Just Do It.

This morning was like any other morning, except that my alarm went off 15 minutes earlier than normal. The alarm clock enforcer, also known as my cat, Jaxx, was quick to jump up by my face and remind me with his tiny, indignant squeals that this meant it was time to be awake. I sat up, and it became clear that something wasn't right. Upon further inspection, it appeared that one of my toes had swelled up inexplicably overnight. And it hurt. A lot.

I stumbled around the apartment and found some breakfast. I ate it and squinted angrily at the screen of my phone. As it does every day, the time that I tell myself I am going to leave for my run quickly approached. I grumbled, alone, on the couch. I looked at my weather app to try and give me another reason to skip this one, but it said 31 degrees - feels like 31 degrees. 30 degrees warmer than my last run. No excuses.

I groggily pulled some tights out of the closet. Socks out of the dryer. A running top off of the drying rack. My other cat, Pepper, looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to sit back down so that he could curl up on my lap. Instead, I put on my running shoes.

As soon as I got outside, it was a whole different world. The sky was still white, whiter than the two-day-old blanket of snow on the ground. The ice had melted. The breeze was calm.

I don't think I have ever written about an everyday run. Training for a marathon means a lot of mornings spent making a choice: do I give into my petty doubts and grumbles? Or do I suck it up and know that I'll thank myself later?

So I ran. I watched the sky turn from white to peach to blue. I stopped to pick slush out of my socks. Twice. A minivan honked at me. I thanked the people who stopped for me at crosswalks. I cursed the hills, still covered in inches of muck, for making me work twice as hard. And yet, I felt a sense of peace. Some days, it's not about the finish line, or even the starting line. It's about getting to work. And I tell you, if the Boston Marathon takes place in 2 inches of slush this year, I will be ready to take on every Kenyan.

Tomorrow, we take on Heartbreak for the first time. Let's get to work.

Balance

There has been a lot going on these days that has me thinking about balance. There are so many different things in our lives pulling us in so many directions. Balancing work life with home life. Balancing the care we provide to others with the attention we give ourselves. Balancing the need to make progress toward our long-term goals with the risk of burning out in the short term.

I have always been the type of person who needs routines. There has always been an order to the way I get ready for work. Ready for bed. It was easy for me, at first, to fall into the routine of a training schedule. The problem with relying on routines, however, is when I begin to hate them. I let myself fall into a trap last winter where I was completing the vast majority of my runs in the gym, on the treadmill. It started because the sidewalks in town were so often totally lost under inches of ice and my routes were cut off by frequent, hip-high snowbanks. However, since I was also completing my cross-training in the gym, it meant that every morning consisted of the same minutes and hours spent willing myself to get in the car and drive there. Worse, I would often put it off for so long that I would make myself late, cutting into the time I needed to get ready for work and messing up my other routines. I recall one day I made it to work with one ring on. I typically wear one on each hand, and I was so confounded as to how I could remember to put on one and not the other. Off-balance.

This year, I am taking a different approach. Rather than spending every day at the gym, I have a) stayed outside for every run I possibly could and b) tried to change up my cross-training routine. Thus, I discovered hot yoga. I feel years behind my friends who tried this out ages ago, but now, I'm in love. How in love? Let me name the ways.

1) First word: HOT. I forgot that I can get in a workout and still feel my face afterwards. I hate being cold and it's such a nice reward to have days where I don't have to brave the elements longer than the walk from my car to my office and back.
2) Second word: Yoga. I had not really thought about the fact that, while running makes me stronger, it has also taken away some of my flexibility. My muscles know how to pound out repeated strides these days, and little more. I didn't realize how much I needed a good stretch until I got to the mat.
3) Each workout is completely outside my control. What I mean by that is that the class is run by an instructor who is guiding us through a flow, and I do not have to plan a route, or a pace. There are no numbers. There is no watch. Someone else calls the shots.
4) Each workout is completely within my control. I can decide how deep to take each lunge. How far to stretch each twist. How much to push myself. 

Lastly, I feel as though the philosophy of practicing yoga itself has the potential to change the way I think about approaching each morning, regardless of what my schedule says. I will check in with myself and decide what I need today. I will shut my eyes and close my mouth and just breathe.

I love running; I do. But allowing myself to take a day off and do something completely different has perhaps made me appreciate my outdoor days that much more. 

This realization also has me thinking differently about the other conflicting forces in my life. I feel so stressed out this time of year about the vast number of people I feel obligated to see, but maybe I just need to adjust my expectations. Yes, I would love to catch up with this friend, but instead of coordinating with our other 9 friends and trying to set up a giant dinner date, maybe what we need is to just sit on the couch covered in blankets and drink tea and talk. Maybe I need to make sure I schedule at least one day to go nowhere and snuggle with my kittens and not feel guilty about it. Maybe I just need to mange my own expectations of myself. 

Ambition is important. Setting and reaching long-term goals is important. But from now on, I will be making sure I balance all of the energy I put into my training and my job and all of the many relationships in my life with something else. I will close my eyes and check in: "What do I need today?" 

Coalition

The [Newton] Hills are alive... with the sound of runners' feet on pavement. This morning was the first Marathon Coalition training run for the 2014 Boston Marathon. 

Running with a team has been the most amazing experience for me. People who started the experience as strangers have seen me at my very best, and very worst. Last year, if I was having a rough run, my teammates would make me laugh until I forgot how bad I was hurting. They knew when to push me and when to let me finish on my own terms. One knew that tricking me into racing the last quarter mile would almost always work. I ran a half-marathon PR alongside a runner I had hardly spoken to before that day. 

Yes, we are all running for our respective charities, and that's what gets us up every morning to do our individual runs. However, those long runs require a kind of pluck and mental fortitude that is hard to conjure up alone. One of the biggest hills on the marathon course doesn't get much press because it's a downhill part of the course, but we run UP that hill fairly often on our out-and-back routes. One of the strongest memories I have of training was on what I think was a 17- or 18-miler. We had run through Newton, up said giant hill and through Wellesley, and had turned around to start the steep decline. Halfway down the hill, the woman in front of us saw one of her charity teammates struggling, still on her way up. She turned around and ran up the rest of the hill with her. When we mentioned to her after the run how nice it was of her, she shrugged it off and said, "I'd do anything for that woman." 

I didn't realize how strongly I felt about my teammates until I was unable to see them after the 2013 marathon. I knew how far each of them had come to make it to Boston, physically and mentally, and it would have meant just as much to me to celebrate for each of them as to celebrate for myself.

We will have our opportunity to celebrate together at the finish line of the 2014 Boston Marathon, but for now, I just plan to enjoy every minute I get to spend with each of them.

 

So Close, So Far...

Monday was my first official day of training for the 2014 Boston Marathon. It's been a rough process getting back up to speed, and I'm still not where I want to be. I took a long break this summer - well over two months - and I am reminded that there is nothing more frustrating than suffering through workouts I know I can run much faster and more comfortably. My three-mile runs seem to stretch on into eternity, and the thought of running eight, let alone 26, makes me want to curl up in the fetal position.

I haven't posted about my students in a long time, but I have been thinking about them every day that I have been out on the pavement this month. I realized that it has become easy for me to try to placate students who have had a barrier come up that will set them back a year. Maybe the scholarship money didn't come through. Maybe they weren't accepted to their program of choice. Maybe their citizenship paperwork has been inexplicably held up for the fourth time. How many times have I told students that taking a year to go to community college, or another one of the institutions to which they were accepted, is not the worst thing in the world? That they can do their best academically this year and apply again when the circumstances will allow them to?

Just after the marathon, I wasn't focused on what it would take to get me back to the starting line; I just knew that nothing could keep me from running Boston in 2014. I can't even tell you how many times I've said "half a mile" in the last six months, talking about how close I was to the finish line. Today, like many of my disheartened students, I feel farther away than ever. I will log 587.7 miles before I finally get my opportunity to finish that last half-mile. Now there are days where all I can think about are the long, cold Saturday mornings ahead of me. The ice in my hair. The miles run with numb toes. The hours spent shivering on the couch, nursing depleted muscles.

Having been through all this before, however, I know that the highs are just as frequent as the lows. I've found a mantra that's been working for me so far: "Patience. Discipline." The speed and ease that I was able to run with this spring will come back to me. All I have to do is the same thing I did last year: get out of bed every morning and put in the slow, cold, wheezy miles. I've been thinking those two words very. hard. these past few sub-freezing mornings. This is the sentiment I need to bottle for when my students need it most. Working your hardest for another full year before reaching your goal is a definite setback, but one that promises to make you stronger than ever.

Boston Strong

I've been struggling to think about how to continue the conversation since Marathon Monday and the crazy week that followed. The soreness in my muscles is gone. My sunburn has faded. My toenails are all painted dark purple so that no one can tell which ones are about to fall off. For many of us, it appears that life has returned to normal.

And maybe, for the most part, it has. But even today, something is different. I'm startled by noises that never would have bothered me before. I get choked up driving through downtown Boston. Under the nailpolish, the bruises are still there.

I finally made it out to the memorial at Copley Square this past weekend, before they pack it up and archive it all tomorrow. I'm really glad I was able to see it. What struck me the most, beyond the sheer volume of caps and shoes and written prayers, was seeing the memorials for the four innocents who lost their lives that week. In my subconscious attempt to avoid all the news about the perpetrators, I don't think I'd seen the names of the victims in over a month. It hurt to remember each of them.

Boston Strong. It doesn't mean that we don't have lingering bruises. But it does describe how we should continue to respond to them. For me, it means putting my running shoes back on and hitting the pavement, bruises and all. It means continuing to find a way to do something meaningful for others. Starting projects like this one, created by a fellow member of the Marathon Coalition. It means mustering the courage to ask for help. Being there for someone else.

We owe it to all of the victims not to forget this drive to do better by one another - to be better. I have seen so much good come out of this catastrophe, and we can't stop here.

Steady State

For endurance athletes, a steady state workout is a constant effort that can be sustained over a long period of time. Coming out of a week of tragedy that flipped our lives upside down, I suspect that many of us are approaching our daily lives the same way we would this type of workout. Feeling steady is requiring some effort these days.

Saturday morning, completely free from soreness in my muscles, I set out for my first post-marathon run. It was a warm, gray day, and for the first time in months, I stuck in my headphones to drown out my thoughts while I was running. I took the same route I have most days for the past year since I started this journey, but something felt different. Drivers actually stopped for me at crosswalks. Runners gave a more substantial greeting to each other than the customary wave. I smiled and waved at the police officers who were managing traffic, and called 'thank you' to them as I crossed the street. 

I let all the stress and panic of Friday fall away. I let the confusion and frustration of Monday fade. For the first time in months, I didn't leave the house knowing how many miles I was going to run. I didn't care about my pace. I just ran. I jogged easily up a hill that used to leave me winded and dizzy, and thought about how far I've come since I first set foot on these sidewalks a year ago. I've grown stronger, and not just physically.

As I rounded the corner of my street, my legs picked up and I began to sprint, just as I have at the end of most weekday workouts. I flew past the homes of my neighbors who have supported me and cheered me on throughout this journey. I slowed down at the end of the street, and as I turned around to walk home, the sun suddenly came out, revealing a new spring landscape in front of me. At the same moment, this song started to play on the station I was listening to. And all I could do was cry.

    

May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground.

Unfinished Business

Thank you all for your concern. I am just beginning to be able to put into words what we went through yesterday.

Confusion. I was perhaps half a mile from the finish, feeling unstoppable after reassurance from a co-worker and my Mom, when all runners in front of me suddenly stopped, as though waiting for a traffic light to turn green. No one knew why we weren't moving.

Pain. My calf muscles were cramping already and the sudden stop was extra hard on them. My overworked muscles convulsed in the cold breeze.

Shock. Word began to get around that there had been two explosions ahead of us at the finish line. The amazing spectators had been cheering so loudly for us that we hadn't heard a thing.

Disappointment. We began to realize that we would not complete the marathon, and I couldn't help but feel disappointed that the moment I had envisioned for months, crossing the finish line on Boylston Street, wouldn't be happening.

Isolation. Still no word from anyone outside the race about what was happening. All of the nearby police had taken off toward the finish line long ago. No one could make calls or send messages, but phones all around me were buzzing with worried questions. My phone was waiting for me at the finish line.

Terror. Larger and larger rumors began to spread. Two bombs. Two buildings went up in the explosions. Marathon Sports was hit. Westin Copley (where I was planning to meet my family, friends, and teammates) was hit. My mind began to race toward all the runners I knew who were seconds, minutes in front of me. My family and friends who were waiting to find me. No way to reach them. 

Relief. I happened to find my cousin through the chaos, and with her phone I managed to get in touch with my boyfriend, who could tell my father that I was okay. I talked to my mother and planned to retrace my steps back to her. I got word that most of my teammates were accounted for. The bombs were outdoors and everyone at the Westin was fine.

Frustration. My mother and I walked around for nearly an hour trying to get access to the Westin. Every turn we took was blocked by yet another law enforcement officer who offered no information and urged us to go another block and then try again. No one would say, "Please clear the area and go home," which is apparently what public officials were saying. They just said, "try again at the next block."

We weren't able to get to the Westin. I wasn't able to hug my teammates and tell them all that I was proud of them and glad that they were okay.

Several hours later, at home, finally able to see the scene at the finish line replayed over and over again, I felt immensely grateful. Grateful for the calf cramps and head cold, without which I might have been just five minutes faster. Grateful that I was fortunate enough to be with my cousins in the chaos. Grateful for the anonymous woman who ran out of her apartment and threw a blanket around my shoulders before running off, presumably to help someone else. Grateful to finally hear that everyone on my team was safe. Grateful for the amazing response of everyone at the blast site that could attend so quickly to the many friends-of-friends of mine who were injured, some critically. Grateful for all the calls, e-mails, and messages from friends, family, and acquaintances. Grateful to be able to go home at the end of this day.

Today, it's not my legs that hurt. Not even my calves. It's my heart. Running a marathon, for me and for so many others, is about proving to yourself that you are capable of more than you ever imagined. It is the ultimate test of grit, perseverance, and hope. To see such unspeakable horror at The Marathon, in my home city, is heartbreaking.

This week, those of us who were stopped before the finish will have an opportunity to collect our belongings, and even our finisher's medals. For us, those medals will mean something different than we imagined they would when we started out in Hopkinton yesterday. I think I speak for many of us when I say that we have unfinished business in Boston. We'll be back.

A girl of about 6 years old said it best yesterday as we ran by her in Framingham. She turned to her younger brother and said, "It's not a race; it's a marathon."

Update

I don't yet have words for what happened yesterday. For now, I will defer to my friend and fellow blogger, John. Thank you all for your concern and kind words.

http://sherbornpastor.blogspot.com/2013/04/after-marathon-we-are-ok-we-are-not-ok.html

Tracking Info

So, friends. I just want to start this mostly informational post by telling you that my life-long dream did not come true. Ok, I'm exaggerating, but I was REALLY hoping that I would be assigned bib number 24601. And I came SO CLOSE! Don't know the significance of this number? Watch this video and then we can continue to be friends.

 

Anyway, if you see the winner of said number, a one Michael Simoneau, please give him my regards.

My real bib number is 24390. 

To stalk me on race day, text "Runner" to 345678, and you will be prompted to respond again with my bib number. You should receive a text back with my name!

My super-stalkers will receive updates on my progress at 10k, halfway, 30k, and the finish line.

More info to come as we get even closer to Monday... 5 days and counting...

Spectator Information

There are 15 days until the 15th. I have conquered my last long run (pictured at right, with my running partner, Charlotte, and a gorilla at mile 20), and we are down to single-digit miles until race day. Now that I have stepped foot on every inch of the course from Hopkinton to Kenmore, I can do a better job answering questions for those of you who would like to be out there on Marathon Monday. I've broken down the route by town to help you figure out where you should be!

A few general things that I have already learned:
1) The earlier in the course you see me, the less crowded things will be, and the greater likelihood I will actually be able to stop for a second and say hi.
2) I will need some serious support later on down the course, but those spectators will need to make a significant time investment to secure a spot early in the day and wait for me to get there. Once I arrive, I can't make any promises about my physical or mental state. I will likely just need to keep moving, but will appreciate some water and encouragement.
3) Be visible. Last year, my co-worker, Kira, and I had a Dora the Explorer balloon and several colorful signs (pictured left). Let me know what you'll have in advance so I can look for you. 
4) Know what side you'll be on. I will need to know if I am looking for you on my left or my right as I am running. If you're taking the T, you won't be able to cross the course on foot, so that will dictate what side you're on.
5) Driving is a bad idea. Unless you have a friend's house where you can park and you know the roads will be open in that area, use public transportation.
6) The commuter rail will be running on a WEEKDAY schedule to provide more options for spectators, and the T will have increased service. Bus service may be impacted by the race.
7) The Copley T station will be closed ALL DAY. You can walk to the area from Arlington, Convention Center, Prudential (all Green line), or Back Bay (Orange line/Commuter Rail).

One more general FYI: Charity runners start at the back of the pack; my team is in the 9th corral of runners to go off in the third wave, which starts at 10:40am. You may be out there for a number of hours before you see any of us, so plan accordingly.

Hopkinton (Mile 1)
The roads here close very early in the day, so this option is best for those of you with family in the area or who really want to be at the starting line. It will be pretty crowded on race day, but there are some buses out to Hopkinton from the Framingham Commuter Rail station for spectators.

Ashland (Mile 2-4.8)
The later parts of Ashland are a pretty quiet area of the course and reeeeally boring for runners. There is a commuter rail stop about a mile away from the course (rte. 135) for anyone who's looking to get their spectating in early in the day, or catch runners early and then again toward the finish line!

Framingham (Mile 4.8-7.3)
Parts of Framingham are also pretty boring. We are still on 135 and will pass right by the Framingham commuter rail station (and The Bone, which will give me a wicked hankering for buffalo mac & cheese). I may need to stop for a quick snack just at the end of this stretch.

Natick (Mile 7.3-11)
If I don't stop in Framingham, I will need to stop in the first couple miles of Natick for an energy boost (on our trial run, we stopped right by Natick Animal Clinic). I will also need to give someone in Natick a stash of snacks that I can pick up and carry with me for the rest of the race. My co-worker, Kira, will be staked out at the 10-mile mark (just a few houses to the Framingham side of the intersection of 135 and Washington Ave [not Street!]), which is a bit less chaotic than Natick Center, and won't be gated off. Natick Center is really fun for spectators, but if you're planning on hanging out there, know that I may have a hard time finding you and likely won't be able to stop.

Wellesley (Mile 11-16) 
The first mile or so of Wellesley might be a good, shady place to watch from, but up near Wellesley College is one of the craziest, loudest parts of the course. Where I might need help will be after that madness dies down and I come to the sad realization that we are only halfway through. There are Green Line (D) stops right on Rte. 16 at Wellesley Square and Wellesley Hills. I will need another snack break before I hit Newton. My coach will be at Mile 16 to give me one last pump-up before the hills.

Newton (Mile 16-22)
Newton is rough. And, fortunately and/or unfortunately, I know exactly how rough it is, because this is the section of the course that I run every single Saturday with my team. There are a couple different options for spectators, based on how happy or not happy you want me to be when I pass you. One of the toughest hills is actually very early on in Newton, coming over Rte. 95. If you take the T to Woodland Station and walk past Newton-Wellesley Hospital, it's less than a mile away. It can be a pretty lonely (and windy) part of the course, and it would be great to have some cheerleaders there. Especially since I know what's coming up next. Newton pleasantly flattens out for a bit through some residential space before turning onto Comm Ave (at the Firehouse) and beginning the climb up the 4 Newton Hills, culminating with Heartbreak. You can take the T to Woodland and walk in the other direction to watch at the Firehouse, or to Newton Centre if you want to walk a bit and watch from around the 20-mile mark or stake out a spot on Heartbreak Hill. Once we come up over Heartbreak Hill, we will have plenty of "support" from the Boston College students, who will be trying to feed us beer/vodka and assure us that there is only "half a mile to go!"

Brookline (Mile 22-24.8)
My last snack will likely come just before Cleveland Circle. We will be running through Cleveland Circle, Washington Square, and Coolidge Corner, coming right down Beacon Street (along the C Green Line). These areas will have very lively (and/or drunk) spectators out on their roofs/balconies. I will be very, very tired, as this will be the furthest I have ever run. It might be nice to have a cheering section toward the end of this stretch, but before Kenmore.

Boston (Mile 24.8-26.2)
There's a pretty rough little hill over the Rte. 90 overpass at Mile 25 that is walkable from the St. Mary's or Fenway T-stops (though CAUTION: the closer you get to Kenmore, the crazier things will be, especially because there's usually an early Sox game that will get out around the peak time for runners). Stake out territory early. The closer you get to the finish line from here, the more crowded things will get. If you really want to see me at this part of the race, get there early and bring some chairs (and snacks!) I can't give many helpful hints for the latest part of the course, because I have never run the last mile. I can't promise that I will be cognizant enough to let you know in the moment, but I will really appreciate having familiar faces there. Again, Copley will be closed, but you can get access to the area from Yawkey, Arlington, Kenmore, Back Bay, Prudential, or Hynes Convention Center. 

The Finish Line!
Anyone who is interested in hanging out (and/or drinking) after the marathon is welcome to come join my team in our reserved conference room at the Westin Copley. We will be hanging out there to welcome each of the Marathon Coalition's charity runners as they enter the room as Official Boston Marathon Finishers. It's the "second finish line" for those of us who have been training and bonding together for the last 4 months.


T-shirts!
I still have "Team Beaston" t-shirts available for $15. It will make finding you on race day that much easier! Plus, you'll look awesome.

THANK YOU ALL for your support, whether it has been emotional, nutritional, and/or financial. I couldn't have made it this far without you all.

To communicate with me and other spectators about your intended location, please use this Facebook page!

Next week I will post my bib number and tracking information! This is all getting so real...

Lastly, here are a couple more resources and links for you to do some more of your own spectating research!
Official Spectator Info from the BAA
Interactive Mile-By-Mile Map of the Course
Another Runner's Breakdown of the Course by Mile

The Final Countdown

Tomorrow I will run the furthest distance I have ever traversed on foot in my entire life (trumping the 20-mile Walk for Hunger that follows much of the Marathon route). These 21 miles begin at the Boston Marathon starting line in Hopkinton, and conclude at the top of Heartbreak Hill. This blog has focused on the importance of starting lines in my life, and it feels a little surreal that tomorrow I will step foot on THE starting line for the first time. I will finally have a shot at those first downhill miles, and finally know how it feels to climb the dreaded Newton hills with 17 miles already behind me. I feel insane saying that I'm excited.

Believe it or not, I think the next three weeks before Marathon Monday may be even harder than the past three weeks, which included a grueling, uncomfortable 19-miler in several inches of slush. Our coach, Rick, struck a chord with me when he said that being forced to taper will feel like being 3 weeks away from finals and having your professor tell you not to open your books or consult your notes before the exam, because you already know everything you could possibly know. Anyone who knew me in college can vouch that this would not fly with me; incessant flashcard quizzing and note re-writing often continued until seconds before my exams began. 

Knowing that I will have to rely on the training I have done already and use these next few weeks just to maintain my fitness level and rest my muscles is terrifying. The doubt creeps in--what if I haven't done enough? What if I'm not ready? How can I possibly slack off for three weeks and then wake up and run a marathon?

I can identify now with the stress my students have been expressing since January. Many of them submitted their college applications in November or even October, and are still waiting until April 1st to hear back from their top choice colleges. They look back at their essays and worry that they came off sounding trite. They wonder if their teacher recommendations were as glowing as they had hoped. All they can do now is maintain their grades and pray that they did enough to get in.

Thankfully, just like our students have their Bottom Line counselors to rely on, I have coaches like Rick and experienced teammates to convince me that I have put in the work and that I will survive. I can focus on other aspects of my preparation, like nutrition and race planning. Whether these next three weeks drag on or fly by, Marathon Monday is coming. And one way or another, I'll be ready.

Capable

I can't believe this is my first blog post in 2013! Fundraising, training and work have been eating up a lot of my time, and both my weekday and weekend runs have been steadily increasing in mileage. Though I'm occasionally mentally exhausted by it all, especially this week when I have to be at work two hours earlier than normal and still somehow get in 7-8 miles in the morning, physically, I'm feeling great. Saturday I completed 17.8 miles with my team, and despite some tightness in my hamstrings, it felt amazing. I actually felt as though I had a little bit left in the tank at the end of my run, and I could begin to imagine that it might be possible for me to keep running for another 8.4 miles. I felt much like I did after my 8-mile PR this summer: invincible.

These days, more of my friends and acquaintances are curious about my training. Over and over again, I'm asked about the distance I've covered. These days, when I'm running over a half-marathon every weekend, I always get the same reaction from people: "That's crazy. I could never do that." I would have said the same thing a year ago.

Now, every time I hear that from someone, I want to say, "Guess what--if you wanted to, you could."

If I have learned one thing from this experience so far, it's that we will never know what we are capable of unless we try. Could I have woken up on Saturday morning and spontaneously cranked out 17 miles if I had not been training? Absolutely not. But I woke up Saturday knowing that I was going to run 17 and knowing that I could make it because last week, I ran 16. And I knew I could run 16 because the week before that, I ran 15. You get the picture.

In February of 2012, I ran 0 miles. Same with March of 2012. In April, after I started thinking about doing a half marathon in September, I ran 15 miles. My longest run was 4 miles (which at the time felt really, REALLY long) and I was averaging 12-minute miles. These days, I run over 100 miles a month and average 9:30's. There are many people on my team in their mid 50's. We have one guy who is over 70. One girl is at the back of the pack every single week, but she smiles and high-fives everyone as they pass her, and she finishes each run feeling like a rock star.

Starting from scratch in any aspect of life is hard. But if we don't pick up our shoes and run a mile, we may never believe we are capable of running 2 miles. And if we never try to run 2 miles, we may never get to 3, or 5. Maybe our goals sound crazy to other people. Maybe they even sound crazy in our own heads sometimes. But if we make a commitment, and find the right people to support us, I honestly believe that we can do almost anything. I was not born to be a runner, and I certainly wasn't born to train in the winter. I hate the cold, I have terrible circulation, and it takes me hours to warm up once I'm back in the heat. But every Saturday, I get up and run through the snow, wind, and ice, because I know my teammates will be there to support me (my go-to running buddies are pictured above). Because I know that this is what I need to do to meet my goal. Because I know that my efforts are directly supporting my students and those in the future Bottom Line classes to come.

Find a goal that inspires you, and get out there and take the first step. You will never know what you are capable of until you try.