"To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice The Gift"

Five on the dot. I grab my bags and head downstairs to the gym. Deadline time is behind me and I can finally head to the gym with out guilt for an easy four miler. I have been looking forward to this moment since probably, 10 am.

Two years ago when I started training - training was everything. I kept my schedual tacked to my cube wall, I read about running at lunch, an on a running day I was out the door no later than 5:15. I found peace and freedom in those runs. Nothing mattered once my feet were pounding the pavement. I had to work hard for every second of every minute that I was out there. There were no five minute coffee breaks, only recovery which kept throwing my body forward.

As I tied my sneakers, snug but not too tight, and fasted my pink watch around my wrist I glanced over at the dark empty gym. I was often the only one who worked out here, a hamster on a giant wheel running in place in front of a wall of mirrors. Forced to watch my reflection make the same moves over and over. I sighed at the thought of running four miles in such a monotonus environment. I had seen a clouded over sky on my way down to the dungeon of a gym, but somehow the thread of rain was not as menicing as the threat of boredom. I needed to finish this run and if I had to cut it short becuase I could not stand to be in the same spot for another minute I would not easily forgive myself.

I stood in the commons for a good minute, watching the clouds. I must have looked like a fish out of water in the middle of our giant pink palace. A girl in black running shorts and a black tee shirt, the only trace of pink being the trim on my shorts and my watch. Who was this athletic looking person standing in the middle of all our pink and green and prep? My mind was made up. Outside I would go, a quick dash inside the locker room to grab my access card, a quick hello to Ms. Pat, and I was out the door and heading up the hill. In all honesty I didn't even know where I was headed, I didn't know how many miles I was going to run, or the terrain I was going to encounter. I was just happy to be outside, to be moving at a pace that was entirely dictated by my body and not my a moving belt under my feet. Treadmills made me feel cheated, like I was being told i could run faster than I was able, the belted ground moving along under me and I just picking up my feet to keep up.

The seconds and minutes would tick away on my pink iron man watch as I slowly moved up the hill. I was only half aware that all the cars driving by me were my fellow employees leavnig for the day and I was just getting to the best part of mine. I kept on moving forward. I would go twenty minutes out, however many miles that would take me, and then turn around and head home. I would not set myself any more limits than that. I had a vauge idea of running to Valley Forge Park, or at least seeing how close to it I could get. This would mean turning right onto Allendale, right onto First Ave, and then right onto whatever came next. I ran down third on the side of the road rather than in the grass. There was a serious lack of sidewalk around this area. I opted to stay on the right side of the street as I turned onto Allendale, which was probably not my smartest decision being that the side walk was on the left side of the street. But I chose to avoid traffic lights and run right in the road again. For a minute I hopped up onto the curb and ran like a balance beam one foot straight infront of the other. I would occasionaly waver side to side but never once stumbled completly off. And then that too ended and I was left again to run in the road, and then the grass, and then the road. I just prayed that when this short stretch ended and I turned onto Frist ave there would again be sidewalk, and there was! A wonderfully flat, open, and short stretch of sidewalk. Ok so I probably should have seen this coming. First Ave was a coral reef of office complexes. Why would they ever want to sidewalk all of their streets? Who would ever want to run along this hilly industrialized stretch of road? Runners I say (even though I seem to be the only other one out here, everyone who is smart just drives the five minutes to Valley Forge park) next time I say. Next time I will just drive to the park.

My mind for a moment drifted to my saturday run with Heather. This past week we had tackled eleven full miles, trecking through various neighboorhoods in the city. We trecked up hills and rampms, past train tracks with box cars full of garbage, past the zoo which smelled of animal waste, and past a putrid stretch of west river drive that smelled like something too gross to even identify. We ran although she had a sinus infection at at times she said she wasn't going to make it to the end. But I kept telling her not to stop. I know what it's like to be in her shoes, I used to say the exact same thing. I used to say I would stop like it was a threat to Larry, when in all reality it didn't matter to him one way or another. I would keep going becuase I knew I had to, and becuase I knew I would feel guilty. I kept pushing Heather and she kept going. I knew when it came down to it, at the end, she would want to feel like she acomplished something and not that she failed. Of course there would be runs where you gave up, there were countless runs that I gave up, even with Larrys words of encouragement. But we would not give up that day. we pushed all the way up the top of the hill and finished at Falls Bridge. I wanted to tell Heather that she had taught herself one of the most important lessons in training for a marathon. There will always be times when you feel like you cannot keep going, but you will. You will feel like there is nothing in the world that could get you to take another ten steps, and while you are too busy contemplating to stop or not, you realise you have gone a quarter mile with out really thinking, so you keep going another quarter mile, and before you know it you have knocked one more mile off your run. And you do what all good runners do, you just keep going.

As I ran along the grassy terain sidewalk again appeared under my feet, as I approached the bottom of a large hill. I silently cursed myself for picking this route as i checked my watch. Almost nine minutes. Ok hill, let's go! As I made my climb I started to look around and I realised that in the two years I had worked here I had never really taken the time to find out what else was back here. And I never realized the amount of people that left the office before six. Cars were lined up at every exit, waiting their turn to enter into the massive fight that is the rush hour evening commute! For once, I felt anything but envy towards them. They were sitting in their cars, in their restrictive business casual attire, and would probably remain there for at least a half an hour getting angry at other cars and wanting to be home. While I was free, I was out on the road, I was moving, and for the first time in months I felt like I finally had a purouse.

The aftermath

My stomach churned, my legs cried out for ice.  I rolled over and checked the time on my phone.  Ten of seven in the morning.  Now here is a great debate if ever there was one.  At ten of seven in the morning on a sunday, who actually wants to get out of bed and eat something and take Ibuprofen? If I get up I'm going to end up stretching out my legs and god knows that once I've been out of bed for more than five minutes I'm not going back.  But who wants to lie in bed, legs begging to be loosened, and stomach just itching for something to eat.  I will never get any rest this way either.  Ten minutes later, stomach wins out, as stomach always does.  There are many things I can stay in bed through, leg pain, having to pee so bad I might explode, sleeping through everyone in the house awake and sometimes even fighting, bright sunlight.  The list goes on forever but stomach always wins.

I get myself out of bed suddenly aware that the burning in my calfs is from spending hours in three inch heels on the dance floor just hours before.  Weddings.  gotta love weddings.  But weddings cannot be an excuse for not running, and so my ten miler had to get squeezed in pre ceremony.  

The morning was dark, so much so I had a moment of confusion, wondering if it was maybe the middle of the night.  I picked up my phone to silence it's deafening beeps .  6 am on the dot.  I wish I could have rolled over to boyfriend and whispered "Five more minutes?" But he wasn't even in the house.  I wasn't even in my bed.  I was on the couch.  My plan of falling asleep on the couch had backfired, instead of being uncomfortable and being easier to get up in the morning, I was just as content to go back to sleep for another five years. Or five hours, which ever came first.  Five seconds was more like it.  I stood up, and stretched ready to begin my pre run routine.  Did I even remember how to get ready this early in the morning?  I knew the basics, shorts socks shoes, sports bra, tech t-shirt, windbreaker.  Gatorade, breakfast bar, ipod, headphones and then ... wait, where were my headphones?!?! While I rarely ran my long runs with music I counted on the upbeat tunes to wake me up and motivate myself to get out the door.  this morning they were nowhere to be found.  No matter though, I didn't have much time left, I had to be out the door to drop gatorade on the course so I simply plugged my ipod into my car and got revved up that way.  I drove my car around the slick twists and turns of Kelly drive, pulling over just before the art museum to stash two bottles of gatorade behind a tree.  After that I was on my way to pick up heather and we would begin our run.  

We started out crossing falls bridge onto west river drive and chatted mostly about weddings, registries, planning and the like.  Heather was recently engaged and as exited about planing the whole ordeal as ever, and although boyfriend and I were still only boyfriend and I, I never much minded talking about all the planning.  Plus I had a wedding to go to later that afternoon which is why we were running so early.  Just like last week the sky was over cast, and the weather cool, with only a slight threat of rain from the dark clouds hovering around the city.  I noticed we were going along at quite a decent pace for having so much trouble two weeks ago.  The weather had a lot to do with it, but slowly we were both feeling so much stronger and it felt great to cover the distance in a comfortable fashion instead of a struggling one.  This week I had mapped the course, so Heather followed me up hills and through Fairmount park as I explained to her the course that the Marathon would take you.  We did a semi backwards version in order to do most of our uphills in the first half of our run.  Running through the war memorial and down Lansdown drive memories of my training flooded back into my mind.  When ever I thought of those days I felt stronger, I felt like I could go farther, I felt my steps become more fluid.  Those where the days where I could race along doing ten miles at a nine minute pace.  But for now we just went along as best we could, just finishing the miles, enjoying the scenery, enjoying the company an the conversation.  We begin to approach the art museum and by now we have completed five miles at least.  Our thoughts are on gatorade.  The sweet taste of gatorade flowing over our lips, thrusting energy into our bodies, giving us the push we need to complete the run.  We round the corner onto kelly drive.  I start to look for the tree, I run off the path only to find that our gatorade is gone.  Are my eyes deceiving me? is our liquid energy, our running treasure really gone? We know it didn't just get up and run away, could someone have really stolen our gatorade? This fact would forever baffle me but it didn't stop us.  We quickly found a water fountain which would have to satisfy us for the next four miles.

Thankfully it was only four miles and that last stretch always went by fast.  There were always plenty of people to look at, and when falls bridge appeared in the distance out of nowhere came this surge of energy that pushed you up the hill to the finish.   Ten miles.  ten miles and it wasn't even 9 am yet.

As I lay stretched out on boyfriend's living room floor, stuffing my face with leftover pizza and Gatorade (finally!), stretching out my aching muscles, I remembered why I did what I did.  Why I ran.  Because for some reason I actually liked the pain.  I actually liked when my muscles felt hard and tough and toned.  I liked being a runner.

I would put up with the pain, the hunger, the early nights, and the even earlier mornings.  I loved what I did.

Back on the horse

For the first time in a long time, I had a real summer vacation.  I planned my weekends around cookouts, family get together, trips to the beach, and days at the pool instead of long runs, and recovery days.  I stayed out late on friday nights laughing with friends, I drank beers, I went out on dates with boyfriend instead of staying in, eating a sensible dinner and getting up at six the next morning.  It was glorious and relaxing and well... downright normal.  And that last little thing was probably what bothered me the most. I ran to get away from normal, I ran to be exceptional.  I ran to push my body, my mind, to challenge myself in the hardest was I knew possible.

I had trained for months for my second marathon.  I had given up so much in order get better, and in the end I was displeased with the results of my race.  So much so that I began to wonder was it all really worth the time.  Was it worth giving up my social life for a subpar marathon performance. Forget about the fact that I PR'd by about twelve minutes.  That didn't matter to me.  I wanted to achieve big goals.  Perhaps I had just set my sights too high.  But with my coach moving on with his life in med school, with me newly dating boyfriend, I realized I had to give myself the time off to enjoy my early twenties.  If my life led me back to running than so be it,  if it did not, than perhaps it was not mean to be.

I am by no means out of shape compared to the average american.  I stayed active, snowboarding in the winter, running every now and again in the spring, going to the gym a few days a week.  I always ate pretty well most of the time but never failed to pass up an opportunity to eat ice cream.  But compared to a runner I knew I had lost so much speed compared to last year.  I kept telling myself this is what I wanted.  I wanted to take a year off, enjoy life, stay injury free.  But the more time that went by the more I realized I was becoming content with my semi active life.  I put in extra hours at work and my running or working out happened more rarely.  Weekends where I stayed with boyfriend or went on trips I never even tried to accommodate for running.  I just pushed it aside like some chore I didn't want to do.  Was running becoming a chore to me?  The thing I had loved to do and lived for for so long was becoming a nuisance in my life?

What scared me most was that boyfriend, who did not come from an active lifestyle, would get used to the way I had been for the past year.  He enjoyed nights in watching TV, or nights out having a few drinks.  He was not an early riser.  If I did not do something about this now, what would happen when I was finally ready to get back into training? Would he hold me back? would he be unhappy with the time I spent training? I needed to know now.  

After a few arguments, I realized the only thing keeping me from running was me.  I needed to be tougher with myself.  I needed to get out of bed in the morning no matter what.  I needed to run the miles and keep going until I was done.  No one else could do that for me.  I had to make the time.  

So for the first time all summer, I finally set aside a saturday morning and said, this is gong to be it.  I am going to go running.  And then I realized that while I had been taking time off, my friend Heather had been running more.  I had always been the one to train more, but it would seem now that we were finally in a place where we could train together.  I knew that nothing motivates me to get out the door more than knowing someone else is there to go with me.  Even more convenient was the fact that she had just started training for a half marathon.  Sunday morning I rose at seven am with that all too familiar feeling of knowing I would accomplish something great in the next few hours.  I had a quick breakfast, and drove to our meeting spot.  The air was chilly but not cold, perfect for late august.  As we ran that morning, we chatted and caught up with each other's lives and even in the times when I thought I couldn't keep going, I did.  The clouds cleared and the sun beat down on us and we slowed down a bit but we never stopped.  Seven miles later we arrived at the end of our run, my car where I would drive us back to our houses.  At home that morning I went about my normal weekend routine of making coffee, cleaning my house, and reading the paper.  But it felt different than it had in the past.  It felt strong.  I felt like it didn't matter what I did for the rest of the day because I had already done the most important thing.  The next day I signed up for the Philadelphia half marathon.  I was ready to get back into racing.

One weekend long run under my belt, the next step was to do another.  Being labor day weekend I knew I would be away from home, and took al my running gear with me in case I were to have the chance to run.  I did not, but we arrived home earlier than planned and so Sunday night I set my alarm for 7:30 am, made sure to eat something healthy, avoid drinking.  When my alarm went off the next day I momentarily contemplated snoozing and going back to sleep for another half an hour.  But all I could see in my mind was running, pushing myself, needing to get this run in in order to be able to run ten miles next weekend.  It was only a matter of minutes before I was out of bed changing into running gear and ready to go out.  I quickly kissed boyfriend goodbye, said I love you, but couldn't take the time to have a drawn out goodbye.  The hardest part about running was putting aside all pleasure and just going forward.  So I just took off.  As I started my run, I thought about how pleased I was with myself for getting out of bed.  I would run eight miles this morning.  I would run no matter what, no matter what hurt, no matter how hard it was, no matter how much I wanted to stop.  Main street was deserted and there was a light breeze, there was no sun out, perfect weather.  Before I had even covered one mile my ipod died and I was forced to spend the rest of the run lost in my own mind.  I remembered back when I was training I would make up stories in my head, or narrate my actions to myself to keep entertained.  Today I calculated how far I would have to go to run eight miles.  Two miles down main street to the 3 1/2 mile mark on Kelly Drive, add 1 1/2 more miles to make four and then back to make eight.  As I made my way onto Kelly I was joined by more runners.  It's always a good feeling to be joined by fellow runners.  I said good morning to most that passed me.  I tried to keep thoughts of hot coffee and egg sandwiches out of mind.  My mouth was dry, I scolded myself for not drinking enough water the night before.  I beat myself up in my own head, pushing to keep going.  Turning around at the halfway point it was like I had put myself on cruise control.  My feet were moving, I was moving forward, but it was as if my mind was separate from my body.  I was just along for the ride.  It was a smooth stride and in those moments my mind just wandered, I looked out at the scenery around me taking in the trees, the river, I even saw a fox on a hill in the distance.  Before I knew it I had pushed myself onto Main street.  I was cruising up the last hill, and then trotting down the other side,  I threw my body into a higher gear to push across the last cross street and as I moved my legs across the bridge to cross onto Venice island I was done.  

My legs hurt, my mouth was dry, I could feel the muscles in my stomach, legs, back aching to hold me up.  And yet I was happier than I had been in a long time.   Getting back on the horse would not be easy. There would be many more early mornings, there would be aching muscles, and I would love every single second of it.  

Marathon Math

I heard on the radio the other day this random piece of trivia.

"Did you know that in four games, a professional soccer player will run the equivalent of one marathon?"

Average non-running American's everywhere are sitting in their cars on their way to work, in amazement. The DJ's on my regular morning show sure are in awe.

"wow" the one says "that's amazing"

Now being the skeptic that I am, and of course being a runner, I start doing the math in my head.

Four games = 26.2 miles.

That means in one game they run 6.55 miles.

Six and a half miles? In any given week of a regular marathon training season, six and a half miles is an easy day. Six and a half miles is a joke. Six and a half miles is also roughly a 10k.

Ok so let's say you're max distance is a 10k. You excel at the 10k. You can run the 10K at five minute pace. You would finish in about a half hour. Excellent!

Ok so back to soccer. One professional soccer game lasts approximately 90 minutes. Ninety minutes. That's an hour and a half! And you know that these players are not running their hardest non stop with no breaks for the entire ninety minutes. Sometimes you're team is on offense, and if you're playing defense you're not really playing that hard. Let's not forget subs. At what point during a marathon does a runner get to call in a sub and take a break until they catch their breath? Oh let me think, Never!

When does the guy running the 10K get to switch spots with someone more rested and ready to go to finish up the race for him? Nope.

Ok so basically, over the course of four games, which total six hours over as little as four days and as many as who even knows how spaced out soccer games are, some guy runs 26.2 miles and you want to compare that to the guy who runs the same distance straight through no breaks over the course of three hours or less? No way Jose.

Now don't get me wrong here, I am not knocking the skill it takes to play soccer. It certainly is not a gift I was blessed with. But honestly, comparing four soccer games to a marathon? Nope sorry, I am not impressed in the least.

Boyfriend the beginner

Boyfriend and I first met in the fall of 2006.

It was a wednesday night, One week before my 21st birthday and I was meeting up with some friends of mine at a local Irish pub for what would prove to be one of the best traditions of my senior year of college. Quizzo. A local phenomenon of random trivial knowledge played in three rounds in bars with half price appetizers. what could be better? There were about eight of us at the table, two of my good friends and guy friends of theirs from their freshman dorm. Somehow it had taken three years of school for us to all finally meet, and among them, boyfriend to be.

I was already a runner at this point, let's make that clear. I had returned from California just over a month ago having gone through my first summer of any kind of real training. I had completed my first half marathon in Disneyland and was now back to finish school. Since then I had toyed with the idea of running my first full marathon but with the pressures of school in the way I would settle for one more half. California had turned me into more of a health nut than I had ever been, and so in the weeks to follow as we showed up repeatedly on wednesday nights for quizzo, and then on thursday nights for $2 pint specials I was always the most conscious one of all the cheesey fries and endless beers and (at least most of the time) was able to keep myself in check. This did not go unnoticed by the non-athletes of the group and i was always teased relentlessly but I stuck by it knowing what I did was something a little bit bigger than drinking on a weeknight in college.

I completed that second half marathon in November, right before thanksgiving and then went into what would become my usual winter hiatus from running drinking and partying binge. It was as if the pressures and sacrifices I made for my running were worth it up until the point that i crossed that finish line. But with out fail after ever race I swore I would never run again. I would realism all the things I give up that no one else does. Social time with friends, friday nights out late, drinking, sleeping in on saturdays, spontaneous weekend trips in the summer. All of that took a toll on my body, on my mind, and come december I was ready for a break.

Through it all, boyfriend to be always caught my attention, and I tried my best to put out the "I'm into you" vibe but knowing me, that vibe goes out to anyone within a five foot radius and some people are just more perceptive to it than others. Needless to say nothing ever became of our flirtation except that. I found myself going from one boy to the next, not really investing any emotion into anything, it was safer that way really. I was drained enough by school, and training that I didn't need anything else taking a toll on me anymore.

A few months down the road he met a girl who was as into cars as he was, and as disappointed as I was I let him go knowing he was probably happier that way. That spring he moved back home to New Jersey for his co-op job and that June I graduated college. we had both just gone our separate ways and most of the time I barely realized it. Of course there was always the fall back of myspace and facebook and from time to time I would find myself browsing through his profile wondering how things were going.

I find it ironic that it was at that very same bar, at one of the very same back tables that I started to fall for my coach, started to fall for running even harder than I had been. After college I began the hardest training I had ever gone through. I dated my coach, broke up with my coach, dated his roommate, broke up with his roommate, ran my third half marathon, ran my first ever full marathon, and once again went back into winter drinking and partying mode. Through it all, we had always had a mutual friend L. L was the reason I went to the bar that first night in october. L had been the reason we had met. and Ironically enough L would be the thing that brought us back together.

It was the summer of 2008 that I heard about BTB again. L and I were single girls that summer, and somedays it felt like we were the only two single girls on the planet. So of course we were practically attached at the hip, getting into trouble, looking for men, having crazy nights that led to crazy stories and loving every second of it. One day she mentions BTB. Things aren't going well with the supposed car loving girlfriend. I can't say I was upset over it. I mean yes on the one hand, when things go bad with someone's relationship it's never something to throw a party over. But would this mean he would be back on the market? I was always shopping around and loved hearing when new things were available.

Of course I was training again. This time for my second full marathon set for mid October. Part of me felt like the last race I ran had gotten over shadowed by boy drama and I was dead set on not letting that happen again. I made myself promise that, at least for this race, running was number one top priority and boys would have to wait until after everything. Of course I still had coach with me through the whole thing. Sometimes I toyed with the possibility that we would work out. It seemed so fitting at times, we both loved to run, he pushed me to the point that I was so proud of myself. He could be very cold, that was for certain. He lacked emotion, and was convinced it was for the better because he wanted to be a doctor and that would make him a better doctor. But if we would ever be in a relationship, he would make for one terrible boyfriend. I reminded myself that every day.

2008 was of course an Olympic year, a summer olympic year, and L being the in entertainer that she is decided to have an olympic party. I'm pretty sure it was the same day I had run 18 miles. No biggie for me I guess but it sure did impress everyone in attendance. I was at the peak of my fitness. I had never been in better shape. I had never felt so good about myself and what I was accomplishing. and of course that night BTB would be there, finally single. I would be lying if I said we weren't shamelessly flirting all night long, and I was planning on staying over L's for the night so I had a little bit of a buzz going and I desperately wanted to make some kind of move. But I wouldn't let myself. I was done being that girl who couldn't keep to herself enough to not leave a party with out hooking up with someone. I would stay strong and If he wanted it, I would let him pursue me. And he did.

Everything happened so fast between my training and our dating and the whole time I made sure to stay strong and never loose my focus of running. My ultimate goal.

BTB was there through those last final weeks of my training as I suffered through sore legs, hunger pains, early mornings, and everything else that went along with training. He made the five hour drive home with me to Massachusetts to watch me run my race. He put up with my whole family for three days, because he knew how much it meant to me to have him there at that race. And when it was all over he watched me cry to myself in a bathtub full of ice. He pulled me out and wrapped me in a towel, he brought me water and Advil and held me while the pain of 26.2 miles took over my entire body.

He will never fully understand the hurdles I overcame to get to that point. The mental and physical strain I put on myself for no other reason than it just makes me happy to push myself. He will never understand like coach did. But I would trade the understanding for the love he shows me every single day. I can put up with the fact that he doesn't fully get it because he's learning to support it.

The day after that race he became boyfriend for definite.

I decided that I would take a break from marathons, at least full ones. In part because of all the injuries I suffered in my last year of training. In part because I wanted to enjoy more recreational things with Boyfriend.

We spend the winter snowboarding and I enjoyed being able to share something with him that we both loved to do. I loved watching him get better, and his confidence grow. When the weather started getting warmer we started walking around my house. I would sometimes get up early and do a long run and then we would walk more after. I never regretted giving up marathoning. Because I know I will never fully give them up.

Recently I decided to do once race this year. A half marathon, keep it a little easy, and in the mean time maybe Boyfriend and I would start jogging. Who knows, maybe one day he'll even be able to coach me from the perch of his bike as he rides along next to me. Cheering me on, motivating me to keep going.

Boyfriend may be a beginner runner. He may just be a walker.

But I wouldn't trade him for a million dollars, a million races, or even a Boston qualifier. Because with out him there to share it with, the race really doesn't mean anything anymore.

<3

xx Sara

Why are you running?

"Why are you running?" is spray painted in stringy black letters on the 8.5 mile loop that I often run my speed work on. And every time I run over it I think, "Why AREN'T you running??"

Here are some other "why's" that drive me absolutely up a wall.

"Why are you going to sleep at ten pm on a friday?" Have you ever tried to run fourteen miles on four hours of sleep? Better yet have you ever tried to run fourteen miles? Yea I didn't think so. If you've never done it, don't question what I do

"Why can't you drink? my friend Tina/Joe/Sara/etc. runs marathons and drinks all the time" Well yay for Tina Joe Sara and the rest of the alcoholic runners. they are a lucky bunch who's stomachs and bodies do not require adequate nutrition for optimum performance. But as for the rest of us, why do something we're only going to use as an excuse for poor performance later on? I didn't run well becuase i went out drinking the night before. alright well don't drink and you'll run better. Thats why I don't drink. I'm sorry you have nothing better to do with your life than waste money on nights you will never remember.

"Why don't you have an extra piece of cake, you're only going to run it off later?" Ok well this one is legit, at least in times of heavy training. and so yes I will have that extra piece of cake, and that extra burger, and that extra sandwich. And while you complain about how I can eat whatever I want and not gain any weight I will laugh at you on the inside because you have NO IDEA how hard I work to get to this point. You have no F***ING clue how much work it is.

If you think it hurts bad now, just wait a few days.

Alright so here I am, one month away from my second marathon ever. The past two weeks have been nothing short of torture, I have come to love ice baths, and laying motionless on my hardwood floor for hours on end just becuase its not standing up. One week ago I completed a twenty mile long run, and I fear that everything has been rolling downhill since I failed to recover properly.

Here's what it was like to get up to the big 2-0. First of all I was on vacation so i had to improvise my route. I was excited that i had not let vacation break me out of my routine. I was gonig to stick to something so difficult, something that no one (except my mother) understands. I had to skip wine with dinner, skip staying up late at night to play cards with my cousins, at least i did not have to skip eating! I was in bed by ten thirty and then awake again to get in one last late night snack. To say i was not nervous I would be lying however I did what I always did and convinced myself I was going to be fine. A twenty mile run would take me no more than three and a half hours and after that I would be on vacation for the rest of the weekend.
I broke down the twenty miles into three intervals of a six mile out and back, and one two mile out and back to finish the job. My twelve year old sister was going to do one six mile out and back with me, both to give her some company, and to get some miles under her belt. She was a future marathoner and she didn't even know it. She ended up doing eight miles that day with me, a middle six and the final two, but if you asked her how many miles she ran she would refuse to say she ran eight. "It doesn't count if you stop in the middle" she said.

Promptly at six am the next morning I rolled out of bed, grabbed my running gear that was piled in a corner and headed downstairs, waking Chelsea on my way so she could eat something and then go back to sleep. We ate Luna bars, something I am quickly becoming disgusted with, Gatorade, and she went back upstairs. I popped in my ear buds and began playing some upbeat music to get me going. the day was grey and cloudy and they were calling for rain. When I was all stretched out, I headed out the door for my first lap.

I was unfamiliar with the course I had picked, only having driven it the night before on my way in but found it to be somewhat decent. Going out it felt flat, a few uphills, and then it started to pour. I mean, poured so hard i had to ring out my shorts every so often to keep from weighing me down. And then I turned around and realized the seemingly flat course i had mapped was in fact a slight downward grade the entire out, and thus mostly uphill the way back. But I made the first six miles in under an hour. Not really a great feat if i was only doing six miles. At this point in the game i wasn't about to complain. I jogged a few circles around the cul-de-sac and waited for my sister to come trotting down the driveway with Gatorade and shot blocks.
I asked her who was awake in the house yet, knowing the answer would be grams and thats it. Everyone else would still be sleeping. We ran up a few hills, past some roadkill that has both of us refusing to look at the ground and holding our noses, past a tiny road side stand selling (overpriced) maple syrup and sunflowers. Chelsea laughed when i asked her if she would like some syrup. I said maybe on the way back? Luckily we made the whole six miles with out a drop of rain, the way back was tough on her, and tough on me, my second time up those hills but we kept pushing and when i dropped her off back at the driveway i had convinced her to come back in an hour and join me for my last two miles. I would really need it.
I know that if she wasn't there I still would have run the miles.
My last six was the longest of the three. My legs were lacking serious energy. I made it in just over an hour. I hated myself for running slow. how was I going to keep this up in a race if i couldn't do it in practice? My willingness to slack off killed me. And then my stomach attacked.
Finishing up mile 18 i seriously contemplated dashing in the house to use the bathroom before finishing out twenty but i somehow convinced myself that with only two miles to go I would be a wuss if I stopped for anything at all. When I met Chelsea for the second time at the end of the driveway I asked her how she was feeling, we had never run more than six miles and she was about to do two more so i wanted to make sure she was ok. she said she was feeling good, how was I feeling. Not so good I said with a groan, not good at all.
The last two miles started off painfully slow. and I mean painfully slow. but some how I made it through every last step, taking a final push towards the end, charging down the street and finished doubled over, every muscle in my body aching.
"Chelsea," I said, as we walked down the driveway gulping what Gatorade was left in the bottle, "I want you to remember this when you run your first marathon. Because that was probably the hardest thing I have ever done, but you know what, it's worth every second of it"