to my corral. I think the start gun actually went off while I was peeing, but I was so far back in the caboose, I had a good 20 minutes before I started running.

Hey, feet! You ready for this hell? No? Oh, well, too bad, cuz here we go...

Ok. Now. Let's run.

I saw my cheering posse at mile 1.5, and that was a great way to start the race. I was genuinely still happy at that point, all smiles and hugs and "Isn't this awesome!?! Look at me go! Yay marathons!" So that was cool.

One of the trainers from Cant Stop Endurance gave a great tip at one of the pre-race meetings about not pulling out the emotion and reasons and motivation for the race too early. Instead, "put it all in an envelope, tuck it away, and pull it out when you are at the point where you don't think you can take one more step." So I did that. I let my mind think about silly things like the guy with the really hairy back in front of me, or why there is ALWAYS a banana running the race, or how they managed to make Beale St NOT smell like beer and prostitutes that morning... ya know, just random things that come to mind.

Then we ran through the St. Jude campus around mile 4. (Honestly, I think it was dumb for them to put such an emotional and inspirational thing at mile 4. Nobody is needing that type of motivation that early in the race. Save that for mile 19 when I want to rip my legs off and throw them into the oncoming traffic. But, fine, whatever, throw this emotional bomb at me at mile 4.) Hundreds of people lined the streets, all thanking us for our contributions. I turned off my shameless running music, and soaked in the experience. I was overcome with emotion, and the flood gates broke lose when I saw a little girl holding a poster: All it takes is all you've got. That's when I lost it. Sobbing. So proud that I could give these children hope. So touched by the strength these families have shown. Completely overwhelmed by the entire experience. There were posters in the hospital walls that simply said "thank you." It doesn't get any more genuine than that. Oh, yea, it's really hard to run when you're sobbing.

Ok, so, after that, I only had another 21 miles to go. No big deal, right?

My ankles? Holy sweet Jesus- they felt FINE! I was waiting for the pain to hit. Waiting for them to perk up and say, "What, you thought you could get through this without us acting up?! SUCKER!" Stupid attention-seeking bitches. Yea, I just called my ankles bitches.

I was doing a good job of keeping around an 11:30/12:00 pace. I had my watch on and spent a lot of time making sure I wasn't going too fast. I knew I was going to see my cheer squad again around mile 6 or 7, and I was so happy when I saw Maureen with her signs, Kevin with his bright blue Chelsea jersey, and Jeremy's 28 foot tall head towering over the crowd. I practically skipped over to the side of the road to say hello. Again, smiles were genuine and I was feeling great. Around mile 7.5 I saw Eszter, my wonderful paparazzi. I saw a few more people I knew as we went through Overton Park. Then Eszter again around mile 10, then cheer squad around mile 10.5... how awesome is that?! These people either really like me, or they were scared of the wrath of Amy if they DIDN'T cheer. Either way, whatever, I'll take what I can get. I think the excitement got to me a bit, because I picked up my pace. Not by much, but enough to ultimately kick me in the ass around mile 12...

And that's all you get for now. WHAT A TEASE!

Race day details so you can stalk me, and some final thoughts on this whole crazy situation...

My last post before the race! Why? Well, I am an emotional mess, and I want to spare you all from the complete meltdown that will be taking place over the next 4 days. You have been patient enough with my ramblings up to this point, and I think it is time I cut myself off from the emotional verbal diarrhea that is already itching to explode.

So first of all, I know you are heartbroken that you don't get to stand outside in the freezing cold for 6 hours to watch 4 seconds of me running by, am I right? It's ok, I understand you have better things to do with your Saturday morning.

But fear not! You can stalk me from the comfort of your own home!

For those of you that want to track my progress, you can sign up to get text messages that will alert you when I reach 7 points along the way. That way, you know I am still alive and kickin'. If you stop getting texts, you can know to send your condolences to my parents. (OK, that is not funny. Sorry. I won't die, don't worry, sheesh. Tough crowd.)

I may also see if this system can follow my progress to the Emergency Room (to alert you of my diagnoses of "temporary psychosis" and "completely broken lower extremities"), and then to the nearest bar (to track my drinking status of "one beer and she's down for the count").

So, here is the info on text message tracking (with my comments in purple):

"Beginning race morning (ass crack of dawn), the runner tracking system can be accessed on the marathon home page (<-- that's a link, so just click on it). Family and friends (that means you) can track runners (that's me, bib number 2833) as they cross mile marks 3.1, 6.2, 10,13.1, 18.6, 24 and the finish. The system will also provide an estimated finish time. Search for your favorite runners (again, that's me) once the race begins."

So, in a nutshell, for all of you that need the info presented in simple terms... you need to:
1) Wake up by 8am CST (9am for all my east-coast pals) on Saturday morning
2) Go to the marathon website
3) Sign up for runner tracking (IMPORTANT: my bib number is 2833)
4) Sit back with your feet up and a nice mimosa in hand
5) Make sure your phone isn't on silent, which will cause you to wonder why you haven't "heard" any updates, thus sending you into a complete panic thinking I didn't even survive the first 3 miles

You may ask, “Amy, what’s your plan? What’s your strategy for running 26.2 miles on 2 busted ankles and a jacked up neck, having not trained in 2 months? How are you possibly stupid enough to run this race in your current situation? Why are you a moron? Do you really think you are ready for this?”

Good questions. Thank you for your inquiries.

Let’s start with this: I openly acknowledge that 1) I should not be running this race, 2) I am a complete moron for attempting to run this race, and 3) there is a very, very good chance I will not finish this race.

So, now that we have THAT out of the way, let’s talk strategy.

I am going to put myself with the 5 hour 10 minute pace group. Eww. I will be using what is called the “Galloway Method”: running + walking. I will run/jog/travel for about 10 minutes, then walk for 2 minutes through each water station. Yea, this means I will be at a 12 minute pace- a long cry from my 9:30 pace I had set out to accomplish. Double eww.

My estimated start time is around 8:30am CST. So, to break it down a little (all times in CST):
Mile 5- 9:30am
Mile 10- 10:30am
Mile 15- 11:30am
Mile 20- 12:30pm
Mile 25- 1:30pm
Finish- 1:45pm

Now, to address your last question: Do you really think you are ready for this?

As my wise friend Lauren so eloquently stated, “Sometimes being ready means accepting that it might not happen like you planned.” And boy oh boy, is this completely opposite of what I had planned. I am ready to face the day with an open mind and (try to) not be upset with my performance. I am ready to do my best, but not push myself too far. I am ready to be proud, but also disappointed and upset. I am not as ready physically as I want to be (or should be), but I have to play the hand I have been dealt.

Last, but not least, I need to accept that none of this is my fault. Thank you, Carrie, for really shaking some sense into me: "It’s not your fault that you got injured, it’s not your fault that it won’t go EXACTLY as planned, and that does not change that you are still the most dedicated runner I know."

So, here it is, 56 hours (yea, that’s right, we are now counting down in HOURS) from the starting line. I want to thank all of you for not just your support over the past YEAR, but also your patience and guidance. I can’t believe that 1 year ago, things were so drastically different in my life. I am so grateful all that has happened over the past year, and regardless of what happens in this marathon, I am really proud of how far I have come. Though things didn’t really end up as I had hoped, I am still so happy to have found my passion for running. And no, this isn’t the end- not even close. There will be more races (more marathons, you bet your sweet ass!), and more of my nonsensical ramblings.

Well... I guess that’s all I have to say... so... here goes nothin’...

I am a walking disaster

It's like every force in the universe is trying to keep me from running completing this marathon.


My ankles hurt + my neck being all jacked up = When I walk, I look like quasimodo doing the robot... Imagine me running.


(I bet you have an amazing mental image of me right now, yea? Nice.)


It snowed last night. Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE cold weather running, and I am a sucker for some pretty snow. But put aforementioned 80's-dance-move hunchback on slippery grounds, and it's a recipe for disaster. I have heard the weather is supposed to clear up by Saturday, but that doesn't alleviate the fear of putting the most clumsy girl on earth on wet pavement for 26.2 miles.


Everyone around me is sick. Coughing, sneezing, hacking, snotting... Please stop engulfing me with your germs. I have been tempted to walk around and spray every person I encounter in the face with Lysol, but with all the ruckus lately about pepper-spraying at these stupid occupy events, I am scared I will give the wrong impression.


So, if all this crap could just STOP, and I could be healthy, un-hobbling, un-hunched, and have the sun shining on Saturday, that would be great. A damn miracle, but worth hoping for.

5 days...

I was driving down East Parkway yesterday and saw all of the signs saying "Marathon Route, Expect Delays, THIS SATURDAY".


Everything is so surreal. That is the only word that makes sense to me right now. Surreal. I can't believe the race is so soon...

What a pain in the neck... literally.

Yesterday morning, I woke up and my neck said, "Ya know what? I am sick of your ankles hogging all the attention here! I want to be in the spotlight! My turn!" And it them proceeded to completely throw itself outta whack and toss me into the most extreme pain. I am completely crippled-- I cant move my neck at all, and even the smallest movement sends shooting pain down my right leg and right arm. 


AWESOME!


Oh, and the best part: only 5 days till the race! DOUBLE AWESOME.


So, for the past 2 days, I have had to axe my ambitious "solo-holiday-to-do" list. Instead, I have been laid up on my couch trying to find a position that minimizes the shooting pain. I have been reduced to laying here miserably, watching awful romantic comedies on cable. FYI: the movie "27 Dresses" only makes the pain of throwing out your neck WORSE. 


I am going to find a chiropractor tomorrow and beg for an appointment ASAP. As if I am not worried about this marathon enough, ya know...?