Life has just been too busy to blog! My apologies to everyone who has been following the weight loss and encouraging me. To date I have lost about 15 pounds but still have a ways to go. Good news is ...
I have finished my second half-marathon! THE FIRST ONE WASN'T A FLUKE!
I can really run 13.1 miles without dying! And I can finish in one day (actually a little over 3 hours).
Which brings me to my next story for the blog which we shall entitle...
"Running halfway downhill."
My friend (we'll call her "G" to protect the innocent) got me into this running thing. She joined our company full of enthusiasm and energy which is unbounded. We were so excited about her joining and embraced that energy with all of our heart. So, it was with a totally open mind that we agreed to let her plan a little "team building" event.
Now, I was thinking we would all go out to eat together. Someplace nice. You know, a restaurant that didn't allow tennis shoes. A real "get gussied up" event so I could wear my good jewelry.
Someone should have had the presence of mind to put some parameters around this assignment because "G" decided we would all train for and run in the Country Music Half Marathon in April! SHE ANNOUNCED THIS IN FEBRUARY!! We were all so dumbfounded we actually agreed we would do it. What were we thinking.....
Now, let me remind you that this is prior to the Losing Alaska adventure (see blog posting of May 11, 2006) so I was a bit heavy and, well, let's face it.. I was a slug. I was an athlete in high school and college but had settled into that career woman fluffiness and had my work cut out for me. "G", however, could not be dissuaded and volunteered to create a non-fail training plan that would get me off of that couch for more than a cookie. In a fit of exuberance unmatched only by a cult member who just drank Kool-Aid I gave my word I would run this race.
A Southern Belle cannot go back on her word. I would never be able to attain Sweet Potato Queen status if that got out into the community. I would simply have to buckle down and begin my training program and gave "G" the go ahead to write up that training plan and, by the way, make it aggressive.
The next day she presented the plan. I don't remember too much after the first 5 minutes she let me see it because I had an asthma attack precipitated by the big gasp of air I took in after reading the first line ... "Run 2 miles."
RUN 2 MILES! RUN 2 MILES! I couldn't even walk up the stairs without stopping every third step and she wanted me to RUN (not walk) 2 miles! And that was just the first week. This was insane. There were also these things called "long runs" which essentially meant you got up out of your bed very early in the morning, donned your running attire (there is a dress code), ate a banana, strapped 5 gallons of water to your back and spent the entire day running.. non-stop. You just run... for miles, and miles, and miles. You come home at dark, take a bottle of ibuprofen and go to bed. You do this one day a week. The other 3-4 training days you just run half of the day. Those are "short runs."
To make a long story short, I stuck to the plan (albeit not without a lot of pain and a short stint of being unable to walk without crutches which I'll blog about later) and finished the race. It was extremely gratifying and I had not planned to replicate that adventure ever again... ever.. never... Until...
The St. Jude Memphis Marathon is traditionally run in December. On the circuit it is a well respected and very well organized race so "G" decides we have to participate. After all, we just need to continue on with our training plan and it will be easy.
"But I doth protest" I stated. "I am still dragging one leg behind me and it's the middle of July." This gal can do some selling (or rather I'm too stupid to think for myself) and replies, "But it's an easy course. 6.5 miles of it are downhill! It's a easy run."
Well OK then! If it's 6.5 miles downhill then count me in. I couldn't sign my registration form fast enough.
Let's fast forward to December 2, 2006 - the day of the race. The race begins at 8 a.m. and we have all agreed to meet downtown and start the race together. Our company has paid our entry fee and provided some cool shirts to wear. I get up, kiss my hubby goodbye, grab my energy bars, my MP3 player (which has the coolest music mix perfectly timed to help me keep my pace), my asthma inhaler and off we go. I stepped outside and it's 30 below zero. There is nothing to prepare you for a cold weather race. It's brutal. Luckily I had done my research and dressed in layers.
I march to the starting line and take off. At mile 3 I have a hot flash which could have powered a small city and removed my sweatshirt to cool off. I turn the corner for mile 4 which is along the river and the temperature drops 50 degrees in the space of 1 inch. I get chilled and decide to put my sweatshirt back on but forget to untie the arms which was the mechanism I had used to hold the shirt around my waist. I pull the sweatshirt down over my head and it gets stuck at the arms.
Note - I am trying to reapply my shirt while running so I don't lose time.
I am extremely claustrophobic and the sweatshirt gets stuck on my head. I panic and begin to twirl in circles around and around in the middle of the street screaming my head off. Some kind fellow grabs me by the shoulders, stops my twirling, unties the arms of the sweatshirt, pulls it down over my head and sends me on my way. I cry in relief. Big menopausal tears. Some kind soul had sacrificed his running time to save me from a sweatshirt.
Now, let's move to mile 6. At this point of the course the people running the full marathon loop back and are running toward those of us who are slow and running the half. I see the Elite Athletes. They look like Gazelles. It is a beautiful sight watching these guys run so effortlessly. I cry... Big menopausal tears. People begin to move quickly away from me as I sob "That is so beautiful. See them running. Isn't that just something!"
At mile 6.5 I cry because I've made it half-way. At mile 10 I cry because I have entered double digits. At mile 13 I cry when I see the finish line and at the finish line I cry just because it's the thing to do. Big fat, snotty nosed tears. How embarrassing! Menopause is heck on the emotions.
When I crossed the finish line my friends "G" and "K" were there waiting. "K" ran the last few feet with me and I fell into "G's" arms for a big hug when I cross the line but only after I have slapped her. I had finally figured out you had to run 6.5 miles uphill to run 6.5 miles downhill. I will never let her talk me into anything again. Well, hope springs eternal.
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