Well, I did it. I ran twenty miles. Twice.

This past Saturday, on my second 20-miler, I managed to shave off 7 minutes from my first time. I know I'm not running for time, just for time on my feet, but it was encouraging to see the lower number. Better even, the run felt wonderful. I wouldn't go as far as to call it easy, but it was pleasant and mostly painless. It sounds crazy, but the second 20 required less effort than a Hill Day or speed work. Maybe I'm in a good head space right now, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

I learned a couple things during those three and a half hours:

1.)  I really, intensely, dislike cyclists. Okay, it's not fair to lump all of them in the same category, since the experienced ones are fun to watch. The good ones look like a flock of colorful birds zipping down the road in perfect formation. They even cock their heads at the same angle, at the same time. It's like ballet on bikes. The new cyclists, however, the ones that wobble all over the place and don't know how to downshift, are the ones that scare me. They appear unaware of the rules of the road, which makes me crazy. Here's a crash course: I, the little runner, is smaller than you, the dude on the contraption with wheels, meaning you yield to me. Do not push me off the road. Do not push me into traffic. Do not ride next to your best friend, leaving little or no room for me on the pavement. Fall back, ass hat. And when I signal to you to "MOVE OVER!" don't smile and wave at me. I am not attempting to be friendly; I can't even tell your gender when your helmet and sunglasses are on. You all look like intersexed beetles to me.

2.) The farther I run, the more likely I will be to find some furry friends. Namely, sweet little burros. I call them my "breakfast burros" since I see them right around breakfast time. On Highway 159, as you get closer to Bonnie Springs, the burros like to hang out in that area. If you see one, you'll usually see a lot more. This past Saturday I saw seven. This was right around miles 9-13, meaning I was starting to get super bored, so a burro sighting can really spice things up. I waved and hollered to them like they were old friends, and they responded by charging up the hill, away from the crazy runner lady.

3.) I may or may not have an abusive relationship with my hydration belt.

Exhibit A:

Those would be bruises. From the simple act of popping my water bottles out of the holder and popping them back in, either I bruise easily or I was using a bit more force than necessary. I showed my hand to Brian and he quipped, "Your hydration belt beats you because it loves you." Thank you, Brian.

Twenty miles. The next time I run that distance will be the night of the marathon. Twenty is commonly seem as the point in the race where runners hit "the wall" and muscles begin to cramp. As Hal Higdon in "Marathon" so appropriately puts it, "Twenty miles is about the time that many marathoners start comping unglued as they deplete their muscles of glycogen. The doors fall off. The bear drops on their shoulders. They get a case of the 'riggies' as rigor mortis sets in. Suddenly, running becomes much, much more difficult and they maybe forced to to slow down or walk or even stop."

Holy cats. 

Please, please, please don't let the doors fall off. 

A few weeks ago, I picked up a copy of Scott Jurek's biography, "Eat & Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness." If you read "Born to Run," (and you should!), you'll remember Scott as the guy who was derailed by severe cramping and vomiting during the 2005 Badwater Ultramarathon, 135 miserable miles through the heart of Death Valley in the middle of the summer. Seventy miles into the race, he laid down on the side of the road for a full ten minutes. Just laid down. Prior to his collapse, he admits to readers he was looking for a desert sidewinder to bite him so he could bow out of the race with dignity still in tact. (side note: I love it when runners start contemplating catastrophic injuries to get them out of racing. My friend Greg casually mentioned he was going to throw himself in front of a bus at the Red Rock half if his pace was too slow.)

And then - this is the truly astounding part - not only did he get up, but he then proceeded to smash the Badwater record by a full 10 minutes.

Clearly, the dude knows how to handle adversity.

Because we live in the golden age of social media, I found him (read: stalk him) immediately on Facebook. That's where I learned he had recently published not only the story of his racing career but also some of his favorite recipes. What?!  Cue the inevitable trip to Barnes and Noble.

The book is great. Really. Scott weaves a compelling narrative about growing up poor in Minnesota, how an unlikely friendship with a colorful, uber-talented athlete set him on the path of greatness, along with many, many challenges he faced. He does it all without a hint of ego, something you get based on his portrayal in "Born to Run." But unlike "Born to Run," which makes you want to fist pump your love for running and yell it from the rooftops, there's a more melancholy tone to Scott's book. His childhood and teen years were shaped by his mother's illness, and at one point, he acknowledges he is a great ultrarunner because his parents "showed him what true suffering is." Ouch. I guess running 150 mile races isn't so bad when one has an emotionally-distant father and a sick mom. Heartbreaking, really. Made me want to give him a comforting hug.

Over the years, he eventually left behind the heavy-meat-and-processed-food diet of his family and became vegan, believing the less animal products he consumed, the faster his recovery. Seeing what he has accomplished, I have to admit, it's a compelling argument. Better even, he notes that is darn near impossible to go vegan without sounding like a "self-important zealot." That's the best phrase I've read describing veganism, because let's face it; the minute you stop eating meat or meat products, everyone wants to know why. And it makes eating out almost an impossibility. 

I'm not vegan, as I am not declaring any lifestyle/diet to be superior, but I have tried several of the recipes and they are delicious. Like, shockingly good. So good, in fact, I bought the book as a gift for another runner friend. Since incorporating some of his tips and diet suggestions into my regimen, I've noticed not only the pounds melt away, but also my pace has picked up and I feel much, much stronger. There's always the potential for a bad run (13-miler, I'm looking at you), but overall, I feel strong. Like, freakishly strong.

I think it's the chia seeds.

My favorite recipe? The vegan chili. Brian, ye of the steak and potatoes, LOVED this one, too. Let Brian be your ultimate food critic; if he liked it, it means it's good.

Think robust mushrooms, three kinds of beans, tons of veggies, and a hearty helping of barley. Add some avocado for a healthy fat and it's a total bowl of yum.

And then, there's his Incan Quin-WOW! I call it my pear porridge. You will call it delicious.

It's kind of random, I'll admit -- cooked quinoa blended with almond milk, cinnamon, miso, vanilla, and a ripe pear gives it an almost Cream-0-Wheat consistency. I topped mine with unsweetened coconut flakes, dried tart cherries and dried cranberries. Mmmm...warm, hearty, and super satisfying.

And finally, if you have a sweet tooth like I do, you'll need some chocolate in your diet. I had never considered using unsweetened cocoa powder with beans (yes, beans), but somehow it works. And when I pulled these bad boys out of the oven, I actually did a victory lap around my kitchen shouting, "Behold! I have made brownies from BEANS!"

While the recipes may be a little out of my comfort zone (no eggs, white flour or white sugar, staples of my Midwestern diet), the good news is that just about everything is either made in one pot (like the chili) or in the blender (like the porridge and brownies). I'm really good at hitting a button and blending stuff.

I'm not going to publish any of the recipes here, mainly because I'm married to a lawyer and know too much about copyright litigation, but I would encourage you to run to your local bookstore (seriously, run there; I bet you can. Leave your car at home) and get a copy. It's totally worth it. You don't need to declare vegan-status or sign up for an ultra race, just incorporate a new recipe or two into your daily life. You can thank Scott for it.

If you had asked me about marathon training last week, I would have waxed poetic: it's amazing, it's exhilarating, I love it sooooo much. When can I sign up for another marathon?

Blech. I can't even type that right now, I'm so grumpy.

We are four weeks out and I think I'm hitting my metaphorical 20 miles. (In marathons, it's usually mile 20 when people "hit a wall" and fall apart.) I only had to do 13 miles this weekend, but it felt like everything went wrong. My hair tie broke (I used my headband); I ran out of water (I called my emergency pit crew, i.e. Brian and Scotty); my pace crashed (I just stopped looking at my watch; avoidance is an excellent strategy) and the bottoms of my feet are so sore I just soaked them in an ice bath. The first of three ice baths today, in case you are curious.

Aside from the physical ailments, there's the social aspect of this too. We attended a birthday party on Saturday - a Halloween costume party for the kids - and a well-meaning but unaware parent asked if I was dressed in costume. What, you've never seen compression socks before? I tried to laugh it off but a small part of me died on the inside. 

I'm becoming hyper-sensitive to the comments about my weight loss. Aside from the fact none of my jeans fit (wah, wah, I know. First world problems), I want to look at people and ask them, "Do you really think this is going to last? I'm running 50 miles a week and living on almonds and apples." Trust me, I'll puff back up in no time. Please, stop looking at me.

Finally, while the weather in Vegas continues this streak of amazing October sunshine and perfect temps, I'm yearning to sit outside and consume a tasty beverage...or two. I find myself eying people drinking cocktails under canopies with extreme envy. Ah, to just sit and have a drink on a Friday afternoon...with no fear of the long run on Saturday, the recovery on Sunday, or Hill Day on Wednesday. What a glorious feeling that must be. By the time I can do that, it will be cold and icky out. I am wasting this once-a-year weather.

Brian needs to be given special credit for his saintly actions towards me. The only times we've gone out since August have been for both of our birthdays; we will likely not go out again until after the race. Although on Saturday, after party and still smarting from the "did-you-dress-up-too?" comment, I threw a tiny rebellion and decided that I needed to enjoy a seasonal beer outside. Period. There was no discussion about this. So resplendent in my nylon shorts and recovery socks, I defiantly marched into Gordon Biersch with Scotty by my side and asked for a table. I ignored the looks I got (what's up, huh? Huh?) and the two of us quietly waited for Brian. I think the only reason Scott was quiet was because he was very, very scared of Mommy in that moment. I'll be honest; the beer I had that night tasted amazing. Almost as good as the water Brian and Scott hurled at me earlier during my miserable run. Totally worth it.

I can do this, right? Runners, is this common? Am I just hitting an emotional wall? I can see the finish line in sight (kind of...) and I know it's worth it...also, I just want my damn feet to stop hurting.

Argh. 27 more days.

Saturday, October 12th into Sunday, October 13th:

4:15am: Wake up, wake up, wake up! It's time to eat some oatmeal and run!

5:15am: Holy guacamole, it is cold out here. The temp in the car says it's 42 degrees. Maybe I should have brought gloves?

5:17am: Okay, it's really dark in Red Rock right now. I should have brought my head lamp, too. The phrase "RUNNING TO MY DEATH" flashes prominently in my brain. Running down a lonely highway in the black of night...I think I'll sit at Dunkin' Donuts for a little bit.

6:02am: Day break is 30 minutes away. What the likelihood of dying between now and sunrise? Minimal at best. Looks like it's time to hit the trail.

7:35am: Hey! Burros!

9:40am: DONE! Whew. Twenty miles was not as bad as I thought it would be. Let me just try to sit down...ow...or use my hands...ow...or stretch...ugh...stupid knees...

11:15am: Food? Not going to happen. Stomach is still too constricted. Will try again later. At least the shower felt good.

1:05pm: Cupcake delivery by the lovely Stesha! The design work she did for Brian's surprise party looks amazing; all of the letters from friends and family members looks phenomenal on the gorgeous, creamy linen paper she used. I wish I had her skills.

2:11pm: Time to drag the tables and chairs from Kate and Jeff's house over to ours. Party is tomorrow at 1pm and we won't have a second to spare between now and then.  They are also storing Brian's birthday present in their garage, too. I still can't believe we lucked out by having cool neighbors that a.) are super fun b.) watch lots of AMC shows and c.) own four card tables and 20 folding chairs. Amazing, really. They are the best kind of neighbors.

2:45pm: Scotty just blew the birthday present surprise. "Dada, Mom and I went to the bike store and got you a bike!" Damn kid.

3:00pm: Babysitter is here! Bags are packed and have been secretly stowed in the trunk. Brian is ready to go but pouting. He still believes we are doing something outdoorsy for his birthday. Hahahaha...despite lying for the last week, I'm glad I laid this groundwork. He looks really grumpy about the idea of potentially going horseback riding for his birthday. If he only knew.

3:20: SURPRISE! No hiking or horses; just one night at the fabulous Cosmopolitian. Our room overlooks the Bellagio fountains!

4:11: Text from Reinier advising me to soak my feet in ice, get some rest, and avoid high heels. Um...not going to happen. 

5:15pm: Discover there is a "Walking Dead" marathon on AMC. This goes great with the potato chips and Summer Shandy I packed. Best staycation ever!

6:45pm: Admire the view from our balcony. Vegas is a like a glittering jewel at night. Love.

7:30pm: Pre-dinner drinks at Scarpettos at the Cosmo. As Brian drinks his scotch, I sip club soda and start to fret about the surprises ahead of us tonight. Will everyone be in place? Does he know? My phone won't stop going off.

8:15pm: Arrive at Gordon Ramsay Steak. I still need to buy some time. I lie for the 29th time to Brian and slip into the bathroom to check my phone one final time. Tiffany confirms everyone in place. Hooray! It's go time! I reapply lip gloss for safe measure.

8:22pm: SURPRISE! Brian's closest friends jump up from the table. He looks genuinely surprised. I did it! I managed to pull one over on him!! This is AWESOME!

8:27: Toasting begins in earnest. YAY! Brian can't stop smiling.

11:33pm: Time to head for Pure! Did we really get a table? Is it really close to midnight? Feet are holding up well despite the 3" heels. Wasn't able to eat much of my beef Wellington because my stomach is still too tight, but there are still no real side effects from my 20-miler. Thankfully.

1:05pm: It's fun feeling like a VIP! Everywhere we go, we get more wrist stamps. Stamp to get in the club, stamp to get in the elevator, stamp to go behind the ropes. I wave my arm at everyone. Weeee!

1:45:am: Another red bull and vodka? Sounds great! Also, Brian is still smiling. YAY!

2:35: At my request, Tiffany politely asks the DJ to play Miley Cyrus. He politely declines. Oh, well. Is it weird I really dig that wrecking ball song? Should I even admit this?

3:15pm: Everyone is still going strong, although Uncle Jay decided to call it a night around 3am. Wise move. Decision is made to leave Pure and head back to the Chandelier Bar for more drinks and conversation. Also, we are out of booze. 

4:05am: Dave and I inexplicably get into a conversation about Lane Kiffin's wife. I tell him to bring his dog to the party tomorrow. Brian looks tired but is still smiling.

4:15am: I've been up for a full 24 hours! Why am I celebrating this?

4:45am: The women's bathroom at the Cosmo is an interesting slice of humanity. One out of every two girls is crying; all of them drunk and some are puking. I'm still relatively sober (attributed to not drinking much until after midnight) and my feet feel good. I feel like I should help these crying, vomiting girls...but I just head back to our table instead. I really don't want to get puke on my new dress.

4:51am: Time to head to bed; Brian looks exhausted but really happy. Did I really pull it off? Feet have not fallen off yet, I'm still conscious, and Brian hasn't smiled this much since 2002. Looks like a win, folks!

Epilogue: We slept until 9am then headed back to get ready for the party at our house. Scotty didn't even miss us; he and the babysitter had a great time drawing sea animals and eating cinnamon rolls. My stomach finally allowed food consumption around 5pm on Sunday and chose to give it about a pound of spare ribs, coated in Lucille's yummy BBQ sauce. It was pleased. My lack of sleep also finally caught up with me and I called it a night around 7:30pm. I am also very relieved I can stop lying to my husband now.

Big thanks to all of our friends and family - near and far - who came out to celebrate, wrote him a kind note, or called to wish him well. Happy 40th, sweetie!!

This morning at Hill Day, I got a cramp.

A bad one. Not a little twinge of uncomfortableness, but a big ole-twisty-cringe-worthy cramp. It started on my right side and blossomed into a tight ball of pain until it settled in, right under my rib cage. Running uphill hurt, but running downhill made it almost unbearable. This pissed me off, since running downhill should be nothing but glorious and fun.

There is nothing quite like Hill Day. For 60 minutes once a week, it's like a mad rush of hills, recovery, inside loops, ramps, and s-curves. My favorite: running backwards (weird, I know). I, however, loathe, loathe, loathe the ramp. The ramp-with-cones, where you have to run up, turn around, run up again, this time a bit farther, turn around, is the worst.  You end up doing the damn ramp three times before you make it to the top. And the ramp-with-cones mysteriously gets longer and longer with each pass. Today was a ramp-with-cones day.

I blame the ramp for my cramp.

I take my Hill Days seriously. I try to keep the same pace (or faster) for the full hour, and I rarely take a break. Today, however, on what seemed like my 127th pass up that ramp, I bent over in pain, clutching my right side. It was appendicitis, I knew it. My appendix was probably seconds away from bursting and here I was, stuck on that damn ramp. Probably about to die.

I didn't, obviously, and to the best of my knowledge, my appendix did not shatter into a million pieces. It was just a basic runner's cramp. When I say "basic," I mean "hurts like a mother-bleeper!" And as I limped to the bottom of the stairs, wounded, Reinier gave me sound advice: run through it.

This seems to be a constant refrain in running. Feel like you are going to vomit? Run through it. Toenail about to fall off? Keep running. Side-splitting cramp that causes you to double over in pain? Run through it.

The worst (best?) part? It worked. After two laps around the park, the pain went away. I dropped to do 40 push-ups while the memory of the last 10 minutes slowly ebbed away. And with that, Hill Day was over.

And as a few friends pointed out, all of these ailments are good for training. Come race day, the more crazy sh*t I go through, the better prepared I'll be. So on my imaginary "Marathon Preparedness Checklist," I can cross off: stomach cramping, vomiting, passing out, dehydration, hills, gale-force winds, cold temperatures, and now, side cramps. Only things left are cougar attack and snow. Huh.

Later in the morning, after sending the boys off to work and school, all of this ran through my head as I stood in the bathroom, waiting for the shower to heat up. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and without thinking, I killed a spider with my bare hands. Naked.

So yeah, does marathon training toughen you up? Apparently so. Stay tuned until next week, when I wrestle a grizzly.