one percent change is BACK.

Hi friends! I've sure missed sharing some one percent changes with ya'll. 
True story is - I've been making some like 13% negative changes rather than 1% changes towards the more healthy. Randomly, in the midst of early pregnancy, I was feeling super spurred on towards good health. I was so excited to walk through pregnancy mostly vegan, exercising, running, rather than my normal nine months of ice cream overindulgence and cellulite accumulation. But as soon as I found out we lost the baby, em.... I kind of lost focus. Then two weeks of miscarrying/procedures/pain medication truly set me back in the exercise department. I'd decided to do a little juice fast to cleanse out my system during the time  I couldn't exercise, but you know what you want to eat when you've just had a d&c and you're pretty sad: NOT JUICE. 


So, I'm taking baby steps back to healthiness myself and here is my 1% tip
(to hopefully help myself)
join a team. 
Here are some examples I'm pursuing this week: 

real life picture of me after the shred.  it's short, but fierce. no idea why i took this.

- Before I took my little health hiatus, I'd teamed up with a group of women on twitter who were all doing the 30 Day Shred and encouraging each other! I was a few days in and it help me accountable so much to see their tweets coming in throughout the day. Now I'm about two weeks behind, but today - NO MATTER WHAT - I'm jumping back in, doing the shred, and tweeting them about it! 
- I've told ya'll before I'm trying to learn more about/pursue more raw food eating. My friend Steph just happens to be a few steps ahead of me, already transforming her diet and feeling great while eating a majority of raw. So I'm going to ask her questions, borrow some books, and pick her brain. Teaming up in healthy eating makes it much less of a chore and much more of a fun adventure! 
- Lastly, I'm going to start training for my next half marathon, possibly first full marathon. Running and talking running with friends is always way better than running alone, though! I have a few friends running the Rock n Roll half in Savannah and I'm going to jump on board.  I have more than enough time to train for it, but I'd love to run this half in under two hours so I'm going to start training early and work on my time! And depending on how the half goes, I'll start thinking/praying about this bad boy. Hm...... 


And now, I can't wait to hear ya'lls 1% changes! 
or your ideas about how to team up with others for steps toward healthy living! 
Link it up friends! 

meet the tiny twig.

I like everything about The Tiny Twig. 
I like emailings with her and reading about her life, and praying for her too. 
If I'd know she was going to write about running, and this beautifully, I would've begged her to write a guest post months ago. Forgive me. 


Enjoy ya'll, Jess



Running.  It is the last thing in the world I thought would make me feel like a woman, like a woman alive.  However, that is exactly where I find myself.
I had my third son a couple months ago.  You see, I am the lone lady in a house full of the boyest of boys.  I don't even have a girl fish.  Along with that boy tribe comes noise, dirt, sword fights, wrestling, and all sort of bad guy/good guy play.  No hair-braiding and Anne of Green Gables reading in this house.
During his 20 week ultrasound, the technician flippantly announced, "It's a boy!" within a minute of beginning the sonogram.  She quickly followed this by, "Is he your first?".  I was so stunned by her haste that I just sputtered out, "No...he's our third...boy."  Then, I sat in silence for the rest of the exam.  My poor husband asked me every 30 seconds if I was excited by this awesome set of events.  Three boys!  Could you believe our luck?
We walked out to the car and I told him that I was stunned, that I would be very excited once it sunk in, and that he needed to paint my office pink that weekend.  For some reason, a pink office where I could hide my breakables until we were empty nesters seemed like the best laid plan.  My husband, he's a sweet man...my office was a beautiful shade of blush within days.
However, that office rarely gets used.  See, I can't hole myself up in a pink coccoon until my boys turn 18.  I need to be there to witness the races, and judge the jumps, and break up the fights.  These sweet young men count on me to show them the gentler side of life.  I have such a short window to influence their lives.  I have realized that I must join their adventures if I wish to have any sort of impact.
So, for the remainder of my pregnancy I looked forward to starting the Couch to 5K program.  All of the sudden, I realized...I needed to be strong in mind and body for these boys.  I need vitality.  I need strength.  I want to be able to keep up with them well into my golden years, and that dream takes planning now.  So, away I went.
And now...this workout is the most feminine part of my day.  I am alone in the world, alone with my thoughts and my God.  I am away from the noise, and the wrestling, and the needy little men that love me and need me.  I am nourishing myself.  I am making sure I am strong and able, so that I can be strong and able to give.
This is a new adventure, one that will morph and change over time.  If I've learned one thing about going out on a limb, it is that it never looks as you've imagined.  However, it is so worth it.  It is worth finding new joys, and learning new things about yourself and the world.


.........
thanks lady. I'm going to go run (femininistically) and think of you. 

kelly's back, hurray!

I have another guest post by the wonderful Kelly Bollman.
I'm not going to say much more, because it will start to sound trite - but Kelly really is wonderful.
I love this post for many reasons, but mostly because she really lives this out. Enjoy, friends and get excited to see much more of Kelly Bollman around naptime diaries. And here is a picture of her & her beautiful kiddos.
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Last Saturday, I went for a jog with two of my favorite people, Jessi (yeah! Naptime Dairies Jessi) and her sister, my BF, Katie. Really, the running part wasn’t the hook – at all. Any given activity which involved listening and talking and being with these two had me there. If Jessi had said, “Want to scrub my bathtub with me and Katie on Saturday?” Answer would have been “Yes and yes!” But running was the plan.


You guys know about Jessi, the runner. She just finished her first half marathon. Katie, the much more athletic than me, dancer, had been faithfully training for the Bridge Run in Charleston. I… uh well, I had jumped on the trampoline with my kids a few times a week, maybe. Jessi mentioned jogging for a “few miles.” Few miles to a non-runner sounds like a FEEEWWW MIIIIILESSSSSSS. (eek.) But there’s this stubborn girl in me. She’s a lot of me, actually, and she kinda likes a challenge.


So. I drank up some water. Strapped on a borrowed pair of tennies, got a bit nervous-excited, fed off of the adrenaline of just being with my girls, and followed Jessi’s lead. We were off! At a startling speed of 1 mile every 12 minutes. Whoosh! We trotted and talked. I mostly listened. Not because I’m a good listener, but because I couldn’t breathe and talk well at the same time, even at our not-so-crushing speed. And kept on jogging. One mile, not bad. And still going… arms trying to sort of dangle in a way that didn’t put too much tension in my shoulders… trying to do what Jess said… looking at the canal and the other people. Squinting to see the next ¼ mile marker, hoping that it was maybe even the ½ mile marker and I’d just somehow overlooked another one. Their legs kept moving, so mine did too. Another mile, done. Huh. 2 miles without stopping. Yay us. Felt every bit of the 86 degree mid-day heat. Wished for shade. Not much to be found. Got excited about every breeze. Listened to my friends, dabbed at the sweat dripping down my on-fire-face. 


Their legs kept moving, so mine did too.  


And then at 2.5 miles, we arrived at the wonderful bathroom hut, complete with water fountain. Thankful for both! Legs felt flimsy. My hip flexers were like, “Whoa, you used us way more than ever… ouch!” Quick break. Stretch. And head back the way we came. That next mile felt like a long one. “Keep going, (hufffff, puffff) they are… keep going,” I told myself, and because their legs kept moving, mine did too for another mile. 3.5 so far. Whatda ya know!? We walked some, jogged some for the rest of the way. And talked. And at the end of it, our bodies had moved 5 miles, and jogged about 4 of those. And I was so glad.  


Why this jog tale matters, “For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.” (1 Timothy 4:8):  


1) TOGETHER It immediately occurred to me that never ever ever, would I have gone further than 1 ½ miles max without walking unless my girls had been with me. TOGETHER was crucial.  


2) Some challenges NEED A LEADER Of course we always need God-Almighty’s leadership and Lordship. 
But He also gifts us leaders with flesh. The kind that can walk and talk and show us how to do this thing in a way that us beginners, go “ohhhh… maybe I can do that.” Us churchy people call them “mentors” or say “he/she is discipling me.” Call it what you will; we need them. God sends them on purpose; He’s been sending them out all along. It’s part of His plan, doing life together. Both were leading me down this hard (hard for me) path. I knew I could trust Jessi’s advice. I needed to know she’d done this before and had gone even farther.


----------------------------------------------------------------- 


Right now I’m on a long life jog, marathon-style. I’m praying for reconciliation with my ex-husband and the father of my precious children. There’s about a trillion things I don’t ENJOY about this jog. But I know that A) I’ve been called by my God down this road. B) There are some precious, precious people in my life that are running along side me, and because they don’t stop believing, praying, and even fasting for this miracle, I keep going. And C) of these people, I have leaders, those that have more wisdom, who have prayed for something crazy before. Like heroes of the faith: like Abraham. A man, human, just like us, who believed and acted in obedience without any proof other than God’s own Word, that there would be any reward. Like Paul, who just kept running a race. A race that was pure craziness, without absolute faith in heaven. I’ve discovered that the Lord can redeem a stubborn, non-jogger who is prone to a hard, wandering heart, and make her look a little something like a woman, choosing perseverance, in spite of herself. What has He called you to do? That you’re just tired of. It seems too hard, doesn’t it? Come on, sweet girl. You can do it. Grab a partner and a leader for your path. 
Strap on those shoes and start moving those feet. 
You’ll never regret it.

my 13.1 mile baby

I love a good preface: 

- I started running 8 months ago and couldn't really run three blocks. Read about that here.

- I've always wanted to experience a gory, exciting home-birthish, lots of screaming sort of story for myself. I can't because c-sections are my plot in life. My babyday stories are beautiful in their own way, but not necessarily what I'd always dreamed for myself. 

- When I first started running, reading marathon recap blogs reminded me a lot of birth stories.

- Even though I didn't crazy love running, I knew I wanted one of those recaps. 

- I ran my first race ever this weekend, a half marathon. 

- I'm worried I've alienated every facebook friend & twitter follower of mine this weekend with my obsessive half marathon statusi, so let's get this out of my system once and for all. I appreciate your patience. 

my first half marathon recap - 

Columbia Half Marathon

Let's actually start at my wedding. 

I'm the sort of person whose body is naturally a little more jittery and anxious than calm. At my wedding, I had a few of my first "happy panic attacks", one even at the altar. When this phenomenon occurs, I giggle, make crazy faces, and usually move my body in jerky, sporadic movements in a good Liz-Lemon-dancing-impersonation. I had about 19 happy panic attacks in the three days leading up to this race. I kept telling Nick, "I want to run the race RIGHT NOW!", at like 10:18pm on Tuesday night. I think a lot of runners feel this way the week before a race since you've massively cut back your running to rest your body up and all you want to do is RUN. 

Also this week, I kind of started thinking. What if I ran that mammajamma fast? (fast for me) I wrote this post and still stand by my statement that I think slow running is better than no running, but I just sort of started to wonder. When I first started running, my long run (anything over 5 miles) pace was S-L-O-W. Somewhere around 13.5 minutes/per mile. On my last long run before the half, it was up to 11:30 minutes/mile. My short runs, though, are a whole different story and a good bit faster. So I just started dreaming about running the whole half somewhere in between my long run pace & short run pace. My goal before this week was to finish before 2 hours and 30 minutes (11:45 min/mile pace) but on Wednesday, I started picturing myself crossing the finish line with a 2:10 over my head. It felt crazy, but doable. 

everything set out the night before. shot blocks, shoes, clothes, chap stick, head phones.

 After my sixth happy panic of the night and a medium sized bowl of this pasta on Friday night, I passed out. 4:45am came quickly the next morning and I started chugging the water. I've not done a great job hydrating myself well for long runs and wanted to make sure I drank about 100 ounces before the race. Ate a bagel that I'd been hiding from the kids all week, a little bit of coffee, and sat down to do some bible reading. Read Psalm 28 and was so encouraged by these words, blessed be the Lord! for he has heard the voice of my pleas for mercy, The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him. I'm going to write about the Jesus-side of this half marathon later, but that there is a little tidbit. That's how my heart felt that morning. 

my fave mug:)

Elias woke up at about 6am and was more excited than I was. That kid was so super sweet about my race. Sweet Laura T picked me up at 6:45am, and after a few awkward pictures of me practically hyperventilating, we were off. When Laura dropped me off at the race start, I was so glad I was alone. I had some serious, serious excitement/nerves/emotionalness to deal with and I'm so glad I didn't have to try and function as a normal human around anyone I knew. I put on some soft worship music, found a corner away from other runners, and stretched those old bones out. When it was time to line up at the race start, I knew I needed to calm down quick. Ya'll, I was actually crying a little I was so excited. I can't say it enough, but running was just this thing that I never though I could do, that my body should not be able to do, and here I was running my first half-marathon, more excited than ever. Praise God. And it began. 

stretching & hyperventilating! all at once!

Mile 1: I'll tell you one thing, it went by WAY too quick. I had perfectly planned out my first few songs for the race and that was just dumb. I didn't hear anything but these thoughts running in my head, "oh man oh man oh man oh man i'm running a half marathon oh man oh oh man there are a lot of people passing me oh man oh man oh man i'm going too fast oh man oh man this is so great oh man oh man, i just passed the first mile sign". I knew I was going way too fast this mile because I passed the one mile marker wayyyy before I heard my ten minute update on my runkeeper app. Oh man, no good. Slow down Jess. If I wanted to hit a 10:00/mile pace, I needed to run slower in the beginning and faster at the end and I didn't want to burn out in the beginning. 

Mile 2: I have no recollection of. Nothing. At one point I texted Nick and told him I was running fast and I think he could tell from the timing I needed to slow down and told me to relax & stay steady. Love his guts. Sometimes when he texts me something firm & encouraging, he writes "insert physical touch", which he did during the race. I love him. 

Mile 3: I picked my pacers. There was a man/woman couple about 50 yards in front of me that looked like steady, season runners in marathon t-shirts and I wanted to stay just behind them and hopefully open it up later and pass them. Also, there was a man in a red shirt who was running either 5 feet in front of me or behind me at all times, so I started just sort of settling into a normal pace. I was running around a 9/min mile at that point. Still too fast. Tried to slow down. 

Mile 4: Nick let me know I'd be seeing him at the fifth mile. To slow myself down, I tried to fix my mess of a hair. No lie. It was a mess. I know I was running, but there's no use in running up on your husband looking like a crazy lady. During this mile I ate some shot blocks and I may or may not have danced a little to "run this town" by Jay Z. I can't help it, that song has a hold over me.

Mile 5: Bad news bears. Nick told me when I passed the fifth mile sign, I could look to the left and see him. I misunderstood and thought he and the kids would be standing on the sidewalk, and in reality they were stuck in the car, in the parking lot near the 5 mile sign. I looked furiously for him and then got a text from him saying I looked great. I didn't care how I looked, I just wanted to see him! I called him and used a voice that I haven't heard myself use since I was in middle school. I immediately started crying like a dejected teenager. This was by far the hardest mile. I was going too fast, I had just missed seeing my sweet family, and I was way too emotional. I held out hope that I'd see my sweet sister, Mom, and nieces at mile six and pushed on. 

Mile 6: The second downside to running too fast, aside from potentially burning out early in the race, is that you will inevitably arrive at the places you're meeting your spectators BEFORE you told them to be there. If I was running 10:00/miles, I'd be at the six mile mark at 9am, on the dot and told my mom and sister so. As I passed the park where we'd started (the 6 mile mark), I saw a few sweet friends who were so sweet to cheer and yell (thank you SO MUCH Kim, Brittany, & Katie) and didn't see my mom or Katie or the kids. Just after passing the park, I got a text from Katie at 8:58am saying, "Almost at Finley park!". Double drats. Going too fast still and just missed them. I worked up the courage to call them as I ran and Katie said they'd try to meet me later in the race and if they couldn't they'd see me at the finish. She was so encouraging and sweet, so I felt a bit better. 

Mile 7: First long hill. Not a huge incline, just a massively long one mile increase in elevation. A few people I was pacing myself with stopped and walked or fell behind. I really slowed down and ran this mile at about an 11:00/mile pace. In the long run, it helped me keep running and helped me to just calm down and settle in to the race. It's kept trying to tell myself that it was ok if I didn't see family, but my whole world was changed when Katie told me they were waiting just past the 8 mile mark! I sprinted up the rest of that hill, grabbed some gatorade and tried to straighten my hair again:). 

running up on the fam, elated!

 Mile 8: Thank you Jesus for family. For my sweet nieces and sweet Able, my nephew, who truth be told - has never had much for me, but ran out to the road and gave me a big hug! It was such a blessing to see them and made me feel overjoyed and excited to keep running. 

Mile 9-11: The most normalish running I did the whole race. I realized just after seeing the family that I wasn't listening to my music at all, I wasn't praying, I wasn't talking to the Lord or even just losing myself in running. I had been racing, calculating times, and stressing my brains out, which were things I did not enjoy. Up until mile 12 was all residential so I just shifted into a normal run. I would like to be doing that stretch of miles right now. I didn't care who was around or that we were racing really. At one point, I may have closed my eyes and lifted my hands in worship. Don't tell anyone. Pace settled into 10:30/10:15/mile. I was on pace to run under the finish line right at 2 hours and 10 minutes. 

During this time, Nick texted me and told me the last mile was all downhill, which THRILLED me. I thought maybe, just maybe I'd beat my 2:10 goal, and I really was feeling really tired and fatigued. I ate some more shot blocks. I thought about it for a second and couldn't figure out geographically how it could be downhill because I knew the layout of the city a bit. I trusted him anyways. Good decision for life, bad decision for race day. 

and, then. Mile 12: The 12 mile marker was at the base of a mile long uphill stretch that looked ominous and awful. Nick was right in that the last part was downhill, but it was only the last .2 miles that he could see. I walked through the water station at Mile 12 and for the first time, really wanted to quit. That hill looked awful. I started into that thing and I'm not sure if you'd call what I was doing "running" as much as I'd call it spirited-crawling. The couple I'd decided to pace myself with back at mile 3, stopped and started walking. I'd lost the man in the red shirt during the seventh mile hill and a woman in front of me stopped running altogether and puked. Not encouraging. I also noticed I'd totally stopped sweating, and was covered in a salty residue - a cue that I was pretty dehydrated, despite drinking my weight in water. I got a little nervous. I just kept crawling-running and pictured myself running under that finish line with a 2:10 above me. About 3/4 of the way through mile 12, I checked my phone and saw I'd been running for 2:11. It was a no-go, but I kept running. 

Mile 12.9-13.1: There was in fact a short downhill and as soon as I turned the corner toward the park, I could see my whole sweet family and my running buddy Kim. I felt like I was sprinting at this point, but watching the video I see what bad shape I was in. Just as I passed them, sweet Glor ran out to me and I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should pick her up and run through the finish line or just keep going. I worried if I picked her up, I'd fall out, so I kept running and prayed she wouldn't have a meltdown! I could hear my sweet family all the way through the finish line and I wasn't even sad when I saw 2:15 on the clock in front of me. I didn't meet my crazy new goal of 2:10, but had really exceeded my first goal and in general, my entire lifelong expectation of why my body could do. 

Everyone huddled around and I was so thankful for a family that was so supportive. So thankful for a husband who'd sacrificed so much for long mornings of running and a wife obsessively googling "first half-marathon tips". Thankful for a mom and sister willing to drive two hours on an early Saturday morning to cheer me on, and so thankful for the kiddos who didn't seem to notice that I didn't actually win the race:). After a few minutes of near puking and the world spinning, I was back in my present mind and loved sitting on the grass with the kiddos, as they stole all the food they had out for runners. I'm glad those Oreo's and pizza went to good use somehow, because I couldn't imagine eating right then. I took one bite of a banana and spit it out before I did something more unpleasant. Also, I'd like to note here that everytime I imagined the finish line, I imagined burying my head in Nick's chest and sobbing. Ugly crying across the line. In reality, I think I was too dehydrated and I'd used up all my emotions during mile 5. My sister cried a little, so that counts:)

crazy tired donkey face

this one

Two hours, a veggie burger the size of my face and a shower later, the kids were napping and I was off to the grocery store. I resisted wearing my race metal to the store, cause I was back to being a normal mom. And I'm so thankful for that kind of life. For a God who's blessed me with a life like that. Half marathon in the morning, poopy diapers, grocery shopping, and kiddo cuddling in the afternoon. 

I also, would now, like to give you a medal if you've made it through this post. 

You're my hero. 

Thanks for listening. 

Guest post by Carissa. twenty six point two

I have a few things I need to tell you about this post before it begins. 

1) It's by my sweet friend Carissa, who was an internet friend and is now a real-life Boston friend. She first encouraged me to start running, and today, as you read this post - we're going on a 10 miler together in Boston which feels really sweet. 

2) I decided I really wanted to run a half marathon and eventually a marathon when I realized that half/full marathon recaps are a lot like birth stories. Ya'll know how much I love some birth and I seriously feel so much regret over not having a sweet homebirth story of my own to tell (though my c-section stories are good in their own way). When I read this, I thought - "man, that is just like a good birth story." So, read it:)

3) I love you Carissa. Thank you for being awesome. 

Love ya'll, Jess

..............................
Let me start this (incredibly, apologetically long) post by saying how totally honored I am to be writing for Naptime Diaries!  I’m a big fan.  This is pretty rad.  It’s almost as rad as being asked to dance onstage at a Hanson concert.  Wait, who said that?

Once a month or so, I go to my favorite running store and see this Adidas ad:  “The 7 Stages of Marathon:  1.  Ritual.  2.  Shock.  3.  Denial.  4.  Isolation.  5.  Despair.  6.  Affirmation.  7.  Renewal.” I’ve always wondered it that’s true for everyone.  I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me… it’s totally true.

So, I’m not going to drag you through some long, awful drawn out process with this story.  I’m going to tell you how it ends before it even begins.  I’m doing this for two reasons:  1) I respect your time and, let’s be honest, this much 12-point font hurts anybody’s eyes, and 2) the story isn’t really about how it ends.  The story ends at 26.2.  The story happens between 21 and 23.

I ran my first marathon last month.  I finished in 5 hours flat, which is by no means a great time, but it’s faster than Katie Holmes and P Diddy, so I’m alright with it.  I finished.  I didn’t die.  I got no broken bones or ligaments, no black toenails, no muddy legs.  Wanna know what I did get?  My life.  I’m not being dramatic here.  Read on.  You’ll see.

Last summer, the oldest of my three brothers, two of whom are also runners, had the brilliant idea that we three should run our first full marathon together.  Incidentally, our hometown of Charleston, SC, was having their inaugural marathon in January.  We would each run our first marathon at Charleston’s first marathon—how cute is that?!  I think our mom started crying the day we registered.  It couldn’t be scripted better.

My oldest brother and I kept tabs on each other’s training.  We started 16 weeks before the race and used the same program.  The program was going so well until week 5, at which point I ended a 6-year relationship, packed up my entire adult life, and moved across Boston.  Did I mention I was also in my last semester of grad school?  And that I lived 1,000 miles from my family?  And that my grandmother was dying and my childhood dog was dying and that I had lost all control of every element of my life?  So, yeah, training sort of fell of the grid.  Entirely.  I went home for Thanksgiving, ran 10 miles with my sister, and didn’t put my running shoes back on until the day of the race.  7 weeks later.

Now, any fool who’s ever quickly put one foot in front of the other would guess that running 26.2 miles cold is not a fantastic idea.  The way I saw it, though, I had already paid the registration fee.  What could it hurt to try?  I could start running, trust my body, and when it hurt, I could just stop.  


Clearly, I’m not nearly as self-aware as I think I am.  You see, I am fully capable of recognizing my physical limits and respecting them.  The stronger impulse in me, however, is the need to make a metaphor out of everything.  As I said, I had lost all control of my life.  I felt like every turn in my road for two months was being navigated by someone or something else.  Some time between Christmas and New Years, however, something changed.  I started wrapping my brain around the idea that my life was mine. The consequences of all of my actions were more or less mine to bear and that was remarkable.  I threw every insecurity, self-doubt, and question mark in my soul out the window and started working through life my way:  find an objective, figure out the steps to get there, and do it.  There’s only one way to finish a marathon:  one foot in front of the other.


So despite 7 weeks without a single training run, a bout of food poisoning that had me eating a sum total of 2000 calories over the course of 5 days, and several vicious snowstorms that threatened to keep me from even getting to South Carolina, I toed that starting line with one thought in my head: one foot in front of the other.  My sweet family stationed themselves at miles 2, 8, 13 and 16 to provide cheers and support.  The first 13 miles were amazing, so I won’t bore you with the details. At mile 16, things started to get interesting.  My hip flexors were killing me, I knew I wouldn’t see my family for another 10 miles, and I was struggling to stay motivated.  At 18, I thought I had hit the infamous Wall.  My knee felt like there was a balloon under the kneecap that kept getting bigger and bigger and I was just plain tired.  One mile later, though, I entered the old navy base, where the race finished, and got a little boost from the idea that I was almostthere!  But then I did the math.  19?  Nineteen?!  I had 7.2  miles left?!  That’s more than a 10K!  Ouch.  At 20, I passed the West African drum and dance troupe that I had grown up next door to.  They were taking a break, but I begged them to give me something, anything to keep me going.  That worked for about half a mile.  Then the real Wall began…


The course was Y-shaped and on the first branch of the Y, my little brother and I passed each other with a fist bump.  I wasn’t expecting to pass him again; I was certain he would be finished when I hit the second Y.  So when I did see him, it nearly killed me.  He looked like he was in pain and I knew what I was feeling.  I had lost track of math and time, but seeing him was my reality check:  he was either a lot slower than I expected, or I had at least another hour of running.  An hour.  For half a mile I pondered the possibility that maybe I was wrong, that maybe he was slower and I was faster, until I saw my next mile marker.  

Twenty-one.  

Shoot me.  In.  The face.

When I saw that sign, I screamed.  I mean, I literally cried out a sound I’m not sure I’ve ever made before and hope never to again.  I just couldn’t see myself running 5 more miles.  Could.  Not.  See it.  


Wanna know what I could finally see?  The faces of other runners.  At this point in the course, I was running against the stream of runners ahead of me.  These people had run farther than I had, faster than I had and were most certainly more tired than I was.  I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t even see most of them until I realized that they were calling out to me.  Someone shouted out how many minutes I had until the turn around.  Another runner complimented me on my running skirt (why not?  It’s totally adorable.).  Then one runner turned around and started running with me.  He touched my face and shouted “Chin up!  Don’t you quit now!  You’ve got this, keep going!”  Then he turned around and finished his race.  His words didn’t make those 5 miles seem shorter, but they did help me remember that I was not alone.  I was not the only one hurting.  My little brother was finishing his own 26.2, my older brother had asthma that kept him from running and my sweet oldest brother, whose idea it was to run this race in the first place, was stuck at the finish line waiting for me.  For 5 hours.  So I kept moving.  Sometimes walking, sometimes running, but always moving.


At the turnaround at mile 23 I did something I’ve never done in a race before:  I stopped at a Port-A-Potty.  I hadn’t stopped moving in 23 miles, so when I sat down, I honestly thought that the structure around me was swirling.  Perhaps it was me.  


I got out of the Port-A-Potty and my mp3 player did me the biggest favor it ever has: it played Florence + the Machine.  The Dog Days Are Over.  Oh, you bet your booty they are.  3 miles.  Half an hour.  Thirty minutes.  I could do this.  The next couple of miles flew.  With half a mile left, the pain in my knee started to creep in again and every step hurt.  I could see in my shadow on the ground how bad form had gotten.  Then, I saw my dad and my older brother and I lost it.  I just started sobbing and crying.  It wasn’t until I saw the fear on their faces that I realized that I was too dehydrated to produce tears.  My entire family had waited 5 hours only to watch an Edvard Munch painting come running towards them.  Bless their hearts.


I made the final turn, saw the finish line, and out of nowhere, my other two brothers appeared.  The younger on one side and the oldest on the other, my brothers flanked me for the last tenth of a mile.  I ripped out my headphones and from some place inside that I can’t identify, I pulled out enough juice to sprint down the chute.  I crossed the line at 5:00:44 and if my brothers hadn’t been on either side of me, I probably would have fallen over.  

Recovery consisted of a bowl of shrimp & grits, 2 beers, and some fish tacos.  There was also a hot shower, a foam roller, and a nap with the world’s cutest boxer pup in there.  Two awful flights, one terrible football game (come on, Pats!) and an epically wretched T ride later, I was back in Boston and ready for the rest of my life.  I had to be completely broken down in order to rebuild from the ground up.  So let’s go.  Got a challenge for me?  Bring it.  I’m serious.  Throw a monkey wrench my way.  You’ll get the horns.  You see, after 26.2 miles, everything else just feels like a walk in the park.  I think I needed to hit Stage 5 to learn that.  Sometimes I need my headphones.  Sometimes I need the faith of strangers.  Sometimes I need my brothers.  At the end of the day, though, I always need to just put one foot in front of the other.

"slow" runners unite!

taken on a 4 miler in Charleston this weekend, probably my favorite run to date

When I first started running (aka - you know, sort of... right now) the thing I tended to feel (oh wait, still feel) the most anxiety about and constantly found myself asking other runners about (still asking, really) is time. Six months or so ago, when I decided to take the plunge of trying to become a runner - the only people I ever heard talk about running was bloggers. Really good running bloggers. The kind that run 8 minute miles for fun, all the time. Also the kind that try to win races. I immediately felt intimidated. 
I didn't have the right clothes. 
I didn't own a garmin.
I sure couldn't run an eight minute mile. 
I can barely brush my teeth in eight minutes.


But some creepy (awesome) thing in me kept me pumping, trying harder and harder. Running longer and longer distances. Still one of my favorite running memories and general memories all around was a morning back in October when I ran a miraculous 8.9 miles with a sweet new friend and thought for the first time, that I might actually be a legit runner. Not the kind that runs 8 minute miles, but my own kind. And now, all of a sudden, when people ask me about running - it's 90% always someone just like myself - a new, maybe even a non-runner, who feels intimidated and SLOW. 

So here are my words of very amateurish 

wisdom for new and slower runners. 

1. Slow is ok. 

Slow doesn't make you a bad runner, it might make you a GREAT runner. When I first started, I was trying to run 9-9.5 minute miles and actually pooping out around 1.5 miles, no matter what. It was TERRIBLY discouraging and defeating. It wasn't until I slowed down to a TWELVE AND A HALF MINUTES PER MILE pace that I was able to push past four miles. But suddenly, I could! And it wasn't as scary! It was still hard work - but not impossible. 

2. Don't throw out time altogether. 

I like being a casual runner. For now, I don't care much about wearing the right thing and knowing all the right terms, but it was helpful to learn a few things. Like negative splits. Here is a good article on those. And I'd say it's important to at the very least, know your times and push yourself with them. My favorite, favorite, favorite running tool (um... and only running tool) is Run Keeper. It's a wonderful app that you can use with an iphone or ipod and it's usually $10 but is FREE this month thru January.  Every five minutes it updates you with your total running time, total distance, and current pace - which is SUPER helpful for negative splits. Also, you can set a pace and it will tell you to hurry up or slow down. Then, AFTER you run - it sends you a beautiful little email with a map of where you ran, a cutey little graph that shows your pace each mile, and also keeps track of all your runs, forever. So great. Here are some screenshots from my runs this past week for example. 

negative splits for a 4 miler. that last mile felt like a victory fo' sho. 

overall run summary

a little 5K "race"

3. What do you know?! It gets better! 

This past week, I've seen the biggest (and maybe the first) real difference in my running. I'm not afraid of long runs and I'm definitely excited for short ones. My pace has drastically changed and I'm not even terrified of my upcoming half marathon. Eventually, it seems, if you keep at it, you feel less like a phony and more like an actual runner. 

Here's one last little tidbit for you. 
My current favorite running playlist. 

(warning: it's so schizophrenic it might make you have an episode really eclectic)

You go out a give it a try, lady. 
Or just listen to it while you brush your teeth!
Either way, enjoy. 


heaven is here Jesus Culture (video for you) 
single ladies Beyonce
beautiful things Gungor
our God Chris Tomlin
we cry out Jesus Culture
skeleton bones John Mark McMillan
open up the heavens Hillsong
get me bodied Beyonce
tip of my tongue The Civil Wars
sing my love Jesus Culture
lost! Coldplay
call me out Gungor
revelation song Jesus Culture
get higher Paper Tongues
trinity Paper Tongues (video for you) 


Love ya'll. Mean it. 
Happy Tuesday. 

smokin' his way to seven miles

Back this summer, around July-ish I'd say, I was talking to my sister about weight-loss and exercise (mine, of course - not hers because she naturally has the body of a supermodel, remember?) and she said something like - "You know, you should try running. You know how Dad can run a marathon after smoking a pack of cigarettes and drinking a six pack? I just think we have runners bodies. We should be runners." (sidebar: that is really how my dad is. It's a medical mystery.) Um, no crazy sister. I did not agree. With my short, squatty legs and my strong affection for Jillian Michaels' videos, I did not believe myself to be a runner. The most I'd run ever was a mile and that took me about forever to build up to. But I thought - "what they hey? I'll try it again, try to build up to a mile!".

true story, this is my favorite shirt to run in. I steal it from Nick once a week. 

And so I took off, after googling, "how to be a runner".

I found a plan that had you building up from three minutes of running and it took me a few weeks to build up to a mile. Right around that time, we moved from Seattle and landed back in South Carolina and my affections grew for running. I moved up to two miles and then to three and then to four, and then one miraculous day in October, I ran almost nine miles with a new friend who was training for a half marathon and I was hooked. Fast runner, I am not. Long distances, I love with a passion. I'm still not like my dad, I don't just get to go out and run. I still hate the first mile or so. I still have to eat and drink the exact right thing to be able to run well. But, I guess somewhere buried under those squatty, group-exercise-loving-legs, were running legs.

our planned route, scientifically recorded and documented. 

this is me. Still terrified of a long run. So scared, I seem to misplace my top teeth. 

So when my Dad decided to pop into town on Monday. I knew we needed to go running together.
I had seven miles scheduled for Sunday, but postponed it so my Dad could do it with me.
He was fine with going and was dressed in a sweater and nice shorts, but insisted that's what he wore running. On the way to our starting point, I'm pretty sure he smoked at least two cigarettes and he was pounding the sweet tea. We literally could not be more different in the running prep area.

Pop. This is exactly what he wore, only he changed shoes. Also, you can see the only reason the kids let their beloved Pop leave was because it was naptime and because Nick had the day off for the new year so they got to cuddle with Daddy. 

Anyhow, I don't think my Dad would mind me telling you - it's not as tidy as it seems. He can't quite smoke two cigarettes and drink sweet tea and just go run seven miles. I think the toxins in his body combined with my frighteningly slow pace crippled him around mile one and it was more of a walk/jog for the rest of the way. It was still super sweet to spend the time with him, at one point - I went off on my own at his insistence and had to run right back because I figured - when else do I get to run with my sweet Dad who lives in Germany?

So while this wasn't necessarily a running post - I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

a) what's your favorite clothing type to run/exercise in?

b) what do you have to do to prep before you do whatever you do?

c) am I the only person who steals their husbands clothing at least four times a week? 

AND! I have  a new little comment system set up , so let's try it out - shall we? 

Five question marks in a row?