We have less than 24 hours until this! Isn't that motivation enough to run more and stop eating handfuls of chocolate chips?

I'm so proud!

Kara Goucher almost pulled it off! What a great race!

Instead of a marathon, this old girl ran a blistering 4 miles and felt pretty darned happy about it. Baby steps...

This is me. You can tell because of the fire engine red flames shooting down the back of the leg- or in my case legs. This is why my marathon, my running and my body have slowly gone down the toilet. If any of you have ever had Piriformis Syndrome, you can feel my pain. It got so bad that it started to affect my sleep. I would wake up because it hurt to lie on my hips: both of them. My nights consisted of lying on my back, awake, in pain, and worried about the general health of world's economy. Healthy.

I think, with the help of a chiropractor, I am on my way to recovery. I actually ran 3 miles without stopping Thursday. Dare to dream.

The best intentions.

Just how much is one supposed to run to prepare for a marathon? Daily? Occasionally? How about sporadically? If that is the case, then I am on track for another cracker 26.2 come October. The only good thing that has come from my wimpy running schedule is the fact that my butt/hip/hamstring injuries (from racing my eight year old daughter, nonetheless) have improved. My cardiovascular status, however, has dwindled to that of a newbie.

The reasons for my lack of running are many: moving, and the subsequent work that comes with that, staying at my mother's while new hardwood floors are installed and blissfully, vacation. Now that we are back on (somewhat) of a schedule, my running and training will be easier. In the meantime, I can look at this and all of my running worries are taken away, only to be replaced by worries for our future.

Running Pains

Sometimes I have to ask myself "why do I run?". Is it habit? (why, yes.) Is it guilt? (most definitely.) Or is it because of the runner's high? (never happened, and those who claim it has are lying). Right now, I am having a love/hate relationship with running. The half marathon I ran at the beginning of the month proved to me that I am well beyond the age of running 13.1 miles without training appropriately. Delusional me, thought that running 10 miles six weeks before the race would be enough: how foolishly wrong I was. At mile 2, I began to feel the muscle pangs normally reserved for the final miles. My body broke down in a noisy and painfully rude way.

Along with the physical failings, my mental state also deteriorated. There was no "posi-speak" happening: on the contrary, I had the mental equivalent of a two-year-old temper tantrum. Here is a little of the dialog that happened in my head:
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I do this every year."
"Is that a good enough reason to run 13.1 miles when you are busy with a move, three kids and obviously didn't train enough? "
"Shove off, bastard".
"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."

Somehow... miraculously, I finished in 1 hour and 56 minutes. My only motivation at the end of the race was ending the torture as quickly as possible. The pictures taken at the finish line show a broken woman struggling not to vomit- basically the same picture on my driver's license. For those who can relate, here is a favorite video of the day after a long race.

Meet Steve.

I've officially lost my mind. I knew things were going dark after the birth of my youngest, but I still had a glimmer of hope that the situation could improve. Can't some nerves regenerate? Sadly, the answer is a resounding "no, you fool". This can first be evidenced by the fact that I volunteered to baby-sit the 2nd grade class guinea pig, Zippy. Since we are moving (read: "poor"), the Running Person family stayed home for Spring Break making us the ideal suckers to care for the Zipster.

The second piece of evidence that I have lost marbles occurred when I drove all three Running children to the pet store to buy treats for Zippy. Why does a fat, slothy guinea pig need treats you say? I'm still trying to figure that out, because in this harmless, albeit expensive, trip my children noticed "the cat". Having recently put a beloved kitty to sleep, my children's emotional stability was nil. And there, before their eyes, was a darling, mellow boy who was unfortunately named "Luxor" (most likely named by the gambling-addicted workers at Pet Supplies Plus).

Here comes the final evidence that proves without a doubt that I have lost my usefulness in life. When my children said "can we have him?", they told me I said "yes". I can honestly say that I don't remember this at all. Was it the catnip in the air? the exhaustion of having all three home for a week? split personality? or was it the fact that I have truly lost all intellectual capabilities? Regardless (or cringe! "irregardless" as I have heard many Hoosiers utter), the Running Person's family is now the dutiful owner of Steve, or at least that is what his name is for today. I purposefully haven't officially named him since I keep telling my children that "we may not keep him... we have to see how he acts with Frances" (sure, sure: we have another 12 year old waste of air here too). In my passive-aggressive state I have convinced myself that if I don't name him, he doesn't truly exist. My half-eaten vase of tulips tells me otherwise.

Oh, and that running thing? I still do that, but slowly and infrequently. My half-marathon is Saturday and my goal is remain standing at the end. Lofty expectations, to be sure.

We have floor!

We are getting our house ready to be put on the market. I have been cleaning like a mad woman (and yes, I am pretty mad about it. Why won't anyone in my house help me?) Closets have been tidied, basements have been painted and tears have been shed. My eldest daughter has always been a pack rat. She saves everything; including, but not limited to, caps, rocks, pencils, old straws, rocks, dried flowers, rocks, sticks, cicada shells, rocks, paper clips, Styrofoam blocks from when the carpets are cleaned and rocks. My darling daughter forms deep, emotional attachments to inanimate objects. It is a little troublesome at times, but harmless (but messy and cluttered...).

After many struggles, we finally cleaned her room and parted with some of the rocks; we set them free behind the garage where they "will live happy, productive lives", or so I convinced her. I took this picture to remind myself that she does, indeed, have a floor.