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After years of sloth, I am now a mama who runs and practices yoga. I write about exercise; parenting a grownup child as well as two little kids; and whatever is annoying me at the moment.

Monday, November 16, 2015

Paleozoic 50K: Race report and what's next...

I finished my second ultramarathon last weekend, the Paleozoic 50K

It's the same ultra I did last year -- a really well-run race by awesome race directors Bill and Michelle Thom in the hilly, leafy Palos Forest Preserve southwest of Chicago. 

It was great, but hard. Compared with the DPRT trail marathon I ran a month ago, this was much, much tougher.

Leading up to race day, I was not thinking much about the race. Work felt like more of a zoo than usual, with multiple deadlines and challenges to my mental energy. If I didn't fall asleep on the couch at like, 8:45 at night, I was crashing in bed only to wake up at odd hours like 3 or 4 a.m., unable to get back to sleep. 

I have no idea what I really ate during the week, and I know I didn't drink enough water. I'm really bad about that.

So, when Friday rolled around, it was a long day, but I was able to be home by 6-ish. I was exhausted, and wondering how in the hell I was going to run an ultra. 

I decided to keep my expectations low and give myself all the time needed to finish.That proved to be a worthy strategy.

The morning of the race was beautiful, matching the day's forecast of sunny and highs in the 50s -- incredible weather for mid-November in Chicago.

I got up early to the sunniest morning. Since I was up alone in the house, I quickly gathered my race gear and caught up on the headlines I had noticed just minutes before falling sleep at 8:45 the night before about the horror in Paris. Dear God. I felt a little guilty getting to get up and go run a race when so many were suffering. 

My running pal Krista picked me up. This ultra was her first, as it would be for Lindsey, Krista's awesome friend who has run with us a few times.

We talked about Paris on the way down and I read the latest on CNN.com. We made great time and got to the race start more than an hour early. Frost laid across the grass like a glittery blanket -- it was so pretty! Lindsey arrived and climbed in Krista's car to stay warm and chatter. She was nervous, I could tell.

Weirdly, I only felt a little bit of butterflies. I was pretty sure I was in for a tough race, which proved to be right.

We heard the start horn blast as we stood under the picnic shelter. Oops, we weren't paying attention to the time! We laughed at ourselves.

The course has 50K runners run the same 15-ish mile loops twice. I felt OK the first few miles, but not great. I chalked it up to being tired. Krista seemed to be enjoying herself. It was so pretty out and warming up quickly, so I made a point to focus on the beautiful day.  Lindsey, a faster runner, was ahead of us from the beginning. I hoped she was having a great race.

We ran into another woman running her first ultra. Turns out she was also an Ironman, like Krista, so it was nice to listen to them talk about Ironman races. (I have no desire to do an Ironman. But I noticed plenty of Ironman shirts on this race course.)

The first unmanned aid station is about 3.5 miles from the start and 4-ish miles from the turnaround, where there are volunteers and food. I knew by then it was going to be a tough day. 

Sometimes when I do a long run I will feel pretty good after a few miles. I felt OK, but not "good". I still had my "oh well" mental attitude, though, which was good. I've blown up at too many races in the past to put high expectation on these things now.

That's why I love trail running. It's low pressure and just chill. My tightly wound self needs that.

We got to the first turnaround and took a break, which helped.

Running back to the start line to complete our first 15-ish-mile loop was, well, hard. I noticed Krista got quiet, too. I was worried that a kidney infection she had been fighting was coming back, but she assured me that she was fine -- just tired, too.

Well then. Nothing like having a running pal in the same boat as you.

A mile or two from completing the first loop, I admitted I was a little panicked because I couldn't see how I had the stamina to do another loop. 

The hills felt so big. I knew I was undertrained for hills -- I hadn't been able to run down here for six weeks. But man, they were kicking my butt.

Krista is nearly 20 years younger than me and a wise old soul, I've told her. She's also way more chilled out about stuff than I am, which is one of the many reasons I like her so much. She quietly told me that it would be OK, and to just focus on finishing the first loop. 

I tried to focus on that and not thinking about repeating the whole loop a second time. My hip bones ached a little, but I noticed that I really didn't feel too achy anywhere else, which was good. I was just tired. You can run tired, I told myself.

We got back to the picnic station, when Bill, one of the race directors, enthusiastically greeted us and told us we looked strong. Gosh, he and his wife are just so nice. They're like that at every race of theirs I've run.

I considered telling Krista I was thinking about dropping out. But I felt like a jerk. This was her first ultra. And we're both stubborn and don't like to quit.

So I kept my mouth shut and we headed out. A few miles later I confessed what I had been thinking to her. She had thought the same thing. Ha! Too late now. We were in this till the end. (And I doubt we would have dropped out. Stubborn!)

We agreed to continue walking the hills. 

When we got to the manned aid station/turnaround the second time, I was tired but I had rallied a little. That was encouraging.

We saw our friend Terri in the distance. She had promised to come spectate. She did that last year, too.

I hugged her hard and surprised myself by getting a little teary. She asked me "are you OK?" and I sniffed "yes, it's just hard, we're OK." Terri stayed with us at the aid station and offered to get me a Diet Coke and meet us at the next station, which we figured we'd hit in about another hour. I began to look forward to that!

From that point on, it was a slog. Krista and I walked and ran. At one point in the course, a very large tree had fallen on the path and you had to go over or under it. The first loop, we laughed about climbing over the tree, because there was no easy way to do it gracefully.

That third and fourth time climbing over the tree? Oh Lord.

The final time we could barely lift up our dead legs. Hoisting ourselves up, we just sat on top of the tree and laughed at ourselves. Dorks. Krista asked me if my feet felt tingly, too, and I noticed they really did. It felt so amazing to not be on my feet.

Around Bullfrog Lake, someone alongside a line of parked cars yelled "Flatlander!!!!", noticing my Flatlander Ultrarunner shirt. It was the Flatlander group! I've only met a few of them -- it's a growing group of folks on Facebook who run ultras. Many of them do 100-mile races around the country and tell amazing stories. I'm in awe of them. 

And their cheering really helped pick up my spirits. XXXXX

I realized that many of them would have been at the funeral earlier for Alfredo Perro Pedro. He was a local ultra runner who, based on what I would see on this Facebook page, was much loved by this group. 

He had been diagnosed with ALS just a year ago. The FB page in the last year had been filled with photos of him in a wheelchair or stroller, sitting covered in blankets at races to cheer on others, or being pushed by friends in races. I never met him, but cheered for him and hoped for the best. 

Last Sunday, after co-hosting a baby shower for one of our running friends, I learned he had died, just 47 years old. My heart went out to this group of runners who lost their friend, and here they were, out cheering loudly for runners doing little ol' 50Ks. They're such a great bunch of people. I hope to meet more of them eventually.

I'm also 47 years old. His death sure reminded to appreciate every day and every run. You just never know.

Also during this leg of the run, we noticed how low the sun was in the sky, even though it was mid-afternoon. The day had a surreal quality to it, given that even at midday the sun was never really high in the sky. Since dusk was 4:30, we knew we had to keep moving. You know, so the wolves wouldn't get us.

(I like to joke about wolves eating us. This summer, we were doing a pre-dawn trail run with headlamps, when we came upon three sets of glowing eyes in the woods. I utterly freaked and assumed they were wolves. Because, you know, wolves are running around Cook County. They wound up being deer. Dork.)

As we neared the final unmanned station, I checked my GPS and noticed we were at 26.3 miles, officially past the 26.2-mile marathon distance. Krista, I said, you're an ultramarathoner now! I high-fived her. Yay!

Minutes later, we were at the aid station, with Terri and a delicious Diet Coke. Krista and I both remarked how we were rallying at points during these last few miles. Still tired, but encouraging. The end was in sight.

A few miles later, Krista ran slightly ahead of me and finished strong. Terri and Lindsey were at the finish line. Neither had ever met the other, but they had already figured out they were there to watch for the same friends. 

I was so happy to be done. And so happy we stuck with it. So, so glad. Race time: 7:19:21, just eight minutes slower than last year. I'll take it! 

The next morning, I woke up to the typical stiffness and soreness, but nothing too bad, thanks to the cold bath I reluctantly took when I got home to bring down the inflammation.

I puttered around for an hour in my still-quiet house, drinking coffee. 

I decided it was awesome that I could finish and stick with a tough race. My marathon the month prior I had felt so strong and great -- and this race had been very different.

I decided right then that I would run my first 50-miler next fall, the DPRT (flat!) trail where I had done the marathon last month.

If I can run 30, I can do 50!

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Saying "I love you" on Snapchat

My son Tory was home recently for his 23rd birthday. I had just upgraded my phone to the iPhone 6, and so I gave him my old-but-still-working 4s. Baby's first iPhone!

"Yay, I can snapchat again!" He was so excited, since his cheap flip phone is pretty limited.

I thought Snapchat only existed for pictures of guys' junk, thank you Anthony Weiner, so naturally, I was worried.

Of course, Tory just laughed at me.

He does that a lot.

Oh mom, he explained. It's like texting, but with pictures that disappear.

Now, why would you want a picture to disappear? What if you want to look at it again, I demanded to know.

More laughing.

Fortunately, I have a work colleague who also is a millennial.

And he explained snapchat this way: It's like you're sitting in traffic, and it sucks. Instead of posting to Facebook or twitter or texting it to a friend, you Snapchat a photo of the traffic and say "this sucks". The traffic photo isn't something worth saving.

Aha. I *think* I get it now.

(I think that way you're not using up your alloted monthly texts, too, so there's that, though  you're using your phone's data... but I digress.)

So I joined Snapchat. And struggled a little to work it. (Tip: write your message first and then take pic)

So one morning this week, I couldn't sleep. I got up at 4 (UGH) and saw from Facebook that Tory was up.

I snapchatted a pic. He snapchatted back. I was like, why are you up?? He asked me the same thing.

We texted, er, I mean, snapchatted dark, grainy selfies to each other and "I love you" messages. He said he was going to bed. I decided to (unsuccessfully) go back to sleep.

I couldn't look at his grainy photo again, because it disappered, but I was still smiling, thinking about it as I laid on the couch downstairs in the dark.

Just days after I joined Snapchat, this great New York Times story published this week. Hey, we're on to something!

I love my boy. I love that Snapchat became a thing for us. I love seeing his goofy smile and "I love you mom" messages that I've gotten from him this week.

Here we are in our goofy glory:

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Best marathon ever: DPRT race report

Me, Kylene and Krista: Happy to be done!

Yesterday I ran my best, most enjoyable marathon, the Des Plaines River Trail marathon (DPRT) with two wonderful friends, Krista and Kylene.

First, I can't say enough good things about the location of the race itself. The Des Plaines River Trail in Lake County is just stunning. Leafy. Tranquil. Flat, gravel trails that are kind to knees.

Until I began trail running, I had no idea such amazing trails existed in the Chicago area, from the Des Plaines river to Palos and North Branch in Cook County. Our Lake Michigan, which is stunning, is the probably the best-known source of nature for Chicago, but these trails are something else.

The race, too, was top-notch, with 50-mile, marathon and half marathon options. (I would love to do my first 50-miler here some day...)  Ample aid station staffed with the nicest runners, many ultrarunners. The aid station near Mile 14, our turnaround, had sweet pickles. So delicious. Mile 11/18's aid station had CANDY CORN. The best. I love candy corn!

This course also had some of the best markings ever. Great signage on which way to go, and even signs saying "wrong way" to make sure we never got off course.

And the weather was so unbelievably lovely. Just six days prior was the Chicago Marathon, where temps approached 80 degrees -- the type of marathon weather that makes me blow up and throw up. (See: Omaha marathon, 2013.) Yesterday's starting temp: 34 degrees and sunny.

After warming at fire pits just prior to 8 a.m. in the Half Day Forest Preserve, the race director made a few announcements. "If you're running your marathon under 4 hours, god bless you, start at 8 a.m...." Most people laughed. Since we were running probably a five-hour marathon, our "wave" start was 8:04. Mind you, the marathon had only 275 spots so it was pretty chill and nothing like large marathons, where it can take you 30 minutes after race start to cross the start line.

We were off! Krista, channeling her adorable and energetic dog Tucker, ran ahead of us for a while. Kylene's co-worker Matt was running his first marathon and ran ahead too. At the points we were either running with him or crossing paths later in the race, he appeared to be having a great time and a great race.

Several miles in, it was just the three of us. It was great. I've done so many of my training runs with these two that there's a natural comfort level of chatting and silence, too. I really enjoy them.

It took several wooded miles to calm down the race jitters in my head. After peaking mileage-wise two weeks ago, I had been struggling with a left calf that was chronically tight. My brain kept scanning my body, noticing every little ache and creak. This being my seventh marathon, I know that this is largely just race nerves, so I kept mentally telling myself everything was fine. (The compression sleeves I wound up buying and wearing wound up being a great help during this race -- my calves were largely fine throughout. Whew!)

At the first aid station, I chatted with another Flatlander, a nice guy names Alec who was getting ready to do a 100-mile race in a few weeks in Arizona. I'm always in awe of these 100-mile folks. I was feeling calmer by then, too, which was nice.

Mile 11 was another aid station, where Krista's husband and aunts were, with big signs for her. Krista's family is so supportive and amazing, and they're so kind to her friends. I just love them.

A few more miles to the turnaround just past Mile 14 flew by. I was really feeling good by then. And oh man, drinking real Coke and eating pickles was just the best. I also noticed I blew out holes in each of my favorite smartwool socks. Oh well.

Around this time, thoughts crept in my mind about past marathons. I've never had a really good marathon. I've always blown up at the end, and wind up miserable or sick. They have all been road marathons, and this was my first trail marathon, so that was a positive. I also had started this marathon nice and easy, even gently asking friends if we could slow a bit.

My goal was to finish smiling, inspired by Florence Kiplagat at last week's Chicago marathon, where she gleefully jumped up and down at the finish line after winning it. Photo courtesy of Getty Images below:

After the turnaround, the miles are just ticking by. I'm achy, but nothing major.

My friend Krista, though, began to struggle. She had developed a kidney infection two days before the race. Though she was on antibiotics, she started feeling pain in her lower back. She's not a complainer at all, but I could tell she was hurting.

We did some walk/running to the Mile 18 aid station. By this time, I was really worried about her. She was hanging in there, but obviously in pain. I told her it would be OK if she needed to stop -- her health is so much more important and besides, we're running a 50K in a month, so it's not as if our racing season is over with this marathon. Her husband Scott and aunts talked to her too.

Krista, though, did not want to give up. That girl is tough. We continued on, with Scott agreeing to meet us at the next aid station at Mile 21.

Krista was able to run/walk from there. She kept telling me to go ahead, but no way was I going to leave her with no water or phone. Kylene, who was running and walking at this point, had both and said she'd run with her. I ran ahead to the next aid station to see if they had medical volunteers. They didn't, but Krista was fortunately just a few minutes behind me and seemed to be doing OK with the running/walking. She had color in her cheeks, so I felt better about her.

When I left that aid station, I marveled at how great I felt. I don't think I've ever felt great at Mile 21. Wow!

The last five miles through the woods were gorgeous. It was a little lonely. My right hip flexor growled at me. My left calf decided to join the chorus. But overall, I still felt like I was running at a pretty decent clip.

(My splits for actual running time wound up being pretty decent! See below:)

I had to laugh at myself at one point. I pass a couple walking their dog in the woods, and as I did so I said "good morning". Then it dawned on me that it probably wasn't morning anymore -- sure enough, it was around 1 p.m. Running for hours really makes it hard to track time!

Around Mile 25 I was really ready to be done. I was still OK, but definitely tired. I also ran out of water in my hydration pack. It was probably only 50 degrees at this point, but the day was sunny and I definitely felt a little warm.

Some nice people I passed started cheering really loud for me as I passed them, which was exactly the boost I needed at that point. I thanked them and told them so. The guy there said "you're really moving well!" That was so great to hear.

Finally I saw the finish line and started to cry a little. I was so grateful to have had such a good marathon. I heard someone calling my name and realized it was Lindsey, this amazing friend of Krista's who I've run with a bit and just love. I was smiling as I crossed the finish line -- I was so, so happy!!!!

I asked Scott, who was able to track Krista through Kylene's phone, if he had heard anything or could see how far they were away from the finish line. Thank goodness, he said they were close and Kylene had not called him, which I took as a very good sign.

Minutes later, my friends crossed the finish line and we all cheered wildly for them. I was so glad to see them, healthy and happy.

Kylene announced she was never running a marathon again, haha, silly girl. Of course she will. :-)

Next race up: Palezoic 50K, an amazing trail race with amazing race directors!

Monday, September 28, 2015

Hugging my tree (gently) and the runaway kitty

I was limping around, just a little, after a 21-mile run, on a warm, sunny Saturday morning. I was achy, but feeling pretty good otherwise about having my second 20-miler done.

My husband starts calling me, a little more frantic than usual. "Tammy, come here! I want to show you something."

I walked over to our giant tree in the front yard and see this:

What in the heck? I posted to Facebook, my first go-to source of arborist -type advice. The observations were helpful but startling. Wood wasps. Decaying tree. Wasps laying eggs in my tree. Wasps attacking other wasps' larva in our tree.

Holy crap.

This is our tree. It has been a little rough since a really dry, hot summer a few years ago. This year, its leaves were definitely not as full and healthy as before.

An email to Morton Arboretum was returned the following Monday, leading with "Your tree is in serious trouble..." I cried. One of the reasons we live in our neighborhood is because of the amazing trees. Advice: Hire an arborist.

The arborist came out Friday. Nice guy. He told us our tree was a sugar elm (after living here for 13 years, we did not know this). It was in decline. But not dead.


There are some things we can do to extend its life. Pruning. Fertilizer. We're on it. If hugging it would help, I would be tempted.

I didn't realize I was so attached to our tree as I was. I was so relieved I couldn't shut up about my tree at work. (My colleagues are very patient sometimes.)

It's easy to know the things we get attached to, except the things we don't realize we're attached to.

Another example of not realizing I was attached to something -- this guy. This is Dewey, a cat belonging to neighbors a few doors down. He's well-known on our street for his extremely un-cat-like friendliness. (And I hope my neighbors don't think it's too weird I'm writing about him...)

Last week our neighbor posted on our street's Facebook page that he was missing. Neighbors responded with kindness and promises they would definitely look for him.

Most of the folks on our street are pretty nice.

By dusk, Dewey had still not re-emerged.

Kind of on a whim, I texted the photo to one of my running friends, who lives a few blocks away, and asked her to keep a lookout. She's an animal lover, too.

Just as I had gotten the kids sort of into bed and put some dinner in the oven, I saw Krista had called.

Since we only text and run -- and never talk on the phone -- I was worried something was wrong.

She told me her dog Tucker was going nuts because he could see a kitty on her building's front step.

Like I was on a mission, I told my husband I had to go. It might be Dewey!

I got there and it sure was! Of all the stoops he decided to visit, how random was it that he chose my friend's house?

We called the now very-happy owners and Dewey was retrieved.

I now find myself keeping an eye out for Dewey when I'm walking the neighborhood. I also find myself now looking more closely at the tree I've been taking for granted all these years.

And I wonder what else I'm not seeing that I should.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Summer o' running

Summer early morning running has been a blast.

Even with Chicago's goofy summer weather--chilly and non-stop rains the first part (and thus, wicked chafing), hot the second part (OK, more chafing) -- it just rocked.

Friends and I mixed it up from just solely running Chicago's lakefront. I ran trails in Michigan (Kalamazoo and South Haven), Illinois (Palos, Des Plaines River Trail, Waterfall Glen) and Wisconsin (Kettle Moraine).

I renewed my "suburb crush" on Evanston by running its paths through Northwestern University's magnificent campus (boy, if I could go way back in time, I wish I would have pursued NU for school...Oh well) and along the North Shore with its tony lakefront mansions.

I ran alone more, too, which was nice and only a little bit lonely. And made some new running friends who I really like.

Not every run was new and exciting. There were lots of runs in my awesome city neighhorhood. Ravenswood, my home for 19 years and counting.Love our neighborhood's awesome urban, liberal family vibe.

There were a few pulse-quickening moments, like calling 911 this morning when the guy laying on the ground (but breathing) did not move despite my friend and I repeatedly yelling ARE YOU OK? Fortunately, when the paramedics got there, they quickly roused him, glassy-eyed and bewildered. There were also the crack or whatever-pipe smokers that one morning earlier this summer, also a 911 call. (So creepy).

Most of the time, though, partiers we encountered were just harmless revelers who hadn't gone to bed yet.

I'm not a great photographer. I was a newspaper reporter for years, and everyone knows reporters can't take decent pictures to save their lives. And I forgot to take a lot of photos, too. But here's pics from my summer o' running.

Bring on fall!

Southwest Michigan

Southwest Michigan. Also, Mosquito Party HQ.

Kibbe, Michigan (not a real town, but go ahead and Google it.)

Oh yeah, I ran in L.A. 

My fabulous friend Jessica before her first 10K

She nailed that race!

Faithful, wonderful running friends. Logged a lot of miles with these great folks.

Evanston sunrise.

More Evanston beauty.

OK, enough Evanston sunrise photos already.

Amazing Chicago lakefront, Lakeview neighborhood

"Wildflower Lane", Bullfrog Lake, Palos Forest Preserve

More running buddies! Cocky as always.

Wilmette run. Why don't I know anyone with a boat?

Bahai temple, Wilmette. I'm always in awe of it.

Minnesota friend!

Kettle Moraine North, lousy photo but amazing place

Kettle Moraine North, Butler Lake. Hilly and wildflowers. Stunning.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

I don't want romance. I just want to eat.

A few months ago, I decided that I would do an October marathon and a November 50K The marathon fits into the 50k training "schedule" I'm loosely following.

But there's something different about my now-annual ritual of training throughout the summer for a big fall race.

I kind of don't give a crap.

In a good way.

Oh sure, I run five times a week during the summer. My weekly mileage topped 40 miles each of the last two weeks. That is a lot for me.

And I listen to my knees make weird little gurgly noises when I do squats to keep my lazy hips strong. Hmm.

I feel more relaxed about training because it doesn't feel like training. It's just running, a lot. It's liberating. 

However, since I'm tightly wound and have a tendency to overschedule things, that means I just fixate about other things.

I'm trying to relearn some Spanish through an app called DuoLingo. It's pretty fun. I want to be conversational without having to find money and time to take classes.

This summer is also about cramming as much cool stuff in as possible when you have a 4- and 6-year-old. Zoo, beach, pool, camping, playgrounds, hosting barbecues -- it's been a blast hanging with them.

Being tightly wound and cramming stuff in has its price. My fairly patient husband wants to hang out after the kiddies go to bed. Normal, right?

Sometimes we don't eat until we have tossed their scampy little behinds in bed a few times apiece.

(Please tell me that I am not the only parent who sometimes fantasizes about paying someone to deal with the whole bedtime thing. OK, not really. Well, maybe some nights. I love cuddles once they're in bed, but the whole process of getting there. OMG).

I get grouchy while he is lighting candles in the backyard and making everything nice. (Who gets grouchy about their husband doing something nice on a Saturday night? Me.) Instead, I growl about eating. One night he said to me, "you just told me you don't want romance, you want to eat."

Bad wifey.

So maybe I'll lighten up about those things some day.

Maybe. There's only so much lightening up a girl can do.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Jessica's first 10K!: Race report

When your very cool, quite-a-bit younger former co-worker asks you to run with her in her first 10K race, naturally, you say yes.

After, of course, immediately feeling like, wow, did she text the wrong person?

Surely she meant to ask one of her equally hip, fashionable and fun friends with whom she's seen on Facebook having cute cocktails in cute outfits -- at a time of night you're definitely in already in your pajamas.

OK, she's a mom, now, too, but she hasn't totally thrown in the towel. Let's just say I traded heels for running shirts awhile ago.


But my former (and one of my favorite) Sun-Times co-worker DID ask me and I was like, yeah, baby, sign me up!

So we registered for Esprit de she, the girliest race ever.

I got roped into this race last year, too, for a dear running friend's bachelorette party. It was quite fun. Prosecco is a nice post-race drink, I discovered. It goes well with giggling, sweaty women done with their run for the day.

Jess and I met downtown after work and took (naturally) the CTA to our destination. (Nerd alert: I love transit and love it even more since I became a spokeswoman for it nearly three years ago.)

It was one of those perfect, perfect summer nights. The humidity was low, the air was warm, the sky was pinkening and people milling around pre-race were cheerful. Jessica was nervous but I kept reassuring her that she would be fine. She promised me some f-bombs and I was like, cool.

Like dorks, we couldn't figure out where the start line was (though we found the alcohol wrist band line with no trouble).

Finally, we lined up and boom, we were off!

So, I had run 12 miles before work the previous morning and had a high-mileage week the prior week, so I was kind of pooped. I was counting on settling in and just running easy.

Not Jessica.

Like a determined little bat out of hell, she was booking and all business. I'm like, um, why are we going so fast?

She argued, we weren't fast, we were slow. I told her we were sub-10-minute miles and we ought to take it easy in the beginning. I didn't want to be too bossy -- but I remember wanting to barf up a lung during my first 10K race.

She settled in and did great. We did a short walk around mile 4 (which is the furthest she had ever run before, yay!) so she could settle her breathing. It was definitely warm. My shirt and shorts were soaked in sweat.

I sweat like a dude. Always have.

We continued running. I figured, I should just talk, and you know, distract her. I blathered about my kids, like how my 4-year-old daughter asks "why" in response to everything I say, and how my my 6-year-old howls like Bart Simpson if he sees his sister's butt while I'm getting them dressed in the morning.

And he doesn't know who Bart Simpson is.

We got to mile 5 and I was in full cheerleader mode. She had this! She was pretty quiet, maybe a little grunty. But she was chugging along.

Finally, we saw the finish line and we both took off. She did it! So happy for her!

The post-race is all chick stuff. Get your nails done, put a girly fake tattoo on your arm that says something inspirational, stuff your face with lemon Luna bars... or hit the sangria bar, like we did. A highly recommended post-run drink, so I'm told by no one.

Congratulations, Jessica!

Next stop, 10-mile race? :-) I'll check my calendar...