I swear to God I’m not going to keep talking about this day after day. Unless you count yesterday and today. I promise, after this I’ll be done. I think. It’s just, well, there’s some more stuff to talk about from the race. And it’s funny. Unless you’re the cop at mile eleven and then nothing’s funny. At all. Moving on.
The following are a few of my favorite conversations during and following the half marathon.
My friend Doug
Ah, yes, my dear, dear friend Doug. My friend Doug who tore his calf muscle at mile six and not only finished the race, but came back to walk the last mile again with me.
My friend Doug who is a rock star in our world on so many levels. My friend Doug who, early in the race, ran by me and yelled at me, “DON’T RUN!’ and who I smiled back at while running. My friend Doug who I thought of over and over again after mile eight when I thought I was going to die because I’d spent the majority of the first eight miles running.
My friend Doug who taught me some running terms. DNF (did not finish) DNS (did not start) and the one that would forever be after my name in the Allstate Boston 13.1 – DFL (dead @#&%ing last).
My friend Doug who I love so much that I’m not even going to say anything about those sunglasses.
My friend Doug who gave me a new barometer for deciding just how bad things are.
As we pass a runner going the other way (No, I don’t know why he was going the other way, nor was I remotely capable of trying to figure it out), Doug says, ”Hey, you see that guy? His nipples were bleeding. That sucks. So dude, you’re doing better than him – at least your nipples aren’t bleeding.”
Me: “Um, yeah. Ok, Doug. So there’s that.”
Him: “Seriously, if your nipples aren’t bleeding, you’re lookin good!”
And with that, no matter how bad a situation gets from here on out, if my nipples aren’t bleeding, it’s a win.
Mario, the head valet guy in my parking garage
Monday morning watching me attempt (three times) to lift myself up and out of my small car …
Mario: “Jayseeca, you ok?”
Me: “Yup. Thanks, Mario. Just need a minute.”
Mario, smirking as I struggle to stand: “Jayseeca, good night last night?”
Me: “Oh my God you did not just say that.”
Mario, as I finally manage to get to my feet, steady myself and realize that I’m standing like a cowboy, “I guess it was a VERY good night, Jayseeca.”
Me: I can never look this man in the eye again.
My friend Alysia
Monday afternoon, checking in via text …
Alysia: “How are you doing today?”
Her: “Is it the good sore I always hear about? “
Me: “Is there a good sore? Like really? Cause I call bullsh!t”
And then the conversation took a turn that included the words good, sex, DVD and Kim Kardashian so I think it’s best if I leave it at that.
OK, I think I have it all out of my system. Except this …
I really can’t say this enough.
Your support over the last few days has been humbling and uplifting and overwhelmingly wonderful. I really, really wish that I had time to respond to every single one of your comments. Hopefully I will find it in the next few days because they mean the world to me. YOU mean the world to me.
In so many ways I feel like a fraud. I told Luau yesterday that every time someone says some version of, “Wow, you managed a 13,1 with no training; that’s awesome” I can’t help but think that it’s like complimenting someone for making it through a day of work hung over. Like, ya know, the not training thing was the bed I made. So I managed to lie in it. Woo hoo.
But at the same time, I do feel a sense of accomplishment. I did something I never thought I could do. Parenthood does that to you, doesn’t it? Stretches you, makes you bigger, faster, stronger than you are? Or than you think you are?
You know those moms who pull cars off their kids? We all have the capacity to do the things that we need to do for our babies. Whether we know it or not, we just do. We don’t walk around thinking we are strong enough to lift a car until the day that we have to. It’s God’s perfect, sneaky plan. It’s in us. All of us.
Even a half marathon. Who knew?
Thanks, my friends.
For keeping me going.
We did it.
(Ed note: I bought the picture, so please don’t sue me. It’s on its way and I’ll replace the proof when I get it.)