I am the fastest woman alive. Kinda.

After finally checking the Asheville Half Marathon off my bucket list last month, I was feeling pretty good about my running skills. So when Chris suggested I run in a road race that his rotary club was involved with, I jumped all over it. I hadn’t competed in a 5k since January, and I was eager to see how fast I could cover the 3.1 miles.

So last weekend we woke up early and headed downtown for the Parsec Prize, which started right in front of the Parsec Financial office on Wall Street, and then winded itself through Montford and back into downtown. It was a fast course, with only a few short hills and nothing too exhausting. Not to mention only about 60 runners were competing, so I was able to snake my way to the front of the starting line and didn’t have to step around people after they blew the horn.

And once I took off, I REALLY took off. Translate:  I was moving it. And as I propelled my legs faster and faster, I was aware that I was on the front-end of the pack, but I had no idea who was behind me or how close they were. And I really didn’t know how fast I was moving until I reached the end of the first mile and I wasn’t through my second song on my playlist yet. Oh yeah. That meant I was sprinting at a tremendous seven-minute mile pace. Which, for me, is basically lightening speed.

I kept it up for the next mile, relying heavily on my long-distance endurance training and my awesome music. It was one of the best playlists I’ve ever made. Seriously, if you ever need to run as fast as you can, whether it be for a race or away from danger, blare B.O.B. by OutKast into your head. No one will ever catch you.

I sprinted into the final mile, knowing some freakish runners had probably already crossed the finish line, but also aware that I was going fast and no one had passed me since the start line. And while I had run past a number of dudes, I hadn’t even seen another female runner since breaking away during the first mile. So when I turned the final corner to head into downtown and heard someone yell, YOU’RE THE FIRST GIRL! a huge smile broke out on my face.

So you better believe I had to put on a good show, and sucked it up and ran as fast as my legs would allow the final blocks of the race. And when I got to the end, the look on Chris’s face when he saw me before crossing the finish line at 23.35 was of total amazement. Yep. I AM AWESOME!

First place, Baby! I got a gold medal, two tickets to a UNCA men’s basketball game and a $25 gift card to Ruth’s Chris. Oh, and total bragging rights. How many races have you won?

Not bad for the awkward teenage girl who fumbled her way through high school sports, eh? In your face, Darrel Ehlers.

A running story

So if follow my blog, you’re already aware that in the last five years I’ve become a runner of sorts. I’m not hardcore, but it’s something I enjoy doing. It has become a primary outlet for releasing all my stay-at-mom anxiety. After a good leg-burning, heart pumping run, I honestly feel like I could conquer the world. It’s my therapy. And it allows me the leeway to eat dessert without guilt. Win-win.

And not to mention that nearly all of my favorite people are runners. And not only do my thrice-weekly runs allow me to sweat out my craziness, they also give me some hourish blocks of time with a few of my favorite people. Lots of laughing, gossip and heart-felt conversations occur during running. We talk about every aspect of our lives. Except when we’re trying to get up Cherokee or Lookout. Then you’ve just got to crank the music, put your head down and get strong. God. I love running.

And since become a runner, the ultimate goal-race of mine has been the Asheville half-marathon. I was just building my mileage for the first time when I got pregnant with Taylor is 2007. And since I was in the beginning stages of getting knocked off my rocker by motherhood, I stepped back and cheered on my friends and watched as they tearfully crossed the finish-line. It was bittersweet.

But then I created human life, got a jogging stroller and started running off the baby weight. And I got stronger. And instead of running the half the following September, I ran the adjoining 5k. And I crossed the finish line in 26.44. Which is pretty awesome. But watching all the finishers who just got done running 13.1 miles inspired me beyond words. And my inner-monolog while witnessing all of these people receiving their medals was, I could totally do that. I AM GOING TO DO THAT. I am going to cross that finish line.

So I kept up my training, continuing to run throughout that fall and winter. I competed in my first 10k in March and was well on pace, mileage-wise, to be in prime-shape to compete in the half marathon. But then, dun-dun-dunnn!, I got pregnant again. And while I adore my little Pookie more than words, while he was growing in my belly I was SO SICK. Barely a step above functioning, I was essentially wrapped around my toilet for the months of August and September. Miserable. Totally unable to break a sweat without barfing, let alone run over ten miles. Which was such a bummer, as my best friend and college roommate, Emily, and I had been simultaneously training so she could fly in from Iowa to run with me. Oh, and Chris was running. And so many of my friends and training partners. And I was so, SO PROUD of every one of them when they crossed the finish line that year. But I wanted to be out there so bad.

And then my sweet boy was born that following spring, and instead of sucking it up and starting to run again, I fell into a deep crack of no-sleeping and double-mothering. The last thing I was concerned about was running. It was about survival. So when last September rolled around and Chris and some of my friends ran the grueling 13.1 mile race, I was happy to cheer him on. And I experienced the same heart-wrenching happiness while watching all the runners cross the finish line, and witnessing each of them smile in triumph. Jeez! Seriously! If you’re ever feeling down, go to a local road race and stand near the end. Look at the smiles on the runners faces. It’s amazing.

So I started running a little bit more, and competed in a few 5k races. I was bound and determined to run this year’s half. No excuses. I was sleeping. I was not pregnant. I was doing this. And my runs got longer and longer, and faster and faster, and more and more manageable. It wasn’t easy, but it felt good. And my legs were getting strong again. And I signed up for half marathon.

But. GAH! Gotta love the Buts. Then my left foot started twitching. And then hurting. And then barley able to put weight on. And after a doctor’s visit, I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis and told I couldn’t run for two weeks. Which doesn’t seem like a long time, but I was right in that crucial training schedule of moving up from six to eight miles. That’s a big jump. And to fall behind was a total bummer.

But I rehabbed it and tried to keep working out those two weeks, but the first run back was AWFUL. Sucked real bad. And so did the next two or three runs after that. And my inner-monolog for those following weeks were, I HATE THIS! Why am I even doing this? This is stupid. Blah, blah, blah.

In fact, while I was sitting on the beach with my lovely tooties at the beginning of August, I watched all the workout-barbies jog past me in my lounge chair and thought about what a drag it was that I wasn’t going to be able to run the elusive half this year. No way could I pull myself together for that. I was so not ready to huff it on the hilliest 13.1 mile course in the Southeast.

However. Coming off a refreshing, kid-free beach vacation was the best possible time to swing my arms, stretch my legs and download a new playlist. And running started to feel good again. Real good. And I knew I was pretty far behind by training buddies, but one weekend, about three weeks before the race, I woke up early and ran the first nine miles of the course. NINE! Ran the whole thing. At an alright pace. And it felt good. So I puffed out my chest and raised my fist in the air and said, THIS YEAR! I will run this race in three weeks. I’m doing it.

And guess who heard me? EVERYONE. Yeah. No backing out now. In fact, a friend of mine relayed my Gonna-run-it-finally story to a reporter for our city paper and I did a phone interview and photo shoot. And when I woke up the morning before the race, there I was in the Citizen-Times, spouting off about how excited I was to compete the next day and how I had wanted to check this race off my list for a long time. Lots of people read it and sent me messages and words of encouragement. I was famous for a minute. And there was absolutely no way I could back out now.

So I was super nervous the morning of the race. I had already set out all of my gear, my number, my gels and my iPod. We all got up at the crack of dawn and Chris and the kids dropped me off at the start and then they continued on to cheer for me at the halfway point. My heart was already racing, and the enormity of what I was about to do sunk in. I was practically vibrating with nervousness and adrenaline when I heard the starting horn blow, and then I pressed play on my iPod and started moving my feet. Here we go.

And while I had never run the course in it’s entirety, I was familiar with it all. Every hill, every downhill and every straightaway. I had mentally earmarked about five climbs on the route, reminding myself to keep breathing and stay strong in anticipation of those awful ascents. My playlist was killer, and I had already coordinated my music with both my pace and the course, so when I turned the corner to start up Cherokee, Cake’s The Distance started blaring in my ears and helped propel me up the switchback. I had a good sweat going, I was passing people, I was feeling good.

And that feeling lasted for a while. In fact, when I got to the top of Inglewood and at the halfway point, I saw Chris and the kids and had a giant smile on my face and kept saying, I’m awesome! This is so fun! Hooray for running!

And after keeping a good pace for the next three miles, I found myself at the bottom of the mile-long ascent called Lookout Road. Yeah. You literally go uphill for a mile. And that’s after you’ve already run ten miles. And let me digress back to my lack-of-training mantra:  Hey, if you can run nine, you can run 13. Right? No. That’s wrong. Because when I turned the corner to start up Lookout my legs literally stopped working. I had never in my entire life run more than ten miles in one stretch. My body didn’t know how to comprehend what was going on, and when my mind yelled down to my feet that we were about to jog up a mountain, my lower half literally screamed back, NOPE! Not gonna happen.

So I slowed down to a fast walk, stretching my legs to such a long stride that even while walking I was passing some people who were running. And I caught my breath, drank some water and tried not to get defeated. It was okay to walk! I only had three more miles until I was done. I WAS ALMOST THERE!

I got to the top of Lookout, and started moving my legs to a run again on a good downhill. And it felt surreal. My limbs were like jello and I was literally soaking wet with sweat. And then I gutted it out for the next two miles, and they were the hardest two miles I’ve ever run in my entire life. But it wasn’t like anyone around me was feeling good at that moment either. I heard lots of swearing, lots of grunting and lot of panting. There was a giant beast of a man plodding behind me, and whenever I started to slow down on the steady hills of Broadway, he’d shout, HEY BLONDIE! Get it! Don’t stop now! We’re almost there! And I’d groan back, UGH! I hate this! I can’t do this! And he was right on my tail, encouraging me to keep moving my feet.

And I did. And when I turned onto the final cruel hill, we were already downtown and literally had three blocks left. THREE BLOCKS! And halfway up Walnut, I was about to fall over when I saw Paige and Delilah. And my best friend looked at me with such admiration and screamed, YOU GOT THIS! You are awesome! And my final surge of energy kicked in and I kept moving.

And for the last blocks, the crowds of people and other runners were cheering so loudly I couldn’t even hear my own breath. There were people lined up on both sides of the street, ringing cowbells and shouting. I saw Chris and Taylor and Luke waving their arms in the air as I took my final steps of the race. And then I did it. I CROSSED THE FINISH LINE.

And then someone looped a medal around my neck and I made my way into the crowd to find my family and friends. 

I finally did it! And when I regained feeling into my body, all the emotions and exhaustion bubbled up into my throat and I could barely speak. And I cried. Tears of relief, tears of accomplishment and tears of joy. I am so proud of myself. And you better believe I wore that medal constantly for the rest of the weekend. Who runs half-marathons? THIS GIRL! 

Living in a house of germs

So we’re only a half of a month into 2012, and I’m hoping the last few weeks aren’t indicative of what the rest of our year is going to be like... Sickness. CURSE YOU, PRESCHOOL! Nothing like ushering in the new year with three out of the four of us suffering with nasty headcolds and fevers. Somehow I’ve managed to stay healthy enough to take care of everyone else, which considering the fact that I am the one who is constantly covered in snot and breathing in their germs at close-range, it is a minor miracle that I haven’t been knocked down with the illness. But I just keep overdosing on vitamins and drinking my super-food green smoothies and crossing my fingers that I stay healthy. Because once Mama goes down, it’s officially a dumpster fire.

And I’ve wanted to update you all on our fabulous trip to Birmingham and other happenings, but I’ve been busy trying to heal and comfort Chris, Taylor and Luke. And once they got comfortable, I would then soothe myself with a giant glass of wine and an early bedtime.

But reflecting back for you guys, it really was a wonderful trip south to see my beloved family. Taylor started feeling wiped out right after we got there, so she wasn’t her normal, peppy-self, but my little big man picked up the slack, and was more than happy to own the spotlight while smiling and flirting with his extended Blackwell family.

And Libba and I ran – um, I mean CONQUERED! – the Red Nose Run that Saturday we were there. I am so proud of my sister for her dedication to this sport, and I think I’ve convinced her to run the elusive Asheville half-marathon with me this fall. Hooray for running away the rage!

It was a great visit. I was able to spend some kid-free, quality time with Libba and Granddaddy while I was there, which made my heart very happy. Not that you can’t carry on a conversation while soothing a sick toddler and holding a gigantic, squirmy baby, but you know what I mean. And trust me, the kids got plenty of attention from their beloved Beeba and Dirky.

And, thank goodness, we didn’t pass on any of our sickness to anyone there. Fingers crossed. Because that’s not the kind of lasting impression I want to leave with loved ones. Boogers and coughs. UGH. Sickness be gone!

Family on the run

Last summer I was in the best shape of my life. I was training for the elusive Asheville half-marathon, and was able to run ten-miles at a time up the sides of mountains. I felt like a Nike ad. And then I got pregnant, and for the first ten-weeks Luke was living inside of me, I replaced all vigorous workouts with crippling bouts of morning sickness that would leave me curled around the toilet instead of sweating at the gym. Good thing he turned out to be such a lovely, happy baby. Otherwise I might be a bit resentful that I gave up my goddess-legs for him.

So a few weekends ago the annual JBL Memorial 5k came about, and because Chris works with the organizers of this race, we always pledge to have at least one member of family running in it and helping contribute. And because Chris had been training for the half – because he’s awesome and didn’t push a baby out of his body in April – even though he had promised to run in the 5k he was feeling a bit tired after running his ten-mile warm-up for the following weekend. And so I volunteered to take his place. And when he looked at me and said, Really? You can do it? I shrugged my shoulders and nonchalantly chirped back, Hey, it’s JUST three miles. It’ll be fun.

And so the next morning we got up early and I grabbed my super-wrinkled, bottom-of-the-pile running shorts off the shelf and we made our way to the race. And I’m not gonna lie, I was fidgety and anxious. The electric buzz that surrounds the beginning of a race is intoxicating, and if you’ve ever competed you know what I’m talking about. Your number is safety-pinned on your shirt, your shoes are laced tight and you check everyone else out while half-heartedly stretching out your legs and getting your head wrapped around what you’re about to accomplish. You line up like a herd of livestock, force yourself to take a few deep breaths in and out and then you wait for the bullhorn. It’s amazing. And it just takes one race to be hooked, so imagine taking over a year off from this overwhelming running-high and then be back on the starting line. I was soaring.

But I was only flying emotionally. Because as exciting as it is to run in your first race back, it WAS my first time running more then two miles outside in a year. And while I may work out from time to time, not to mention carry the heaviest five month old in a carrier on my chest every day, I’m not nearly back in running-shape. So while mile one felt great, half-way through mile two I noticed there were old ladies passing me and my side started cramping. And after walking through a water stop near the end, I forced my legs to keep moving until I crossed the finish-line, and eventually ended up getting beat by an eight-year old son of our friends. Oh, and THIS is what I looked like:

Pretty hot, eh? Am I running a race or playing a piano? BUT. I am so lightening fast that Chris couldn’t take a clear picture of me. And I beat those two random other people. Kapow! I’m awesome.

And while I do make fun of myself, I did finish well, just at my thirty-minute goal. And after getting done, I didn’t barf. I actually was ecstatic. And then I got a couple sweet high-fives and hugs from my cheering section.

And you better believe that Taylor and I went straight to the refreshment tent after I was done, loading up on Krispy Kreme donuts and Doritos. Nothing says healthy start to your Sunday like housing a couple glazed donuts and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos after huffing it on the flattest 3.1 mile-course in Asheville.

And after watching some more people finish, they announced that this year they would be holding a kid’s fun-run on the soccer fields after the 5k was finished. And because Taylor’s little buddy, Rell, was going to run in it, my daughter wanted to run in it too. And since she’d never shown any interest in running before, Chris and I were both like, Um, Sweetheart. Do you really want to run? Because we can just cheer if you want? To which she housed the rest of her pre-game chippies and answered back, I’m running too, Mama! And so we signed the waiver, transferred my race bib onto her shirt and put her on the start line.

How cute is that? It was way more adorable in person, with all the kids squealing and the parent’s cheering.

And when Taylor crossed the finish line, she had the biggest smile on her face and was so proud of herself. And we were so proud of her too. Our little runner.

As we were driving home, she sat back in her seat with a kung-fu grip on her ribbon and kept jabbering to Luke, YUKE! Mama and me run a race. You and Daddy cheer for us. You say, Go, Mama! Go, Taylor!

Well the following weekend Chris was able to get his running-high, but in much stronger dose, as he huffed it on the hardest, hilliest 13.1 mile-course in the Southeast. He had signed up for the half-marathon in February, and trained off and on throughout the spring and summer. And he’ll be the first to tell you that he was in much better shape the previous year, so when we showed up bright and early that morning for the start, you could see a bit of anxiety in his face as he envisioned what the next two hours of his life would be like.

But we saw him off, then I took the kids and we cheered him on at the halfway point, and then met him again at the finish line. And he did so well... Finishing just two minutes longer than his trained-for time last year. I am so proud of him.

Now, if only Luke could step it up and start racing with us, then our fanatical little running family would be complete. Come on, Buddy! You’re already FIVE months old. Don’t be a slacker.

Just kidding. Kind of. Hey, YOU try carrying 20-pounds on your chest everyday. Like I said before, Good thing he’s so cute.

Great times with great friends

About six months ago I was on the phone with Emily, my college roomie and bestie, gabbing on and on about how much we missed each other, our respective crazy lives and common interests, and we started talking about running. Both Em and I had started running-running during the beginning of the year, and were remarking on how awesome it felt to up our distances and how much better we felt physically and emotionally after a good run. So then I threw it out there – Hey, Em. Why don’t you come down to Asheville and run the Half-Marathon with me in September? To which she answered with an enthusiastic, Okay!

So last weekend, after nearly three years since the last time we saw each other, Taylor and I waited anxiously at the airport for Emily and her husband, Mike, to arrive in Asheville. And it was all I could do to not tackle her to the ground the minute I saw her. This woman is my soul sister, and just the sight of her made me get tears in my eyes.

And, of course, she and Mike were pretty excited to meet Taylor. And Taylor was more than happy to show-off for company the whole weekend. In fact, Miss T kept referring to Em and Mike as HER friends, as in, Mom. I wanna go play with MY friends.

And even though the primary reason they came in last weekend was for the Half, a race that both my body and my doctor wouldn’t let me run, we all got up bright and early on Saturday to cheer on Chris and Em as they rocked the grueling 13.1-mile course.

And I am so proud of both of them. Especially my husband, who killed it with an amazing time of 1:59:59 on one of the hilliest half marathon courses in the country.

It was also a super treat to be able to watch an Iowa game with other true – read, OBSESSED – Hawkeye fans. And even though the final score wasn’t in our favor, we all stayed up into the wee-hours of Sunday morning cheering on our Hawkeyes in that emotional rollercoaster of a game.

And after sleeping in a bit on Sunday, we all drove North on the Blue Ridge Parkway to soak in the sunshine and marvel at the views.

And for their final night in town, we opted for a toddler-free night of drinks and dinner at the Grove Park and downtown. Not that having Taylor with isn’t a good time, but sometimes it nice to indulge in places that don’t offer kiddie-meals.

All-in-all, it was an absolutely amazing weekend. And other than it going by way too fast, I was so happy to be able to spend some quality time with my friend. Even though we are so far apart in distance, Emily holds such a special place in my heart and in my life. Thank you so much, Friend. Best weekend ever.

Go Daddy Go

Yesterday morning we got up bright and early to cheer Chris on as he ran in the JBL Memorial 5k. And because I ran in this event last year, I gave him the same pep-talk he gave me while I was stretching for last year’s race – Babe. If you’re not first, you’re last.

Inspirational words that he pretty much took to heart, being that he finished 14th out of the 200-plus runners with an impressive time of 22:40. Way to go, Speedy!

Taylor cheering on Chris at the finish line.

Enjoying a post-race treat.

I am so proud of my husband, and can’t wait to cheer him on at the Asheville half marathon next weekend. Yep, I said Cheer not Run With. I hate even talking about it, but after training so hard for so long, I pulled a muscle in my hip during a long run in July that I never was fully able to recover from. And after suffering through a seven mile run last week and then talking with my doctor, we both decided that it would be best to sit this race out and listen to my body.

And after pounding the pavement for the past year to get ready for the half, I would be totally crushed about not being able to run if it weren’t that one of my bestest friends and old college roommate, Emily, and her husband, Mike, are coming into Asheville for the weekend. And the chance to spend time with such a great friend is way better than crossing any finish line.

Run Momma Run

Yesterday morning I competed in my first ever 10k, and as I sit down now to reflect on the race, I can just finally feel my legs getting stiff and lower back twinge with exhaustion. Because up until the moment I just sat down, I have been riding such a wicked high from starting and finishing a challenging 6.2-mile course that I watched even the most experienced runners stop and walk on. The Shamrock 10k started and ended at Asheville Catholic School, which is the school affiliated with our church, and winded you through the Grove Park neighborhood, up a mountain that overlooks the Inn and then back down through the Rose Garden on your way back. And if you’re not from this area, let me just simplify that for you: I ran up a MOUNTAIN.

And even though I had already practiced running the course, that steep incline up Cherokee kept me up the night before the race. And I also started to get nervous when I read the quote from Father Sheridan of St Eugene’s regarding the race in the paper the day before – “I rode up the 10k course in the car, and the car had trouble. The 5k has some hills, but it’s not as bad as the 10k. I told the parish, anyone doing the 10k, I’ll be there to give them their last rites.” Thanks for the pep-talk, Father.

Oh. And I was also a bit anxious about the race because all the pre-registered competitors’ tags were numbered alphabetically, making yours truly numeral uno. No pressure.

And because it was a SHAMROCK 10k, St Patrick’s Day is just around the corner and green is just a good-looking color, my friends Paige, Kelley and Lessye decided festive attire was a must.

Well. I was a ball of nerves before the race. A even with Chris and T coming with to cheer me on, I was almost too anxious to eat breakfast that morning. I stretched and was ready to go by the time they pulled the trigger, and after fighting through the initial mass of runners and finding a good pace, I settled into my run and jammed out to my iPod. My playlist was timed to the course, with First Tube pumping through my ears and propelling my legs up the side of the mountain. And I started to pass people. I even passed some obvious hardcore runners, complete with their skeletal frames and bionic gear. And I didn’t let the incline get into my head. And then I finished. And other than labor, it was the most physically challenging thing I have ever done. But, I finished. I crossed the finish line in 1:02, scoring me as the 12th fastest female in my age group. Which, out of 350-plus runners, makes me say, Yea, me!

And all of Team Momma kicked some serious tail at the race, with Lessye finishing in less than an hour, and Paige and Kelley right behind me.

And I’m so proud of all of my friends, especially Paige for deciding to run it at the last minute as a birthday present to herself. Happy Birthday, Friend – I am so proud of us!

A family that runs together

So I mentioned last month that Chris and I are planning on running in the Asheville Half-Marathon this upcoming September, and what better way to prep for the 13.1 mile race than to run in a 5k this morning. Being the planner I am, I have set various benchmark races throughout the next few months to track my progress as a runner. This week a 5k, next weekend is a 10k and, though I have yet to register for it, there is a 15k in May that I’m planning on running.

And because Chris is training for the half too, we took advantage of today’s race because it allowed us to push T in her jogging stroller. And by US I mean Chris. Because he’s a boy, and if given the opportunity I would rather NOT propel an extra 40-pounds around the course. Thanks, Babe.

And while it was an actual planned event and we all had numbers, even Taylor, it was a free race, and therefore not timed or placed. BUT, of all the runners competing, yours truly finished third of all the female racers. THIRD. Which means I am fast. Yes, I have been labeled Fast for various things in my life – driving, talking, channel surfing – but never, NEVER, have I ever been labeled a Fast Runner. Until today. And, even better, my friend and training partner, Kelley, finished fourth for the girls. How awesome is that?

So even though I’m gloating about my AWESOME finish, I must also brag on Chris for finishing closely after me, pushing an extremely peeved Taylor in the jogger. Apparently our princess forced him to stop at each water stop, WAH-TUR!, so she could douse herself each loop. Which not only added time to Chris’s run, but also resulted in a cold, wet little girl at the end of the race. So this was the best attempt at a Famous Amys post-race picture I could get:

Yep. NOT a happy camper.

Oh well. Not even a Taylor-tantrum could squash this fast-runner’s excitement.