Sweet Emotions

I am the luckiest girl in the world because my parents and brother Matt will be making the trip to D.C. to cheer during the race. My parents came to Boulder to cheer me on during the Bolder Boulder, and I was very bummed when I finished the race without spotting them, despite the crimped hair, hot pink socks and red and white polka dot apron that I was rocking. So in order to avoid this mix up, I need to make myself even more visible. I mean, my family is traveling across the country just to watch me sweat and stumble through 26.2 miles. And I have a feeling that the most uplifting sight to a runner during a marathon is the sight of loved ones cheering them on. So, I made a tutu. Oh yeah, baby. A luscious, neon green and hot pink tutu. I will be rocking that mamba-jamba all 26.2 miles of the Marine Corps Marathon. Because, what I really think those Marines need is to see a sassy little lady in running shoes and a tutu with an unmistakable look of don't-tread-on-me-determination. Plus, I cannot deny a secret desire to catch President Obama's eye and maybe a nice photo op.

So, tutu = beacon for family + impressing the military men and women + luring the President. I'd say it's a complete package.

I'm sure Jamie is just peeing his pants thinking about running a marathon along side his Marine brothers, family, and froo-froo girlfriend dressed like a friggin' glow-in-the-dark muppet.

I'll definitely keep you posted on the exact moment that his eyes well up with tears from the gushing pride when he sees me on race day.

I have one more long run scheduled before the marathon. This Wednesday I will run two miles for my long run. Two miles?!

I must admit that I have reached the expected time of reflection. Yes, I am beginning to feel like a big emotional ball of goo. These past four months have been a very wild ride, to say the least. And now I am just over one week away from race day. And I can hardly believe it.

What's strange for me is that although I have reached all of these high points during training, when I look back on say, the 20 mile run, it seems surreal. Like I didn't actually run that. It's like having a memory that you think might have been real but it could have just been a memory from a dream.

I'm ready. Time is dragging. October 31st seems farther away than it has since I began training. What's that? Crazy talk, you say? Walk a day in my shoes, toots. (I didn't initially mean that literally, though it kind of works.) Then you'll really know crazy.

Feets Don't Fail Me Now!

This is the post that I am 100% sure you have definitely not been waiting for.

But I have to do it.

In the name of all things holy, and Lord knows this blog has been blessed by his own hands, I have to write the following. (Not for the faint of heart)

Due to an outrageous amount of miles run this summer, my body has changed in a few ways. That is to be expected, I do believe. However, there has been one change that is exciting in a completely different way.

My feet. I'm pretty sure they are the ugliest feet in tarnation.

I'd even go so far as to say grotesque.

I have blisters and calluses. In fact, there is one spot on my left foot that is now covered with three blisters, one on top of the other. I know, I didn't think that sort of thing was possible either. But it is. Oh it is.

But the blisters and calluses are not alone. No sir. They are accompanied by some seriously screwy toes. I have already lost two toenails, and during the 20 miler, I lost two others. Now, I don't know many of you have lost toenails. I'll estimate 5,000 out of 635,400,000 readers of this blog have lost at lease one. So I'd like to shed some light on this allusive and frightening experience.

What causes this spirial towards annihilation is that your toes repeatedly hit the same spot in your shoe countless times throughout multiple short runs or one long run. This is due either too ill-fitting shoes, downhill running, or just the violent (yes, I would say violent) repetitious toe-slamming that happens within a shoe during activity. One day, you take off your socks and things just don't look familiar. You see a toe, maybe it's the ring toe, or perhaps the pointer toe, and it's a little blue-ish. And it's a little sensitive. And you look closer and realize that it's also a little swollen. Essentially, what you have now is a sort of blood-blister under your toenail. Sounds awesome, right? It gets better.

Now, this baby will remain in this condition for an undetermined amont of time. A week. A month. Who knows? You're at the mercy of the toe. For me, the first toenail that went down this slow path of destruction was kind of intriguing....I didn't quite know what was happening, but I knew it was an injury that really only runners encounter, so that was exciting. I felt like a real runner. But what happens next is less than intriguing, it's actually completely gross. So brace yourself.

You reach a point where this sorry excuse for a toenail starts to drive you mad. This thing is taking over your life. You worry that it's going to fall off at some very inconvenient time (because let's face it, there's no better way to ruin someone's day than by having one of your toenails falls off right in front of them):

• When you're in a business meetin'
• When you're having a picnic
• When you're ordering a mojito on a patio
• When you're snuggled in bed
• When you're sharing a milkshake
• When you're showing off some dance moves

Finally, if you're like me, you decide to take matters into your own hands. And you spend days trying to work up the courage for what needs to be done. Do you remember pulling out your first tooth as a little kid? Because that tooth just dangles there, and it's no good for nothin'. It's gotta go. You give it a little yank and "pop!" you're gappy-toothed. Same idea, different body part. And while the "popping" isn't painful, it is still traumatic. Because you start to feel a little separation anxiety. That toe is missing it's partner in crime. It's missing it's Robin. It's Ernie. It's Clyde. And it just plum looks weird. I mean, a nail-less toe? That's just wrong.

But time goes on, and after the shock wears off, you start to notice a new life sprouting into that toe. And you realize how delicate the circle of life really is.

So that has been the cycle of my sad, sad feet. As of now, I have lost two and two others are one their way out. Yes, it is a massacre. But do not pity me. Because I am proud of my Frankenstein Feet. All it means is that these tootsies have seen some miles.

Wish I could be a pea pod.

A friend of mine (Renoodle) recently asked me what I was going to be for Halloween. I replied "I'm going to be running a marathon, that's what I'll be."


At this point, she proceeded to make suggestions of what I should be while running the marathon. Her ideas were to wear an afro wig, dress as an M&M, or a pea pod. While all of these sound like perfectly wonderful Halloween costumes, particularly if you're six, I'm not quite sure I can actually consider wearing them. You see, running 26.2 miles in a big red felt M&M just doesn't really seem plausible for me at this time.


But it got me thinking...what are some costumes that people actually do wear during a marathon?


Allow me to rock your world:

Boulder to Logan Lane

Yesterday was the day that I have been dreading since beginning training. The 20 miler.


Jamie and I joined forces again for this last really big run. We ran from 55th, right by the Boulder Res, to my parent's house in north Longmont. We accidently deviated from the original course slightly and ended up running 19 miles. Still pretty good, I would say.


We both felt great after...laughing and talking with the Costanza's (my funny nickname for my Mom and Dad, which is kind of bittersweet because I guess that makes me George). And we were starving! So we headed on over to one of my favorite places to dine in the 'Mont; the Red Zone. This brings me to the point of this post, the most confusing things about running long runs.


First of all, as I previously mentioned, our stomaches were screaming at us! And you'd think that after running for four hours and not eating for about eight hours, that a little burger and fries would hardly be enough (and some southwestern egg rolls). But it feels as though your body sort of rejects such hearty foods because it's in panic mode. You just pushed your body to it's absolute limit and it is trying to straighten itself out. So while your mind is getting really pumped up about this plate of food in front of you, your stomach is quickly sending the signals that it is not prepared to be engourged. And let me tell you, folks, this is bit of a bummer. Eating an obnoxious meal after a long run is the best way to celebrate what you just accomplished, but it's no fun when more than half of it gets packed up in a to-go box.


After you've just attemped and failed to stuff your face, you start to feel a wittle sleepy...


But you're freezing! Sweatshirt, walrus pants, down comforter, and socks all team up to try to help your body maintain a healthy temperature. But it cannot be done. For the next couple of days, body temperature fluctuates like a roller coaster.


So you're snuggled now. And you turn off the light and close your eyes, so happy that now you can sleep. But surprise! You body slaps you in the face with another dose of cold, cold reality. There is way too much happening inside of you for your old bag-of-bones to let you sleep! So now you toss and turn all night, feeling the soreness settle into your joints and muscles. It's kind of like waking up when you're still drunk, and you have the great pleasure of feeling the hangover gradually hit you as the morning creeps by. Never fun.


24 hours post-run, Jamie and I are both feeling ill. Flu symptoms, perhaps.


The fact of the matter is that the body goes into shock in multiple ways. So virtually every calorie that you consume post-run goes towards repairing the damage that you just incurred on every inch of your being. And because your body is working so hard in this department, your immune system is weakened.


How ironic that after pushing your body to perform at it's best and strongest, you feel the worst and weakest.


But it's all okay because that was one of the best long runs of all. Aside from the sick-ish feeling, my muscles and other parts don't feel as beat up as they used to after long runs. So that's tremendous progress.

This run was further proof of just how far we've come this summer. And that's a feeling that just can't be described.