I've gotten quite a few questions about what a long run is like, so I thought I do a quick post on it. That said, I'm certainly not an expert (or even a very good) runner. There are a number of things I'm sure I'm doing wrong (or could improve upon), so please do not take my word as gospel. Likewise, if I'm missing something or you have a helpful trick/tidbit to share, leave it in the comments section! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

PRE-RUN

The fun starts on Friday night. Anytime I have a long run on Saturday (I consider anything longer than 16 miles to be a "long run"), I try to eat a substantial dinner that is heavier in carbs than any other meal that week. Runner's World just posted a great pasta and avocado recipe which I've used the past few weeks. I load up on water during the day (no alcohol, especially in the summer months) and try to get to bed around 9pm. Laying out my clothes is helpful so I'm not fumbling in the dark come morning.


THE RUN

The alarm goes off at 3:40am.

After applying Body Glide to every imaginable crevice, I'm downstairs by 4:00. I eat a small bowl of steel cut oats with one tablespoon of almond butter and a dollop of raspberry jam. I eat first since I want the food to settle, usually about an hour before the run starts.

I pack:

Fluids: 55 oz of water in my Osprey pack, an additional 32 oz of bottled water, 12 oz of Gatorade, a protein/juice blend from The Juice Standard to consume immediately post-run, and watermelon juice to sip on for the ride home.

(Aside: Watermelon has so many amazing properties...it should be a staple in everyone's diet. I'm going to write a poem about watermelon one day.)

This amount may seem excessive but remember, I'm running in full sun in July in Las Vegas. It's 95 degrees by 8am. I've experienced dehydration before and would do anything to avoid that misery. I'd rather bring too much than not enough. Unless someone wants to set up little aid stations for me on the Loop, I'm going to tote around over 100 oz of fluid. It's kind of my security blanket.

Also included: a little tub of cut watermelon (ah, that magical fruit again!), a bag of sea salt, 2-3 gels, sunscreen, a visor, wallet, keys, music (iPod shuffle), Garmin, Body Glide, and a towel soaking in ice water.

I'm out the door by 4:45am and arrive at the parking lot just after 5, as the sun breaks over the horizon. This is my favorite part of the run: the quiet few minutes before it starts. It's so lovely and peaceful. Makes me believe greatness is possible. Questions on my mind: will my knee hold up? Will I see any animals? How many cyclists are going to piss me off?

Miles 1-7.7 are equally amazing and awful. The park doesn't open until 6am, so I'm guaranteed solitude from cars and cyclists for the first hour. It's also cooler since the path draped in the mountain's shadow. Little animals are still out and about, so it's not uncommon to rabbits and coyotes. I tried once to count the rabbits (to tell Scotty later), but had to stop after fifteen. They really do multiply like, well, rabbits.

The awful part? The first sevenish miles are mostly uphill. Tough, calf-burning, oxygen-gasping hills. There are moments when I wonder if I'm still moving forward.

Overlook Ascent signals the best part of the run is about to begin; miles 7.7 to 12 are my least remembered but most enjoyable. It's a lot of downhill flying. Running is just controlled falling, remember? This is when I try to practice good form and fast feet. I'm not breaking any land-speed records, but it's a incredibly sensation to zoom down literally as fast as my feet will take me.

Mile 12: Kim hits a wall. 

The fun train has ended. I'm off the Loop, merging onto to Hwy 159. This is horrible for several reasons: the sun burns down, the cyclists whiz by, and I am trekking uphill again. I start my "Red Rock Shuffle" back to the car, dodging bikes and cars as they come within inches. At this point, my water is mostly gone and I can feel the salt crusted on my face. I mean, this is no Badwater shoes-melting-on-the-pavement-hot, but it sucks. Big time.

Mile 14.5: MY CAR!

I fight the voice in my head telling me to jump in my car and take off, never looking back. Unfortunately, there are still 5.5 miles to go, so no dice. I can't leave yet. I refill my pack with cold water, towel off (ahhh! bliss!) and have a few quick bites of watermelon. If I feel really thirsty or sluggish, I'll drink a quick Gatorade and add salt to the watermelon. 

Salt may be a strange thing to eat at this point, considering how much is in the media about the dangerous affects of sodium, but for runners, salt lost through sweating is a real concern. Attempting to replenish fluids without additional sodium can result in hyponatremia, a potentially lethal condition.  Overconsumption of water can actually cause blood sodium levels to plummet if the kidneys fail to compensate, causing cells to swell and retain fluid. This is why many ultras require weight checks at aid stations; if you gain weight during a long run, there's a good chance you are overhydrating.  Too much swelling can affect brain cells, causing confusion, disorientation, and sometimes, even death. Yikes.

It's not something I'm especially concerned about (particularly because doing an easy 20 is nothing compared to say, 100 miles) but it is something to be aware of, especially in high heat. I don't want to dehydrate OR overhydrate - both can be equally dangerous. I'm still experimenting, so each run is a chance to practice.

Okay, enough salt talk. Back to the grind.

The rest of the run is a "chipper" - just gotta take it piece by piece. I know by mile 17.25 I can turn around and head back to the car. Mile 18 is only 2 miles from being done, and mile 19? Sheesh, it's one more stinkin' little mile. Anyone can run a mile. Or at least, these are the things I tell myself. Sometimes it's as simple as "Run to that pole. Run to the next pole. Hey look! There's another pole! Try to get to that one, too..."

Just keep chipping until...

DONE.

RECOVERY

I drink my protein shake as soon as I'm able to rip off the water pack and stretch a little. At about 250 calories, it's made with spirulina, a complete plant-based protein that will help with muscle repair. Better, it's cool and refreshing (despite its odd teal coloring.)

After I get home, I tell the guys about my run and try to recount for Scotty all the critters I saw. I shower and get an ice bath ready. I can usually handle about 10-12 minutes in the tub with 2 10-pound bags of ice. It's miserable, yes, particularly the first two minutes, but it helps so much to push the lactic acid out of the muscles, thereby decreasing soreness. Consequently, it's worth it. I also sip on a cup of tea to stay warm(er) and wear a ski hat to prevent more heat loss. Funny how I go from too hot to too cold. It's just never the right temperature...

I struggle with eating the day of a long run. I think my stomach is convinced we were fleeing from a hungry bear, so the whole "fight-or-flight" survival mechanism, which shunts blood away from my internal organs to the extremities, takes a little time to turn off. I don't feel any hunger most of the day, and eating actually causes physical pain; once I ate a piece of toast and immediately doubled over in pain. I've learned to stick with small bites of soup (southwestern black bean is my favorite) and bananas for the first six to eight hours post-run. It's gotten to the point where I actually wake up on Saturdays, craving those foods now. It's weird to think about dreaming about a bowl of hot soup at 10am on a Saturday morning in July (in the desert, no less), but do what works for you. We all have our "things." 

I also make sure to wear compression socks for the first six to eight hours as well. If I'm staying home, I'll wear the full-on green ones that go from toe to knee. If I have to assimilate back into the real world where people don't count coyotes or swear at cyclists, I'll just wear the compression calf sleeves. I've learned these can be easily concealed under a maxi dress. I've worn them to toddler birthday parties, a baby shower, a hair appointment, and most recently, a trip to the mall with friends. A DVF wrap dress looks smashing when paired with compression sleeves.

I apply Neosporin to all the places I failed to Body Glide properly and call it a day. The long run is over for the week - celebrate!

Ironically, the body parts that seem to be bothering me the most lately? Right on my shoulder blades, where my hydration pack hits. Miles and miles of it jostling on my back have caused two small rubbed areas, red and chafed, to develop. It looks almost as though wings are about to sprout. That's not the case, but it certainly would make my life easier. :-)

Any helpful tips of your own? Let us know -- comment below!

I think there's a book in that title. It might be one of the most bizarre phrases I've ever typed. 

Regardless, it's been my Thursday morning for the past few months. Speed work, that is. 

So you are probably thinking, "There she goes again, talking about these running terms that I don't understand." I find myself doing this quite frequently these days - I told Brian a whole story about taper madness and fresh legs v. dead legs, and he just sat there looking at me, blank-faced. When I finally got to the punchline, gleefully punctuating various parts of my tale with hearty laughter, he responded in a flat voice, "I have no idea what you just said," and walked away. 

Huh. 

Speed work: short, fast intervals with recovery jogs between; increases your leg turnover and maximizes your stamina and race confidence. 

Now that we are all on the same page, you may recall I started speed work last fall in preparation for the full marathon. My first attempt was nothing to write home about. Chained to the treadmill, I gasped, wheezed, and clawed my way to the end of seven agonizing miles, walking at various periods and cursing everything about running, myself, my shoes, and the wretched gym that surrounded me. 

During that miserable workout, a certain Academy-award winning actor walked past me. We made eye contact and he gave me this face that said, "Aw. Poor chubby girl. Running too fast." 

I don't want to name him but let's just say, I don't think he's leaving Las Vegas anytime soon. I mean, if he did, he might have to hop a flight and it just might be Con Air. I know he appreciates his privacy and I'd certainly hate to have a face/off with him. One might argue he's a bit of a national treasure, so let's give the guy some space, okay? He likes to workout and deserves a bit of personal solitude. 

(Btw, yes, we were all really excited when we first saw him at the gym. Brian once even stood behind him in line at the cafe and recommended a smoothie to him. [I heard that and was like, "What?! How do you know he likes pineapple?? I don't think you should talk to the famous people!"] It was cool seeing him the second, third, and fourth time, too. And then, after awhile, you realize he's just a person too and probably doesn't like fame all that much. I mean, you can't go anywhere without someone recognizing you or staring. Heavy lies the crown.) 

Back to my story. Speed work eventually got easier, I got stronger, and this person - let's just call him Mr. C - was no where to be found throughout the fall months. Glorious. I started speed work again in the winter to prep for the Summerlin half and had no problems. I found my miles growing, my speed accelerating, and at times, it felt like I was flying. Speed work was becoming one of my favorite workouts, ever! I could barely stop smiling as I ran.  Weeeeee!

Until two weeks ago. 

The plan in front of me told me to warm up for a mile, run 5 miles at a 8:06 mile, and then cool down for a mile. (technically this is a tempo run, but let's not split hairs). 8:06 is  fast for me - I'm no cheetah. More of a tenacious mountain goat, really. This was really pushing it, but I was ready. After all, I had just completed 5 miles at 8:13 the week before with zero issues. I was in the zone! I was ready! 

I almost passed out on mile 4. 

Like, shaking, numb arms, light-headed dizziness. The gym turned into a sauna within seconds and I found myself inexplicably reaching for the STOP button. I never reach for the stop button. A quick self-diagnostic check reveal my legs were fine, my back felt fine, and my feet were okay. The only thing I couldn't do was breath. Just a minor thing. Who really needs oxygen anyways?

I squeaked out the last few miles at a disappointing 8:34 pace, confused and concerned. And then, in a moment of sheer irony, I thought, "It would be really funny if Mr. C was here" just as he walked by.

I actually looked around the room for cameras, thinking I was being punked. 

The following week, same story. Struggling to breath on mile 4. Drop my pace slower and slower. Had to hit the stop button twice. And then - AGAIN - he walked by again. Same track suit, same iPhone, same look of pity from so many months ago. He was probably wondering why that chubby girl keeps torturing herself on the same treadmill, week after week. 

Whatever, Mr. C. Mind your own business. 

By now, this whole situation had become a running joke among my friends. Several people were in the cafe while I was running and managed to snap a picture of him.  They sent it to me with the caption, "It's a good thing you left when you did."  I replied, "OH I KNOW. STILL HERE. STILL RUNNING. CURSE HIM!!!" 

It's not like I'm starstruck and get nervous by him. It's not like he's even talking to me. It just seems that whenever he's in the building, I can't freaking run. It's a bizarre coincidence I'm pinning all on him (not me!) and it's making me CRAZY. 

(one could reason that 5 8-minute miles in a row are a bit of a stretch for my level of fitness, but then we would lose the lovely narrative quality of this story, right? So just go with me.)

Today, I changed it up. It was, after all, my last speed workout before the half marathon next week. I had one last chance to get it right and nail those 8 minute miles. I decided to pull a fast one on old Mr. C and go LATER than usual to the gym. See, he's usually there earlier; maybe if I sauntered in around 10:30, I'd avoid another bad workout. I patted myself on the back for my clever thinking. 

And two minutes into my warmup, guess who walked by? 

Bloody hell. 

Instead of freaking out, I channeled my inner Scott Jurek and remembered what he told me: dig deep. (and by the way, why can't HE workout at our gym? Now that would be inspirational!) I watched Mr. C mosey down the aisle, wearing oversized sunglasses and his black and orange track suit, and told himself, this doesn't matter. His presence doesn't matter. He's nothing but a ghost (rider) to me. I AM BIGGER THAN THIS. 

It worked out just dandy. I got my miles in, didn't drop my speed, and never touched that nasty little STOP button. Kim for the win! 

While I'm pretty sure this issue has been put to bed, my only concern is next weekend. I can already picture me lining up in the  1:50 corral at the Summerlin half starting line, only to turn around and find myself staring at him. 

Then I'm really going to have to kick-ass. 

On Saturday night, I posted this on Facebook:

(hash tags are silly, no? I still don't quite understand them.)

As it turns out, I was not having some spiritual exposure to a higher power. I was just a goofy runner in bright green compression socks, high on caffeine and rapidly overheating.

Let me set the scene: it was my first 14 mile run. At night. This would officially mark my longest run to date. In the past two weeks, I had done a 10-miler and a 12-miler with zero problems. With the Red Rock Twilight 1/2 Marathon coming up at the end of September, I wanted to fold in a few night runs, just to make sure I (and my stomach) were ready.

Hoo boy. I should put "ready" in quotes.

I followed the instructions to a tee. Light meal at 4:00pm. A banana and 8oz of water at 6:00pm. (Brian sat next to me on the couch, snacking on deep dish Pizza Hut pizza. Pepperoni. Oh, the torture). One Gu and a half-cup of coffee at 7:15. As I tied, double-tied, then triple-tied my laces (over and over and over again...long distance running seems to bring out my compulsions), I felt...great. Fantastic, in fact. I was going to rock this run. My head buzzed a little, but I thought it was just anticipation.

My normal pace is between 9:30 and 10:00 minutes. (slow, I know. You fast runners out there, just work with me, okay?) Anything over that usually means I'm going uphill. Anything faster means I'm going downhill or running away from a dog.

My first mile (uphill, nonetheless)?

9:05. Whoops.

But I felt great! High! Amazing! I rocked out to some new songs on the playlist and charged up hills, darted around sprinklers, and danced over curbs. I even texted a few friends. Texting while running - is there anything more hubris-tic?

By mile 6, my overuse of energy was starting to be felt. Mile 8 found me pulling from some reserves, but I reasoned that I was almost done. By mile 10, I was pretty much done, but I still had enough energy to text Brian and let him know I was on my way home. I cruised through miles 11-13 and coasted home. Done! Legs are tired, my tummy hurt a little bit, but I had finished! In a respectable 10:05 pace. 1,883 calories burned. Boo-ya.

My first indication that something was wrong happened when I caught sight of my face in the bathroom mirror. It was ghostly white. I chugged a glass of Gatorade and shook it off. After my shower, I dried my hair quickly and planned to grab a quick snack (not pizza) on the couch before going to bed.

Which is when the unfortunateness happened.

It was as though a giant creature just crawled into my abdomen. I could actually see movement in there, like an alien baby had just birthed itself. The cramping in my stomach was debilitating. I never got to the kitchen for a snack but decided to sit on the couch and wait it out for a bit. Sitting quickly turned into laying, and before I knew it, I was clutching a pillow and moaning. After an hour of writhing in the fetal position, I though I should move this party upstairs. Except when I attempted to traverse the first step, dizziness, heat, nausea, and blackness hit my head all at once. Considering passing out is one of my greatest fears in the world (and we have hard tile, people. Head injury anyone?) I dropped to my knees and immediately crawled back to the couch. And just in case you are wondering, Brian was watching me with a mixture of confusion and concern through all of this. I didn't know if I should drink water, throw up, or eat something. He just sat there, patting my leg, until I told him to stop because the motion was making me nauseous.

After another hour (it was creeping past midnight), I attempted the stairs again. Crawling, I made it. But when I put my toothbrush in my mouth (dental hygiene is always a concern, regardless of my mental/physical state), the blackness came yet again. All I remember is hearing Brian say "That's not going to happen tonight" as he set my toothbrush on the counter while I collapsed in the closet. Yet another hour passed before I limped into bed, exhausted and still not sure what was wrong with me.

The stomach cramping lasted until 3am. I managed to get several sips of water and a few crackers to stay down. By Sunday morning, the whole experience was like a bad dream. I felt tired but not exhausted. I ate several small meals throughout the day and everything stayed where it was supposed to.

After an analysis at boot camp this morning, the consensus was that the coffee messed with my digestive system (the Gu had caffeine in it, too - double whammy). Also, drying my hair after my shower heated, not cooled, my body and I quickly descended into runner's stomach cramping madness. Oh man, I do not want to experience any level of that again.

Reinier told me marathon training is all about learning about yourself and your limits. I think on Saturday night, I found mine. I may be grumpy but I'm not giving up. I'll figure out this running thing one day.  Just hopefully by November 17.

Editor's note: In honor of my one year anniversary, I thought I'd dedicate an entire week of entries about running. As many of you may remember, I started running as a way to cope with my dad's untimely passing in June 2011. What I've found, however, surprised even me. Running is not only a great way to handle my grief, but it's become my natural stress reliever, my form of meditation, and has introduced me to some of the kindest, neatest people I've ever met. I am so thankful I found the most basic of all sports. :-) So whether you are young or old, new or an old pro, it's never to late to get started! Throw on your sneaks, head out for a run, and then come back and read the blog. I hope you enjoy it!

                                    *************************************

TOP TEN SIMILARITIES BETWEEN RUNNING AND BEING A PARENT

10.) It forces you to get up at unspeakable hours.

9.) It introduces you to a completely new group of people that you wouldn't have otherwise met.

8.) It gives you this weird, tingly high. Occasionally.

7.) Some days, it's hard as hell.  

6.) It gives you something else to focus on outside of your own little myopic world.

5.) When you tell others about your crazy tales, they look at you with a mixture of fear, awe, and horror.

4.) You realize you are capable of withstanding much more than you ever thought possible.

3.) It gives you a sense of purpose.

2.) It forces you to live in the moment. This can be very challenging - and freeing - all at the same time.

And the #1 similarity between running and being a parent is...

1.) Never far from your thoughts is a single word: poop.

                                                    ***********

Wow. It's over.

And the difference between the Summerlin Half-Marathon and the Zappos Half-Marathon in December? Two completely different races, with different outcomes, and different sentiments. It was like night and day. 

Literally.

Saturday went smashingly well. So well, I'm still grinning ear to ear. Considering my level of terror on Friday night as I watched the wind whip through the palm trees, I really thought the race was going to bring yet one more unmitigated disaster. I gave serious consideration to throwing myself down a flight of stairs (gently) and claiming an injury to get out of running. Brian was so concerned with my attitude that he dialed up every single cheesy sports movie clip with an inspirational speech to fire me up. I grimly watched "Miracle" and "Every Given Sunday" (as Brian encouraged me to "fight and die for that last inch") as I twisted my hands feverishly. Scotty, ever oblivious to the potential of losing his mother the next day, happily noshed on breadsticks and played with his monster trucks. So young, so naive. So lucky.

But all of my fears proved to be unfounded. Yes, there was a light rain as the race started early Saturday morning, but there was no wind. The crushing crowd of 44,000 from the December race was replaced with a ridiculously polite crowd of only 600. Tree-lined streets of Summerlin displaced the glaring neon from the Strip lights, and a soft blanket of grey covered the sky. It was cozy, familiar, and clean. Honestly, it felt like home-field advantage. 

One of the most pervasive feelings from the December half-marathon was the profound sense of loneliness running a crowd so big. To top it off, I was literally surrounding by the weird (the blue man), the subverse (the barefoot guy), the sublime (the naked dude.) And while I occasionally will bemoan the snootiness and banality of Summerlin from time to time, I have to admit, it was refreshing to not be running surrounded by people draped in tutus and Christmas lights. Everyone looked normal, acted like runners, and even better - I knew some of them! I drove with my friend Andrea.  We immediately ran into Jodi from Junior League, then Tonya and Reed from Boot Camp. As we all entered our corrals, I bumped into my friend Sandy's next door neighbor, Patty. It was like a meet-and-greet at 6:55am in the parking lot of the JW Marriott. And I was so thankful.

My only goal for this race was to have a better experience than December. I would say by 7:15, I had accomplished that. The lovely female voice on "Map My Run" came through as I hit mile 1 with a nice report: "You have completed one mile. Time: 9:22. Pace: 9:22" and I about jumped for joy. 9:22? Sweet! I slowed down, since I didn't want to burn out, but my legs felt sensational.

By mile 3, I discovered another friendly face: Greg from Boot Camp. It was his first-ever half-marathon and while we didn't talk to each other, we grinned brightly and waved. He and I ran by each other for several miles until mile 7 when the course went quickly downhill. And by downhill, I mean the best kind of downhill - the sloping kind. Mile 8 was amazing, and that Florence and the Machine song "Shake it Out" came on just as I looked at the low-hanging clouds over Red Rock. It was one of those "I am so happy to be alive and I feel so blessed" kind of moments - which, of course, made me start crying. But, as I have learned, there is no crying in running and I quickly choked back any emotion to focus on the task ahead.

Andrea found me at mile 9 and we ran together for two miles. She encouraged me to pass her, so I did, and at mile 11, I almost tripped over both feet when on the side of the road I noticed Krista and Jill, both fellow Boot Campers and my running partner from St. Patrick's Day, standing there with a giant sign, screaming for me. My name was even on their sign! It was honestly one of the nicest gestures of my life. I couldn't believe they had come to cheer us on.

From there, I don't remember the last 2.1 miles, I just remember crossing the finish line and running into the arms of both Boot Camp trainers (and seriously amazing athletes in their own right), Kerry and Reinier. I've never felt more supported. And - it gets better - out of nowhere, Brian and Scotty magically appeared. I actually got to have one of those "only-in-my-dreams" moment when I stood at the finish line with my medal on, kissing my child, hugging my husband, and grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.

I loved every minute of it.

My official time, posted today, was 2:12:38. It's not a great time if you are a serious runner, but for me, I am deliriously happy with it. It is a 21-minute improvement on my December time, and the door remains open for continued improvement.

With that, I feel like I shook that nasty monkey from the December marathon off my back for good. There was a lot of self-doubt going into this run, and I am so, so, so happy I was able to push past it.

At breakfast after the race, I regaled Brian with details from the race. In between bites and gulps, I told him with a wink, "You know...I still had energy left when I finished. I could have kept running. I could have gone -" long, dramatic pause "- farther."

Brian promptly buried his face in his hands.

Will I try for a full marathon? Not sure. But I'll keep you posted.

And yes, I plan to keep bringing my own water.

So much for blogging every day about the 1/2 marathon on Saturday.

Blogging, just like everything else, was preempted by other crap. I had the best of intentions of dedicating this week to the Summerlin half but life took over and squashed my plans. I had written out the entries in my head - My Lemur Diet, Out of the Darkness, and then today's entry, but instead of being transcribed onto my computer, it looks like they will live in my head for a little longer. Darn life. Actually, I should say, darn annual report, but only about 30% of my viewing audience would understand what that means.

(and I hope you 30% just uttered a collective groan on my behalf. I curse you, annual report!)

Anyways, I planned to write about why I run today, since in the days before any race (whether it's a half marathon or a 5K), I find myself asking, "Why am I doing this to myself?!" And trust me, that doubt runs deep. I didn't go out with friends on Wednesday night due to the race on Saturday. I've been eating like a lemur (oh, that would make so much more sense to you if I had been able to blog on Wednesday!) for two months now. Waking up at 5:30 and running in the dark is old hat by now (again, Thursday entry would have really expounded on this, complete with Keith Morrison's voice always in the back of my head as I run through the darkness and visualize my inevitable kidnapping...."She was a wife, a mother, and a new runner. Little did Kimberly know that the morning she set out to complete five miles, her life would take a dramatically different route...") and besides, the time change has literally allowed me to run with the sun. I feel a bit like an old vampire, waking up to a new day. It's delicious though blinding.

Vampires and Dateline NBC aside, running a sport for crazy people. That's what I've come up with. It does not make any sense unless it's the zombie apocalypse and you are running for food/medical supplies, or wolves are chasing you (zombie apocalypse not withstanding.) The idea of running 13.1 miles tomorrow makes me shiver, and it's not just because the HIGH is 55 (WTH???), complete with RAIN and HIGH WINDS (OMG I just threw up); it's because I really don't want to have a repeat of December's half-marathon disaster. (oh please please please don't let me need a medic).

Thankfully, our very smart and very experience running coach from last fall asked all of us on the team to write a little essay about why we run. Like a true dork, I loved this idea. Writing? Yes, please! So I typed up a few paragraphs for her and emailed it away. She responded and asked if she could share my essay with the rest of the team. I said sure, why not. I got a lot of really nice feedback, and as I started to have doubts about this Saturday's race, I re-read my email. What I wrote still stands true and I thought I would share it with you as well.

I cried when I wrote it and cried again reading it over. But it's how I feel and it gives me energy and motivation for tomorrow to go kick some serious half-marathon butt.

                                              ************************

Per Melissa's instructions, here is the reason I am running the Vegas 1/2 marathon this year.

On May 6, 2011, my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer.  He told me about the diagnosis on May 18. By May 26, they had determined that it had spread to his liver. He began chemo on June 6, and I flew out to see him on June 7. (My parents live in Indiana). My sister (who lives in MN) and I left on June 12 and on June 13, he was hospitalized. He died from liver failure on June 16. He was one week short of his 61st birthday.

My dad was a gentle, kind man who loved his family. He never hurt anyone, and to have him taken from us so early - and so quickly - absolutely destroyed me. I spent most of July crying. In August, I stopped crying and started running. I figured out that I couldn't cry if I was running, because it was impossible to breathe. So I ran as much as I could to stop crying.

In late August, a friend mentioned Boot Camp to me and I went to my first-ever Hill Day. It was the perfect distraction to my grief, since for the first time since my dad got sick, I didn't think about it. I had to concentrate 100% on not passing out/throwing up during the work out. The marathon team started in early September, and despite the fact I had never run more than 3 miles at a time, I winged it and signed up. I figured if Hill Day is a good distraction and running stops me from crying, than marathon training would be the best of both worlds.

So that's my reason for signing up for the marathon. I'm not doing it to honor my dad necessarily, since he was not a runner, but I'm doing it to give meaning to his life. I want to challenge myself and live my life to its fullest, something I realized after he passed.

                                             *************************

See you at the finish line.