My first half marathon!

After lots of training, worrying, praying, I ran my first half marathon this morning. I was planning on just doing the Cowtown Half this winter, but the FWRC made its November race a half, so I figured I’d give it a shot. I ran 10 miles on my treadmill a few weeks ago and had a handful of fairly strong runs after that, so I figured I was prepared enough to at least finish the race, even if I had to take a few walking breaks.

I always say that the first three miles are the hardest for me. Whenever I do a long run on my treadmill, it’s the first handful of miles that seem to drag on and on. After that, I’m usually good to go.

This does not apply to the half marathon, just so you know.

It was a chilly morning, but not unbearable. The cold doesn’t really bother me much after I get about half a mile behind me and that held true today. I really had no idea how this was going to go down. Had I properly trained? Was this going to be much easier than I was telling myself it was going to be? Is this the stupidest idea I’ve ever had? The answers were something along the lines of sort of, hell no, and maybe.

Once the race started, most of the pack was way ahead of us. Fortunately, that is pretty much how every race starts out for me, so I’m accustomed to bringing up the rear. The first handful of miles went pretty smooth; I was enjoying some sweet jams on my iPod, John was there next to me humming along to Lady GaGa, and I was getting warmed up and actually enjoying the cool weather.

Somewhere around mile 4 or 5 my left ankle started bothering me. This was one of my fears about running this far. I usually end up with a sore ankle or knee or muscle and it’s a different one every time. We were taking it fairly easy, running 12 to 13-minute miles. All I could do was try to focus on controlling my breathing and attempt to think about anything but the pain. We both really wanted to run a consistent race and not have to resort to taking walk breaks. So far, so good.

I started struggling around mile 6, which didn’t do much for my state of mind. Some guy at a water station asked me if I was okay and was I going to keep going. Huh? Did I look that bad? Sheesh, that wasn’t much of a pick-me-up. Usually, the water stations give you half a cup of Gatorade and a half-hearted cheer. They’re usually manned by a pack of teenagers who look like they would rather be pretty much anywhere else. “…good job…*golf clap*...keep going...” I think Ben Stein could have done a better job of showing some enthusiasm.

When I got to about mile 7, the pain in my ankle either subsided or got drowned out by the screaming in my leg muscles. It was really all I could do not to stop and walk. Going up a hill did me in. I took a walk break at mile 8 or so, which was really disappointing. I know this is my first half marathon and its way farther than I’ve ever gone, but I so badly didn’t want to have to walk. The funny thing was, it didn’t really affect my time too greatly since I was running pretty slowly anyway. John just stayed with me, jogging at a comfortable pace. I felt kind of bad for him, I know he was capable of going a great deal faster than I was and I felt a little guilty for holding him back. But he just wanted to run the entire way (same here, *snort*) so he kept me going by singing loudly and yelling out whatever inspirational messages he could come up with. I asked him to let me lead for a while, since seeing him running just reminded me that I wasn’t. That actually helped a bit.

At this point, I think I am dying. My legs were going numb and I started to worry that I might fall. I could see the light…my ancestors beckoning me to come to them…your legs don’t hurt in heaven and we have a burrito here for you…

Oh and yeah, John started talking about food of all horrible things. I wasn’t hungry until he mentioned his increasing desire for a Philly cheesesteak. So now I had to contend with pain as well as hunger.

Miles ten through the end were about the same, me warding off the death angel and wondering what I was going to eat for lunch. You know, if I lived to see the end of this race. And where the crap is mile marker twelve? The eleventh mile seemed to go on forever and ever; I didn’t know whether to kiss mile marker twelve or puke on it. I chose to just soldier on.

I let John get about a minute ahead of me at this point. We were each on our own. There was no amount of encouragement I could get from him or anyone else that was going to help me; I had to finish this thing myself.

Crossing the finish line was a bit anticlimactic. I didn’t have Jonathan there to root for me and most of the other runners had finished long before and gone home. But I was happy to have completed it, regardless of the fact that I probably walked a mile or so of the race. I can’t let that fact take away the joy of the accomplishment. However, I know me all too well and it will take some time for me to feel that way, unfortunately.

I filled out my little card with my time on it (2 hours, 47 minutes and 58 seconds) and looped my finisher’s medal around my neck. John and I took some pictures and that was pretty much it.
I am really proud of my run today, especially considering I’ve only been running about six months. If you told me a year ago that I’d be running a half marathon today, I’d say you were crazy or lying. Or possibly both. But I did do it and I’m exceedingly happy. I hope that this was the first of many successful long-distance races.

Note: If you'd like to see pictures from this race and some of my other ones, just click on the title...it'll direct you to the album I've posted on facebook. It's way easier than trying to post the pics here.

hands

Boggess Video was the cool (and only) place to rent movies in Russellville back in BETA's glory days. In fact, I remember they still had to carry them long into the reign of VHS. It wasn't all that much different from the store depicted in the movie Clerks, except that Dante and Randal weren't there to insult customers or play hockey on the roof. The one thing I do clearly remember about going to Boggess was always passing by the aisle that had the Faces of Death series. I had this unexplained, primal urge to watch them, but I was too cowardly to so much as pick up one of those empty cardboard boxes, much less sit through hours of car accidents and animal cruelty. Twenty years have passed and I doubt much has changed. Earlier this week, I stumbled upon a documentary about Saddam Hussein on the NatGeo channel and I was curious enough to switch it on for some background noise while I got ready for bed.

I'm sure it was far less disturbing than Faces of Death, but it was enough to make me start thinking about the kind of world so many people live in and how my way of life in is such stark contrast to that of most others. I've spent the past couple of days pondering this and it's rather humbling, I must say.

I consider myself to be quite ordinary. Definitely not dull or lacking in talent or personality, just a 28 year-old woman trying to survive and leave some sort of positive mark on this world. But when you think about it, I live an extraordinary life. Some may call it chance or luck, I am more inclined to call it a blessing by a God who loves me more than I could ever understand.

Even with my contacts out and my mind still mulling over the day's events, I was more than a bit freaked out when they showed a man getting his hand cut off for speaking out against Saddam Hussein. As I continuted to watch, both captivated and repulsed, I was grateful that they froze the grainy videos of executions just short of a trigger being pulled or a sword coming down.

In the days since, I've been paying more attention to the routine things that I do and I'm finding them to be increasingly significant the more I think about it.

People in countries worldwide have the right to vote, but not all are women. Few of these women had the opportunity to vote for a woman, as I did. Not only can I vote, but I can openly support or oppose any candidate for any reason. I admit, I would get frustrated when I heard more about Sarah Palin's wardrobe than her voting record, but that's just part of living in a free country.

People everywhere go to work every day, but few have the choices in a career that I do and even fewer have access to my level of education. Part of me takes pride in doing what is generally considered to be a man's job, and doing it as well as or better than most.

People everywhere marry every day, but few have parents and in-laws who are living examples of what a loving marriage should be. I credit the strength of our families for much of our success in our six-going-on-seven years.

I worship the god of my choice, the God my conscience guides me to and I am persecuted by no one.

I can eat any food I want, any time I want.

I could fill dozens of blog entries about how richly I am blessed, but one will have to suffice for now.

When it comes down to it, I live like royalty. I doubt many princesses have my work-worn hands or clip grocery coupons, but the contrast between my lifestyle and that of the overwhelming majority of the world is undeniable. At times it makes me feel guilty because I know I am no more or less deserving than anyone else, but all I can do is make the best of whatever situation I am presented with.

Play the hand you are dealt.

Easy for me to say.

bum toe thoughts

So I've got a bum toe, you see. It's gotta stay elevated for the rest of the day which means I'm stuck here on the couch with only the internet and my TiVo full of nothing to keep me occupied. It's been some time since I've posted, but the stresses of work and life tend to diminish my desire to write. I like to use my blog for actually writing something thoughtful or insightful, not for jotting down every random thought that pops into my head the way so many bloggers do. I even go so far as to bookmark an online thesaurus so I spell my four-dollar words right and sound slightly more intelligent than I actually am. Nerd, nerd, I know.

Today, however, is not a dictionary.com day. It's more of a "I-really-need-to-kill-some-time" day, so don't be expecting too much depth in today's post. Here's what's on my mind.

When I was a kid, I had a bad experience with a doctor who was going to remove something out of my left heel. She held up a needle and said in her horrible-sounding accent, "Ziss is going to hurt like craaaaazy!!" The pain was horrendous and the moment was burned into my memory. So when I had to have some work done on my toe this morning, I couldn't escape the twenty-year old memory of that old bat and the big needle. I knew that this procedure was simple and truly wouldn't be that bad, but it wasn't enough to allow me a decent night's sleep or enable me to stay calm in the chair. Suffice it to say I was embarassed. I had a good childhood I suppose, but we all have our traumatic moments that affect us as adults. I should probably consider myself lucky that this was pretty much it.

I'm kinda interested to know what it looks like under the bandages.

I went to my high school reunion a couple of weeks ago. I've been in Texas for six years now so it was really shocking to walk into that room and see forty people I haven't seen in a decade. I was really curious about how it was all going to go down. Would people stay with their little cliques or branch out and talk to others? Would I be shocked at how some people looked? Would there be large amounts of alcohol resulting in much tomfoolery? The answers would all be yes. I was pleasantly surprised how the majority of folks mixed and mingled with the people outside our social circle. I probably spoke more to some people in one evening than I did in all four years of high school. I have to give the class of '98 some credit, we looked pretty good as a whole! Most of us looked the same or better, there were only a couple that I did a double take on. I imagine most reunions are like that. And of course, the presence of a keg added a little "flair" to the evening. I made it home at half past one in the morning smelling like vodka and red bull thanks to a tipsy friend who couldn't keep a firm enough grip on his cup. All in all, I had a blast with my best friend, Holly and my former classmates.

Look good, have a job. The keys to success at your high school reunion. Holly and I definitely did well.

I hate daytime television. I have dozens of channels and the only thing I can tolerate at the moment is 'The Bonnie Hunt Show" on mute. It's all either "who my baby daddy?" talk shows or Dora the Explorer. There's nothing good on the TiVo and I can't go out and rent anything. I have Iron Man on DVD but Jonathan will get mad if I watch it without him. So here I sit. Numb toe plopped up on two pillows, cat snoozing next to me, cell phone likely out of rollover minutes.

Bo-ring.

That is, until the anesthetic starts wearing off and I begin to realize that this guy just hacked off a third of my toenail. That'll be interesting.

Hey, cat. Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me a burrito or something? Or you can just lay there.

babe I'm leavin...

You all will just have to do without me for the next little bit. I'm off to Orlando on Monday for my company's annual manager's meeting. I've been packing, doing all the required paperwork, and shopping for new clothes that don't have ring-around-the-collar or burn holes in them. But mostly I've been wasting vast amounts of my free time on Facebook.

I didn't mean to join, I was just curious about it. The nice thing is, it allows you to make your page private, so only people you authorize can view it. That was my problem, the only way I could see if I liked it was to join. So I did. Turns out, there were several of my cousins on there that I don't get to talk to often as well as some fraternity sisters and high school friends I had lost touch with.

Oh, fear not my darlings. I will not abandon this blog you all adore so. I enjoy getting to write (when I actually have an intelligent idea) and quite frankly, facebook is sorta cluttered. People have all kinds of clip art, newsreels, trivia, and polls that make who they are and what they're doing difficult to find. I get great satisfaction in simply writing about what I know and posting pictures from my life. Simple is good.

But anyway. I'll try not to get into any trouble next week. And I promise to post plenty of pictures if I do.

floor hell

I'm wicked proud of my man. He spent the past two summers ripping up that uber-funky green carpet out of our house and installing the most beautiful hardwood floor. I don't have many "before" photos to post (they're all on my old computer which is currently in a coma) so you'll have to just scroll through my old posts or just use your imagination.

Last summer we did the living room, dining room, foyer, and hallway. The foyer wasn't carpet. It was bright white ceramic bathroom tile. Gag. Notice the curtains in the dining room, or should I say "curtain". The cat managed to tear most of it down for us. I suppose it was his way of protesting the use of old-lady lacy crap in our house. Can't say I disagree.

The bedroom was such a pain. The bed is way too big and heavy to disassemble and move out of the room, so we had to shift it around during the whole process. The results were worth all the shoving and glue-scrubbing and bickering. He did not appreciate how I kept sneaking out when he wasn't looking to watch the Olympics.

We also have a room that we really didn't use much until we finished the floor. This room is begging for a pool table, but I doubt we'll ever get one. I spent almost $150 (ouch!) on these curtains and the rod, so an additional five grand for something we'll use twice a year is not too likely. But we can still dream.

All in all, the house looks great, a huge difference from what it looked like when we bought it four years ago. My man and I did purty good, if I do say so myself. Drop me some comments and let me know what you think!