It's a Success

So this crazy girl talked me into doing the hardest thing I've ever done: complete 13.1 miles. Our goal: cross that finish line together even if we have to drag the other over it.

 

I can't say that I stuck to my training plan or even half of the training plan, but I crossed that finish line with my best friend by my side. It was the Disney Princess Half Marathon and it was the most exciting race I have completed so far. The atmosphere is electric and tutus are everywhere.

At mile 6... See we are still smiling.

At the starting line, I couldn't get my music to work (note to self for the next one: make your playlist BEFORE being surrounded by a bazillion people on the phone network). Panic set in. I've never run without music. My fingers frantically click at the screen, trying every app and music storage I have downloaded, and nothing worked. My best friend took one look at my wide-eyes and slightly-sweaty-from-the-panic-and-humidity brow and yanked her headphones out. She talked me through the first half of the race, keeping my mind off of my struggling muscles. 

At mile nine, I felt like I was dying. And again at 10. By the time 12 came around,

I was next to hysterical, running on fumes and cheerleading not only BF's feet but mine to keep moving as well. All I can think that if I stop moving and I'm not going to finish.

"Oh my God, I see the finish" faces

 

 

In the end, we crossed the finish line and my best friend of 15 years gave me my medal. A sense of invincibility hits you, followed quickly by utter exhaustion, which we quickly countered with a trip to Universal. 

Moral of this story: try because you may surprise yourself. I'm applying this mentality to my writing now as well. I keep stopping because I am afraid of not succeeding, but I can at least try.

Side note: We also got to see these crazy kids cross the finish at the Disney Princess 10K... One of whom it was her first race ever. She also just signed up for the Peachtree Road Race 10K. Looks like we have a runner. ;)

Girls' Night Out

"Ten bucks he doesn't remember why he has my name and number tomorrow," I said sauntering out of the restaurant we held girls' night also known as Fat Friday and God-I-Really-Need-A-Cosmo-After-The-Week-I-Had. I know I am in a committed relationship going on seven years, but come on, he was so cute! I had to give him my number...

***

"I love this place," my friend said as we sat down near the hull of the pirate ship. "Let's split something."

Considering that all the food is cooked in a glorified Fry Daddy or is dipped in cheese, we decided on one of each. It all started with three friends sitting at a bar, a seemingly innocuous Cosmo handed to me by a bartender named Lisa, and our own personal fondue pot at 9 p.m. As we fished in the boiling oil for the escaping piece of vegetable or to rescue the meat that sat in there too long, we caught up life, work and love, bubbling over with stories like the hot oil. 

"Oh look! That's Dante!" my friend exclaims. The four of turn in our seats to see a little older gentleman dressed as a sea captain posing in front of his ship next to a guy throwing up deuces and making a duck face. Dante makes his way around the restaurant, greeting patrons, shaking hands and making conversation. He hits our seats at the bar.

"Hello ladies! Are you all having a good time?" he asks. We answered that of course we were.

"Well what are your names and what do you?" are the next questions we answer. He left us for a bit. While he was gone, I got tired of the clips hold my hair. I pulled them out, letting my frizzy waves to fall around my face. He came back, ordered a Coke from the bartender and grabbed some of my hair. "You have beautiful hair!" he said. "I used to cut my sisters' hair for them growing up. I love cutting hair. Your's is so thick. I bet it would be fun to cut."

Then he regaled us with the story of how he got his name (something to do with his music director father discovering an Italian boy for some chorus, then meeting him again in the Great War...). We were enthralled. This socialite man is incredibly interesting, having created a restaurant that stands as a tribute to his networking skills; there are pictures of him with Jimmy Carter and magazine covers with his face on it. 

Next thing I know, we are poking around his office upstairs, which is cluttered with an eclectic mix of bottles, artifacts from trips to Africa, pictures and piles of papers. We were there to meet his giant fluffy white dog, who comes to work with him everyday. 

"I live on a 1920s train car. Beautiful thing. It has a marble bathtub," he said, stories transitioning from his charity work in Africa to save the cheetahs to traveling along the railways in luxury train cars. 

"Give me your number and we'll get together so I can cut your hair. You can come to my house and we'll do it on a Sunday."

I gave him my number and the girls and I trailed out of the restaurant.

"I promise I'll go with you," my friend said on our way to our cars. 

Four weeks later and he still hasn't called. I'm a little bummed that I don't get to hear more of this man's story because he obviously forgot why he wrote down my name and phone number. 

Mucus and (Half) Marathon Training

Today marks the (re)start of my marathon training... and I'm dying. No really. I think I coughed up a lung. 

My best friend talked me into this insane idea that maybe, just maybe, I could be ready for a half marathon in February, marking my first year anniversary running. I was egged on by her blog: http://kprunningdownadream.blogspot.com/, where she called me out after I agreed to run the 13.1 miles with her. 

I have a love-hate (mostly hate-hate) relationship with running. All my life I told people I despise running and that I run funny, which was true until I practiced a few times. I ran the Cupid's Undie Run as my first race, raising money and awareness for the Children's Tumor Foundation. Granted, it was only a mile and there were adult beverages before and after. It was my "gateway" run. Bonus: it was for charity and we won Best Team (Go Red Jaguars: Kirsten, Ann, Lauren, and Corey)!




In March, I ran for the charity  Andee's Army benefiting children with traumatic brain disorders. This time was a 5k with my dad and Ann. If you are every struggling running, you need a friend like Ann. Her teacher-ness follows you along the road as she claps and cheers you on while she runs beside you.




April marked another 5k called Run the River (which assists a non-profit benefiting local homeless people) and new running shoes. It wasn't until then that I realized I wasn't actually using a shoe built to run. My speed and practice picked up.

A week or so later, I was in my next race, the Athens Twilight 5k, with my dad and sister. I was grateful just to finish, to be honest. There was this one hill that just about killed me. My dad will tell you that I swayed a bit. Something about that Georgia heat and humidity hits you like a ton of bricks if you haven't been practicing for it. My sister placed in her age category though! 

The day finally came in July to run the Peachtree Road Race (10k), which was the goal I had been working toward all along. It was awesome! Maybe I didn't train as much as I could have or run the whole way, but it was a huge rush and I am glad I did it (faster than I thought I would, too!). 





Which brings me to now: I haven't raced since the Peachtree and I've been on again-off again running because of my migraines, scheduling conflicts, and general apathy. I am two weeks behind on training for my half in February. To get back on the right foot, I've made/stole a plan from Hal Higdon's Training Programs. 

The good news is that if I fail at training, there are other shorter races that weekend. But I want that 13.1 sticker bad now. This coming from a girl that ran the mile in high school in 15 minutes. :)

Halloween, Harry Potter and Hating NaNoWriMo

Halloween

Please forgive me for my gratuitous post of my Halloween, which has nothing to do with writing except to indulge in a little creativity. Basically, I got dressed up (as female Indiana Jones), hung out with some cool people (including two Russian gymnasts, a British Army guy, and Quailman), ate a bit of chocolate, and watched several amazing Halloween movies on ABC Family (of which I will only admit to Hocus Pocus).

I would post the slightly embarrassing "mugshots" that the Russian Gymnasts left on my computer after making London 2012 name badges... But I think they may kill me. Just know, ladies, I have them. ;) Also, I am still cleaning up glitter from your hair. 

Harry Potter

I am now nearing the end of the fourth Harry Potter book, for the umpteenth time. Admittedly, I am a nerd, but embracing is much more appealing than fighting it. The funny thing is, even after all this time and knowing what happens, I still get nervous for the characters. 

My goal: to be a writer that gets re-read. But my first, I need to make it to the "must-read" shelf (or any book shelf at all), which I will not be doing during NaNoWriMo. 

Hating NaNoWriMo

While I think the idea behind NaNoWriMo (or National Novel Writing Month, where a writer creates an entire novel in the month of November) is great, I abhor the actual task. Every year I start with good intentions, and every year I stop. This year holds no plans for participating; however, in the spirit of holding true to the festivities, I am making an effort to write more throughout the coming weeks. Maybe I will get lucky and finish something without meaning to. 

Here is a clip of last year's (which will probably never get finished because I have entirely forgotten where the storyline was heading): 

NaNoWriMo 2011 - Untitled

Scottish music danced in the night air. Fiona dance alongs with the other seventeen-year-old chorus girls.

“Fi, you must keep your knees bent. Rehearsal must be as good as you plan on performing,” claims the instructor, who happens to be their local bald priest.

Fi nods, but her focus is elsewhere. Ashley giggles at Fi’s ineptitude while keeping in perfect step with the music. Several other girls send mean looks toward Fi, but she does not take notice.

“All right ladies and gents, I think that’s enough for today. Candlemas is in two days, so we must be prepared to show off our skills. No new shoes for Candlemas. They will only serve to rip up your feet. God bless.” the priest announced to the room. His eyes scanned the crowd until he found Fiona. She ducked her eyes and began shoving her dance shoes into her bag. Parents started arriving for the young ones and the other teenager girls walked out gabbing about hair and getting burgers.

“Fi, my dear, what’s wrong?” the priest startled her.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing, Father.”

“‘Tis a sin to lie, Fi.”

“Then I’ll repent later. How many Hail Mary’s for lying?”

Good luck to all my writer friends who are making the great attempt! May your novel take many unexpected, exciting turns.