Me and The Boys

Happy Mother's Day To Me

Spring has finally, finally sprung, and I am so happy about it! Due to marathon training and post-marathon emotional upheaval, I was several weeks late in getting our veggie garden started, but last weekend I got most of our crops planted.

I took the easy way out this year and got mostly plants, rather than starting things from seed. A little more expensive, but still delicious and tasty homegrown veggies, so it's all good.

So far, I've planted several varieties of lettuce - red leaf, romaine, Boston, and arugula. I also got two 6-packs of spinach plants, because we go through a ton of spinach in this house.

Other things that went in were beets, swiss chard, cucumbers, broccoli rabe (never tried this before, but I hope it does well, because I love it!), zucchini, eggplant, and squash - and a few sunflowers, just because I love to look at them, and the boys love to see how tall they get.

In the coming weeks, I'll also be planting potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and pumpkins. This sounds like a lot of stuff, but we are very lucky to have a huge area for planting, and I also don't plant a whole lot of any one thing. I'd rather have more variety, and it's fun to experiment with a few new things every year.

I also finally put away all the mittens and hats and gloves - what was left of them, anyway - the dozens of pairs of gloves I bought at the beginning of the season gradually disappeared over the course of the winter, until each of the boys was down to one mismatched pair.

And while putting away the winter gear, I pulled out the sunblock and bug spray. As much of a pain as it is to coat everyone up with sunblock, I'd so much rather go through that hassle than the hat/coat/gloves/boots routine every morning. Our getting-out-the-door time is once again totally streamlined, and we can now pull it off in well under 5 minutes!

While I am loving the warm weather, I am also mentally preparing myself for running in it. It looks like I'll get my first taste of it at the half this Sunday, when temps are supposed to be near 70, with relatively high humidity. Since we're running early in the morning, it probably won't be quite that warm, but the humidity will certainly be a factor.

The first few runs will be rough, but I'll acclimate. And I'll continue doing as many early morning or evening workouts as possible, to avoid the worst of it.

With everything being so busy lately, and since it's still just barely 4 weeks after Boston, I haven't given this weekend's half much thought. I usually spend the week before a race consulting pace charts and past race results, to see where I might end up, and what I want to aim for.

But since this is a race I haven't really trained for, and I've just been running easy (aside from the super hilly 18K and the 5K the week before) my mind hasn't been terribly focused on setting new goals.

But I'm getting closer to that point. I'm definitely ready to start putting in some speedwork, and can't wait to get back to the track. And I hope to run a fast pace on Sunday, but although I've felt pretty good these past few weeks, I've also felt a lingering tiredness, and my muscles have held onto a tightness that I've had a lot of trouble shaking.

I will be the first to admit that I probably didn't pay enough attention to proper recovery after Boston, but I think that's understandable, given what occurred. I've tried, these past two weeks, to spend a lot more time stretching, and this week finally got out my foam roller - hopefully that will help loosen things up and leave me feeling a bit more refreshed for the race.

But if it doesn't, that's ok, too. I don't have my heart set on a PR for this one - I just want to go out and run my best, and I won't know until 8am Sunday morning what that's going to be. I was contemplating not wearing my Garmin, but I think I've gotten good enough now at not looking at it too frequently, so I think I'll wear it, but mostly ignore it.

I've had a few people seem surprised that I was running a half-marathon on Mother's Day, but to me, it's perfect -  the best gift I could ever get. That, plus a few handmade cards and hugs and kisses are all this mommy needs.

Happy Mother's Day to all the fabulous, amazing moms out there, including my own. I will never ever be as good at this job as she is, but I'll never stop trying!

Races, Soccer, Baseball, and Batman

Things are beginning to feel more normal now, three weeks post-Boston. I still cry at times, particularly when I see images from the day of the race. It's the happy images that make me cry, though - the smiling runners and the cheering spectators and all the elated faces. It just breaks my heart to think about how so much was taken away from so many that day.

The past few weeks I had been reading everything I could get my hands on, and watching news clips constantly. I'm trying to back away from that now, though. I know what happened, and I don't need to keep rehashing it. I think it was contributing to the fog I was in, and I'm happy to be coming out of that fog.

Part of my return to reality was standing at the starting line of a race again, which I've done twice now. Two weeks ago, I ran the RI State Police 5K Foot Pursuit in Narragansett. I ran it last year and really enjoyed it, and even though I wouldn't recommend running a 5K two weeks after a marathon, I've now done it two years in a row and felt fine, so.......

It was a beautiful day, and I knew I was just going to go out and run a good effort. I wasn't expecting to run a PR, but I wasn't planning on just running easy, either, so I lined up at the front of the pack. I had my Garmin, but I didn't look at it a single time during the race - just put one foot in front of the other and ran.

It's a great course - pretty flat, and lots of it run along the ocean, and for being just two weeks out from running 26.2, I had a great day. Ran a 21:40, with almost negative splits - 6:52, 6:58, 6:40, 6:25. And I was tired when I finished, but I felt pretty good - except for the itchy hands, which started as I ran the final .1. 

The second I finished, I took a Benadryl and sat down, and I never got the full-blown scary anaphylactic symptoms, which was good - and I think it was because I sat down right away. I never fully broke out in hives, either - just had some itchiness. So although I was a little frustrated, it wasn't anything more than just a nuisance, so I didn't get too down about it, and even stayed for a short while after the race to chat with friends.

And this past Saturday night, I did a Boston Benefit race put on by the running club, and although it was one of the toughest, hilliest courses I've ever run, I was so glad to be there. It was great to run with friends - all the chatting was a nice distraction from the hills. My god, the hills! 

There was even one insanely steep at mile 5 (the friends I was running with had run this course before, and were referring to this particular hill as "the mountain) that was up a dirt road, which was preceeded by a sign that read "Pass at your own risk," and which was littered with potholes. Fun stuff.

We made it up without twisting any ankles, though, and continued on through one rolling hill after another, until we got to the final hill, which I thought was far worse than the mountain at mile 5. But of course, I just wanted to be done at that point, so I ran as fast as my beat-up legs would carry me.

This is my attempt at a smile, which is more of a grimace, which is actually a much more accurate depiction of how I felt.

I do feel proud that I survived such a tough course, though, and am pretty happy with our 8:43 pace. I had no intention of racing this one, and although I probably could have run a little faster, it would have been utterly miserable, and that's not what I was there for, so I'm glad I ran it easy.

And I'm glad that the event raised close to $600 for the One Fund Boston. I've donated through a few other outlets already, but was happy to contribute more, and especially happy that I was able to do so in a way that was meaningful to me - by running.

This coming weekend is the Cox Providence Rhode Races half-marathon - the kickoff fo the United Healthcare Triple Crown Series, which I'm doing again this year. I'm not sure if I can pull off a PR at this half, but I'm going to give it my best shot. Hoping that my marathon fitness will equate to a speedy half-marathon pace.

It's funny, though - I haven't been doing any kind of speedwork or tempo runs or anything, and as I'm out there running my easy, 8:30 pace for most of my weekday runs, it seems impossible that I could ever under a 7-minute pace - but I did just that at the State Police 5K. And as I finish up a 10-mile run on the weekend, I can't believe that I was at the point where 20-mile runs were routine. And I know I'll be back there soon enough. It seems far away now, but the time passes so, so quickly.

Lots more races to come this summer, and after the Providence half, I'll probably start back up with track workouts and occasional tempo runs. I am thoroughly enjoying running just for the fun of it right now, but I can already feel little hints that I'm going to be ready to start working on building some more speed to get me through my summer races and put me in a good position to start marathon training again next winter.

And in the midst of all this, my three crazy little men are keeping us extremely busy, especially now that spring sports are in full swing. We have two weeknight practices, plus games on Saturday and Sunday, and that doesn't leave us with a whole lot of down time.

I'm thrilled that the boys are enjoying their sports, but it always takes some time to get used to the hectic schedules. This is Gabe's first time on a travel/competitive team, and it's definitely been a learning experience. He's rising to the challenge, though, and it's been really great to see him learn more and develop into a stronger player.

His team has yet to win a game, but they still get out there every week and play their little hearts out, and it's so awesome to cheer them on. I do hope they win at least one game, though. They try so hard! I'm glad he has a great coach, too. They work hard, and they're learning a lot of new skills, but the emphasis is always on fun and teamwork, which is how it should be.

Dante is LOVING baseball, and I have to admit, I'm kind of hoping he sticks with it, because I think it's a fun sport to watch. I love watching Gabe's soccer games, too, but there's just something about baseball games in the summer.....   

He's only 7, so the emphasis is definitely way more on the whole 'having fun' aspect of things, but he's learning a lot, too. And for only having played one season of T-ball two years ago, he's caught on quick, and is doing really well. All the kids on the team still have times where they're daydreaming in the outfield, or goofing around in the dugout, but they're only 7 - they're definitely allowed to still do that sometimes : )

Carmine spent a good week and a half wearing a Batman cape everywhere we went, which made for some really interesting outings.

He wore it to the store, he wore it to the gym, he wore it to my doctor's appointments, and he wore it for our walks along the ocean. It all started when he woke up one day declaring that it was Halloween. I didn't feel like arguing, so I grabbed the cape and he put it on, and that was it. I never thought it would last as long as it did, but it was pretty fun and entertaining, so we were all happy to indulge him.

He's pretty much potty trained, and is all registered for preschool in the fall, and I can't believe what a little man he is. He wants to do everything himself, and he flat out refuses to be pushed around by his big brothers, and is not the least bit shy about telling everyone how he feels - usually very, very loudly. 

April was such a strange month, with the pre-Boston buildup, and the post-Boston emotional roller coaster. In some ways it feels like it all happened months ago, but at the same time, I feel like the whole month passed in the blink of an eye, and I can't believe that we're heading down the homestretch of the school season and before we know it, will be spending our days at the beach.

I'm looking forward to the slower pace that summer brings. We'll be plenty busy with camps and day trips and activities, but it's all fun stuff, so it doesn't feel stressful.

Spring and summer also mean a lot less time on the computer and a lot more time outside - which is as it should be. I do my best to keep up with blogging, but I'd rather be out there enjoying the days with my little guys rather than inside writing about it.

There have been times I've thought about giving up the blog entirely, since I post so much of what we do on Facebook, but I still like having this outlet to really write about things, in more than just a couple sentences.

And I've gotten several compliments on my blog over the past few weeks, so I'm happy that I didn't give it up. I enjoy writing it, and I'm glad there are people out there who enjoy reading it - thanks for sticking with me!

Boston, 2013

I usually can't wait to write a race recap, and my recap of Boston was of course going to be no exception. But circumstances have obviously changed.

Despite the emotional turmoil, though, I do want to get these thoughts down, because as time passes, I will forget some of the details - and I don't want to forget them.

I don't want to forget all the awesome and uplifting moments of the day, because that's what Boston is really all about.

Yes, in some ways it feels wrong to be recounting the good stuff when so many are hurting - and will continue to hurt for days and months and years. And I am in no way discounting that, or forgetting it.

I have moments of complete and utter despair, thinking of the tragedy and the lives lost and the hundreds of people so horribly injured. Every time I hear a siren, my heart skips a beat.

But I read this article last week, and I keep coming back to it again and again, and every time I read it, I do so with tears in my eyes. As the author writes, survivor's guilt is not something you'd expect to be experiencing as a marathon runner, but it's a pretty apt description of what I and countless others are feeling right now.

What struck me most, though, was this quote:

"The image of 78-year-old Bill Iffrig, knocked to the ground by the force of the explosion just 15 feet from the finish, has been viewed over and over worldwide. He got up to complete the full 26.2 miles. But will he be able to recover the feeling he had when he was 30 feet away from his goal?"

I sincerely hope he can, because that feeling is what we work toward for days, months, and years. Our pursuit of that feeling is what defines us as runners. It's what drives us to keep moving forward, and to overcome whatever is thrown in our path, and to constantly push to do more and improve ourselves.

It's what unites us at any race, and especially at Boston, where crowds of anonymous spectators feel it right along with you, as if it was their finish line, too.

That feeling envelops the city on Marathon Monday - and that feeling is the light that will shine through this darkness, and lead us to our next run, and our next race, and for many of us, to Boston 2014.

So we do need to remember it - and this is my recollection.

This sunrise was what greeted me as I drove to meet the bus that would bring me to Hopkinton. I saw it as a good omen, but it did little to calm my nerves, which had kicked into high gear Sunday night, as I expected they would.

I spent the bus ride mostly to myself, listening to music and reading all the amazing messages of encouragement and well-wishes I had received from friends far and wide. And it truly made such a difference to have all those positive words and thoughts in mind as I got closer and closer to putting all these months of training to the test.

Arriving to the race start was nothing short of surreal. I'd seen pictures, I'd heard about it, and I had a pretty good idea of what to expect, but there is nothing in the world like finally experiencing it firsthand - and that's basically how I'd describe the entire 26.2 miles.

I got out and walked around the Athlete's Village for a short while, just so that I could take it all in, but I didn't linger too long, because it was still pretty cold, and I was happy to be able to get back to the warm bus and have a comfortable seat to wait in, instead of having to sit on the ground.

I thought the waiting would seem to take forever, but the time flew by, and before I knew it, I was making my final preparations - final trips to the bathroom; applications of sunscreen and Body Glide; checking and re-checking to make sure I had all my Gu and fuel where I could easily grab it; tieing and re-tieing my shoes; and taking lots and LOTS of deep breaths.

I started walking over to the bag check buses around 9:30, dropped my bag, and then made my way down toward the start, shaking the whole way - not from the cold (it had warmed up quite a bit by now), but from nervousness.

After one final stop at the porta-potties just before the start line, I made my way into my corral. I was in the second wave of runners, and the 9th (and final) corral, so the actual start was nowhere in sight. But I knew it was there, and I'd be crossing it within minutes.

It's nearly impossible to describe what it felt like to be standing there. I teared up several times, and just kept thinking how incredible it was that I was actually about to run the Boston Marathon. I was here. I had been thinking about this and imagining this for so, so long, and to finally be there and be in that moment - it's overwhelming.

But as the countdown continued, I became increasingly calm. I remembered all the people who were out there supporting me and cheering me on, both virtually and in real life.

And I remembered all the training - all the track workouts, all the tempo runs, all the 20-milers, all the negative splits, all the hills. I was ready for this. I was prepared. I had put in the work, and now I just had to take my victory lap.

I didn't hear the gun, but I did hear the announcement that our wave was underway, and we slowly started moving forward, and when I finally crossed the start about 5 minutes later, I did so with the hugest grin on my face. It was time to get this done!

As with much of the race, the first few miles are kind of a blur. But I can say with certainty that they were, as promised, lined with spectators. Everyone tells you that there are cheering crowds lining the entire course, but you really can't believe it until you see it. In the early miles, there are a few spots that are a little quieter, but you're never ever out there alone, and the quiet moments are few and far between.

My main focus for the first 7 or 8 miles was to keep my pace conservative. The advice I heard over and over and over and over again when I told people I was running Boston was the same - "Start slow, and save your energy for the hills."

So that's how I trained. I finished every single one of my 20-mile runs with negative splits, even though the last miles of those 20-milers were filled with hills. I knew how to finish strong on tired legs, and I kept telling myself that throughout the day. I knew how to start slow and run smart, and that's what I needed to do.

Miles 1 - 8 were mostly successful - 8:17, 8:14, 7:57, 8:05, 7:58, 7:56, 7:57, 7:56. I worried a tiny bit about the sub-8 miles, but since they were just slightly under 8, I wasn't too nervous. The pace was feeling good and comfortable, and since this part of the course was mostly downhill, I felt keeping it to just slightly under 8 was showing a lot of restraint, so I kept at it. 

And the crowds just continued to increase. I reached out for more high-fives than I ever have before, and smiled more than I thought was possible. I knew I'd reach the point where I was struggling and getting tired, but I also knew that the energy from the crowd would help carry me along at that point the same way it was carrying me along now.

I focused on holding my pace steady through the halfway point, and as we neared Wellesley, I listened. I had been told that you could hear the screams from nearly a mile away, and that was no exaggeration.

As we began running past the infamous scream tunnel, I just laughed out loud in disbelief. It. Was. Amazing. And it just went on and on and on. The screams were so loud it literally hurt my ears. I ran, and I grinned, and I took it all in, and it was like nothing I've ever experienced in a race.

Just after that, I spotted my friend Anna, who took this awesome picture that so perfectly captures the incredible joy I was experiencing at that moment.

I love this picture now more than ever, as it's helping me to hold onto that feeling at a time when it's hard to feel joyful.

And just like that, it seemed, I was at the halfway point. My splits were holding steady, too - 8:01, 8:03, 8:05, 7:59, 8:00.

I was still feeling great, but knew that the worst was still to come, so I just cruised through miles 14 to 16 - 8:01, 7:57, 8:02 - and found myself thinking "hey - only 10 miles to go!" 

And that, honestly, I think is one of the most amazing things about this race for me. The entire time - even through the hills, and even through the final, exhausting, painful few miles - I never really had to fight off negative emotions. They just didn't stand a chance.

I never once thought "I don't want to be doing this." I never once had to give myself a pep talk and chase out the mental demons that usually appear at some point over the course of 26.2 miles. The spirit and energy of this race are unmatched, and it filled me with an optimism that I've never before experienced in a marathon.

I took full advantage of that as I made my way through the infamous Newton hills. They were unquestionably tough - not so much because of how steep or long they were, but because of where they were.

Miles 16 - 21 of a marathon are not the point at which you want to climb one hill after another, but I was ready for this. I had trained for this, and I would get through this. I knew that.

Some of them felt worse than others, and I tried to avoid looking at my watch too much, because I knew my pace was going to be all over the place as we made our way up and down.

On some of them, I felt like I was barely moving, and was so relieved to get to the top. And on others, I felt like I cruised right up.

But I was relieved to see the 20-mile marker, because I knew that meant just one more to go. Heartbreak.

Amazingly, as I ran up that hill, I felt better and better with every step. I found myself dodging and weaving so that I could pass people. I was passing people on Heartbreak Hill! I was almost to the top of Heartbreak Hill. I was conquering Heartbreak Hill.

And as I reached the top, the sense of relief was incredible. That was it. It was, quite literally, all downhill from here.

My pace held up pretty well through the hills - 8:02, 8:13, 8:02, 7:58, 8:07, 8:08 - and I was beginning to attempt the crazy and nearly impossible marathon math, trying to figure out if I was going to make my goal or not.

I thought I was pretty darn close, and I also thought that it was time to let myself go. I was exhausted, and my legs were hurting, but I knew I had it in me to pick up the pace a little and finish strong.

And once I gave myself permission to go, my body completely took over, and I suddenly felt like I was absolutely flying.

The fact that the last 5 miles of the course are mostly downhill definitely helped, but there was also the fact that, after all the downhill miles at the start, my quads were screaming - just as I had been told they would be. So as nice as it was to not be climbing up hills anymore, it was pretty darn painful to be running down them.

But I knew it was going to hurt. Whether uphill, downhill, or flat, the final 5 miles of a marathon ALWAYS hurt. The key is whether or not you embrace that pain or fight it. I chose to embrace it. It wasn't going to go away until I stopped running, and the only way to stop running sooner was to run faster. So that's what I did.

I barely looked at my watch at all those last few miles. I ran fast, and I ran with my heart, because I knew if I was going to reach my goal, that's what would get me there.

I flew into the outskirts of the city, and the crowds were just getting bigger. Miles 22 and 23 - 7:45, 7:47. And I began to see familiar sights (and another friend cheering me on, in Coolidge Corner!), and I ran faster.

Miles 24 and 25 - 7:43, 7:30.

And there I was - one mile away from finishing my first Boston Marathon. I'm smiling just thinking about it.

I had nothing left, but I found more anyway. Mile 26 - 7:31.

And I made that final turn - left on Boylston - and there was a couple running near me, and I heard the man say to the woman as they spotted the finish line "There it is!" And that's what we were all thinking as we moved forward. There it is.

All the work, all the training, all the hopes, the dreams, all the energy that had carried us along all the way from the start line in Hopkinton. It was all right here, and it was a moment like no other.

I scanned the crowd for my friends, and was so glad I was able to spot them, and hear them yelling for me.

I ran that final .2 miles at a 6:31 pace, smiling from ear to ear.

And when it was done, when I had crossed that finish line - the one I've been seeing images of for months and months - I couldn't quite believe it.

I shuffled forward with the mass of runners, collecting my space blanket, and water, and kept walking forward, and all I could think about was how much I wanted that medal.

I had to walk a little further, but then there it was. The volunteer hung it around my neck and he could tell I was about to cry (as I had been doing on and off ever since crossing the finish), and he put an arm on my shoulder and congratulated me. 

I continued shuffling and crying - tears of joy, and relief, and utter amazement - and made my way to the buses to get my bag. Once I had it, I immediately grabbed my phone and turned it on so I could check my official time. (My Garmin said 3:30:20, but there's usually some discrepancy between that and the official clock, and I wanted to know for sure.)

The number of messages, emails, and Facebook posts I had gotten since I turned my phone off earlier that morning was unbelievable. And I didn't even have to check the BAA website to find my time, because some of my friends who had been tracking me had included it in their congratulatory messages. 3:30:19!!! 

I got my 11-minute PR, and I ran an 8-minute pace for 26.2 miles - I. Had. Done. It.  I couldn't stop smiling.

I wanted to jump up and down, but I was in too much pain. So I hobbled over to the changing tent and got some warm clothes on - I was starting to cool down, and the breeze had picked up, so I was getting really cold. Once I was changed, I made my way over to the family meeting area, where my friends were all waiting for me.

We hugged and celebrated and took pictures and as I mentioned in my post the other day, it really was one of the greatest moments of my life.

And then it all changed.

All the images I have of that final stretch down Boylston, all those memories of walking through the chute and thanking the volunteers, who were smiling and so clearly enjoying and reveling in their role in the day's events - when I think about it now, my heart breaks, imagining that same scene 40 minutes later.

I think of the horror, the fear, the confusion - and how those volunteers who had been happily congratulating swarms of exhausted but elated runners, and those spectators who were there lifting all of our spirits and carrying us across that finish line - how their lives were all changed in an instant.

As we stood in the family meeting area talking and laughing, we heard a very loud boom. We all stopped and looked around, and then not even a minute later, we heard a second one.

I don't even really remember what we said to each other, but I think the prevailing sentiment was just "what the hell was that?"  The street had suddenly gotten very quiet, and everyone was looking around and trying to see what was going on. We were a few blocks away, so couldn't see anything - not even smoke - so nobody really knew how bad the situation was.

Then the sirens started. And they never stopped. Ambulances, police cars, fire trucks - speeding past us, and heading in the direction of the finish line we had just left a short while ago.

Two of my friends headed back to their cars to start back for home, and the rest of us decided we'd make our way to the restaurant where we had planned to meet up with the other running club members who had come up on the bus.

The restaurant we planned to meet at was just a few blocks up from the finish line, and as we walked up Boylston Street, the street was a ghost town. The tables lined with water and Gatorade were still there, but there was not a runner in sight.

My already delirious post-marathon brain tried to figure out what was going on. Were we actually on Boylston Street, or had we taken a wrong turn?  I knew the race couldn't be over yet - there had to still be more runners crossing the finish line, but where were they?  Had they moved the finisher's chute for some reason? I couldn't make sense of it.

And now that I look back on it all, I think that there was a small part of my brain that allowed me to consider the possibility that it was some sort of attack, but just as quickly as that thought came into my head, I blocked it out. I didn't want to believe that something like that could have happened, so I didn't let myself believe it.

At this point, Scott called me to see how I was doing - I had called earlier but he hadn't answered, so I'd left him a voicemail. And he hadn't heard anything on the news yet, so he was just calling to talk to me about the race.

We talked briefly, but then I could hear policemen yelling for everyone to get off the street, so I told Scott that we were going to get into the restaurant and find our friends - that there had been two loud noises, and something was going on, but we weren't sure what, and I'd call him back later.

Apparently, after we hung up, his phone began ringing off the hook with people calling to check on me, and I'm so thankful we talked when we did, so that at least he knew that I was ok.

Our time in the restaurant was an odd mix of celebrating and staring at the TV in disbelief. The news trickled in very slowly, and eventually we did learn that the explosions had been bombs, and that people had been injured, and at that point they were saying two had died.

Immediately after running a marathon, your brain is fried. You're physically exahusted, of course, and mentally, you're not all there. It's a very surreal experience, and as much as you're completely drained emotionally, your body is also bursting at the seams with endorphins. It's a very strange state of being, and even under normal post-race circumstances, you experience a kind of disconnect with the world.

And as I watched this story unfolding, I simply couldn't process it. And frankly, I'm still having trouble. My phone was flashing what seemed like every 30 seconds with a new message or email or voicemail from someone wanting to know if I was ok. And yet, I still didn't fully comprehend just how lucky I and my friends had been. None of it seemed real.

Then, as we were getting ready to pay our bill, someone in the restaurant stood up and yelled "Everyone needs to get out now!!" That was the first time all day that I truly felt scared.

We went out the back door and gathered in the alley, and made our way back to the bus, and half an hour later we were on our way out of the city.

As I sit here, a week later, there's still a part of me that is in disbelief, and a part of me that still can't stop asking Why? 

This race is a living, breathing example of the best of humanity - the runners, the spectators, the volunteers - from all over the world and from all different backgrounds - are all in it together. All in for Boston.

The same way my heart breaks when I think about how the day ended, it swells when I think about how it felt to be out there on the course - you feel such an incredible energy as you're running - it becomes a part of you.

I've heard it said that the finish line of a marathon is a magical place, but in Boston, the entire 26.2 miles are magic.

That this year's race ended under such tragic circumstances is just unfathomable, and unforgivable.

But as the week has passed, the outpouring of support and solidarity from the running community has proven to be stronger than that darkness.

There's a lot that I still feel very confused and conflicted about in the wake of all this, but there are a few things that I am 100% certain about. 

We are runners, and we will not quit. We will not back down. We will not let fear stop us.

And we will come through this stronger, and more determined than ever.

Already counting down the days 'til Boston 2014.

All In For Boston

So many emotions swirling through my head yesterday and today, it's tough to sort them all out.

Heartbroken, sad, angry, and confused about why on earth someone would do something like this. And thankful - so, so thankful - that I was out of harm's way, and that my friends, who were standing in the exact spot where one of the bombs went off, were out of the area, as well.

Thankful also for the outpouring of concern and thoughts and messages from friends far and near, and from people who don't even know me personally, but knew that I was there, and checked to make sure I was ok.

And amidst the sadness, I am holding onto the joy and immense pride I felt all day yesterday - standing at the starting line, tears in my eyes, the realization of what I was about to do finally sinking in.

Elation at finally beginning to run, and more happy tears.

Disbelief as I ran the course and finally saw firsthand what everyone had described to me over and over again - the spectators lining nearly every inch of those 26.2 miles - every one of them cheering as if they knew you personally and honestly wanted to see you succeed. Every one of them seeming that they 'got it' - they knew what a big deal this was, and they were thrilled to be able to share it with you.

Utter joy as I saw a familiar face at the halfway point - joy that I'm very thankful was captured by that friend.

Exhaustion and determination as I fought my way through the hills of Newton, feeling like I was barely moving on some of them, and positively flying and passing people on others.

Tremendous relief as I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, knowing that I had done it - I had conquered the toughest miles, and it was literally all downhill from here.

Tears threatening again as I made my way through the final few miles, getting closer and closer to the city, and to that finish line that has been on my mind for two years. 

A sense of absolute amazement and wonder as I actually stepped across that line, knowing that not only had I just completed the Boston Marathon, but I had achieved my goal - a PR of 11 minutes, an 8:00 pace for 26.2 miles, and negative splits on a course on which it is notoriously difficult to 'run smart,' due to the downhill start and all the uphill miles at such a tough spot.

I had done it, and it felt tremendous.

I made my way through the finisher's chute, crying tears of happiness the whole way, and I met up with my friends, and it was one of the greatest moments of my life. 

And then it all changed.

I'm still trying to process it all, and it still feels wrong to celebrate the day. But I also think it's necessary to remember the triumph and the joy that was present, because that's what enables us to persevere, and to not give in to the fear.

The Boston Marathon has always been much more than 'just a race,' but its significance has now been magnified tenfold. I will absolutely be back at Boston next year, and many of my friends will as well.

Nothing says triumph over adversity quite like the marathon. Fighting through the pain and the negative emotions to come through on the other side with your arms raised high in celebration.

The strength and courage and solidarity of the running community is further proof of that spirit - and it's a spirit that will not be diminished in the face of a cowardly, horrendous act such as this.

This is my Boston Marathon, and this is my triumph, and although it may be difficult to feel celebratory about it right now, I will celebrate, and I will recount my race day, and I will remember it as an amazing day, for so many reasons.

And I will wear my marathon shirt with even more pride than ever, because I am a runner, and I will not be stopped.

Mother Runners, and One Thousand Strong

Road trip to New Canaan, CT with my friends Deb and Nicole last night (two hours each way - yes, that is how much we love Sarah Bowen Shea and Dimity McDowell, authors of "Run Like a Mother" and "Train Like a Mother") for my second AMR house party. I'm exhausted from getting home just after midnight, but it was worth it.

It's always so fun to see SBS and Dimity, and to have the opportunity to mingle and chat with other mother runners from 'the tribe.' Not to mention the awesome giveaways (I've won something both times) and the amazing swag bags - way better than any race goody bag I've ever received!

And I'm always struck by the common threads that weave through all of our lives, as you listen to snippets of conversation - someone's got a half coming up, someone is injured, someone is trying to figure out how to fit in her runs around her newborn's nursing schedule. We've all been there, or can somehow relate, or commiserate, or encourage, or just listen.

We finally got a chance to talk to Dimity shortly before we left, and her first question to each of us was "Are you training for anything?"  (She didn't need to ask me that, since I've made absolutely sure that everyone in the universe is aware of what I'm training for!)

And once that question was posed, there was no stopping the conversation. Training plans, aches and pains, PRs, triumphs, disappointments, medals, cross-training.....  these parties could easily go on for hours and hours.

And just as much as I love to talk about my training and my races and my goals, I was so thrilled to finally get the chance to really talk to Dimity about her upcoming Ironman. It takes so much out of me, mentally and physically, to train for and run a marathon, I cannot even fathom the undertaking of training for and completing an Ironman, and I am in awe of all those who do it.

That inspiration, that exchange of ideas and thoughts and encouragement, is what the "Mother Runner tribe" is all about, and it's why I'm so thankful that I discovered it and became a part of it.

I'm also incredibly excited to be their "Follow this Mother" feature for this week!

Not only is it an honor to be featured this way, but I've been so touched by the comments people have left on the post, about how I inspire them and make them want to continue working to reach their goals, or keep raising the bar and reaching farther and higher than they might have otherwise.

That's one of the things that keeps me going. Because if I can do it - anyone can. Maybe not the same exact goals I have, but whatever goals they have that seem unreachable now - they don't have to stay that way.

I've found the same amazing community springing up with my Facebook page, which reached (and surpassed) the 1,000 mark earlier this week. When I started the page up a few months ago, I never imagined that I'd get to a point where I had over 1,000 people following along and chiming in on the daily running conversation.

It's been so fun, though, building the page and discovering so many other runners with whom to discuss all things running and running-related. 

I have lots of 'in real-ife' supporters, and I am so thankful that so many of them will be there on the course on Monday, cheering me on. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank them enough for that.

But I'm also really thankful for all the virtual support I've received. Knowing that there are all these people out there who are following my progress and rooting for me - it's an extra dose of motivation that will help propel me when things get tough, and that will give me a boost when I cross those checkpoints and I know the numbers on the clock are getting sent out into cyberspace and onto people's cell phones. As cheesy as it sounds, I want to make them and everyone else proud. 

And last night's party was a reminder that sometimes those virtual communities get the chance to come together in the real world, and I'm so glad I've had the chance to be a part of that twice. I just wish it could happen even more often, because it's every bit as fun as you'd expect it to be!

Marathon Mania Continues

Usually when you sign up for a marathon, it's many, many months away. Many months before you even begin training. So far away that you can't even imagine being just days away from actually doing it.

So when you get to that point where you are just days away from standing on that starting line, it always feels somewhat surreal.

What's been just an abstract concept for so long - a carrot dangling out so far in front of you that you felt like you'd never reach it - is suddenly staring you in the face, and you realize that it's not an abstraction anymore; it's very real, and it's right around the corner. 

And every time that realization hits you, your heart skips a beat, and you involuntarily smile a little bit, thinking about how exciting it is to know that all the hard work you've done is finally going to pay off, and in just a few days you'll be able to reap the rewards of all those insanely tough workouts, and all those early-morning wakeup calls, and all those hours spent running in the frigid winter mornings, all alone out on the road, or on the treadmill for mile after mind-numbingly boring mile.

So that's where I am at the moment. It's all becoming very, very real, and very, very exciting.

The festivities kick off tonight, when I head down to CT with some friends to go to the "Another Mother Runner" house party to mingle with the fabulous Dimity McDowell Davis and Sarah Bowen Shea, authors of "Run Like a Mother" and "Train Like a Mother."

I am so excited to get the chance to see both of them again (last saw them at Zooma Cape Cod in September), and to hang out with and meet a bunch of other mother runners, too. I went to the house party in Massachussetts last year, and it was a blast, so I was really glad to see they were having one close to me again.

After that, things kick into high gear on Saturday, when I'll be out volunteering at the Gansett Marathon, and as soon as my volunteer assignment is over, will be traversing the course with my running buddies to cheer on our friend Diane who's running. She is a total rock star, and I think she's going to have the race of her life, and I can't wait to watch her do it!

I had so much fun spectating in Philly, and I was really only able to see my friends for a few quick seconds as they headed into the chute - I can't imagine how fun it'll be to be able to drive around to a bunch of different areas on the course and cheer her on the whole way!

And Saturday afternoon is Expo time!!!!  I'll be heading up with friends, and I'm honestly so excited  to see the Boston skyline - just being in the city is going to be amazing, and I will be so happy once I have that race bib in my posession.

Sunday will be a nice, quiet day, though. A day to pack my bag, check and re-check that I have everything I need, pore over the course description one more time, eat more carbs, drink tons of water, and attempt to get to to sleep early.

Today was my final track workout - 6 x 400 - and it felt great! I felt like I could have easily done more. And Friday I'll do my final run - a 3-miler. I can't even remember the last time I ran less than 6 or 7 miles, so 3 is going to feel very, very strange.

But it's all good. It really, truly is. I'm enjoying the down time. I have plenty of pent-up energy, and I'm incredibly distracted and scatter-brained, and I can't focus on anything except you-know-what. But none of that is affecting me in a negative way. I love feeling the energy that's simmering just below the surface, because I know that I just need to keep it bottled up for a few more days, and then I can let it loose when I need it most.

And I love feeling a little bit lazy, and not waking up while it's still dark out. I love having all these hours of free time that would normally be spent running, or at the gym.

Taper is agreeing with me this time around - for now, anyway. I know the nerves will kick in by this weekend, but I'm ok with that, too - all part of the process. 

Someone posted something to a Facebook community the other day about pre-race nerves, and I didn't even really give my response much thought - it just came out - and as I typed it, I realized that it was something I was going to remind myself of before every one of my own races - "Embrace the nervousness. It means you're on the verge of greatness."

That's how I feel right now, because even if I fall short of my ultimate goal, I will know that I have given this everything I've got - through 4 months, through countless training runs, and finally, through 26.2 miles. And that, in my eyes, is pretty great.

But I will be aiming for that 'A' goal of 3 hours and 30 minutes (or anything even a smidgen under that - even 3:29:59!). That's what I've trained for, and I'll be walking on air if I pull it off.

Anything between 3:30 and 3:35 will leave me a little more grounded, but no less ecstatic.

And if it just isn't my day, I'm hoping that I can still at least pull off a teensy little PR, and keep my time under 3:41.

But no matter the time on the clock, there is no doubt in my mind that there will be an enormous smile on my face as I cross the finish line at the Boston Marathon in FIVE days!!!

TEN DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Last weekend's foot pain faded over the course of the day Monday, and figured I'd give my Tuesday workout a try, knowing that if it began to hurt even a little bit, I'd stop immediately. But the foot felt fine, so I got it done.

And the same was true of my tempo run on Thursday. No pain, and no issues at all. So I was very hopeful about my podiatrist appointment that afternoon. And I was so thankful when I found out that I hadn't gotten my hopes up only to have them dashed.

The pain I've been having on and off - seemingly related to the orthotics, since it only hurt when I ran with them in my shoes - is actually related to a bunion, which is causing some wear and tear to the joint in my left big toe.

It's something that I may need to deal with at some point in the future, but for now, I can take a wait-and-see approach and be hopeful that it will not be an issue now that my marathon training is essentially done.

And most importantly, it is not something that is going to keep me from Boston! This news was like having a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. And it also allowed all the excitement - that I had temporarily put on hold - to come rushing back in, to the point that I could barely sleep last night, and if you had told me the race was yesterday at 4pm, I would gladly have put on my shoes and run it!

So now I'm back to being insanely excited and antsy and just generally in hyperdrive, waiting for the next 10 days to pass.

I'll run my final long run on Sunday, at a local 10-mile race. I won't be racing, though - my plan calls for 10 at marathon pace, and that's what I'll do. Maybe with a few faster miles at the end, but nothing crazy, because from this point on, it's all about giving my body a break and letting it absorb the benefits of the last week of taper.

No more 4:30am wakeups, no more intense cardio cross-training, and no weight lifting at all.

I know the lack of tough workouts is going to make me kind of crazy, but at the same time, I know it's what I need at this point, and I'm hoping I can embrace the change of pace and enjoy some down time.

I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head, I can barely keep them all straight - making plans for going to the Expo, and for race day itself, and beginning to make lists of what I need to pack in my race bag, and what else I need to get done before next Monday.

But what keeps going through my head the most is how incredibly ready I feel for this race. I've never in my life felt so prepared to go out and get something done.

With a few small exceptions (due to blizzards and other minor inconveniences), I've followed my training plan faithfully, and have met or exceeded all of the target paces that were set for me.

I've found just the right combination of fueling and hydration, and practiced it over and over again, and I know that it works.

I've made sure to run all my long runs on a route that was mostly downhill at the beginning, and mostly uphill at the end - not a perfect Boston simulation by any means, but as close as I was able to get while still running locally.

And I've practiced repeatedly one of the most important skills I think I needed to learn this training cycle - starting conservatively and finishing strong. Every single one of my long runs has included several miles of negative splits at the end, despite the uphills.

I know how to pick up the pace with very tired legs, and that is a very valuable skill, and one that will serve me well after the hills of Newton.

And with 5 solo 20-milers under my belt, I know how to stay motivated and fight the mental battles that begin when the going gets tough.

I. Can. Do. This.

I have complete faith and trust in my training, and my confidence is sky-high that I can cross that finish line on Boylston Street in 3 hours and 30 minutes.

I just wish I didn't have to wait 10 more days to actually get out there and do it!!!

Not What I Wanted To Write About

This post was supposed to be about my last 20-miler - the fact that, although it started out with a dark cloud of negative thoughts (I don't want to be doing this again; I've run enough 20-milers; I can't possibly have to pee already; my hands are cold; my legs feel like lead; why do I need this stupid PR in Boston anyway) I was able to turn it around at about the 6- or 7-mile mark, and finished strong. It wasn't quite as awesome as the previous 20, but it was certainly good enough.

It was also supposed to be about how the excitement is building so tremendously at this point, and how all I can think about is Boston. About how distracted I am, and alternately elated and terrified (and by alternately, I mean my brain goes back and forth roughly every 2 minutes).

And it was supposed to be about how happy and how relieved I was to come home from my 13-miler yesterday morning - a great 13 that began with this amazing view of the sunrise over the ocean and that ended with me crossing off the final workout of week 14 of my 16-week plan. A 13 that, once completed, signfied the end of the most intense phase of my training and the beginning of my two-week taper.

It was supposed to be about how, as much as the taper can make you crazy, I am so happy that it's here, because mentally, I'm done with the insanely hard track workouts and the challenging tempo runs. I'm done with the 3-hour-long runs every weekend, and with having to hit a specific pace every single time I go out for a run. I'm done with getting up at 4:30am to be on the treadmill at 5am. Done with all that, and ready to get on to the good stuff and put all this training to the test.

That's what it was supposed to be about.

Instead, it's about my foot.

Several weeks ago, after a long run, I felt a sore spot on the top of my left foot. I've had this happen before as a result of having my shoelaces tied too tight, and I figured that's what it was again. So I didn't freak out.

And I noticed that it only really hurt when I had my running shoes on - not in any other shoes. And since I wear orthotics in my running shoes, I suspected that the added thickness from the orthotics was causing my foot to be more snug in the shoe, and adding to the soreness.

So I decided I'd try my next run without the orthotics, and presto - the soreness was gone.

I did a few runs without them, and all seemed well. Problem solved? If only it were that easy.

The orthotics were prescribed to help alleviate a chronic shin injury that had kept me sidelined for almost the entire summer a few years ago, and as I continued to run without them, the shin started acting up. So back in went the orthotics. And back came the foot pain.

I've gone back and forth like this for the past couple weeks, and it seemed very clear that running without the orthotics resulted in foot soreness after the run - never during the run, and never really sore unless I pressed on the top of my foot.

But then I ran without the orthotics yesterday, and during the last mile of the run, I felt some foot pain. It wasn't a sharp pain, and it came and went, but it was definitely there, despite not having the orthotics in.

So now I'm freaking out. Anyone who's ever googled "top of foot pain" can tell you that almost every single link that comes up contains the words "Stress fracture."

And anyone can also tell you that if you have a stress fracture, you are NOT running a marathon.

I already had an appointment scheduled with my podiatrist for this Thursday, because I wanted him to check the orthotics and see if they need to be adjusted. And yesterday, there was a period of time where I was thinking that I was just going to cancel the appointment and press on with my training and run the race and deal with this afterward - obviously in complete denial that something could be really wrong.

And while I'm still hoping that it isn't something really wrong, I'm also thinking more clearly today. I will go to the podiatrist, and I will get his opinion on this, and I will follow his advice - even if that advice is to not run Boston.

My heart breaks to even think about that possibility. I know that may sound crazy and overly dramatic to some people, but I have poured my heart and soul into these past 14 weeks of training, and I have worked too hard, and come too far, and am running so, so well right now. To have to give up all of that would be devastating.

I know it's just a race. And I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor inconvenience, and there are so many people in the world dealing with true hardship and challenges, and that I need to keep it all in perspective - and believe me, most of the time, I am. But other times I'm not.

Because this also is really not just a race. It's a marathon. And it's not just a marathon - it's BOSTON.

And I'm poised to not only run it, but run it really well, with a really good shot at a huge PR - something that, while not meaningful to some people, is very meaningful to me. It represents months of hard work, and months of going out and completing workouts that I didn't want to do, and months of overcoming obstacles that I didn't think I could overcome, and months of constantly pushing myself to do more and be better than I was the day before, and months of proving to myself that if I work hard, I can achieve goals that once seemed utterly impossible.

And it's all been in anticipation of the big payoff - that finish line on Boylston Street. The finish line that I now worry I may not cross in 2 weeks.

Obviously this is all speculation, and I won't know anything until I get in to see my doctor. But as much as I hope and pray that I'm very, very wrong and that two weeks from now, I'll be proudly wearing my first Boston marathon finisher's medal, I also feel that I need to prepare myself for the possibility that I won't.

So the normal taper crazies, which don't typically set in for me until the end of the first week, have already begun in earnest. And all the excitement and enthusiasm and optimism that's been keeping me going through these last few tough weeks of training have all but evaporated.

I'm going to remain kind of in limbo until Thursday. Limbo's not a fun place to be, but it's where I'm at, and I just have to deal with it the best I can. Think good, healthy foot, non-stress-fracture vibes for me, if you could.

Twenty, Ninety-Nine, and Nine

I was talking to a friend the other day and she pointed out that I seem way less stressed and anxious this training cycle than I did while training for Gansett. And when she said that, I realized that she was absolutely right.

Part of the reason my Gansett training was so tough was that it followed right on the heels of Hartford. I had a couple months off, but that isn't much when you're talking about throwing yourself right back into an intense 4-month training program, with a big PR in mind at the end.

Physically the training went well, but mentally, I was a complete basket case. I was filled with doubt, and I was in constant mental combat with myself, trying to overcome that doubt. And I was just plain tired. Tired of being on a training plan. Tired of having to hit certain paces every time I ran. Tired of not being able to just put on my sneakers and run for the fun of it.

I don't think I'll ever run two marathons in a single year again. I know a lot of people do it and they handle it just fine. But for me, personally, it was just too much.

But since I had a whole 9 months between running Gansett and beginning my Boston training, I went into it ready and excited to tackle the miles and cross off the workouts. And aside from a few hiccups, I've maintained a decidedly positive attitude the past 13.5 weeks, which has been a nice change.

As I head into this weekend and my final 20-miler, despite the ickiness of the past week's allergy incidents, I'm still feeling good, and feeling especially happy that this is my final 20-mile run. I'm hopeful that it will go well (especially that it will be incident-free), but even if it doesn't, I know that I've got 4 other 20-mile runs under my belt, all of which went better than I ever could have anticipated.

But I'm not alone in having something to celebrate this week - Gabe and Carmine have some big milestones, too.

And Carmine's is actually one that I get to celebrate with him, because it's as much a milestone for me as it is for him - he is now 99% potty-trained!!!!  After 9 years of changing diapers every single day, I am so, so close to never changing another one again. There are no words to adequately express how happy this makes me.

He's still happy to be confined to his crib at bedtime, though, and I'm in no hurry to change that!

People have asked me what I did to make it happen so quickly - it really only took about 4 days - but I didn't do much at all. I started putting him in underwear, we stayed close to home for a few days, and he basically did it on his own. Sure, I gave him incentives (in the form of jelly beans), and I encouraged him and congratulated him, but I basically just got lucky that I seem to have picked the exact right time, when he was really ready for it. Timing is everything!

For Gabe, the milestone is his birthday - the ninth one, to be exact. As with all of the boys as their birthdays approach, I'm kind of dumbfounded as to how so much time has already passed.

My 'baby' - I admit, I'm tearing up a little, looking at this picture

He clearly looks like a 9-year-old now, and sometimes he acts like one - but the male stereotype definitely holds true with him, and he is in no danger of acting too mature for his age.

Thankfully, he's having one of his best years of school ever. I attribute this entirely to his teachers, as they have done an absolutely amazing job keeping him as focused as possible, and helping him work to his full potential - something that is becoming harder for him, given his ADHD and the increasing complexity of the types of things he's learning about.

We are facing some tough decisions in the upcoming year - namely, whether or not to keep him at his current school through the 5th grade, or to pull him out and have him move to the middle school (which is 5th and 6th grade) for 5th, so that he's entering that environment at the same time as all of his peers, rather than coming in as 'the new kid' in 6th grade.

I think there are pros and cons either way, but for someone like Gabe, we're more inclined to believe that it would be better for him to be with that same group of kids for two full years - and to have those two full years in the middle school setting.

Transitions typically do not go smoothly for him, and this is going to be a doozy of a transition, and I fear that if we wait until 6th grade, by the time he's finally settling in, it'll be time for him to move on again to the junior high school for 7th and 8th.

What makes me sad (and nervous), though, is the thought of taking him out of this incredible, nurturing, small, fun, and vibrant community that he's been so fortunate to be a part of for the past 4 years. I know it's going to happen eventually, but there's a part of me that wants to let him spend that one additional year there, where I know he'll flourish.

That's not to say that I think he's not going to do well in middle school - but it's going to be a vastly different experience, both for him and for us, and although he's got an IEP in place to help us all navigate the waters as we make these changes, I still worry about how well that's all going to translate in the 'regular' public school system.

Two or three years ago, this all seemed like it was so far off, I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it. But now it's right on our doorstep, and like everything else that comes up with these boys of mine, it all seems like it's rushing forward far too quickly.

When you're living this life with three young kids, and you're caught up in the day-to-day, and some days it seems like it's all you can do to just survive 'til bedtime, it's hard to remember what they were like years, and even months ago. And it's just as hard to imagine what they'll be like months and years in the future.

Six years ago - look at those adorable rosy cheeks : )

I took Carmine to a park a few weeks ago that happens to be right next to the high school, and it was an unusally warm day, and there were a bunch of teenage boys sitting outside the cafeteria eating their lunch. As I watched them, it occurred to me that it really isn't going to be very long before Gabe is one of those boys. And Dante, too. (not Carmine - I just got him potty-trained - I still have some time before I start thinking of him as a teenager!!!)

And even though the inevitability of that stares me in the face every day, as I watch them outgrow their clothes, and read ever-more-complex books, and eat me out of house and home - I still can't think of them as anything but the age they are at this very moment in time.

I suppose that's a good thing. Because even though at this very moment in time, Gabe is a master at testing the waters of back talk, and honing his skills as the exasperated and always put-upon oldest child, he's also still more than happy to curl up on the couch and hold my hand, and to dance around the living room (with not the least bit of self-consciousness) with Carmine, and to wear bunny ears at Easter.

And he's also the boy who, because he was so excited last night about his birthday, was in his bed sobbing at 9:30pm because he was sure that he would "never, ever get to sleep because he had three thousand thoughts running around in his head." 

That nearly brought me to tears, and I spent 15 minutes sitting on his bed, rubbing his back until his eyes closed and his breathing slowed and he fell asleep.

I know that we very soon will be entering a phase where he's going to encounter a whole lot of problems that I can't really solve, so I took great comfort in being able to solve this one.

A Different Kind of Mental Toughness

I'm a pretty superstitious person. I always try to run on treadmill number 4 at the gym, and it's become my lucky number. I had a lucky hat that I wore at every race for a couple of years, and only retired once I completed Hartford and got my BQ. If I'm talking about how long I've gone without a major running injury, I always punctuate the statement with the phrase "knock on wood."

So as the weeks, and then months (4 and counting), were passing without me having had an episode of exercise-induced anaphylaxis, I didn't mention it to anyone. I was afraid I'd jinx myself.

And when I found out there was a new, significantly smaller epi-pen available, I immediately called my allergist and got one for myself (so much easier to carry while running!), all the while secretly hoping that maybe I'd never need it. Maybe I was going to be one of those lucky people for whom the condition disappears as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared.

But 5 miles into my 15-mile run yesterday, my luck ran out.

I was scheduled to run 15 miles at an 8:10 pace, and I was having a blast. That's a really nice pace for me, and my body just seems to naturally settle into it, without much effort or concentration, and every time my Garmin beeped, I was so pleased to see that every mile was within seconds of my goal. Consistent pacing is a skill that can be very hard to learn, and something I still sometimes struggle with, so it's always a bonus when it comes easy.

Then as I turned a corner and headed into town, I felt a weird tingling in my hands. They weren't itchy, which is usually the first sign that something's going on - but they felt unusually warm and odd.

I was instantly on alert, but didn't stop right away. I wasn't entirely sure if it was just that I was warming up and needed to take my gloves off.

But then my face started to feel really warm, and my upper lip started to feel funny and swollen. Then a few steps later, I realized I was having trouble catching my breath, and with every step I took, I felt like a car running out of gas - the energy was just seeping out of me, and each step felt slower than the last. And I knew. 

This all happened over the course of about a minute, so I had only run another couple hundred yards or so, and I knew that was it. I sat down, popped a Benadryl, called Scott, and hoped that this one wasn't going to be a doozy that would land me in the ER.

Luckily it wasn't - mostly, I think, because I stopped running right away. There have been too many times that I've doubted the symptoms, and brushed them off as just being a result of me overheating or pushing myself too hard - too many times that I've been in denial and hoped that it would just magically stop.

But this time I paid attention to the signals, and I listened, because I reminded myself of how awful I felt the last time this happened, when I ended up having to use my epi-pen and spend the morning in the ER. I remembered how scary it felt - like my body was going completely haywire - and I did not want to feel that way again.

Thankfully I didn't - I spent about 40 minutes laying in bed with severe chills, and my legs and torso covered in big red blotches that never quite developed into hives. Not the greatest way to spend my morning, but it could have been far, far worse.

The worst of it was actually the way I felt afterward, emotionally. A lovely combination of anger and depression that I just couldn't shake. Sadly, I knew the best way to shake it would be to go out for a run. And honestly, I almost did. Once I was feeling better, I wanted so badly to put my sneakers back on and get out there and show my body who's boss. I wanted to pound out the fear and the anger and the sadness the only way I know how. 

But just as much as I wanted to do that, as much as I craved the feeling I knew I'd have if I had a great run - I was terrified of how much deeper I'd sink into depression if I didn't have a great run, if the anaphylaxis struck again.

I did go the gym and worked up a good sweat on the elliptical and bike, though. It didn't give me the satisfaction of knowing that I had completed my planned workout, but it did grant me some much-needed stress relief and a shot of some mood-boosting endorphins.

Along with being angry just at the fact of this happening again, I was angry that this meant I was missing a training run. I know that missing a long run isn't a huge deal, and that in the grand scheme of things, it probably won't make a bit of difference in terms of how I do on race day. But I'm very much a type A person, and when I have a plan, I stick to it, and I do not like the way it feels to deviate from that plan, to have that workout not completed.

And I like it even less when deviations from the plan are not of my own choosing; when they're entirely out of my control. And that's really what this all comes down to in the end.

I love the blog Mile Posts. Dorothy Beal is such an inspiration to me - an amazing mom, amazing runner, and an amazing writer, too. She has a motto that I love, but it struck me yesterday that it's one that I can't truly live by - "I Run This Body."

99% of the time, I do feel like I run this body - I feel like I can overcome just about anything. I can train in really bad weather; I can run 13 miles on the treadmill; I can power through intervals at paces that I never imagined I'd be able to run; at the end of a long run, I can find strength that I never knew I had. I can overcome the bad runs, the tough workouts, and the negative thoughts.

But I cannot overcome anaphylaxis. There's no powering through when your body is going completely berserk. There's nothing to do but surrender, and it makes me want to cry to feel so utterly powerless.

When you're in a spot where the thing that makes you feel stronger and healthier than you've ever felt in your life has suddenly made you feel completely vulnerable and terrified - it's an awful, terrible place to be.

So, for at least the next few days, until the memory of this attack fades, this is my new mental battle. To put the fear aside and put my sneakers back on and complete the next workout. To remind myself that for every time this does happen, there's countless other times that it doesn't. To cross my fingers and toes and enlist every other silly superstition I can, in the hopes that it does NOT happen on April 15th.

And to take a deep breath and remember that even though I can't conquer this physically, I can conquer it mentally. I don't have to let it get the best of me, and I won't let it stop me from doing what I love. My runs may be tinged with a little bit of anxiety for the next few days, but rest assured, they will happen.

There will always be that 1% of the time that I don't run this body, but I won't dwell on that - I'll move on and focus on the 99% of the time that I do.