13.1

Back in February, I got talked into doing a half marathon.  This from the girl who had to train for a 5k (remember that??) so based on my past experience, I don't know what kind of crazy mental state I was in to think I could add ten miles onto that.  I was told I'd get into shape (baby weight to lose? check), feel an amazing runner's high, and by paying some serious cash to run this thing I figured I'd be all sorts of motivated.  So with visions of me crossing the finish line (heck, winning the whole thing!), smiling as I waved to the adoring crowds, I started training.  By the time I was running four miles without passing out, I altered my dreams and aspirations to merely crossing the finish line, preferably not in the ambulance.  Along the way, I talked Evan into running with me so that he could tell me all sorts of encouraging, motivational words of wisdom and truth be told get me an extra gatorade if needed.

Here we are before the race starts.  I feel happy and fully confident in the fact that if I fall, Evan can just give me a piggy back ride home. 

Here's proof that I really ran the thing!  See Ocean Michigan?  The Chicago skyline?  All picturesque right???  Sure.  If I'd had Evan holding a beach umbrella over my head like I was the Queen of Sheba or something.  It was so stinking hot by this point.  I'm thinking about 90 degrees and I was absolutely dying.  Shriveling up, stick me in an ice bath stat, dying. 

After pouring probably a gallon of gatorade over my head, I made it to the finish line.  Here's the picture to prove it (see that medal?) though the proof really lies in the fact that I look like death warmed over.  And that's putting it in a nice way.  Also, for the record there is no such thing as a runner's high, at least not for this girl.