Plus I can eat bread again!

Despite the great deal of evidence to the contrary, I am not unaware that I am hardly the first person to run 18 miles.

In fact, every other member of my marathon training group ran the same 18 miles in the same rain as I did. Plus, everyone who has trained for a marathon, ever, has run that distance, and probably farther.

I’d like to be the kind of person who can keep that perspective in mind when I talk about my training. In fact, I’d like to be the kind of person who didn’t need to talk about her training constantly, bragging about the latest, greatest distance, or the fastest time, or just how very hard core I am.

But you all read my blog. I’m not that person.

So, that being said,

This is the face of a woman who ran 18 miles in 3 hours, 23 minutes, and some seconds on Saturday.



I am officially hard core now. So hard core that I don’t even care how terrible a picture of me that is. Not just hard core, in fact, hardest core. There’s core, and then hard core, and then there’s me. (Note to self: Shut up already. Reply to self: Good call. Thanks.)

And by the way, “18 miles. In the rain.” has officially surpassed “yuh-huh” as the world’s best argument ender. To wit:

You: You’re an idiot.
Me: No, you’re an idiot.
You: No, you are!
Me: Nuh-uh!
You: Yuh-huh!
Me: 18 miles. In the rain.
You: Right. I’m the idiot.

Pretty good, right?

(Here’s where it’s a good thing that most of my friends and family aren’t long distance runners:

You: Did you remember to take out the trash?
Me: Sorry. I’ll do it after dinner.
You: You promised to get to it!
Me: 18 miles. In the rain.
You: 36 miles. In the snow.
Me: I’ll go take out the trash now.)

In case you can’t tell, I’m immensely impressed with myself. In fact, that funky odor you smell? Eau de smug self-satisfaction. I’m exuding enough of it for a complete line of perfume, body lotion, and scented candles.

Because, of course, I didn’t just run 18 miles on Saturday. (Heh. “Just.”) I also ran my very first road race: The Race for Hope 5K.

I was shooting for a time of 30 minutes or less, although I was pretty sure that wasn’t realistic. (Because, you know, 18 miles. In the rain.)

Nevertheless, I was very excited to be running in the race. I convinced my friend Tim, my occasional weekday running buddy, to sign up with me. Maddeningly, despite the fact that I am in major training mode, and he only runs occasionally, he is definitely faster than I am. But, like a good friend, he acceded to my demand that we run together and that he ignore his extremely over-active competitive instincts.

He stayed a couple steps in front of me for most of the race, just like a mechanical rabbit at the dog races, though unlike the mechanical versions, when he got too fast, I yelled and he slowed down. He set a faster pace than I would have and to my shock, 8 minutes and 30 seconds later, we were passing the first mile marker.

We stayed together for the next mile and a bit, but then with about three-quarters of a mile to go, he could hold himself back no longer, and he decided to sprint to the finish line. He lasted about a minute, apparently, and then he crashed and burned. To which I say, HA! He still ended up finishing about 40 seconds ahead of me though.**

And my time? 26:39.

I know. Unbelievable. (Perspective, shmerspective. I’m the coolest.)

Here’s a picture of me celebrating after the race:



And here’s a picture of Tim after the race pretending he was exhausted:



**For an account of the race from a universe in which I am not the center, check out Tim’s blog.