Night before...

In less then 12 hours I hope to be done with it. If I can hit my goal time I will be done with this race in 12 hours from now.

I'm nervous. Thoughts like what if I don't have it in me, what if I don't have what it takes, what if the desire to quit overrides the desire to finish?

I think I got most nervous when I went downtown to pick up my packet. Seeing my name on a bib that says "10 mile". It looks so big written down. I also to glimpse the finishers medal. So much of me is fighting for that medal. I've never had won. I've never won anything. The fear and not quite understand truly how much pain I will be in, in only a few hours are still outweighed right now by the desire to have that medal around my neck. To show up at the parade and show my little niece what her Auntie has done.

I want to do this thing. I really, really, really want to finish this. In under two hours. :)

6 days and counting...

Today is Monday, Saturday I race.

I signed up for a facebook app that will update my fcebook as I cross each mile marker so my family, friends and fans can follow my progress through the miles. Read: I added a pointless piece of crap to my facebook page so for a few minutes of my day I can believe that someone out there cares whether or not I finish this thing.

I just told my Mom I am taking her to Disney World for Christmas. Well not for Christmas, for the Disney Princess Half Marathon  in Feburary. There is no going back now, I'm going to run a marathon in my 26th year!!

I say publically that I don't care whether or not anyone is at the finish, at this point in my training and my week I just want the thing to be over. I just want to be done training, done fantasizing, done with this thing. I'm scared, I'm wondering now if I really have what it takes to finish this thing. I have not lost any weight, in fact I think I might be doing the oppisite, is it possible that while I've been working out like a crazy person I've actually been gaining weight and that my face looks puffy?

I'ts convienrent for my training that I'm hurting tonight. That silly kind of hurt that you would never admit to publically because it would just reveal how pathetic you are. That kind of hurt. That makes you cry when you are alone in your car but swear your ok when someone texts you? The kind of hurt that makes you listen to smutty rap music and run hard and fast, happy that the weights are your ankles are cutting holes into your feet? Yea, I'm there tonight. Aware that I'm fully PMS-ing but still aware that your heart stings for good reason? I run harder on those nights. I care less about how much it hurts. I wonder if I can hold onto that until Saturday? If that can be enough to push me 10 miles...

I bought new running shoes. They are my dream shoes in the wrong color. I love them.

Do I care?

I have been away from the blog for a few days. I've also been away from my neurotic ways of working and eating. I've still been at the gym busting ass but I have started to feel the effects. I'm trying in my ignorant ways to keep myself at the pace I'm going but not allow the pains and old injuries to turn into something that actually stops me from doing what I need to do.

Finish that race in under 2 hours.

I'm starting to get scared that might not happen. I'm wondering if my pace is upping quick enough, if my mileage is upping soon enough. If I care enough.

I was out of town with the Jr. Highers this week. Staying in the moment and investing in kids that do life better than me. I love those kids. I love talking to them because I actually believe what I say sometimes. It's been what feels like a lifetime since the last time I was here, a lot has happened in that time and I feel like I have been there now. Like I've been into the throne room of Christ, I've seen His face and felt His touch. And I'm so convinced that it was real that I have something to give them. I have the scent of Him on me sometimes.

I went to a friends softball game last night. Got a little goofy and liked an excuse to keep myself in the moment and not worry about the things that surround me. I find myself holding my breath still, waiting for my life.

I started daydreaming about the finish line today. I was driving to my Mom's and started thinking about what it would feel like to see it in my sights, to summon the strength to break into that last sprint, to look over and see Izze, Jenny, my Mom cheering me on. I was not scared today, I'm not scared that I won't make it, I'm not scared that odds are none of those ladies will be at the finish line, I'm not scared that the clock is going to say 2.20 when I'm coming in. I'm scared because I really didn't care if that is reality. I was scared because I don't know if I care anymore.

No going back now.

This morning I registered for the race...

This afternoon I don't know how smart of an idea that is. My morning workout went as well as I expected it to. Another 3 miles straight which was another small success. (This morning thou I did sweat and as much as I tried could not barter the adult part of myself out of a shower).

My workday was evidence enough that my afternoon at the gym was going to be interesting. Twice I had to break a preschooler. (I will take him on a "motor break" when he starts getting overly antsy in class and is nearing the verge of losing control of his body). Typically I drag him along through the halls (our school is built in a circle making this perfect) always a few steps ahead so that he has to keep a pretty good pace to keep up with me, thus tiring him out and sending him back to class a little calmer. Well today by our second lap around the school he was dragging me. My legs are tight and my knees are begging me to quit.

I had a ministry meeting in-between work and workout so my body got a lot of time to sit and do nothing while I was stuck in traffic on the highway. This is the first time I've headed to the gym hungry. I've kept my diet incredibly restricted and regulated this week. Counting out portions and employing more measuring cups and plastic baggies then I care to admit to. I should have known I was in trouble when I was still daydreaming about food as I walked into the gym. By the time I was changed and ready to hit the treadmill again my muscles had morphed into red hot fire pokers ripping through my legs. My shoulders and back ache. And so out of hunger, physical pain and mental exhaustion I let myself quit at a half mile. I got on a bike and pulled out 4 miles in 20 minutes and headed to the grocery store.

Part of my brain is telling me it was a smart choice. I limped out of the gym and wouldn't bend my left knee because of the pain in my thighs. (Which is actually quite a sight. As I've gotten older we've begun to realize that I'm pretty bow legged. I actually wear through shoes really awkwardly because I walk with my feet pointed outward (a drastic difference from my sister whose completely pigeon toed) and walk on the outside of my heels. When I realize it I will occasionally make a conscious choice to walk with my feet uncomfortably straight because I think it looks dainty and lady like. Snowboard boots and flip flops look ok turned outward but ballerina flats and heels look out of place when they stick out sideways.  Anyways at twenty five my knees have turned outward and point to the sides. It's not crippling and most of the time it's only the people spend lots of time with me or ironically children who seem to notice. So it's quite funny to watch me when I'm in that much pain that I will keep my knee clenched straight instead of bending it to walk normally. I will step down straight as if my foot is connected to my hip but my knee will swing so far out that it extends even farther out then my hip and shoulder. I must look like such a goon). I came home, showered and prepared my small group lesson for tomorrow nights ministry with the 8th grade girls.

I'm telling myself that my 4 mile bike is counting for a rest day and I will try again tomorrow. I'll be wearing a new Twins shirt that got left behind by someone who decided to sneak into my car while I was at work and leave it there. It's got the fancy American League Central Division Champions logo on it and was left with a note that said, "Sorry about your loss." So I will wear it tomorrow for game one to spit whoever it is that left it there as one last dig at my White Sox this year.

I'm registered. I have sixty four George Washington resembling reasons not quit and with my measly paycheck this month that is reason enough. Part of me is scared, today was day three and I allowed myself to quit. What's going to stop me from quitting during the race? How am I ever going to hit 10?The pain was too much to push through today and I wused out.

When we send kids home because they can't stay in school my co-worker always sends them out with, "Ok buddy, we'll try again tomorrow."

"Ok Mandi, we'll try again tomorrow."

Training Day 1

The training portion of day one is done and here are my newest discoveries.

1. Two-A-Days suck!
2. When I can conquer my head, I can conquer anything.

I woke up this morning having spent far too much of my night battling my brain for sleep. I'm on prescription meds to put me out every night. I've been on them for over two years and my body now realizing it's own physical addiction some night attempts to fight the drugs and stay up as late as it pleases and wake up as often as it wants. Last night was one of those nights.

I woke up with one of those empty kinds of headaches. Where your head feels like a cave and the only thing in it is a echoing kind of pain. I forced myself into something that resembles proper running attire and headed for the gym. On the drive over I forced down half a peanut butter sandwich with flax and two Advil. Remembering someone's advice that if you down a bottle of water first thing in the morning it jump starts your metabolism, I tried that too.

I struggled through two miles on the treadmill. I mean I really struggled, I walked for at least the first ten minutes and then dragged my sorry butt into a 13.45min/mile pace. I was tired but convinced at some point during the day I was going to appreciate what I was putting myself through. My youngest sister spent the last week with my iPod in Vegas so I tried keeping my head still enough to read the ticker on CNN without noise and force myself not to quit on my last half mile.

I kept looking at my watch battling against myself whether I was going to pick up the pace so I would have time to shower and get in a quick Bible study at Caribou when I stopped to get my $1 Special Monday morning coffee. (Hey, if we're going to put my body through boot camp this month, may as well see if I can train my Spirit into some consistency too.)I decided to barter away the shower for the slower pace. (I wasn't going to sweat anyways).

Work went by as normal as a Monday morning in an Elementary School can go. A preschooler who thought he was a gorilla, a Kindergartner whose scared of gorillas, a 3rd grader who broke up a fight by head-butting the assailant, and a 5th grader who stopped speaking and will only do school work on the hallway floor. I love my job. Even an old co-worker who is still near and dear to my heart noticed I am less stressed and walk with an air of confidence when I pass her in the halls. But I will be honest, by the end of the afternoon I am typically looking forward to the bell. But around 2 this afternoon I was dreading the end of the day because it meant another work out. At least this morning I had my day to look forward to; Coffee, a quiet moment with Beth Moore and the book of Daniel, the never-ending adventures with the kids and a tin of Altoids I keep hidden in my desk drawer. This afternoon I knew I had to the up milage, my right knee was biting back and I didn't even have anything good planned for dinner.

I forced myself into a quick change in the gym and headed back out unto the same treadmill as this morning. I quickened my pace right away, hoping the faster I went the sooner it would get over. I should be honest, I've done close to 20 official 5k races. My best recorded race time is 31.34. But I have never ran 3 miles straight without slowing down to walk. (Whether to catch my breath, reestablish my pace, or rub out a cramp). I have never run 3 straight miles until tonight that is. Again without an iPod and with a touch more resolve than this morning I started. I trained my eyes to stare at TV number 7 which was playing Judge Judy and didn't allow myself to look anywhere else but down at the treadmill once every set of commercials. I allowed my brain to focus on my favorite daydream when it was able but after mile one for most of the run my brain would just go blank.

My upper body went through it's typical aches and pains. The sharp shooting pain in my collar bones and upper chest as the muscles realize my pumping arms won't be stopping anytime soon. My right knee creaks for the first bit and the toes in my left foot slam against the tops of my shoes forcing me to curl them inward until they cramp when I can release them and my toes are too numb to care that the toe nails will be gone by the end of the week.

I realized near the end of mile one that I had not stopped. It started to take more control to keep my mind focused and the temptation to look away from Judge Judy became greater. Half way through mile two it became really hard to keep going. My brain had realized I was going to make it without stopping to walk or slowing down at all. In fact by mile two I had sped up to race goal pace. When I allowed my brain a moment to celebrate my impending achievement I instantly set myself up against it. It was taking all of my mental energy not to quit and this was only 3 miles, that's only a little over a quarter of what I have to run. And the familiar demons of failure and doom started to spread their stink in the corners of my mind. Somewhere I found the courage to start repeating to myself, "You don't think about how far you have to go, you think about how far you have come. You don't think about how far you have to go, you think about how far you have come." Until I could train my brain back into fuzziness and my eyes back unto the screen. I refused to let the humidity or the sticky, sweat to trigger asthma and forcibly kept my breath slow, calm, controlled.

When I was sure I had hit three miles I was quick to shut the treadmill off and head to the locker rooms. It spun for a while but by the time I got in the car and started noshing my post workout cup of Kashi I'd gotten the world to stand back right side up in my eyes. Sweat dripped down my face and into my eyes as I drove to my Mom's to see my sister and retrieve my iPod. And a grin curled up around the corners of my mouth. I was tempted to text a few of my friends to share my great achievement and then I realized how little it must seem in the light of all of life. I ran 3 miles, big deal. But something about my little secret achievement makes me keep smiling. I ran 3 miles!

Did it have to do with the embarrassing two-miler this morning, or the specific times I forced myself to eat peanut butter or almonds? Maybe, Probably. Was it related to the fact that I literally battled tears while I forced myself back into the gym? That I hated myself so much for making me do it that I was going to show my disciplined side? My greatest pout, my success? Maybe. No, thirty six some odd minutes to run three miles is not my crowning achievement by any means, it's not fast, it's not skill and it's for sure not what I'm aiming for. But it's three miles, it's three miles.  All I know is that today was a success and on the first day, that was all I needed.

In a few minutes I'm heading with my "big sister" to our friend's softball games which will put us home well after 11. I'd like to see my body try fighting sleep tonight.

And tomorrow, we'll do it all over again!

10 in 10.

DO OVER! I'm starting over.

The blog at least. Pretend you don't know me. Or maybe you don't. Start reading now. From now on I plan on being this amazing writer with an even more amazing life that will  keep you glued to your screen and find yourself distracted at work hoping and wishing for my next entry. Maybe now would be a good time to start reading.

Or maybe not. I'm find myself on the tail end of 25 and when I look around me, as much as I love my life and the people and things that surround me, I cannot help but see and feel failure in every area of life that I am.

Its hard for me to say that. To admit to it, or to find people or places in life where I can. I am in a place both in my job and my ministry in which I have and instill immense value in other peoples life. I have what I know to be an invaluable gift to see the best in people. (Particularly the people that are under the age of 18). I spend my days investing in the best of us and teaching and learning and journeying with people who deserve success. I can see doctors and lawyers and basketball players and CEO's in kids written off with ADHD, Autism, EBD and just plain naughty. I can see 8th grade girls walking in the freedom and beauty of Christ where the rest of the world sees the lost and the broken and the young. The immature and the unwilling. When I think of my "sisters"; Jen, Jess and Abbi, my niece Isabelle, when I view their present circumstances, when I dream about their futures I can see what I only can describe as beautiful. Success is too small of a word. They can, they are, they will.

But when I look at me I can't. I can see it in everyone else. In the people I love, the beautiful, wonderful, people I live my life with. The people God has entrusted into my hands. Even the people I don't love, the people who don't smell good, the ones you don't want to scoop into your arms and cuddle and love. Even there for the sheer fact that justice must exist and that this life owes them another shot, even those lives I can see hope. I love to see hope in. I love to fight for.

But me. I'm a different story. When I look at me I see,

Finances so f-ed that I have long since accepted the fact that I will never be on the other side of debt. I have understood that the choices I made as a child, as a teenager with my money will follow me into adulthood, will follow me for the rest of my life. I have spent the last many years learning how to cling on for dear life by a finger hold or two. Sometimes it comes to the point where all I am clinging on by is one last finger. I'm a good person, I was a good kid. I just got a letter that the people who are suing me have defaulted the lawsuit on me. I don't know what the means but I know it means I'm in trouble. I know it means that a little bit wasn't good enough and that trying to hide it all and figure it all out on my own didn't work this time. I know it means that karma has come right around to bite me and running away from the scary things won't work anymore.

I've not so publicly taken the semester off. When I do actually come to the point of being able to say that out loud it will be because I need time to help myself transition into a new job. (Which is mostly true). But the truest part about it is, It's a last ditch effort to not fail out of my private Christian school at my 4th attempt at getting through school with my BA. Not my Masters or my PH.D my bachelors.

I'm single. Which is something that scares me. It didn't used to, but now it does. One of my best friends told me this morning I need to learn how to take care of myself before I bring someone else into the mix. Which I know is true, I know it's especially true in her mind in light of the conversations she's walked into with me in the last few weeks. But I think at 25, (on the tail end of 25) your supposed to know how to take care of yourself. There are a lot of things that we think we're supposed to have figured out that we never will and I'm ok with that part of being human but there are a lot of things I think I'm supposed to know by now, that I don't. Or if I know them, I don't do them. Or I don't do them well. Any of the above choices is failure in my mind.

I've unexpectedly found myself on an Autumn time journey of self discovery  but I'm not sure I like what I'm finding but I'm pretty sure no one else does. I think I'm not as great a friend as I give myself credit for. I'm quieter then I thought I was. (Well sometimes). The things that I used to be incredibly sensitive about don't bother me as much anymore, but new things do. And instead of tears it seems my new default emotion is anger. While I have found myself managing to get through life by a few fingers gripping this side of the mountain, it seems the only finger still holding on is my middle one.

And so I'm running.

I don't know whether I'm running to keep my head above water. I don't know if I'm running because I could drown if I don't, and I'm really scared of what drowning looks like today. I don't know if I'm running because I'm stressed, because I'm scared, because I'm sad, or because this is a socially acceptable way to keep on running away. I don't really know why I'm running yet, but I'm willing to find out.

I guess for October, I'm willing to explore. I'm guess I willing to find out at least on the run, who I am, why I'm running, or what I'm running for.

So I'm running.

And I start tomorrow. I'm running a 10 mile race on Halloween weekend and I start training tomorrow. October 4th. I should probably tell you, I haven't been to the gym since August.

It's crazy and trust me I know by no means is this the typical (or honestly healthy) way to train for a run. But it excites me. If there is anyone who would want to do something crazy like this it would be me. If there is anyone who could choose the intense control and disciple it's going to take to survive this thing I can. If there is anyone who needs a goal, as simple and shallow as a race may be, it's me. If there is anyone who needs something to work for, something you can see and feel and touch to remind me I'm still human it's me. If there is anyone who needs something to strive for, to work for, to be proud of it's me. I need to know there is something out there that I don't fail at.

And so I'm running, and I'm writing about it.