Well if you have been wondering where I've been the last month. . .
I have been running (sorry mom) my ass off. Seriously. It's not there anymore. OK, well it is, but it is smaller than it was.
If you remember, back in June, I told you all I had signed up for the marathon. And I've been training. And training. And the miles have been getting longer. And longer. Our longest run was a 20 mile run. That's far.
But not 26.2 miles. Which is what we all did Saturday. And let me tell you. Your race doesn't even begin until you finish that first 20. The last 6.2? That's where the race starts.
Oh yes, my friends. THAT is where it starts.
So Saturday November 12, I woke up at o'dark thirty. I had been downing Vitamin C like it was crack candy since I had to substitute teach a bunch of germy darling preschoolers. (I do really love them all. They are great kids. But let's face it. Preschoolers at this time of year? Germfest.) But I digress. . .I got up with Jamey and we left the house at about 5:45am. For a race that started at - 8am. Why you ask? I'll tell you. Whether you wanted to know or not. It was because, I being the paranoid freak that I am, was afraid we wouldn't get a parking spot.
So we got downtown and Jamey drove past all the shmucks who were paying for parking and drove right underneath his building where parking was free and no one knew about it. It was awesome. We had decided to use his office as a warm and cozy place to hang out until race time. And I must say, it was quite lovely! My friends, Kara and Polly, got there shortly after, and we all hung out. I ate my ritual of a toasted peanut butter pita pocket, got to use a real bathroom instead of a port a potty, and before I knew it, it was time to go up to the start.
My friends and I all walked up and stood around in the cold for about 5 minutes and then we were off and running! I have to say, for the first 7-8 miles, I thought if I could stay feeling the way I was feeling then, I'd have a stellar day.
And I must remind you that I had a few goals for this marathon.
1. I did not want to stop and walk. I wanted to run the whole way and not bonk.
2. I wanted to get anything under a 4:45. If I could get under 4:30, I'd go crazy at the finish.
3. I did not want to look like a raving lunatic in my race photos this time.
Rule three was pretty much broken right away, unfortunately. See we were rounding a corner, and there was a band playing, and it was early on, and I was all hyped up. And so unfortunately, I believe a photographer caught me in my "old form". You know. The one where I'm not running with a super cute pony tail and smiling serenely for the camera? Right. The other one is how he caught me. Where I'm waving my hands all around and screaming and looking at the camera with a crazed look on my face. Sigh. I will post my pictures when they come out to show you.
And so my second rule - I had amended it during training. See if you remember, Jamey ran the marathon last year. And he didn't have his very best day, truth be told. I'm still totally proud of him, but he made a fatal mistake. Because my pace has been very consistent through all my training. And it put me within striking distance of his time from last year, which was a 4:13:35. So I had made it my extra super secret goal - to beat him.
I knew it would only be possible if 1. I were having a stellar day, and 2. if someone ran me in. And who better to run me in than the person I was trying to beat, right? Uh-huh. And he didn't know about my goal.
So I was running. Felt great, and ended up losing my lovely friends I had trained with around mile 7.5. We knew it was a possibility and had made the deal that we would all run our own race. And I knew if I waited for them, I wouldn't make my goal. So when one of them stepped to the side to go to the bathroom, I kept going.
And I still felt great. I ran along and grabbed a handful of pretzels that someone was handing out (THANK YOU, to whoever you are - they were delicious!), and kept on and kept on. And then somewhere around mile 15 or so, I started feeling. . .not as great.
If you are a marathoner, then you know (and some of you who aren't may still know) that this is not good. Because "the wall", the point you hit and start to get tired and worn out, isn't until mile 20. They literally call that "the wall". Yep. And I hit it at 15. But I kept running. Because I knew in about 3 more miles, I'd meet up with Jamey. And maybe he could help me out.
I actually sped up and ran to find him. And when I did, I was worn out. I was hurting. He asked how I was. I said I was doing crappy or something like that. And he asked what he could do. So I said, "Talk. Just talk. I might not say anything back, but I just need you to talk to me." You know. To get my mind off the fact that I wanted to lay down on the lovely black asphalt and die. Quickly.
And so he talked. I would like to tell you a lot of what he said, but honestly? I am not even sure. I know I listened. I remember nodding a lot. And saying "yes". And not much else. The sad part for him is, he could have asked me if he could buy a brand new Porsche that day, and I'd have said "yes". So actually, I guess I better not be surprised if one shows up in my driveway.
I was tired. My legs were cramping. I wanted to stop so very badly at mile 25. And at that point, I knew that whether Jamey was there or not, I had to keep going, because I would never forgive myself for being so close and stopping. So I slowed down. WAY down. It was the only mile I went out of the 9's and I clocked a 10:17 mile. And finally at one point, I looked over at Jamey, my wonderful, gorgeous husband, and said, "STOP TALKING." He was like "Got it." And he did stop talking. Which was good because otherwise I might have upchucked on him and then killed him with my bare hands been very angry.
But then God smiled down on me. Because shortly after that, we turned a corner. And I could see it. The FINISH LINE.
And Jamey started screaming at me, "RUN! RUN CAROLYN!!!!" And I screamed back, "I love you!" And I took off! And I ran for all it was worth and crossed the line! I looked down at my watch, and I had. . .
DONE IT!!! I BEAT JAMEY'S TIME!!!! My watch said 4:12:48. Later the chip time - which is the "official" time, said I completed the race in 4:12:35. I had beaten my lovely husband by exactly one minute.
He's super proud of me too.
I must say a special thanks to a nameless medic who helped me out after I stopped. Because after I stopped, I was very woozy. He came right up to me and asked if I needed assistance. And I couldn't even talk. I just nodded, and he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders as I wavered around a little bit. He put one of those lovely foil blankets around me and then I put the death grips on his hands because I was afraid he was going to let go of me and I would keel right over in the finish area.
Then he said, "Let's go get you a medal." And I nodded and he walked me over (still holding on to me), and as the other man put that beautiful medal around my neck, I leaned against both of them. And sobbed.
I was in a lot of pain. But it was totally worth it. Happy Day, my friends.
PS - Brightroom just posted their pictures. In a word? Sigh. But I did promise to post them. They even have a video of my finish. See them here.
PPS - Someone else took a picture of me where I actually kind of look like a badass. I like it much better.
Yep. Sure am.
As of this morning, I am officially signed up to run the 2011 SunTrust Richmond Marathon on November 12.
Wait, let me check again.
Yep. Completely out of my mind.
If some of you recall one of my earlier posts (Carolyn, the Racing Lunatic), it looks as though I have some work to do. If you don't remember what I'm talking about, then you must read the post I've linked to.
I don't know what has possessed me to train for another marathon. I guess part of it is the fact that I haven't done one in quite some time. Since Joshua was born, I really haven't participated in many races. I used to do several races each year before he came along. I have done two marathons. I guess I am possibly trying to rediscover that part of me again. This, however, is partially how I know I'm crazy. Because seriously, do I really have to do an entire marathon? What's wrong with a 10k? Or a half marathon if I really want to push myself? I'm not sure.
I think another part of it is that my lovely, husband, Jamey ran one last year. And he has given me two reasons to try it again. Number one, he ran one. Therefore, I am jealous. (Hey, at least I'm honest!) And so now I want to do one. And number two, he ran it with a training team. OK OK, some of you know that the first marathon I ever ran was through a training team. But there's a difference. The difference is that, that training team sucked.
OK. It didn't really suck. It served its purpose. It was a Jeff Galloway training program. But the program directors were not the best at helping us train. Basically, they showed up, set up aid stations, handed out maps, and said good luck. We were lucky (those of us in the slow groups) if we saw them when we got back from our runs. But I want more out of a training program. And Jamey promises me that this group is different.
Plus, my first two marathons were done using the run/walk technique. I had a watch with dual timers on it. I'd run 10 minutes. Then I'd walk for two. Over and over again. And eventually I'd peter out in the final six miles somewhere and walk for a while and run at the end. So this time, I have a goal. I truly hope to run the whole race. I don't want to walk.
sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh. . .I also have a super secret goal to run it in 4:45 or less. If I run it in 4:30 or less, I will no longer stick to my promise not to look like a lunatic at the finish line and will post the picture on my blog. But ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
My first training run is Saturday morning at 7am. And we go for 5 miles. WOOT WOOT! Wish me luck in my training!
Happy day folks!
Yep. I have some problems with balls. It all started in high school. With my gym teacher.
Yes. You read that correctly.
Now please remove your mind from the gutter and read below.
Two Ball Stories
Story One
So my last year of gym we had a semester of tennis, and a semester of archery. Tennis was first, and I couldn't wait. I loved watching tennis on TV, and I never really had the chance to actually learn how to play. And now we were going to have an entire semester of it, and wasn't that going to be so exciting?
I already knew that I was going to be so very good, that I had planned on going and buying several new tennis outfits with those cute little skirts. And I imagined myself going to Wimbledon, and all the sports commentators would talk about how I had been such a late starter, but yet here I was playing against Steffi Graf for the championship just three years after I started playing.
I obviously had a very high opinion of my abilities to pick up new sports. The problem was, although my heart knew I was absolutely supposed to be an overnight tennis sensation, the rest of me didn't.
So over the first few weeks of gym class, the hour went like this. . .
1. Get bucket of tennis balls and a racket.
2. Look around for a partner.
3. Wonder why no one will make eye contact with me.
4. Tell myself it must be that they are afraid of the talent that is sure to come pouring out of me at any moment.
5. Be paired up with someone who has some tennis talent already. This person does not want to play against me, but the coach makes them. I again reassure myself that they are actually afraid of what they must surely know is coming.
6. Serve the first ball.
7. Walk over to the net and get it.
8. Serve the next 6 balls. Watch as they fly over the fence.
9. Serve another one.
10. Walk over to the net and get it.
11. Hit the remaining bucket of balls, and then call over the coach to tell him that I have hit all my tennis balls over the fence.
12. Watch as coach mutters something under his breath (Surely he didn't just say the "f" word, did he?), and wait patiently as he retrieves all the tennis balls he can find. He usually comes back with one or two less than I started with.
13. Wait for the person across the net from me to serve to me.
14. Hit the first 7 serves over the fence.
15. Hit the next two serves into the net.
16. Go and get the ball.
17. Hit the remaining serves over the fence.
18. Tell the coach we don't have any tennis balls left.
19. Repeat of step 12.
And this would repeat until the hour was over, or until the coach couldn't find any more tennis balls. The coach spent an inordinate amount of time with me and my partner of the day (well, OK, just with me), trying to show me the way to hold the racket, how to swing, how to serve, etc etc.
By the way, I'm not kidding. This is all true.
But I didn't care. I was learning how to play tennis. And I was stoked! If, by some complete miracle, I did manage to keep one in play for a (very short) volley, I'd end up doing a celebratory dance as though I'd just scored the winning touchdown in the Superbowl. That's how excited I'd get. Because I was learning! Wimbledon? Get ready cos HERE. I. COME.
About a month into the semester of tennis, my gym teacher came up to me while I was picking out a tennis racket. I remember being irritated because someone had already grabbed the one I had been using for a while. And I remember that I had been planning on asking the school if I could take it to Wimbledon with me. I kind of considered it "my" racket now. I was just scoping out the other students to see if I could negotiate a trade of some sort when the coach came over and asked if I could step aside and chat with him a moment. Since I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say, I smiled as humbly as I could, and said, "Oh, sure. No problem."
I stood there and gloated as the other students grabbed rackets and tennis balls. The coach got them all started, and then he came over to where I stood. I smiled at him again as he came over and stood in front of me.
"Carolyn."
"Yes coach?"
"You know you're failing, right?"
WHAT?!?!!?!?!?!
I'm FAILING?
That wasn't what he was supposed to say!!!! How can I be failing? I'm going to Wimbledon in three short years! I need all the practice I can get! This is ridiculous!
I looked at the coach. I actually waited for him to say, "Just kidding! Get out there and show me what you've got!"
But he didn't.
Instead, he said it again.
"Carolyn. You know you're FAILING, right?" And yes. He said the failing part louder.
"Um. But I'm really trying."
"Oh. I know. Believe me. I know you are."
"I really REALLY want to learn how to play."
"Right. I get that." Silent stare for a moment. Then, "I'm going to give you a choice."
Oh? Maybe some after school lessons? Cool.
"You can either continue to try and learn how to play and I'll have to fail you, or you can SIT OUT THE REST OF THE SEMESTER AND I'LL GIVE YOU A 'C'."
WHAT?!?!?!!?!??!
I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say. I had never wanted to learn a sport so badly in all of my life. It was unfair! I'd been cheated!
I stood there for a minute and pondered the two choices. Then I heard:
"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING NOT SITTING OUT!?!?!?"
My last Wimbledon dream went down like a flaming heap of dung as I heard the teacher say that. I sat out the rest of the semester. I was only allowed to get up and hit a ball if another teacher or staff person came out. But I must admit. The flame had gone out, and it wasn't nearly as exciting to hit those balls over the fence as it was before.
Story Two
This story is much shorter, but no less important.
When Jamey and I were dating, he played golf occasionally. And when he knew he would be playing, Jamey would go to the driving range a few days before, buy a bucket of balls, and hit golf balls.
One time, he invited me to go. And I was all excited because I knew, in that exact moment, that I was going to become the first female to win the Masters. Or whatever tournament it was where you get that green blazer. After all, I look awesome in green.
So off to the driving range we went. I could hear all the talk in my head. Everyone pointing and talking about how incredible it was that I could hit a golf ball so far and so straight. Even in 40mph winds. And with a putter! They would say I could make the ball go wherever I wanted it to go.
We get to the range, and Jamey buys two buckets of balls. He hands me one of the golf clubs, and the smallest bucket. We set up side by side. I watch him hit a few, just to let myself get a feel for the whole thing.
Then, I set up my first ball on the tee. And I swing. And I'm looking for it. And I'm totally amazed. I can't even SEE it! It must be going so far, and so fast that. . .
"Carolyn?"
"Yes, Jamey?" (Still scanning the horizon waiting for the ball to drop.)
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for my ball." (He doesn't sound amazed. He sounds. . . perplexed?!?!?)
"Did you look down?"
"Huh?" So I look down. There's a ball sitting on the tee. Weird.
"How'd that get there?" (Back to looking for the ball I hit. It's bound to land any minute now.)
"That's your ball. You never hit it."
"What do you mean?"
"Your club didn't make contact with the ball."
"Oh." Now I'm perplexed. I look down again and think to myself that it must have been a fluke.
I hit it again. And I immediately look down to make sure it left the tee. But it's still there. And I repeat this over and over again. And this becomes my experience at the driving range.
1. Swing the club.
2. Look down to see that the ball is still there.
3. Swing again.
4. Repeat steps one through three several times.
5. Swing the club.
6. Look down. The ball is not there.
7. Look out about a foot from the tee. There is the ball.
8. Reach out, pick ball up, and replace on tee.
Repeat.
I hit one ball the whole afternoon. Jamey finished his bucket and then hit my bucket of balls (minus the one I had been using all afternoon.)
He never asked me to go back to the driving range again.
It's things like this that made me switch to blogging.
Happy day everyone!
Of course, that's the story of my life. . .
As you all well know by now, I've been quite sick. Like borderline pneumonia sick. I ended up with a pretty good case of bronchitis and stuff. So I have done almost nothing in a month. I finally went to the doctor on Monday and got some new antibiotics. She told me if I rested well for a couple of days to give the antibiotics a chance to kick in, I would probably feel like a new woman by the end of the week. I gratefully took the prescription to the nearest pharmacy to fill it, because, let's face it, I was totally over being sick at this point. I mean, a girl can only enjoy a nightly dose of NyQuil for so long, right? (speaking of, don't ever buy original flavor NyQuil, unless you want to add to your sicky symptoms. It's liquorice flavor and totally gross. Just sayin'.)
And I am happy to report that the doctor was correct! By Thursday morning, I felt like a whole new person! Well, a whole new person who still had a naggy cough. But still, the foggy, feverish haze had finally departed my body. I did a little housework to try and play catch up, and by yesterday evening I was worn plumb out. And then today, I got up and I had a plan. I had to not tell the rest of me what I was up to. I didn't want to give me a chance to back out of my plan. So I acted like everything was just fine and that it was another day of the same as I bundled Joshua up and drove him to preschool. Me started realizing something was up though as I put on my clothes. But I told me that I was just dressing comfortably, and to ignore what I was wearing.
After I dropped Joshua off at school, me started suspecting what I was up to for sure. Because I looked down in my console to make sure I had my headphones. And me was starting to remember hazy, distant memories of when I used to use those headphones. And me started saying, "No. It can't be. She wouldn't be going there, would she?" And I said to me, "Noooooo. Of course we aren't going there. That would be ridiculous. You just started feeling like you again, so why would I inflict that on you after only a day of feeling like a human being again? You're just paranoid." And of course all the while, my sinister plan is going around and around in my head. . .
Then as we get close to my house, I suddenly pull into the left turn lane before the turn to our house. And me starts going, "Heeeeeyyyyyy, wait a minute. I think we've been here before. . ." And I'm all thinking to myself. Now just relax. Play it loosey goosey. Me will never suspect it. Better to get there before me realizes what I'm doing. So we make the final turn and me all of a sudden gasps. And starts screaming. "NO NO NO!!! Don't do this to us!!! You are still sick! I bet you get pneumonia if you drag us in there! STOP!!! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US!!!!!"
But no. I didn't listen to me. I got out of the car, grabbing my earplugs as I walked purposefully across the parking lot. Me tried desperately to grab the door handle of the car, so me could hold on for dear life, but I turned my body and put my headphones and ipod on early so I wouldn't have to listen to me's screams anymore.
I walked up the steps and turned the ipod off. Then the doors opened and me almost fainted. Because we were at -
THE GYM.
Oh yes, my friends. WE - I and me - desperately needed this. We have not exercised for over a month now because of this stupid illness. And don't forget. Christmas was in this mix. It was all cookies, and cakes and drinks (oh my). And even though I felt bad, and the decongestants helped with not feeling super hungry, it didn't apparently slow it down quite enough. Uh-uh. So as I continued in the gym and over to the elliptical machines, me started weeping. It knew I was going to punish us. I kept telling me that I was going to take it easy. Me, still weeping, said, "Oh please don't do this to us. You thought we were sore while you were feverish and all achy. Don't you know what this is going to do to all our muscles?" I said, "Yes. And that's why we're here. This is for your own good. Haven't you looked at your chubby face? The ROLLS on your belly? We may never recover from this. NOW GET ON THE MACHINE BEFORE I HAVE TO KICK OUR ASS."
And so I and me did. And although I hacked and coughed and wheezed the whole way through 30 whole minutes, I and me did it. Me cursed at me the entire time, so I turned the volume up on the ipod. It was easier to ignore the shrieks that way. I never knew that me could be so persistent. And annoying.
I would have loved to have worked us out for an entire hour, but when I and me stopped the elliptical, we almost fainted. So enough for one day. Me is now telling me "I told you so." And me is kind of right. We are already feeling a little sore. But me doesn't know that I plan on taking myself and me to the gym again. If not over the weekend, definitely on Monday. So shhhhhhhhhhh.
That is unless the hacking and coughing continue to get bad. Or if the fever comes back. Because I suppose I could have set all that off again by possibly going to the gym just a weeeeee bit too soon. But I couldn't take it anymore. So wish I and me luck that we stay healthy. Because we both plan on wearing bathing suits this summer.
First off - update on my dad. Good news!!!! He went for his follow-up appointment, and the doctor told him the cancer was in the very, very early stages. This means no other treatment other than getting a small procedure done every three months for a couple of years. So very good news. Thank you so much for all your prayers and positive thoughts. They meant a lot to me and my family!
OK. Now. The reason I am posting so late is simple. I haven't been able to walk or move most parts of my body since yesterday morning. Why you ask? Well it's simple. Two of my "friends" convinced me to do a class together at our gym. Notice I put "friends" in these lovely quotation marks. Because they surely cannot be my friends when they knew what I was about to endure. They both know I am old. I am forty-one years old. They both know that's practically ancient, particularly compared to their cute 34 and 35 year old selves.
Would you like to know what the name of the class is? I mean, the name itself should have clued me in to what was in store for me. Are you ready? OK. Here it is. Body Combat. Hello? What was I thinking?!?!? I should never take a class in it that has the word "combat" in it. That implies, like, major movement. Like kicking. And punching. And growling. OK, maybe most people weren't growling. And come to think of it, I wasn't either. It was more like a low moaning. As though I were in my final death throes. But I digress.
So I get there, and my first friend, Sherie arrives. She and I are similar in body shape. Now I personally think Sherie's got a cute figure, especially considering she works full-time and has two kids. But she looks at me and says that since we don't have supermodel bodies, we have to be in the back. She didn't exactly say it like that, but seriously, that's exactly what happened. Because then our second friend, Brenna, who is super thin and muscular and all, she comes in. And instead of getting in the back with us, she stands in front of us. And I look around and all the super thin cute girls are in front. Except for one grandma. I'll get to her in a minute.
And then the instructor, Nicole. She, of course, is super thin and cute and she's got her hands all wrapped up. Like she's gonna box. And she asks if anyone is new to the class. I have to raise my hand. And she looks at me, and all I can think is, "she's gonna kick my a&%". Why in the world did I think to raise my hand? Really? Did I just do that?
The class starts. It's like aerobics and boxing, no no. It's like kick-boxing. So you have to be coordinated. And follow a routine. And I don't get it. And all I can do is laugh. And when I laugh, I snort. Very loudly. It's quite embarrassing. Have I ever told you that? Oops. I digress again. So yes, I'm laughing and snorting, and Sherie looks over at me and she is laughing. At me. And then after a few minutes, Nicole says something about getting started. I look over at Sherie and I say, "I'm sorry. We're gonna get started? Was that just a warm-up?" This of course, sends Sherie into hysterics. I should have gotten sympathy. Nope. No sympathy from Sherie. And Brenna is up front being all into the workout, and doesn't even notice the snorting and hysterical laughing behind her. No wonder she is so thin.
So then we really get going in the workout. I'm trying to keep up, but honestly, just as I think I might get what Nicole is talking about, she says, "Now I'm gonna change it up." And she looks at me every time. And I smile. All like, "Oh, yep. OK, change it up, girlfriend." When inside I'm thinking, "I have no idea what she's talking about. Change it up? I didn't even get the first part!" But yep. She changes it up. I start to look at myself in the mirror hoping that I will "get it." Instead, all I see is an incredibly uncoordinated, soft in the middle, old lady with a really bad outfit on and a hairdo that could scare small children.
Then Nicole adds in some "duck and weave" move. And I watch myself as I do it, and I think, "Dear me. I'm going to give someone a black eye doing that." It's just sad. I look over at Grandma, and I realize that she might even have better form than me. Oh dear, how pathetic. Then I feel a bit redeemed when we go to do running man and some other exercise, and then she does look a bit more freakish than me.
Then we are still working out and I wonder what time it is. So at the very next "break" (lasting about 5 seconds), I glance at the clock. And we've still got almost 25 minutes of class left! My smile is still plastered on my face, and Brenna glances back occasionally now. I'm sure it's because she's seen my face in the mirror and is worried I might have a stroke. Or maybe she thought I already had a stroke after seeing some of my kick-boxing moves. But anyway, we finally take a "real break" while we go and get floor mats. I don't have any idea why we are getting floor mats, but I'm game to go and get one. Some lucky chick beat us there and she's handing them out. If I had known that was going to happen, I would have gotten there first. Even if I'd have had to push her out of the way. You know why? I could have hidden back there for the rest of the class.
But no, Sherie did not tell me there was a little hiding place back there. I bet she knew about it too. So I get my mat and we walk back over and Sherie keeps giving me looks like "I told you this would kick your behind." And I'm still smiling, because frankly, I think my face is paralyzed from my "duck and weave" move. Nicole tells us to get on the floor and I'm hoping it's cool down time. Wrong. It's. . .get ready. . .ABS AND ARMS TIME! WHAT?!?!?!?
Oh yes. Planks. Push ups. Side Planks. All of the things I detest. And Sherie and I watch Brenna and she's doing push ups. And she's on her tiptoes. And her planks are perfect. No wonder she's got a flat tummy and muscular arms. And the reason I could watch her do those push ups? It's because I've pretty much given up and am lying on my mat. Waiting for Nicole to come over and shoot me, because, it is Body Combat. And you should put the people who can't keep up out of their misery.
The class finally ends. I think I might die. And cute Nicole comes up to me and says, "So how did you like it?" My frozen smiley face says, "Oh, it was great. Definitely going to do it again." WHAT did I just say?
So now I have to do this class again. But my arms hurt. My back hurts. My feet hurt. My right hip hurts. My smile is still not off my face. Everything hurts. I am a good typist, but I started this post this morning, and my fingers were so sore that I had to peck it out, and take multiple breaks in order to finish it. I think I need to see a doctor about that. But I said I would do it again. So I will. Even though I should absolutely not participate in any group activity that requires any kind of coordination. Dear lord help everyone in that class.
Sorry I ditched you all yesterday. It was really a crazy weekend what with the marathon and all, and it kind of spilled over into yesterday. I wanted to write, both a blog entry and on my book, but my day got filled up very quickly.
And speaking of marathons, I have to laugh because right after the marathon, Jamey said, "Well, I can check that off my list now. I'll never do another one." And I've been there. Said that too. But I also knew what would come later, so I waited. Patiently. And sure enough, this morning, Jamey said as he turned away from me to go downstairs, "OK, so I want to do it again." Or something like that. Point is. . .he has been bitten by the marathon bug.
I also think I am feeling the need for a mommy weekend. Sweetie, if you are reading this, look at your schedule. Mom and Daddy, get ready!
So I have been watching for my husband's pictures to come available for viewing on the Brightroom website. You know, they take pictures of you killing yourself while you are running, and then they post them for everybody to see. They aren't available for viewing yet for this year, but I was checking for the billionth time this morning, and saw that they still have last year's pictures up. I ran the half marathon last year. So I thought, huh. I think I'll go back and look at those again.
Wow. I look really, really ridiculous. First of all, my outfit choice was not pretty. At all. Second, my hair is short and looks really horrible in all the pictures, particularly since I didn't do anything to it when I rolled out of bed early that morning. Lastly, and I remember this quite clearly, every time I saw a photographer, I started waving my arms around and yelling at them to take a picture of me. And they did. As I was waving my arms around and yelling like a lunatic. And so that's what my photos look like exactly. Don't believe me? Well even though I am embarrassing myself horribly by doing this, here is the link. . .Brightroom - Carolyn Davidson aka Total Lunatic.
See?
So I have learned some very valuable lessons as I commit myself to running in the marathon next November.
1. I will buy a really cute outfit to wear for this marathon. I want to look stylish when I am running this time. (Honey, be prepared to break out the checkbook.)
2. I will grow my hair like crazy so that hopefully by this time next year, I can wear my hair in a cute pony tail. To all my girlfriends - if I talk about cutting my hair off, please use the following code words: doofus hair. It will remind me of my goal to have nice pictures for the marathon.
3. I will NOT, I repeat: I WILL NOT go crazy every time I see a Brightroom photographer guy. Because I don't want to look like a crazy person in all my marathon pictures. I will smile serenely at the cameras. I will do everything I can to look cute and not like a total bafoon.
No wonder I never order race pictures of myself.
Have a great day everybody. (smiling serenely)
My husband ROCKS. He finished his marathon in 4:14:34! Way to go Jamey!!!!
I may have done permanent damage to my vocal chords. Oopsie. My throat is raw from yelling!
A big thanks to my friend Rachel who came around with me to all the stops. You rock too girlfriend!
We are all pooped. Jamey from the marathon, me from the stress of running all over creation and stressing out whether I missed him at each stop (except the first one, and no, I didn't miss him at any of them), and Joshua because he woke up at 5:50 this morning. He was at MiMi & PaPa's. Ugh. That makes me hate Daylights Savings Time. I swear I could run for President of the United States and have that one thing as my "issue" that I would fix. And every single parent of young children would vote for me and I'd win. And I'd fix that, and then I would not do anything else the rest of the time I was in office except go to great parties and wear lots of cool clothes.
Jamey is walking around like he is a little old man. He just came through the kitchen, and he said he was afraid of the next several days. That he has pains he didn't know could exist. And since I've been there, I told him that he should be afraid of the next several days. He should be very, very afraid. . .
So now I'm all jonesing to run next year. I plan on it. But don't hold me to it or anything. You never know about injuries or who knows what else. But I really hope to be out there to do another marathon. I miss that feeling of accomplishment in running that long.
But it's true. My man ROCKS! Yay Jamey!
So it's a big day tomorrow. . .my husband is running his first marathon! :)
I am so excited for him. He's wanted to do this for a long, long time. And also a little bit glad. He's been totally stressed out this week. (Sorry honey, but you know it's true. And I still love you.) But now, the night before the race, he is almost giddy. Pre-race high. It's funny to watch him right now. I made him a special dinner - chicken, broccoli and pasta. Poured some spaghetti sauce over it, and sprinkled some cheese over it. Lovely pre-race dinner.
And now he's getting all his "stuff" ready. Race belt. Race Number. Timing Chip. Powerade. Gu. Clothes. The list just goes on forever. For anyone who's out on the course tomorrow, his number is 3373. He will be wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt, black shorts, and black socks. He's taped "Jamey" to his shirt so people can yell for him. I hope he gets lots of cheers. He's hoping to run it in less than four hours. I'm totally jealous of that time goal.
I will proudly and enthusiastically go out and cheer him on tomorrow. He has done the same for me - twice. I have run two marathons. And he came out both times and cheered me on from several different spots. So I will be driving around with my friend Rachel from place to place. Screaming when he runs by. And then we'll hop in the car and race to the next place to stop and see him. I am also his "roadside assistance". I will be holding extra gu's, powerade, body glide (which is NOT what you dirty minds are thinking. It's stuff to keep you from chaffing!) and whatever else he wants me to take.
So in honor of the marathon going on tomorrow, I'll tell you how excited I was the first time I ran.
Of course, my BFF, Yvette, came all the way from Texas to run with me. That meant so much to me. And we made a pact. We would cross the finish line together and hold hands. I was really slow, and I remember I was worried I wouldn't be an official finisher. Jamey came out and cheered me on along with my mom and his buddy Jeff. There were several other people out on the course too, and it was really great to have the support. Then towards the end, around mile 21 or so, Yvette looked over at me, and she said, "You know, even if we walked the rest of the way, you'd be an official finisher." And I promptly burst into to tears. I was so excited.
Then the finish came. Jamey had assembled a HUGE bunch of people to watch us come into the finishing chute. And Yvette and I came down the big hill. And I saw the first couple of people cheering me on, and I started to choke up. A little further and there were a few more. And then I was crying. And then I heard my friend Jennifer, who was helping call out names as they came across the finish line. I hadn't seen her and hadn't thought about her being there. And I took off! I was so excited to see her!!! And I grabbed her hand and then crossed the finish line and then. . .oopsie. I missed Jamey. And the whole crowd of people who had gathered to watch me finish. Because Jennifer was on the opposite side of the street. And I forgot to run to the finish line with Yvette and hold hands across the line. Oops. I still feel awful about that. All those people and I totally didn't look. Sigh.
So tomorrow, if Jamey gets excited and doesn't see me at the finish, I can hardly hold it against him, can I? Running your first marathon can do some funny things to your head, especially at the end. I am so happy for him. I am so proud of him. I can't wait!
Go Jamey!!! NUMBER 3373 in the 2010 SunTrust Richmond Marathon!!!
I am running for the first time today in two weeks. I don't want to go. I have three reasons for this.The one, most obvious reason, is that I haven't run in two weeks. Makes sense, right? We went to the beach two weeks ago. I ran once down there. And you can't blame me, because we were on vacation. And for those of you who run and exercise all the time even when you go on vacation, I think you are crazy. Just sayin'. For the record. Then after we got home, I knew I was close to finishing my book. And I didn't do anything but write and cook meals and take Jman to and from school. In fact, yesterday I looked in the cabinets and realized I had absolutely not one thing to make for dinner. So off to the store I finally went yesterday. All I can say is I am thankful that Jamey didn't give me a hard time, cos he sure had reason to!The second reason is my foot is hurting again. I hate running injuries. And this one is quite a little dickens to figure out. Seems that I have a problem with new running shoes. Any new running shoes. So I wonder if I will be stuck wearing my old ones forever. . . I just bought a pair, but every time I wear them, I get the same pain in my foot. So then I switch to the old ones and the cycle continues like that for about forever. It is quite frustrating, actually. I need to make an appointment to see my sports medicine doctor. Of course, it would be helpful if I did my stretches for my foot on a regular basis. (Don't judge me!!!!)The third reason is that, frankly, I get lazy. I go through cycles allllllll the time with exercise. I will do well for a while. Then I fall off the wagon. Then I do well. Then I get hurt. Then I don't for a while. Then I get better. Then I try again. And hence another cycle. I totally blame my parents for this. (But I still love you both!) The reason I blame them is because they didn't really do any exercise on a regular basis. So I never had that demonstrated for me. And so now I struggle with it too. But I want to be at least a better example for Jman. I figure if he at least sees me trying, and then he sees Jamey actually exercising regularly, then he will be the better for it. But lest they think I don't love them, other than this one little teency thing, my parents were/are perfect. (I have to say things like this or I might not get invited over for a mommy weekend. And isn't it about time Mom and Daddy???????)So there are my three reasons. But after I drop Joshua off at school, I'll come home and procrastinate for just a little while. Then I'll go suffer through it and pray my foot doesn't hurt in my old shoes. Because I know it's good for me. Plus, eating four times at the Bad Bean Taqueria while we were at the beach, and the ice cream we eat every night is really showing on me now! UPDATE: 11:20am - I did just what I said I'd do. I procrastinated, then I ran. Foot felt good. Stretching now. Will be sore and tired by tonight. Repeat tomorrow. . .
Why did I sign up for a triathlon? In AUGUST? What was I thinking? Why didn't I go preview the course before I decided to sign up for this race? Don't I know how hot it is going to be in August? I just KNOW my bike is trying to kill me. . .
These are just a few of the thoughts that continuously run through my head as I trudge to the gym every (other) day to work out and try to prepare as best I can for this race. Half the time I find myself driving over with the excuse that I might run errands after I work out, but really it's just because it is so stinkin' hot that I can hardly stand it. I want to stay cool as long as possible.
One of the reasons I signed up was because it is only open to female competitors. I don't know why I thought that was so cool. If I am competing against all women, the top competitors - whether they are male or female - will kick my behind. And let's be honest. The top competitors will be willing to mow me down in the pool, on the bike, or during the run with no hesitation. They will leave me in a crumpled heap on the side of the road (if my bike doesn't first). Don't get me wrong though - I didn't sign up thinking if it were an all female race I'd have a chance of winning. But just because it's all women participants doesn't mean they all will be really nice and polite. It is still a race. And there are some mighty competitive women out there.
I also signed up because I thought it was really cool that all the volunteers are male volunteers. And how fun is that to have men at your beck and call, right? Except they won't really be at your beck and call. All they are there for is to hand out race packets, be course marshalls, hand out some water, and if you are lucky, call your name out to congratulate you as you cross the finish line. It's not like they are going to disentangle me from my bike when it tries to murder me as I ride the bike course (btw - Do you all sense a slight sense of fear about my bike? More on that in a minute). It's not like they are going to stop me and give me a manicure/pedicure/massage treatment because they see I am a little tired during the run (and give me a nice glass of wine and some chocolate with that). Plus, it's all "male volunteers". Nowhere does it say they have gotten all "Chippendales dancers" for their volunteers.
Now the lovely bike issue. I have maintained for many years that my bicycle is trying to kill me. If you have ever seen the Calvin & Hobbes cartoons where the relationship between Calvin and his bike is depicted, then you know exactly what I am talking about. If you haven't, you must find any and all of that series and you will understand. It is hysterical (to everyone except Calvin and me). Part of the problem has been alleviated in that I am not doing the whole "clipless pedals" thing for this triathlon. But I still have a definite love/hate relationship with the bike (mostly hate). About the only really cool thing about my bike is that it is a very pretty color scheme with some pink in it. Very girly and cute. And I have a matching helmet. But if all you can say good about your bike is that it is cute, that's not too much.
I used to be able to work out all day long in the heat. This year apparently has been the turning point for me. If I walk outside to work out and it is hot (and when hasn't it been this past summer?), I just about melt into a pool of sweat before I leave my driveway. I have had more days where I've bonked and had to quit this summer than I care to mention. And that was when I was just running. So this does not bode well for me in AUGUST.
All this said, am I going to give it my best shot? Yes. Am I going to finish even if I have to walk the whole run course (and maybe part of the bike course?) Yes. Why? Because I signed up. I paid my money. And I will finish it even if it takes me 3 hours. I don't really care in the end because at least I am getting out there and trying. Do I have goals? Uh huh. But it won't really matter in the end whether I reach those goals or not. I can always make brand new goals up while I am on the course. (I will swim like a dolphin for fun on this length since I am so tired. I will set my bike on fire when I get home for throwing me off like that. I will run to that mail box that is three feet in front of me and then start walking again. I think I will sit on the curb here in the slight shade of this nice crepe myrtle for 5 minutes and start again). But the ultimate goal to finish will always be there. And it will happen too!
