Caught on the verge

Sometimes Lucy just all of a sudden gets really excited about life.  She grabs a toy, runs back and forth across the apartment, playfully growls, and jumps on me if I ignore her.  Sometimes this excitement is provoked (say, if I just came home or am about to take her on a run).  Other times, it just happens.  Life just gets exciting.

Life got so exciting that her head went blurry.

Sometimes when it happens, you can see her getting revved up for it.  She gets a crazy look in her eye, a telltale tenseness in her body.  It's just a split second, but when you spot it, you know that excitement is on it's way.

With school over, now that I'm officially a week into summer, I feel like I'm in the split second that happens just before things get exciting.  I'm not sure why.  Here's what my first week of summer has looked like so far.

Thursday: I went into work to clean up a bit and start getting ready for summer school.  So I guess summer hadn't started yet, but I'm counting it.  I came home around 2:00 to quick turn around and head downtown to make it to the Seattle Rock N Roll Expo with Ironman Jason and Ironman Joe to pick up my race packet.  I collected lots of free stuff from all the vendors.

Look at that haul.  Everything that's edible has been eaten.
The rest remains useless in the free bag I got.

After gorging myself on free samples of running energy crap, I came back to my place, grabbed Lucy, and headed out on a run with Jason and Joe.  We went about 5 miles, and in the middle, Lucy quite successfully made Joe tumble to the pavement.  That's right, she took down an Ironman.  Pretty impressive.  Sorry Joe.

Friday:  I woke up, relaxed for a couple hours, and then went for the first swim I've been on in about a year and a half.  As expected, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but it was great to be back in the water.  Ironman Jason came with me, and I was able to give him a few pointers on how to improve his stroke.  Helping is fun.  And Jason has helped me so much with running, and most especially biking in the past few months, it was great to be able to return the favor for once.  Then I came home, walked Lucy, and headed downtown for our Inspirational Dinner for the Rock N Roll Seattle Marathon with Team in Training.  Dinner was carbful (yep, that's a word in the dictionary of Tessa), and I got to hear John "The Penguin" Bingham speak again.  And then I got to hear Erica tell the story of her sister Heather, which I've heard before, but this time was different.  She told it for a whole room full of nervous marathoners and inspired them to keep running, keep pushing, and feel good about the awesome amount of fundraising they'd done in the past few months.

Saturday: I ran the Rock N Roll Seattle Half Marathon and then did a lot of cheering.  You can read about that here.

Sunday: I wasn't exactly 100% when I woke up after the celebrations from the night before, so I relaxed for the morning.  Then around mid afternoon Erica, Lucy, and I went for an easy 4 mile recovery run.  Lucy really likes Erica so she didn't trip her and make her fall down.  That was nice.

Monday: I'm not sure if what I did on Monday can be consider a "brick" workout, but I ran and biked both on the same day, so that counts for me.  Lucy and I did a 3 miler in the morning, then Lucy accompanied me to school for about 4 hours while I made final preparations for summer school.  Later that night, I met up with Erica and MacKenzie for a "Girls' Night" bike ride that rounded out at about 30 miles.

We're ladies.  And we ride bikes.

This was my first time back on the bike in a little over a month, and I was ecstatic to be back on it.  STP is creeping slowly closer and I need to build up some seat time again.  My seat wasn't super happy on this ride, but me and my seat powered through.

Tuesday:  First day of summer school!  It was crazy, hectic, and a lot of fun.  I was impressed with how many kiddos showed up and how excited they were to be there.  And then I got to do a lot of reading with them.  The 2.5 hours breezed by, and before I knew it, it was 1:00 and I was out and running with my teacher crew.  We've decided to keep up the teacher running club throughout the summer so that everyone can stay motivated to stay active.  Then Tuesday night we celebrated MacKenzie's birthday with lots of wine and lots of sushi.

Jason's not just an Ironman, he's also a chef.  So he
pre-prepped everything.

And then we became sushi rolling masters.

Today:  Despite the plethora of wine that was imbibed last night, I woke up this morning feeling good and ready for a bike ride.  Me, Jason, and Nick (another fellow runner and rider) rode up to coach Shelby's running store to say hi and then back down again--altogether about 40 miles.  Not too shabby, I'd say.  My legs are certainly feeling it though.  No bike rides for a month and then 2 pretty hefty ones so close together proved to be a little bit of a challenge (mainly on the hills and the seat).  But I ended the ride feeling good, took an unexpected 30 minute power nap, and then walked Lucy for about an hour.

So now, I am tired.  My body and my mind are both tired.  And I apologize if that makes this post fairly uninteresting.  But there's a point to all of it.

Refer back to Lucy's sudden life excitement.  Remember how I'm suddenly feeling "on the verge" of something.  This week was fun, and I exercised a lot.  And I saw a lot of friends and experienced strength at it's core (in a few different ways).  And I reflected back on what I've accomplished in the past few months, with my running and biking and teaching and writing.  And I realized that life is pretty great right now.  And suddenly I feel like life might just get exciting.  I don't want to jinx things, but I feel like I'm due for something really good to happen.  I've put so much positive effort into living lately that I feel like it's time for something awesome to be waiting around a corner somewhere for me.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe something will come up and bite me on my very sore seat instead, but for now I want to believe that I've got a lot to look forward to.  Come what may in whatever form it takes, I'll be smiling until I get there anyways.

Life with Lucy: Mama's Little Helper

This is me.  Helping.  Now pet me.

Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon: Who cares how I did...

Running isn't easy.  If through any of my writings and ramblings I've ever given you the impression that it is, this was not my intention and please disregard.  I've had a few conversations lately with some friends who've recently taken up running, and their main complaint is that it's hard.  And when I hear this, I simply think (and say), "well, yeah."  Of course it is.  It wouldn't be so incredibly rewarding and fulfilling if it wasn't hard.  If you ever decide to get out there and run and think that it's going to be easy, you will be sorely (ha, pun) disappointed.

Running is about getting out there and challenging yourself.  Pushing yourself to your limits.  Testing your bounds and believing in yourself.  Running is about conquering each day and every run, whether it's 1 mile or a marathon.  Yes, there will be easy runs.  It does happen.  Sometimes your body just loves you.  Sometimes your body feels great, enjoys the push, and performs for you.  But many days, runs don't feel great and it's a struggle to get yourself to enjoy them.

But no matter how hard running is, we keep coming back to it.  We keep pushing ourselves harder and faster and farther.  Why, you may ask?  Why keep pushing yourself to do this incredibly hard thing that never gets any easier?  Well, let me tell a little anecdotal story to show you the answer.

Yesterday, I ran the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon.  I will tell you a little bit about my race, but that's not what the story is about.  I went into this race knowing that I wouldn't PR.  I ran a full marathon 3 weeks ago, and I didn't need to push myself.  I wanted to have fun, to enjoy the race, to enjoy being out there with my Team.

Three of these ladies were embarking on their
first full marathon.

And three of these ladies were too.

And one of these.  Yay, Space Needle in the background.

If you can add correctly, that's 7 amazing women ready to take on 26.2 miles for the first time.  And there were many more.  But we'll come back to that.

I ran my race at an easy pace with Erica.  We saw lots of teammates and coaches, got to watch the top 2 men marathoners run by us at our mile 6 (their mile 12).

Pretty awesome watching these guys fly by.
That's the marathon winner in orange, my coach
Shelby running next to him to say hi (he actually
knows him, he's not just a creeper).

We enjoyed the race.  We had fun and kept smiles the whole way through.

The road looks wet, but the weather was actually perfect here.
Some cloud cover, a cool breeze.  No rain.

We cruised through our 13.1, crossed the finish line together (something we didn't get to do in San Diego), and finished in 2 hours and 1 minute.  If you remember reading my Amica Seattle Marathon post just 7 short months ago, I had to give my all to finish just 1+ minute under that time.  I ran the same exact time at the Seattle RNR Half Marathon exactly one year ago, but again, I pushed myself and gave my all to get there.  Yesterday I fully admit that I did not give everything I had.  I've come a long way since last year, and it feels pretty great to "take it easy" and still run a 2:01 half.  I've now run 8 races over the past 3 years (5 halves and 3 fulls), and this is the first race that I didn't PR in.  And I am totally OK with that.  

But again, this story isn't about me or my race.  If I didn't send this message home with my race recap of the San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon (Part I and Part II), I'll repeat it again here.  When I run a race with Team in Training, all I can think is that it is not about me.  And yesterday was no exception.

The best part of this story is about what happened after I crossed the finish line.  It is about what I got to witness.  It is about tears of joy and sadness, smiles, and cheers.  It is about being able to see strength.  And I'm not talking about the muscle strength that pushes legs forward.  I'm talking about a strength of the heart and mind that isn't visible to the human eye.  But yesterday I saw this strength.  It radiated from the faces of marathoners at mile 25.7, on the corner of highway 99 and Republican St. for a little over 4 hours.  

After crossing the finish line, meeting up with a few other teammates, housing down some calories, pit stopping at the bathroom, and grabbing some coffee, me and two other ladies headed back out onto the race course.  We wanted to see our teammates finish.  We'd been with them as they trained all season, struggled through tough practices, and shined through good ones.  We wanted to cheer them on, help them through that last, toughest mile.  So out we went.

Standing in the middle of 99 on the corner of Republican.
Half marathoners came down the right, fulls down the left.

We posted ourselves in the middle of the street so we could catch every purple shirt that ran by.  We screamed our hearts out.  We worried that the sun was getting a little warm, that our marathoners would have a long hot race ahead.  We saw Melody and Jodi come in together.  We saw Danger shuffle his way through his 2nd half marathon in 3 weeks.  We saw Dorothy jump with joy and take a few running steps at the end of her 2nd half marathon, helping her to break the PR she set at her first half in San Diego.  We watched Ana power through her first full marathon, looking strong and fearless to the finish.  We ran with Jamie for a couple blocks, amazed that the little bundle of energy that she typically is still shone through in her smile and chit-chatting at mile 26.

And then...well...then it started to rain.  That sun we were worried about?  No more.  It clouded over quick, and then those clouds let loose.  And this was not the typical Seattle sprinkle.  This was a DOWNPOUR.  And it didn't stop.  For 3 hours, it didn't stop.  And suddenly I was worried.  I was worried that spirits would be broken, that strength would go down the drain with the rain.  How silly of me.  The spirit of a marathoner cannot be broken by rain.  Bite me zones were had.  Emotions ran high.  But spirits were not broken.  Not at all.

All those ladies in the pictures at the beginning of this post?  We watched them run through one by one.  We walked and ran with Betsy as she stayed strong through her final mile.  MacKenzie ran with Melanie and Anna all the way in to the finish line, supporting them the whole way through.  Sally ran smiling by, taking high fives to the finish.  Yes, there were some tears when people saw us, but I believe these tears were tears of relief and gratitude and undescribable marathon emotions.  They were tears of joy and strength and sadness all wrapped into one.  There were smiles in the tears.  Regan smiled and laughed and cried her way through her last half mile, and I hope that by us being there, we made it just a little bit more bearable.  

There were other names, other faces, and other emotions that we saw during our 4+ hours out in the rain on the course.  We were there for our teammates because we wanted to be, because we needed to be.  And then we were blown away by the thank yous we received after.

These aren't even all of them.

We had hoped to maybe boost a few people.  But the response was overwhelming.  And here's where my story gets a little selfish.  Here's where I started think just a little bit about me.  I took something from all of my teammates that I watched run by yesterday.  I took just a little bit of their strength.  I absorbed it, let it sink in, let it spread throughout my body.  I didn't mean to do it.  But by seeing their strength, by witnessing their final battles, I think that some of it may have rubbed off on me.  And now I have a hope for the future.  I hope that the next time I run a marathon, the next time I take on 26.2 miles with the Team...I hope that their strength is still with me.  I hope that it has compounded with my own.  I hope that it helps me push through my final miles at some point in the future.

So instead of reading all those thank you's, I should be saying thank you to all of you.  Thank you for letting me witness what you are capable of.  Thank you for letting me cheer you on.  Thank you for being who you are and doing what you do.  Thank you for allowing me to build my strength upon your own.  Because I believe I am stronger now because of it.  

And the best part of it all?  As we celebrated the day at our victory party last night, the one thing I kept hearing over and over again from these amazingly strong people was, "I can't wait until next time," "next time, I'll do so much better," "there will be a next time."  So Team, here's to next time.  Until then, I'll be biding my time until I can cross the finish line with you again.

I don't think I can type it loud enough, but GO TEAM!!  And thanks for everything.

Summer!!

All that talk about no need for speed, and oops I did this on Monday:

All green percentages!  Yay for negative splits!

Mile 1, I did a good job of going nice and slow, but as the run progressed, suddenly I felt great.  Suddenly my feet wanted to go faster.  Suddenly, Lucy was not protesting to this speed.  I don't know what sort of high we were on Monday, but we rocked this short 4.1 mile run.  And as much as I extolled the wonders of running steady and slow in my last post, this felt pretty great too.

I ran on Saturday and Sunday too, but neither of these runs felt awesome.  Saturday I did an 8.5 miler with the Team in preparation for this weekend's Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon.  Although I wasn't super uncomfortable on this run, and it felt good to get some longer mileage in again, I still wasn't at my "yay running is great!" feeling.  After this run, I went and partook in the happiness of the Fremont Solstice Parade and Fair.  I was a good girl and was home many hours before dark, but then after crying my way through the final 3 episodes of Glee for this season, I received a phone call around 9pm that went basically like this:

Friends: "So...we want to have a game night, but we can't do it anywhere else but at your place.  Can we come over with games, wine, and food?"
Tessa: "OMG, I just cried through 3 hours of Glee, my eyes are puffy and red, and now I am drinking wine by myself."
Friends: "Um...so that means yes?"
Tessa: "Totally."

So, 6 hours later, I finally went to bed after a number of glasses of wine and a good deal of laughter (How many glasses of wine?  How much laughter?  Well...it's may be a little fuzzy to answer these questions in measurable terms).  Needless to say, when my alarm went off at 8:00 the next morning, the thought of conquering my planned 50 mile bike ride was a little daunting.  I was ready to rally, but when I got the text from another bike rider basically indicating that her Saturday night went something along the same lines as mine, I was more than happy to bail on the ride.

I slept in a while longer, wasted time on the couch for a bit, drank lots of water, and then decided around 2ish that I was ready for a run.  This run did not feel great.  I ran a bit, walked a bit, crossed my fingers that I  would run into someone I knew running around Greenlake so I could get rid of Lucy momentarily and make the mad dash for the bathroom that I suddenly needed (this actually worked!  I bumped into a friend, dumped Lucy on her, and ran into the closest restaurant for a pit stop), and then ran the rest of the way home.  Not fun.  Not great.  Not fast.

But then Monday?  Monday was just a normal day.  2.5 days before the end of the school year, no special plans.  No special diet, liquid intake, or expectations.  I went out for a run, and I ran fast.  And it felt easy.  And good.  Why?  Who knows?  Maybe it's not just marathons that are mysterious, unknowable entities.  Maybe running in general is just fickle.  Sometimes when I'm out there running, it feels like the Gods of Running have a plan for me that I have no control over.  Yes, I can do things to boost the run (hydrate, eat well) or ruin it (drink lots of wine, play games until 3am), but there's something that I'm not quite conscious of that decides what a run will feel like for me.

I haven't run since Monday, and probably won't have time to again until the half marathon on Saturday.  I am ok with this.  Or at least I'm telling myself I am.  I'll make it through.  No PR expected this weekend.

Instead of obsessing and worrying about this weekend's race, I'm thinking about the fact that today was the last day of school.  Today, my summer officially begins.  And, of course, I have a wonderfully long list of things I'd like to accomplish this summer.  Here it is.

Things I will do this summer (and by summer, I mean the next 2 months)
1)  Run.  A lot.  This is #1 on my list.  I want to run with Lucy.  I want to do some speed work with just me.  I have a plan to continue our teacher running groups on Tuesdays after summer school.  And I plan to prepare for the oh-so-hilly Nike Women's Half Marathon in San Francisco that I'll be completing in October.
2)  Read.  A lot.  I've been stuck in the middle of the 2nd book of Game of Thrones (AKA Clash of Kings, which is technically part of a serious know as Song of Fire and Ice--or is it  Ice and Fire?--anyways, the series is NOT called Game of Thrones).  I want to finish this and then start the The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (#3 in The Girl Who...Series--definitely not the official name).  I also would like to do some professional reading.  I like to think about trying to become a better teacher over the summer.  This rarely happens, but it's always on the list.
3)  Write.  A lot.  Expect to hear from me often.  I may even try to encourage you to make comments.  Because I know you're out there reading this (I may not know who you are, but you're there), and I'd love to hear back from you!  Maybe I'll even try to write something besides a blog.  That's scary though.  I will probably be unsuccessful at that.
4)  Bike.  As much as I can.  The Seattle to Portland bike ride is less than a month away.  I haven't been on a bike in over a month.  This is nerve-wracking.  I would like to get my butt back on a bike ASAP so that my butt will survive two 100 mile days in a row.
5)  Go to the zoo.  I live within 5 minutes walking distance of the Woodland Park Zoo, and I have a membership, which means I get to go for free as often as I want.  For $40 a year, a membership is way worth it.  I just need to get there regularly and spend a few hours staring at the orangutans.  Maybe some other animals too.
6)  Try to have a lot of fun without spending a lot of money.  Because being a lowly teacher who lives by her lonesome, there isn't much of it to go around.  And that Nike Women's trip I mentioned above?  Costs money.  So will going home for Christmas and my brother's wedding in May.  So much to save up for, so little time, and so little to work with.
7)  Try to widen my cooking repertoire again.  I used to cook many varied kinds of things.  Lately, the vast majority of what I cook includes soy sauce and/or peanut butter.  I love both of these ingredients, which is why I eat so much of them, but I'd like to expand my horizons again.  I live about 4 blocks away from what is rumored to be a pretty awesome farmer's market.  I'd like to visit it weekly and then cook with different spices and bases.
8)  Spend time with Lucy.  This should actually be #1 and needs no explanation.

Right now, I feel like I have so much time.  I'm only working 2 days a week teaching summer school, and those days are only half days.  And then of course my regular Friday hostessing shift.  Other than that, I've got nothing but time this summer.  This is the first summer since...well...since my freshman/sophomore year of college that I haven't worked full time.  Wow.  Here's to hoping that I cross everything off my to do list.  And here's to knowing that I probably won't even come close to it.

View from South Lake Union last summer.  May there be
many days like this.

Thanks Dad!

As much as I love living in Seattle, being here is hard sometimes.  Because sometimes, I just miss my dad.  I am a self-admitted daddy's girl, and being so far away from my dad isn't easy.

My dad is a deeply good person with a huge heart.  There has never been an ounce of doubt in my mind that  he didn't love me and our family with his entire heart.  Growing up, I knew that the life he led and the decisions he made were shaped around his family.  He is a kindhearted, giving, and caring person.

My dad gave me these values.  He gave me a lot of the qualities that are inherent in me that make me a good teacher, friend, and person.  He gave me the joy I get from being outside as much as I can.  He gave me the ability to be alone and enjoy solitude.  He gave me truth and purpose and independence.  He gave me morality and justice.  And he gave me trust.  He trusted that I would be become a good person, make good choices, and choose a worthy path in my life.  And because he believes in me and trusts me, I have done those things.

My dad has played a huge role in shaping the person I've become--the teacher, the marathoner, the reader, the writer, the friend, the daughter, sister and doggy mother.  He are 3 of the important lessons I've learned from my father that have helped me become me.

1) Dogs are necessary.  My love for dogs developed because of my dad.  We've had several dogs come and go throughout the years, and dad loved every single one of them.  He takes the dogs for long walks, pets them endlessly, and life just doesn't seem right for him without a dog in it.  I think the day the I decided to get a dog, he was more excited than me.  He picked Lucy.  There was another black lab puppy that looked a lot like Maya that I wanted to get, but dad saw Lucy's floppy ears and wiggly body and said I think you should get that one.  And because I listen when my dad talks, I did.  So now I have Lucy.  And I can't imagine life without her.

2) Be patient and listen.  Some people like to be dramatic.  Some people get upset really easily.  Some people stress about life's every little problem.  And that's the way they are.  If you don't want to get caught up in it, sometimes it's best to just step back, let it happen, and then help pick up the pieces when it's over.  You can't change the way people are, but you can be patient with them.  You can be the non-judging ear that listens.  You can be the calming presence, the rock that will always be there to lean against.

3) Don't assume that they know you care.  I know that my dad loves me.  I have always known and never doubted it.  I know that he loves his children, he loves his wife, he loves his family.  In my house, there has never been a lack of love.  Whether it's a spoken "I love you, Miss Bird," a big hug, or a simple smile, my dad always lets me know he loves me.  Sometimes, even though you may have said it a million times before, people just need some reassurance that they are in your heart.  And even if they don't need it, you should still say it anyways.  Because you certainly don't lose anything by saying it, and nobody is hurt by hearing it.

I wanted to put of picture of my dad here, and it took me a really long time to find one.  My dad is a behind-the-scenes guy.  He's the picture taker.  He quietly lets everyone else take the stage and asks for very little in return.  I found this one though (I'm not sure who was able to convince him to be in the picture):

Side by side with my mom.

And then there's this one too:

Christmas 2004, nice hair Ian.

Dad with his family, dad with his dogs.  Dad as he loves to be.

Thanks for everything you've given me, Daddo.  I hope one day I can come close to giving you something as worthy in return.  

Who needs speed? (or sun?)

Can you tell it's mid June in Seattle?

See the clouds?  See the gloom?  At least it's
not raining...

This weekend is Fremont's annual Summer Solstice Parade and Fremont Fair.  I love this occasion.  The parade is very risque and tons of fun.  The fair is entertaining too.  And the forecast for this weekend?

At least it'll be in the 70's.  That's a bonus.

Last year, my brother and his fiance came out from NY to visit during this time.  We went to the Solstice Parade together, which they loved, despite the fact that it looked like this:

Rain jackets, grey skies, giant geoduck replica.  Yep, looks like
Summer Solstice in Seattle.

My "little" brother.  If we look uncomfortable, it's because
we are.

Anyways, despite the gloominess outside, I had a really great run today.  I've been having a lot more just me and Lucy runs lately, and to be honest, I've been getting a little frustrated with them.  I get bored running by myself now.  And by myself, I mean without another human capable of conversation.  I think too much about what I'm doing.  And I've been really focused on pace lately.  It seems like mentally all I want to do is go faster and still feel better, but this hasn't been happening.  I've been pushing my solo runs to around an 8:50-9:00 average.  I start out feeling great, but then of course am exhausted by the end of the run, just counting the minutes until I'll be home.  And then there's Lucy.  Lucy doesn't like to run fast.  She drags behind and I end up getting really frustrated as she "ruins" my pace.  But this is so silly.  Why do I need to go that fast right now?  I just ran a marathon.  I may feel normal again, but that doesn't mean that I didn't severely beat up my body a week and a half ago.  Just because my muscles feel fine now doesn't mean that my body is fully recovered.

I've now been on 5 runs since the marathon.  I did the Roadrunner Adventure Run the Thursday after the marathon, which was fun, but my body was still tired.  Last Saturday, I went to TNT practice, which was a hilly 4 miles that tired me out more than I wanted it to.  Another 4 miler on Sunday felt OK, but not great.  Then on Tuesday, I came down with a cold.  So instead of waiting until the 6:30 team practice, I went out and ran earlier with Lucy by myself.  Just a flat 3 miler around Greenlake, but with the sore throat and runny nose, I wasn't feeling that run either.

I intended to have my last run of the year with my teacher group yesterday, but by the time the school day was over, my throat felt like sandpaper, I couldn't breathe through my nose, and I felt a pounding headache coming on so quickly that I "borrowed" a Tempadot from the nurse's office to make sure I didn't have a fever (I didn't).  So instead of running, I took advantage of the fact that Lucy had been at day care all day (and therefore didn't need exercise) and went home and did nothing.

This rest paid off, because I felt a little better this morning and then even better by the afternoon.  And now, I just have an annoying runny nose that keeps trying to drain down the back of my throat (too much information?  Oops, sorry).  Anyways, the point is, when I got home from work today, I was excited to go for a nice, easy 5 mile run.  I didn't want to push myself though.  I wanted this run to feel good, the whole way through.  Which meant taking it slow at the beginning.  But when I have a nice fancy watch on my wrist telling me my pace, I have trouble trying not to beat the numbers.  So instead of looking at my watch the whole time (I couldn't bring myself to leave it at home though...), I decided to use this as my pacer instead:

So much happier when she gets to decide
how fast we go.

As long as Lucy was trotting happily near my side, we kept that pace.  If I sped up and suddenly felt a tightening of the leash behind me, I slowed down.  Pretty simple.  And in the end, everyone was happier.  Here's how Lucy paced me:

So, I figured out that the weird percentages tell me how much faster or
slower I went than the previous mile.  I'm guessing with the intention
of helping me focus on making every mile green and therefore faster
than the previous one--as a proper run should be.  Fail here, but oh well.

I was surprised we still kept it under 9:30.  I assumed Lucy would keep me a little closer to 10:00, but she seems to have sped up recently with me lately.  Lucy was even so full of pep and energy at mile 4 that she was inspired to play a little game of leash tug of war.

Look at the focus in those eyes. Ready to chomp on.

And then the tug.  There's lots of growling and jumping
involved.  She likes to try to catch hold as close to my hand
as possible.

The last time Lucy had enough spunk in the middle of a run to play leash tug of war, she caused me to eat shit in the middle of the gravelly outer loop of Greenlake.  So I made sure she stayed to my side this time.  But I also took out my phone and took pictures.  Those 2 things may have cancelled each other out in improving the safety of this situation.  Nonetheless, no face plant this time.  No skinned knees.

During mile 5, you'll notice that the pace slowed a ton.  This was not because we were tired.  It was not because we didn't feel great.  It was because of this:

Not the "30 minute load and unload only" sign,
the ginormous hill behind it (ha, I did not think
ginormous was a real word, but spell checker
isn't yelling at me for it).

I tried to take a picture of this hill that exemplified the grade and length of the hill, but found it impossible.  Let's just say it's big.  And about 5 blocks long.  And steep, really steep.  And Lucy paced me well enough through the run that I confidently ran this hill, albeit slowly, all the way to the top.  And I didn't fell like I was going to die.  And my legs didn't feel like they were going to fall off.  And I start a lot of sentences with the word "and"...even though I know perfectly well that this is grammatically incorrect.  Don't judge me (no "and" in that one).

So today, after having a bit of a rough week, I'm feeling great.  My legs feel happy.  My confidence is cushioned.  I ran my longest run since the marathon, and finally felt great.  And I can attribute all of it to my faithful (and now very tired) running buddy.

She is also faithfully keeping my toes warm.

Thanks Lucy.  Again.

Life with Lucy: Flashback

Oh, the plans I have in store for you...

To the first graders of the class of 2023

At this time of year, we often hear commencement speeches written for graduates from high school or college.  We see and read these speeches as they go viral on facebook, twitter, or youtube.  High school students and college grads listen to them as they ponder the wide vast world that lies ahead.

And this is great.  Let them ponder.  Let them imagine, hope, and dream abstractly.  But we teachers of lesser age groups, we teachers of students not yet capable of abstract thought, we have words of advice and dreams for our students as well.  But the best we can do, come our final day with them, is to hope that one day in the far off future they will imagine what we once dreamed for them, and that they will understand why we dreamed it.

So let's suspend reality and pretend that the 26 first graders I will be sending off on their long and winding road into the future can for a moment understand what the "future" really is and think deeply about advice that may not become relevant to them for many years to come.

June 12, 2012

Dear first graders of the class of 2023,

In 10 years, you will barely remember me.  Do not look aghast, do not feign shock...we all know this to be true.  I will become a name on a list as you reminisce with old friends about "who you had" in elementary school.  I will become a distant fuzzy memory in your past.  You may remember certain things, maybe a book, maybe the way the room smelled, maybe a certain pair of shoes I owned.  But all those memories you hold so clearly in your heads now, the vast majority of them will fade and then disappear completely.  These memories will fade for me as well, but know that I will not forget you.  In ten years, I will remember your 7 year old face.  I will remember your struggles, your accomplishments.  A hundred more students may pass through my doors, adding to the near 200 that already have, but I will remember you.

Despite the fact that you may not remember me down the road, I hold a deep seated hope that I have helped to plant the seeds of your future.  I hope that you grow and develop the qualities I see sprouting in you already, and even if you never attribute an ounce of those qualities to me, I hope that I lent a hand in helping you become the person you will one day be.  Here is what I hope for you:

I hope that you do not lose your zest for life.  In first grade, everything is exciting.  Did you know that rocks get darker in water?  When you learned that your eyes almost popped out of your head and your mouth fell open.  Did you know that R can be a thief and steal a vowel sound?  The day you learned that, you scoffed at the unrighteous indignity of the letter r.  And poetry...oh poetry.  You relished in the joy of writing poetry--sitting outside on a sunny day, watching the crows fly over the dusty red soccer field and the trees bend deeply in the wind.  You thought that life couldn't be any better.  Don't let that excitement slip away.  Life is exciting.  Live it and love it.

I hope that you love to learn.  I hope that you love to read, write, inquire, and observe.  Because if you love to do these things, you will love to learn.  And if you love to learn, then your zest for life will never be lost.  You will never be able to learn it all.  Even if you live to be a hundred years old, you could still learn more.  And the more you learn, the more I hope you want to learn.

And as your hunger for learning grows, I hope you break the rules.  I hope you take risks.  I hope you challenge the status quo.  I hope you think creatively.  I hope you push the boundaries.  Because how do you know where the boundaries really are if you don't try to cross them every now and then?  (Just wait until after June 20th to do this...)

I hope that you continue to make mistakes.  All year long, we have celebrated our "great!" mistakes, shared them with our classmates, and learned from them.  You have learned that mistakes are OK and that the world will not end if you get the answer wrong.  I hope you continue on in your life unafraid to try something new and fail.  Because from that failure, you can learn and grow and try again.  And then you will do all the better on the second try.  But there is a caveat to this hope.  I hope that you learn that some mistakes cannot be fixed.  Certain words cannot be unsaid, and certain deeds cannot be undone.  Life will go on (in most cases) and you will learn from these mistakes, but you will be different.  You and others will be changed by these unfixable mistakes.  Try to make as few of these as you can.

I hope that sometimes you are sad.  Because sadness is a part of life.  And without true sadness, how will you ever be able to know true happiness?  Be sad, and be OK with it.  But then move on and enjoy the happiness that will inevitably come.

I hope that someone is unkind to you.  Yes, I do hope this.  Because it is during these times, when people are unkind to you, that you will develop your compassion.  I hope that you remember what it felt like when someone was unkind to you, and then try your best to never make anyone else ever feel that way.

I hope that someone is kind to you.   So that you know the joy that one person can give another.  So that you will want to spread the joy, to pay it forward.

I hope that you do not become jaded by life.  I hope that you do not believe us when we try to tell you that the most important measure of your success is a test score.  I hope that you do not become bogged down by power standards, learning targets, and the common core.  I hope that you do not become so cynical that you can't move forward.  I hope that your parents provide a kind and loving home for you, but if they don't, I hope that you grow up and leave it all behind.  I hope that you do not continue to spread the neglect and apathy that you may face in the coming years.  I hope that you take life's difficulties in stride and grow from them instead of letting them push you down.

I hope that you smile.  I hope that you find something that makes you smile, something like teaching, running, or taking care of a dog, and I hope that you hold on tight to it.  I hope that you shape your life around it.  I hope it is the root of your life, all other things growing out of it.  And I hope that in the sad times, the unkind moments, the harsh realities of life, you remember where your root is.

All these things, I hope for you, little ones.  Because you have so much growing to do.  And there will be so many challenges you must face.  So finally, I hope that you are strong.  Because the road you must walk--no--the marathon you must run for the remainder of your years requires a strength beyond anything you could possibly imagine.

Good luck with the future.  It can hold great things for you if you choose to let it.

Sincerely,

Your first grade teacher

Rest and Recovery

Was it really just a week ago that I ran the San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon?  The memories already seem mired by time.  My legs are no longer plagued by the soreness that enveloped them up until 2 or 3 days ago.  My brain is already begining to fuzz over memories of the toughest parts of the race, readying me for the inevitable choice to run another one.  Last week I was consumed with the marathon fever--it was all I could think about, all I wanted to talk about, all anyone asked me about.  And now, a week later, it seems like a far distant past.  Life moves so fast, moments so fleeting.  How does anyone ever hold on to the things they want to last?

This week I've been busy enough to let the memories fade fast.  We're down to just 7.5 school days left in the year, and so much to do before it all ends.  Missing 2 days for the marathon at this time of year was pretty tough, but worth it nonetheless.  Now I'm playing catch up, trying to get grades in, write report cards, and have enough time to let my kids celebrate the completion of their first grade year.  There just isn't enough time in the day right now.

In my running life, this week has been all about recovery.  Post-marathon recovery has always been tricky for me.  It becomes a balance between wanting to get back out there and avoiding beating up your body so much that you injure it.  I had thought about going to Team practice on Tuesday night, but on Tuesday I could barely sit down or stand up without wanting to scream in pain.  And those 3 little stairs that lead up to the porch of my apartment building were pure torture to descend (going up them hurt, but not nearly as bad).  Did I complain about the pain though?  No, I earned it.  It was my badge of honor.  Co-workers laughed at me as I waddled down the hall or attempted to get out of a chair.  I was proud of my pain because it was my accomplishment.  Lucy and I walked instead.

I thought about running on Wednesday with my teacher running group, but burdened by work and uplifted by the thought of a couple extra hours at school while Lucy played at day care, I passed on that too.

By Thursday my legs were itching to hit the streets again.  They weren't fully recovered, but they had progressed to a mere "normal" muscle pain (like the kind you feel after a really tough workout) and not the paralyzing marathon pain anymore.  It was perfect that Thursday night was one of Roadrunner's Thursday Adventure Runs.  If you haven't done one of these runs before, you should think about it.  I'll do it with you.  The general idea is that they post a map of checkpoints throughout the neighborhood (if you pre-register, they email the map to your smartphone!).  Then you have 1 hour to get to as many checkpoints as you can to collect tickets.  At the end of the hour, tickets are dumped into a bucket for a prize drawing.  With over $5000 in prizes including Garmin watches, shoes, and gift certificates to local stores and restaurants, it's pretty worth it.  No, I didn't win anything this time, but in the past I've won a free piece of Brooks clothing (I got a rain jacket that cost $75).  The run is free, so the worst that can happen is you walk away in the same position you got there.  And there's a beer garden.  Yay, beer.

This run was perfect for my return after the marathon.  We ran a leisurely pace and with all the stops along the way, there was lots of rest time.  There were very few hills.  And, since everything is outside, Lucy got to come along too (I just had to have my friend MacKenzie pick up tickets for me inside some of the checkpoints, which are local businesses.  No biggie).  Lucy was a little confused by all the commotion, but she settled right down in the beer garden while we laid our tickets out in front of us for the drawing.

When I got home, I foam rolled and then remembered why I don't foam roll often enough.  It hurts.  A lot.  Especially when you're still sore from running a marathon.  But, it certainly helped because Friday morning I woke up almost completely back to normal.  There was no run Friday, because of my double work day.  Only one more of these to get through before the summer!  Can't wait.

Even though I didn't run on Friday, I did say goodbye to a toenail.  After my marathon, I was a little surprised that my toes felt good.  In the past I've killed off one or 2 during my marathons.  And then Friday night I learned why it didn't hurt--it was in fact already dead.  I must have killed it at the Whidbey Half and it finally decided to fall off.  I took a picture of the red painted toenail separated from the toe, but I'll spare you.  Now the toe itself is painted red, and the untrained eye would never know the difference :)

Saturday morning I went to Team practice at Redmond Watershed.  I was asked to do the mission moment before practice (where someone tells their story about their connection to cancer to remind us runners why we are doing this).  I decided to read Part I of my San Diego story to the team, which was a little more difficult than I thought it would be.  When I write, sitting here at my computer, it's easy to say what's on my mind because I don't see who's actually reading this.  I'm not face to face with you.  In front of this crowd, I got nervous though.  I don't typically get nervous speaking in front of groups anymore, but this was a little different.  These were my words I was reading, my feelings, my emotions (things I'm not generally good at sharing).  I made it through though, and I was thanked afterward for sharing.  The run was really pretty, but muddy and very hilly.  I did a little over 4 miles, which felt perfect.  After a marathon, I always feel like I lose my breath more quickly than normal.  I think shorter runs for at least a week are reasonable.  Although next week I'll up it a little in preparation for the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon in 2 weeks.

Today, Lucy and I went for another 4 mile run and averaged about a 9 minute pace.  Lately I've begun to realize that I may be running faster than Lucy's preferred pace.  Especially when we're on a gravel path, she tends to not want to go much faster than a 9:30 pace.  And in all truth, I think she's happier at a 10 minute pace.  But today, she trucked along in the "heat" (I think we were pretty close to 70 degrees today) with me at a faster pace.  My legs felt strong and my breathing more normal.  And I didn't feel like I had run a marathon a week ago.

It's weird, you spend 5 months or more training for this big event, and then it's all over in a few hours.  And then so quickly, it fades as if it didn't just happen.  As if this time last week I hadn't just run 26.2 miles.  Life goes on again as it did before.  But for me, after every marathon, I feel different.  I've learned new things about myself, my body, and what I am capable of.  And even if the memories fade, the changes that a marathon makes somewhere deep inside me won't fade.  And the next challenge I face, I'll be all the stronger for it, knowing that I can take on the world and not fall down.

And now my puppy pillow and I are going to get a little sleep as we face the last full week of the school year!

Sometimes I wonder why she tolerates me so.
She must love me, I guess.

San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon: Rocked It? (Part II)

At our Inspiration Dinner on Saturday night, John "The Penguin" Bingham served as emcee for the evening, telling a few jokes that only marathoners, or those in training for a marathon can really understand.  I've heard him speak once before (at my Inspiration Dinner for my first marathon in Seattle) and will hear him speak again at the Inspiration Dinner for the Rock N Roll Seattle Marathon in a few weeks--I'm running the half.  If you've never heard of the Penguin before, look him up.  He is a huge supporter of Team in Training and its mission and cause.  He's written several books about his running life, of which I've read one called the Accidental Athlete.  Until his 40s, he was an alcoholic smoker who'd never run a mile in his life.  Now he is the ultimate self-deprecating "back of the pack" marathoner who's run more marathons than you can count on both hands twice over.  He's known as the Penguin because of the way he describes himself "waddling" through his races.  He was jokingly introduced at our dinner as the most famous marathoner who has never come close to winning a race.

I've heard many of his go-to jokes before, but at this dinner, he described a moment in the marathon that will become extremely relevant later in this post as I relive the race.  Most runners refer to the point where your mind breaks down, where your body doesn't want to go any further, and where you simply think you can't make it any further (usually starting about mile 22) as the wall.  But the Penguin told us Saturday night that there is no wall.  He told us that there is what is simply called the "Bite Me" zone.  In this zone, you will tell all those wonderful people you've been training with for so long to simply "bite me."  As a preface, I told no one I care about to "bite me," but I may have minorly yelled at someone around mile 24-25ish.  Maybe.  Let's just start the race recap and you can decide for yourself.


3:15 am: Alarm goes off.  Pretend to snooze once.  Remove clothing from pre-dressed chair that has been waiting since the night before.

Shoe tags in place, throw away sweatshirt
ready and waiting.

Water bottles are filled and waiting in the fridge.  Breakfast is pre-packed and ready to be taken to the start line.  Nerves are shaky.

Suited up and ready to go.  At least I look
that way.

4:15 am:  Meet team in the hotel lobby to congregate prior to race start.  Talk excitedly with teammates, some of whom are getting ready to run their first full or half marathon.

Look at us marathoners, ready to take on the day.

4:30 am: Board the Team in Training shuttle to the start line.

4:45 am: Arrive a start line area.  Immediately begin the bathroom line wait.  If you've never witnessed the race day port-a-potty experience, here's how it works.  Get in line for the bathroom, use bathroom, immediately get back in line so that you can use the bathroom again 30 minutes later.  I'm going to be fairly blunt and say here that there is something that must happen in the bathroom that isn't #1 before a marathon.  Because if it doesn't happen before the marathon, it will certainly happen during.  What made me the most nervous that morning was that this didn't happen for me until the last bathroom trip before the start.  Very nerve-wracking.  Nonetheless, it happened.  Enough said.

6:15 am:  Race starts.  The first corral takes off.  I'm in corral 11, so still a little while before my start.

6:26 am:  My corral starts.  Here we go.

Over 30,000 people ran this race.  The energy
and adrenaline at the start is amazing.

Erica and I had a plan for this race that included two main things.  1) Stay at a 9:30 pace for at least the first half.  2) Walk the water stops.  #2 might sound silly, but this ended up making a huge difference for both of us throughout the race.  There's several reasons to walk the waterstops.  Firstly, it's really difficult to drink water out of a small cup while running.  May as well slow down and get it all in.  Secondly, it's a pre-planned, guilt-free, mini break every mile or two.

The first half of this race, I felt pretty good.  Erica and I ran along at a pretty steady pace, a little faster than our 9:30 pace.  We saw one of our coaches at about mile 4.  We saw a teammate running the half at our mile 10 (her mile 6).  We saw a TNT cheer stop where we recognized a few friendly faces.  We saw another teammate running the half at our mile 12 (about his 10?).  We even managed some mid-race pictures.

Running down the highway--our half of the
road dedicated to full marathoners, the other
side had half-marathoners.  

The energy on the first half of the course was awesome.  High energy=running faster.  Every few minutes, we were looking down at our watches, reminding ourselves to slow down, take it easy.  There were many miles to go before we were done.  Here's how the first half went:

Nike just changed their website, making the splits look funny
here with weird percentages in the middle.  If you click on
it, it'll get bigger.

You can see that we were a little up and down with our pace, sometimes holding on to the 9:30 goal, but many times running faster and closer to 9:00.  The funny thing about the first "half" of the marathon is that it isn't really the first half.  Yes, mileage-wise, this is considered the halfway point, but the marathon isn't really half-way over until you hit your "bite me" zone.  Then the biggest battle begins.

8:38 am:  Pass the half-marathon mileage marker.  This was a 2:02 half marathon.  I was impressed by this, but wary as well.  In my last marathon, I ran the first half in 2:15.  This is a big difference.  I knew I was faster than my last marathon, but was I pushing too hard?  Only time would tell.

At the half-way point, I swallowed my first salt packet.  The weather in San Diego was perfect "June gloom."  Cloud cover, upper 60's, but more humid than I realized.  I was sweating a ton.  I was losing more salt than I realized.  Should I have taken more salt packets earlier?  Would it have made a difference?  Oh the mysteries of a marathon.

Let's pre-load the race splits for the second "half" of the race.

Can you tell where my "bite me" zone started?  Bet you can guess.

I felt like I was holding strong and steady until about mile 18.  At 18, I started to get tired.  My legs started feeling a little heavier, my body a little more burdensome.  But it was right around this time that we saw Nadine (remember coach Nadine from yesterday's post?  Whose dad passed away the week before?).  Nadine was there on the course, smiling brightly, ready to support us.  And seeing Nadine helped me to remember that this race was not about me.  And so I started my chant.

If you've ever talked to a marathoner, they'll tell you that there comes a point in the race where words just seem to repeat themselves rhythmically in your brain.  If you can control the words that are repeating, give yourself a motivating mantra, you can help push yourself through the tough parts.  In my first marathon, my mantra was "you can do it."  This worked, but I wanted more.  So for the second race, I adopted "pain is temporary."  This also worked, until I hit my bite me zone and wanted to say "Screw it. THIS HURTS NOW."  So for this race, I wanted something better, and I had decided on it at the Inspirational Dinner the night before: "It's not about me."  And seeing Nadine reminded me of this.

So from about miles 18-21, as Erica and I continued running, that is what I repeated in my head. "It's not about me...it's not about me...it's not about me."  I said it with the rhythm of my breathing. "It's not about me."  The rhythm of my feet.  "It's not about me."  The rhythm of the race. "It's not about me."  

By mile 21, my legs were hurting.  We hit a water stop, started walking our way through, and when it was time to start running again, my legs said no.  So I waved Erica on.  And then it was just me.  You might be thinking, well you made it through 21 miles.  There's only 5 miles to go.  That's easy.  But those 5 miles...they were 5 times as hard as the first 21.  Those 5 miles were where my torn heart finds its confusion.

You'll notice that at mile 21, my pace drops off.  I walked for a bit.  During mile 22, I made a port-a-potty stop.  After sitting in the port-a-potty and then standing up again, my legs screamed that NO, they WOULD NOT be running anymore.  But they still had four miles to go.  So I repeated my mantra "it's not about me it's not about me it's not about me." And I started running again.  I told myself I'd run to the next waterstop. Then I could walk again.  This got me through mile 23.  I walked through the water stop.  I took another salt packet (why didn't I take more??)  I walked a minute longer.  I thought about running, but my stumps hurt so deeply that I walked another minute.  And then I tried it again.  I told myself I'd get to the next waterstop.  I told myself it's not about me.

If you are at all familiar with San Diego, from miles 22-25, you circle Fiesta Island before crossing over into the SeaWorld parking lot for the finish.  Fiesta Island is NOT a fiesta.  At this point in the marathon, it feels like a deserted island.  There's no one out there.  No enthusiastic onlookers, none of my coaches around.  No running buddy at my side.  Just desolate, sandy beach, and no indication of how much farther to go.  I thought I'd make it to the next water stop, but I couldn't see it, and my thighs were cramping so badly I felt like I was running on inflexible stumps.  I walked again.  And then I remembered that it's not about me. And then I ran again.  And I walked again.  And this continued until I finally hit a medic tent at mile 24, where I crashed onto a cot and told them to massage the cramps out of my thighs.

Another one of my coaches, Shelby, owns a running store that sells running items and offers sports massages.  Sports "massages" involve a masseuse digging at every tight muscle, releasing every built up ounce of lactic acid.  When Shelby works out a cramp on you during practice, he takes an elbow and digs it into your calf or thigh as deep as he can, or takes a fist and pounds it until it's gone.  But these medics in the medic tent sprayed me with something, put some sort of oily stuff on me, and lightly massaged my thighs. This is not what I wanted.  And this is when the bite me phase sunk in.  I let them "work on me" for a minute until I said enough.  And they all jumped back, but no one offered a hand to get me off the cot.  So I looked at them and bluntly said "HELP ME UP!" and then took off again as I heard them yell behind me "Only 2 miles to go!"

Looking at more specific splits, I ran the next half mile at an 8:45 pace.  Because it's not about me.  Because I can run 2 miles.  But then I couldn't.  Or at least I thought I couldn't.  I was angry.  I was high on marathon crazy emotions, I was fully in marathon "cloud" brain where even the simplest math problems can't be solved (one of my teammates had convinced herself in the final miles that a marathon was 26.6 miles).  I saw a TNT coach from another chapter, and remembered how throughout the race I had been a little annoyed with coaches from other chapters that paid me no attention.  The coaches were there for all of us, not just their local participants.  So when I saw this coach stare at me blankly as I walked through mile 25, I looked at him and simply demanded "GET ME RUNNING AGAIN!" (with the implied, "stop effing staring at me and do your job!" or in other words, "bite me").  So he ran along with me, talking my ear off, doing an admittedly excellent job of distracting me, until suddenly I saw one of my own coaches and relief washed over me.  The other coach dropped away.  With a mile to go, Clint stayed with me until the 26 mile marker.  Here's how it went:

Tessa: "My legs are cramped.  I can't run."

Clint: "Alright, let's go.  Not much more left."

Tessa: "Where's the finish line? I can't see it!"

Clint: "I'm not sure, it's right up there, past those tents."

Tessa: "ugh, I can't!" [starts walking] "Ok, I'll start running at the next garbage can.."

Clint: "Ok.  Control your breathing, deeper breaths."

Tessa: "Where is the finish line?? I don't see it!"

Clint: "Right up there, see that banner?"  

We reach the trash can.

Clint: "Ok, ready?"

Tessa: [starts running].  "Where is the finish line?? It's so far away!" [looks at watch] "I'm still going to PR no matter what I do from here."

Clint: "Great.  It's right up there.  See the black and red banner?"

Tessa: "No!  It's too far away!" [stops running] "Ok, I'll run at the next post."

Clint: "Ok, deep breaths."

Tessa: "Where is the finish line??  IT'S SO FAR AWAY!"

Clint: "It's right up there.  Ready? Let's go."

Tessa: [starts running again] "Is that the finish line?? I can't tell."

Clint: "It's right there.  Here's mile 26.  .2 to go, you can do the rest."

Those aren't exact quotes for this half-mile to mile-long conversation, and I may be underestimating the number of times I asked where the finish line was.  Thanks for being patient Clint.  I know it's what you're trained to do, but I appreciate it.

After that, I hit the finish chute, ran 2 tenths of a mile through cheering crowds, and finished my marathon in 4:18:43.  I beat my last marathon time by 10 minutes.  This is awesome.  I am extremely happy about it.  But I am left with a very small, bitter taste, thinking maybe I could have done better.  Maybe I could have pushed through the pain more.  Maybe I forgot in the last mile that it was not about me.  

But that is not the point, because the point is that I did it.  I finished. 

I'm kind of small, but my arms are raised and
rejoicing finally being able to see the finish
line.

And we finished.

Erica waited for me just across the finish line
and snapped that awesome photo above.
She finished in 4:07.  Totally rocked it.

And we all finished.

Our smiles look a little more haggard than the pre-race photo.

And we may have done it for ourselves.  But it wasn't all about us.  We didn't get through that race by ourselves.  We are a team, running together to fight something way bigger, and way scarier than 13.1 or 26.2 miles.

When we were done, we went back to the hotel, took ice baths, ate lots of food, and went to our Victory Party that took place in the same location as the Inspiration Party.  And what did we do there?

We danced.  We danced on worn out, tired, broken down, sore legs.  We dance for over an hour.  Because we were celebrating being a part of something way bigger than running a marathon.  Because it wasn't about us.

I can't wait to do it all again.