Me, Tiff and Natalie...my crazy running girls.
That look on our faces is "it's 21 degrees and we are shivering
and not trained enough. Let's GO already!"

The first race of my 4 half-marathons in a month was Saturday. In spite of the 4:30am wake-up call, the hour and half drive (with stops) to get to the race, and the 21 degree temperature at the start. I couldn't feel my fingers or toes for about the first 2 miles.

What I could feel was my belly. For the second time in a dozen races, I had to pull a pit stop at mile 3. I am oddly proud of this fact because I no longer have some of the inner pipes that most people do and digestion can be a challenge on a regular day. Most runners deal with "emergencies," waiting anxiously in line at port-a-potties along the route, dancing from foot to foot battling an urgent inner turmoil that could end with some serious embarrassment, and an equally urgent desire to be back pounding down the course chasing all the people who passed them while they were waiting. Anyhow, it goes without saying that joining that line was a "bummer." I never really recovered after that and the run was a slog. A beautiful slog.

I really thought this was going to be the perfect carb-loading,
belly-friendly, pre-race meal. It was delicious and easy to make.
The results were not so great. I do not blame the turkey tetrazzini.

Running is funny. You spend so much time in your head, having a conversation with yourself about everything - life and death, inspiration, going faster, not quitting, not stopping. That ache in your right hamstring, that hill you're going to have get over, a lovely old barn that makes you want to stop and take a picture because it reminds you of Girl Scout camp. Why can't people decide which side of the road to run on? How come people are tent camping when it's this cold? How come that woman is snorting and grunting like a pig? How anyone could run in shorts in these temperatures? Realizing your half-assed-I'm-busy-excuses training program was, as always, insufficient so you start making deals with yourself about how you'll do it better this time, starting tomorrow. The to-do list for the day, the month, for your life is flying through your brain like an old-fashioned stock ticker-tape and then it's completely erased by the sight of three horses galloping through a field, breath misting from their nostrils, a glassy lake, barren trees and snow-covered mountains serving as a postcard-perfect background and you think you know what life is all about.

For the first six miles you think you're going to PR (get a personal record), for the last 7 you're wondering why the fuck you even got out of bed this morning for this insanity and if that one, lone cheerleader on the road might give you a lift to the finish line.

And that's life, isn't it? Maybe that's why we do it. Because you get out of bed, when it would be easier to pull the covers around your head and hit snooze, to get on the roller coaster. That up and down, wild journey where pain meet beauty. Where your weakness meets your strength. Where your perfect inspired dream-life meets the have-to's of every day life. Where you get to talk to you for a couple of uninterrupted hours and figure out some things about life, and yourself. Where you know that, no matter what, you have friends who are with you for different parts of the ride, getting your butt out of bed, shouting encouragement along the way, walking by your side when you need them, and cheering for you when you cross the finish line...always thinking you are an amazing, powerful woman.

For a little race of 600 people, this run was so
professionally run. Water, bathrooms, transportation, medals,
breakfast at the end. Very impressed by Striders Winter Racing Circuit!

And at the end of 13.1 miles (don't discount that last tenth...it's a bitch), you get a medal. It doesn't matter if you ran your best race or your worst. All that matters is that finished. And hopefully you had fun doing it. I know I did.