tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30495739702844641142024-03-14T06:46:45.226-05:00 She Thought She Could, So She DidMeg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-44801318060618995352020-05-01T21:30:00.000-05:002020-05-02T06:12:13.617-05:00AppreciationCheckin' in here. Because <i>it's been a minute and some serious shit's gone down.</i><br />
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I'll be honest with you, fully. I have my days. Sometimes I have a few in a row. And then, I'm fine for a week, give or take. I've had the full blown roller coaster. I started the stay at home orders fully working from home, <i>but only at part time hours.</i> I started the last week of March going back into the office (with only 5-7 other people, all of us in our respective corners guarding a container of Clorox wipes) for only a few hours a week. After day 2 it was obvious, I was needed more than a few hours here and there. <i>Back to a full time I went. And in office.</i></div>
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I won't lie, at first this made me very apprehensive. But the office had been deep cleaned, and every door handle and light switch was lysoled pretty much as it was touched. <i>If anything, this place might be cleaner than home. </i>We continued to take our places in the office, each guarding our own canister of lysol wipes, ready to attack. <i>But Megan.. do you really need to be in the office?</i> I know, it sounds crazy. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE is at home. So to answer your question, <i>yes it is. </i></div>
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I work in continuing education. We are a tiny school in comparison to so many others, our total population hovers around 200 people year round. Up until March 30th, 2020, we were 100% brick and mortar. There was a <i>very brief</i> 2 week period where our entire curriculum was put online. I can't take credit for it, but it was a major project that many would describe as "moving mountains" and it is one of the more impressive things I've ever seen done. Our education journey continues<i> while our students stay home.</i></div>
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But if I'm being honest it's still not complete and it won't be for a long time. We're building what we need as we need it. Our systems don't speak to each other so I speak many languages and do double the work to make them speak with each other. I am a help desk for a system I'm still learning myself. I'm a therapist for students who call in, mid break down because of life. I'm a cleaning lady cleaning up after myself every hour. Along with everything else that my job description already entailed. </div>
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To add to it, I haven't been to a gym in 6 weeks. This is 100% without a doubt the longest I've ever gone without a gym. Unless you've been living under a rock, you know I live at the gym when not working. So, it's been interesting. </div>
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My husband works nights. He usually leaves around 5pm and gets home between 3-5am, depending on the night. Pre-COVID? No big deal, I'd head to the gym and do my thang. Now? I had to learn how to ride my bike indoors about 30 feet away from him <i>quietly. </i>I had to learn how to shower<i> quietly.</i> I won't lie, it took us easily 2 weeks, if not longer, to get into a rhythm that worked. And it's still not perfect. </div>
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But can I just let you know how <b>G R A T E F U L </b>I am. This is a time in my life I never imagined I'd live through. Yet here I am, and I'm lucky enough to be able to help others through this terrible time. I come home sad a lot. Sad because it was a rough day. Sad because Rob and I literally exchanged hellos in the driveway while he left for work as I just got home. Sad because I was <i style="font-weight: bold;">SO</i> hopeful to race this year. Sad because I can't see my family the way I want to. Sad because I miss my friends like crazy. Sad because my legs crave a recovery swim day <i>like you can't f*ckin' imagine.</i> Sad because when I go to a grocery store, people are almost afraid to look you in the eye. Sad because I have some close friends who are have been working on the front line in hospitals and morgues daily, and hearing their stories makes my heart sink. Sad because I know the world is missing out on so many milestones right now: 1st birthday parties, weddings, grandparents meeting their first grandchild, high school graduations, senior proms. You know, the big things in life you dream about. But I'm waking up everyday and helping others get an education. <i>And soon those people will walk into the healthcare field ready to fight this battle.</i> And I'll have had a {small} hand in that. Like I said... <b>G R A T E F U L.</b></div>
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Rob and I will be celebrating our 1 year anniversary in a few short weeks. Had you told me 1 year ago that this is what our life would entail... π</div>
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But if anything, this time has taught me to slow down. Appreciate. Respect the day you've been given. Tomorrow is promised to no one, and this is a thought that races through my mind daily as I watch the news and see the COVID-19 updates. </div>
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This is a common view for me after work these days. Something I can't say I did a lot of, pre-COVID life. As much as I wish I could share this time with friends and family, I'm respecting what the world has asked of me and keeping my distance and falling a little more in love with me. A little more in love with my husband. Appreciating what we have and praying that our world will begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. </div>
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If you need us, us Sloan's are over here hunkering down. I often go on baking frenzies and leave treats on doorsteps. If this is something that interests you, let me know and I'll add your house to my list. You'll never know when it's coming. Instead, one day you'll open your door and smile just knowing that you're about to sink your teeth into some homemade love from the Sloan's. </div>
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Whoever needs to hear this... Chin Up Charlie. This too shall pass. A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor. We're in this together.</div>
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Cheers.</div>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-11841196851612269352020-03-22T17:25:00.000-05:002020-03-22T18:59:57.278-05:00Shelter In PlaceIt's safe to say that the world is in a pretty sensitive spot right now. We've entered unchartered territory as a nation. I like to think of it as a giant game of monopoly, but with no rules. <i>Sure, go ahead and buy that hotel but you risk losing your life savings and health if you do. Or not. It's up to you.</i><br />
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Many of us are stuck at home, either working (or not), teaching the kids (how do teachers do this everyday?), or suddenly finding ourselves navigating the kitchen for the first time (oi, goodluck with that one). I'm also fairly certain that such a drastic change in life comes with a variety of emotions.<br />
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<i>I can't get these kids to concentrate, there are so many distractions.</i><br />
<i>I don't have a home office, how am I supposed to work at home?</i><br />
<i>Cooking daily is not something I'm made to do.</i><br />
<i>How will I pay my bills this month?</i><br />
<i>When can I see my family again?</i><br />
<i>I miss putting on real clothes. What is makeup again?</i><br />
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There's a lot, and I mean a lot, of stress and anxiety that has suddenly hit us, and pretty much overnight. I'm no genius or scholar. I'm just a woman with her thoughts that likes to spew them to the world from time to time. And here's what I know:<br />
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<b><i><u>You're not alone.</u></i></b></div>
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No one knows what will happen tomorrow or the next day. We've entered what we might have once considered the "Twilight Zone." Everyday feels like Christmas Day with the lack of traffic and stores open. Yet, no one is allowed to hug or be near each other. No one is familiar with this sort of behavior, and we're all trying to learn what the new normal is supposed to look like.<br />
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Sitting here after my most recent baking endeavour my husband walked into the kitchen and grabbed a Dove chocolate and said, "Hey, honey! Think fast!" The chocolate flew across the room and I caught it in mid air. While enjoying my little treat, I realized that Dove hit the nail on the head:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Embrace Optimism</td></tr>
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Now, normally I'd sit here and tell you that I'm not an optimist, I'm a realist. But right now, we need more optimism. I like to think things happen for a reason. Maybe this is what we all needed to remember to slow down in life. Stop and smell the roses. We're all stuck at home and we're all stressed about one thing or another. <i>But let's not waste this opportunity.</i><br />
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Clean out that closet you've put off for years.</div>
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Sit with your children and make learning a family affair.</div>
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Teach your kids the life that school can't. Laundry. Cooking. How to sew a button. Basic life skills.</div>
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Garage needs a makeover? Time to tackle that project.</div>
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Cook with your significant other. </div>
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Let yourself sleep in. Reset your body and mind.</div>
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Go outside and breath that fresh air that your normal day to day life doesn't allow.</div>
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When you go the mailbox and see your neighbor, get to know them (6 feet apart) Create those relationships you've never hand a chance to before.</div>
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Gym is closed? Use your creativity and find a way to break a sweat with whatever you have at home.</div>
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But let's not forget. There's a reason we're required to stay home right now. We need to do our part to flatten this curve. Stay home and do what you can to embrace this time we suddenly have been given. Wash your hands. Eat healthy. Get proper rest. And try to stay calm. We're all in this together.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Social Distancing with the Husband and our drone</td></tr>
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<br />Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-33881535809082299132020-03-18T06:49:00.000-05:002020-03-18T08:36:00.305-05:00Running Into Uncertainty10 days. The last we spoke was 10 days ago.<br />
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Can we rewind 10 days? How much will that cost me? A roll of toilet paper? (to soon, sorry.)<br />
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If I knew then what I know now. <i><strike>Famous last words.</strike></i><br />
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Unless you've been living in a dark hole for the last month, you've probably been educated thoroughly on COVID-19. And in the last week, <b><i>this virus has gotten everyone's attention and faster than any angry mother that has threatened a spanking on a bare bottom. </i></b><br />
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At the beginning of February, I drove my father to St. Alexius in Hoffman Estates for his final cataract procedure. Days before, the first case of COVID-19 was diagnosed at that very medical center, the first case in Illinois. I pulled up and noticed a lady wearing a mask as she walked into the hospital.<br />
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"Uhhhhh Dad you sure about this?"<br />
"Yea, Meg. I'm fine. SEE π you later, HA!" - Jack Hode<br />
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Fast forward 5 weeks. Illinois currently sits at 160 cases and as of Tuesday afternoon, we experienced the first death over this unknown.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How has this impacted me?</span></b><br />
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10 days ago I was confident I'd be able to toe the line of my first race of 2020. <b><i>That didn't happen.</i></b><br />
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10 days ago I was able to go to work and see all our students. I was able to converse with them. I was able to tell them they MUST improve attendance in order to graduate. I was able to discuss Spring Break plans with them. <b><i> I haven't seen a single student since Thursday morning.</i></b><br />
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10 days ago I was able to go to a grocery store without concern of shelves being empty. <b><i>This is a very common thing today.</i></b><br />
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10 days ago I was able to stop at my parent's house without worry or fear of infecting them. <b><i>I had to make the very difficult decision to stay away from my parent's house until this becomes less scary, due to their age and health concerns.</i></b><br />
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10 days ago I started every day confident that all events and businesses would continue running and operating at normal expectancy. <b><i>These days, Randall Road is a ghost town and there wasn't a single official St. Patrick's Day event last weekend.</i></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Moral of the story: This. Is. H U G E.</span></b><br />
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The last 48 hours have been some of the most difficult for me. I'm sure it's no secret to you all, I tend to worry more than most. Lately it's been in overdrive. Yes, the media has played a nice little role in that. Yes, I've read my facts. This virus isn't as deadly as others we've seen. But this one offers more unknowns. This one is taking out entire COUNTRIES at one time. Sleep hasn't been easy to come by. I toss and turn quite a bit. Do I worry about getting sick myself? Eh, not really. I'm a healthy, active 32 year old adult. If I were to get sick, chances are I'd be ok.<br />
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But, the scariest part for ME is....<i> there are people walking around with this virus that never show symptoms and don't know they carry it. </i>What if that's me? If that's the case, how likely is it that I could get my parents sick? My 95 year old grandmother? My father-in-law, who is already in a somewhat fragile state?<br />
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I'm scared for those that aren't allowed to work and worry about how they'll feed their children. I'm worried for anyone who could potentially lose their job over this virus. I'm worried what this will do to us economically in the next 3, 6, or 9 months. I'm sad for all of the Weddings, Holiday Celebrations, Baby Showers, Family Reunions, and everything in between that this will be ruined in the months to come.<br />
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This is bigger than us. This is bigger than we know. It's hard to wrap your head around something you can't physically see. At some point, we'll all be able to see it. We'll know a friend, co-worker, acquaintance, or family member who was diagnosed by COVID-19.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So what can we do?</b></span><br />
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I'm sure there's no definite answer to that. The obvious is to follow advice given to you. Wash your hands. Eat healthy. Get proper rest. Stay at home. Distance yourself. Another thing I've found to be extremely helpful.... GET OUTSIDE. KEEP MOVING.<br />
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<i>But Megan.. what? You just said to stay at home. </i><br />
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We might all be quarantined right now, but the best thing you can do for your spirits and your health is to breath that FRESH air. Go walk the dog. Go for a jog. Put on a few layers and take your bike out for a spin. Find a way to take in that spring air and vitamin D. Gyms might be closed but that doesn't mean A N Y T H I N G. Now's when your 1st grade creativity comes into play and you start using canned goods as ankle weights. {Need workout ideas? You know who to call!}<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#optoutside</td></tr>
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10 days ago I was certain I'd be able to give you my racing lineup in the next few weeks. Now, <i style="font-weight: bold;">most rac</i><i style="font-weight: bold;">es have been cancelled through May. </i>We are all entering a huge unknown. I'd like to sit here and tell you that, "Sure, June is when we go back to normal!" But... is it? The uncertainty of the future has everyone in a frenzie, a mass panic. One thing I can guarantee is that I'll still be running, straight into this day to day uncertainty.<br />
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Last weekend, the March Madness Half Marathon was cancelled for the first time in 42 years. It's truly one of a kind, and my heart hurt badly when I heard the news. Of course it was for the best. But that didn't take the sting away. Being the creature of habit that I am, I knew immediately that this wasn't something I was willing to give up. Official race or not, I'd be running that course on race day at 8:35am (official start time). I recruited the healthiest friends I could find and we met up (in a group of less than 50 and kept our distance during the entire run) to race the course.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March Madness Half Marathon 2020</td></tr>
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None of us wanted race weekend to play out this way. But we weren't willing to let it cramp our style. I've said once, I'll say it again. This endurance community, we roll D E E P and we're thick as thieves. There's no other I'd rather be apart of. </div>
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Cheers. </div>
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**To everyone out there doing the hard stuff: the doctors, the nurses, the teach from home teachers, the grocery store employees, the single WFM moms, I see you all. And I'm a huge cheerleader and fan. Chin up. </div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-26809350365028985212020-03-08T19:34:00.001-05:002020-03-08T20:04:19.637-05:002020: Comin' in Hot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's been a while.</div>
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A long while.<br />
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I know, I know. Guilty as charged.<br />
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I can give you excuses, but at the end of the day, it all boils down to a few things. <i>Confidence & Denial. </i>I lacked one while the other overtook my thoughts.<br />
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I finished The Chicago Marathon and deep down, I knew I possibly shouldn't have even started the race. I was worried about the damage I had done to both of my hamstrings. Recovery after Chicago proved that I was definitely fit, in shape. But.. both of my hamstrings never bounced back like I needed them to. I was starting to think I wasn't ever going to run the way I used to. I lacked any confidence in myself and felt like my best days were behind me.<br />
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I put my running shoes aside for a while. I convinced myself that <i>rest </i>was all they needed. I hit the pool 5 days a week. I started biking much more, 3-4 days a week. Running was cut down to 1-2 days a week, and very very slow. <i>If I use different muscles around them while they recover, this is the same, right? </i><b>WRONG. </b>I was in denial that I needed anything other than rest.<br />
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Thanksgiving weekend came around and I had the opportunity to lace up my running shoes 3 separate times at local fun runs. And I did. And let me tell you, it was a huge mistake. By the time the 3rd race morning came around, it took everything I had to put any sort of hop to my step when the gun went off. My hamstrings were screaming. Violently. With such rage. So many people asked me, "How'd you feel!? Isn't it great to be running again!?" I don't know if I thought I was telling the truth or what, but I realize now I was in denial. <i>"Yea, it was great! I loved it!"</i> Deep down I knew, something had to be done.<br />
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This past year there was the shortest amount of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and Rob and I were scheduled to head out of town on the 27th of December for our Honeymoon in Cozumel, Mexico. I knew my journey to healthy run legs was going to have to wait until we returned. In the meantime, I found my massage therapist and begged her to help relieve some of the tension, knots, and scar tissue that I had built up in my hamstrings. Every session with her was helpful, but not 100% what I needed.<br />
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I came home from Mexico and the search began. I had heard many times of people going to see Denise Smith at <a href="https://www.smithptrun.com/">Smith Physical Therapy and Running Academy. </a> BFF and coaches wife Jacqui is her biggest cheerleader, so I decided to give her a call. The last thing I wanted was to go to a doctor have them tell me to "stop running" or "you need XYZ and it doesn't look good." But at this point I just wanted to run the way I know I could. I was tired of always being in some sort of pain. I needed help.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoiler Alert: At one point, Jacqui and I had back to back appointments π</td></tr>
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I walked into her office on day 1 and spent 30 minutes telling her everything. Literally, from day 1 when I first noticed issues with my left hamstring (training for Grandma's Marathon in 2018) all the way to present day, where both my hamstrings felt like rubber bands about to snap at any moment. I gave her all the details, probably more than she bargained for. She sat and nodded, took notes, smirked, and asked me ALL the questions.<br />
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Meg: <i>"So, how bad do I sound? How broken am I?"</i><br />
Denise: <i>"Honestly, you sound very typical. And this can be fixed. I don't want you to stop running." </i><br />
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You wanna talk about music to my ears!? Holy sh*t, <i>this woman gets me.</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">A few other things she said:</span></b></div>
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1. Time. The hamstring is one of the hardest muscles to heal when injured, and it can take a LONG time. Patience is key.</div>
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2. That said, consistency. Keep up with everything I tell you to do. Even after the pain is gone.</div>
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3. Strength. You can't be apposed to strength work. Because of how the hard the hamstring has to work, at some point it's going to rely on all the little muscles around it for help. <i>All of those muscles need to be strengthened in order to keep all systems working.</i></div>
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4. Flexibility. If you don't understand the value in what seems like a "minor" stretch and how it translates to the run, this will be difficult. </div>
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I left her office after our first consult and was ready to start getting to work tomorrow. We created our schedule, once a week on Monday evenings at 6pm until further notice. I have spent Monday after Monday with Denise teaching me different stretches I didn't know were stretches, that stretch muscles I didn't know existed {caveat, HOLY HELL DID THEY HURT.} We moved onto minor strength work that put me out of commision for a day or 2 because apparently I'm weaker than I thought? She always spends the last 10-15 minutes working on my hamstrings and lower back, digging deep with her thumb or even busting out her famous cups. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was super weird</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUvUkeYzWHRvyCc_LBc4KYaAd-hJ6UDkGNNtciQozRqlvhoX7KEplx05rDlAKbCE-CEAMiUZ2zYiXg47VRsLbPvf0zwLUIfO4SCHgNjJ7GnU2V_mHtc5EykdETFtksh5uHU9_zsCsuo31/s1600/IMG_0713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="1242" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUvUkeYzWHRvyCc_LBc4KYaAd-hJ6UDkGNNtciQozRqlvhoX7KEplx05rDlAKbCE-CEAMiUZ2zYiXg47VRsLbPvf0zwLUIfO4SCHgNjJ7GnU2V_mHtc5EykdETFtksh5uHU9_zsCsuo31/s400/IMG_0713.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a feeling like I've never felt before</td></tr>
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I always leave her office feeling a combination of relief with my progress and slightly overwhelmed with how much homework I have to add to my plate. But every run I've had since day 1 with her has progressively gotten better and better. Fast forward to present day, and my stretches no longer burn like hell and I can perform any strengthening exercise with confidence knowing that the next day I'll still be able to run.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Added Bonus: she's your biggest cheerleader π</td></tr>
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Let's set the record straight. I'm not 100% yet. I still have my moments that remind me I'm not "healed" entirely. But I have turned a HUGE leaf from 3 months ago. I don't skip speed workouts. I have run the super hilly March Madness course 3 separate times this spring and each time I've recovered similar to years past. There were times in the past 3-5 months I've struggled to get through a simple recovery run because I've woken up in so much pain. Mileage has decreased drastically since Chicago. But since seeing Denise, I have officially run 3 consecutive 30+ mile weeks in a row now. And if I'm being honest, I'm simply over the moon about it. </div>
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So, here we are. 1 week out from the unofficial start to the season {March Madness Half Marathon} and my legs are officially back in working order. I'd like to say I plan on truly <i>racing</i> March Madness next weekend, but I'm not sure what will happen. It's looking to be seasonably cold day with possible snow. If my legs show up on race day, then I'm gonna roll with it. But if they don't..? Well, let's just put it this way... I've got to much riding on my season to ruin any chances I have of Ironman-ing in 2020. That's right... you read that right. Ironman. I didn't get the chance last year. And I missed it terribly. And now that I have <i>the confidence</i> I've needed for quite a while, I'm planning on making up for lost time.</div>
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Hope you're ready. I'm planning to wear down my keyboard and lock you all into my journey this year with all my racing endeavours. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7tVWubm5lzk-to73hQN63MNaKQFh9roXA6-g1Jyq1rIdqjjh5IdCKn68vlC76CngT0kuXqiO3vQv_27vtD5FV0q9zo5frd0bh1G33QMvodSmK4sI7J2cj1ioIQ0cptpT8-KYfP66KIYL/s1600/GPTempDownload.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7tVWubm5lzk-to73hQN63MNaKQFh9roXA6-g1Jyq1rIdqjjh5IdCKn68vlC76CngT0kuXqiO3vQv_27vtD5FV0q9zo5frd0bh1G33QMvodSmK4sI7J2cj1ioIQ0cptpT8-KYfP66KIYL/s400/GPTempDownload.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozumel, Mexico<br />
January 2020</td></tr>
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And I'm takin' my husband/spectathlete with me. Cheers!</div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-60716332999780306832019-10-27T21:34:00.000-05:002019-10-27T21:50:07.395-05:00The Chicago Marathon 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">Before we get into details, let me start by saying... I couldn't be happier with the way the 2019 season ended. Yea, sure a BQ at the end of the year woulda been nice. But hey, </span><i style="text-align: left;">the race went about how I expected it to and I had the time of my life in the process. </i></div>
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Let's also go over a few things...</div>
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...The last time I ran the Chicago Marathon, there was no lottery system to enter. You simply went to the website and signed up and knew instantly what you were going to be doing the 2nd weekend of October. </div>
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...The last time I ran the Chicago Marathon, I wasn't searched at the entrance of the expo. Yea, for real. You could just walk in. Imagine my surprise this year when I walked up to the entrance and had to hand over my bag and let them pat me down.</div>
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...The last time I ran the Chicago Marathon, Grant Park wasn't completely closed off to spectators before the start of the race. This year? If you weren't a runner, you couldn't even enter the park (which wasn't even close to the start line/corals). Along with any opened liquids, all liquids that weren't sealed had to be left outside the park entrance.</div>
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...The last time I ran the Chicago Marathon, I found Rob and family and friends almost instantly after finishing the race. Spectators were literally allowed... almost anywhere. This year? All spectators that entered the park/finish line area had to go through security and were only allowed at the "Athlete Reunite" section of the park. I walked a casual half mile after finishing the race before I found a familiar face. </div>
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...The last time I ran the Chicago Marathon, The Boston Marathon bombings hadn't happened yet. </div>
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Yea, that last one kinda hits home, doesn't it?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That just meant this smile was that much larger all day long</td></tr>
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I signed up for this race a year ago with truly 1 hope: enjoy the day & the city of Chicago and to close out the wedding year as a Sloan racing in the best city of the world. Race week approached, and I knew in the back of my mind that I had higher hopes, but at the end of the day,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> LIFE</i> challenged me this summer. And I knew when I walked into McCormick Place with my father on Friday afternoon that I was in this race for the basics, FUN.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I tried to tease and tell him that bib was linked to HIS name, not mine π</td></tr>
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I slept in Saturday morning, set no alarm. If there was any chance of speedy legs, R E S T is what the doctor ordered going into Sunday morning. I packed my bags and headed downtown to meet my brother and our crazy friends, The Green Guys. They were back in action, painted Green head to toe to help promote the Bank of America Shamrock Shuffle. I promised to be their security at the expo for a few hours on Saturday, but that was about it. I found them in the Hyatt McCormick Place 99% green and ready to mingle with all the Chicago Marathon participants. And as soon as we entered the lobby leading into McCormick Place, the mayhem started and I turned into "the picture girl." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At this point, it doesn't even phase me</td></tr>
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I originally planned on sitting the expo out on Saturday, putting the feet up and kicking back. But looking back, I'm so glad I decided to hang with the guys. It kept my mind at ease, didn't allow me to overthink race day which could have potentially lead to a harder pill to swallow on Sunday afternoon. I watched these guys pose with police dogs, kids, international runners that had NO CLUE why 3 American men would paint themselves green, and even a mannequin or 2 at the Nike store. I watched people point, laugh, stare, and simply question their sanity. And it still never gets old and makes me laugh every single time. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DJ Booth at the Nike Store</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ain't no Laws when you're drinkin' Claws</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RyBread<br />
Ironmen<br />
GREEN GUYS</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWkVe9D5VSljRV14QcU92IGnsyVVz6ZeEda7-DfsLx49EXcF4n9aXLbumhs5ly-6jKw9a3jbJxgjtlA8yQBsnLx6BS5v2Atv0lnJ-O-ZDk054awmdvOnQAqvg1XgYmTUWGIunYqa5Ovwx/s1600/IMG_7574.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWkVe9D5VSljRV14QcU92IGnsyVVz6ZeEda7-DfsLx49EXcF4n9aXLbumhs5ly-6jKw9a3jbJxgjtlA8yQBsnLx6BS5v2Atv0lnJ-O-ZDk054awmdvOnQAqvg1XgYmTUWGIunYqa5Ovwx/s400/IMG_7574.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because this expo offers SO many photo opportunities</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
Alas, it was time to hunker down for the night after a hearty burger, brussel sprouts, and Chicago's finest 312 with Rob's sister Kim and her husband Jim. They were kind enough to let me crash with them the night before so I could be as close to the starting line as possible on race morning. And when I mean close, I mean... I walked 10 minutes from their front door to the start line. <i>Yes, I ran one of the Major Marathons and literally walked to the start line, I was that close. </i>As long as is I live, that will never happen at any other Major Marathon that I have the privilege to run. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Race morning arrived and I actually felt like I slept a full night's sleep. It was a great feeling, I felt like it was another day and I was headed out for a workout! I made my way to my gate and was pleasantly surprised when I was searched at the entry of Grant Park. My half drank bottle of water was also confiscated from me. <i>Well, this shit just got real.</i> I had plenty of time before I NEEDED to enter my coral, but there was such a hype about "crowds" and "security" and now I was seeing why. There were multiple levels of security to walk through before you were even close to the bag check/coral area. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZohA_KEG-k6cYYHaqjyHQmPl3K7ttvohsa3JvLNW1X5dN5t4tQfruY8nahpe0ewIRx8zKTGkywj5JRx1Qe_sixgeusNKuiM5lwgtpK12kyvQJHsDSwNCDXj8TLD3Xph9yhHZ6jt1MafTG/s1600/IMG_7603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZohA_KEG-k6cYYHaqjyHQmPl3K7ttvohsa3JvLNW1X5dN5t4tQfruY8nahpe0ewIRx8zKTGkywj5JRx1Qe_sixgeusNKuiM5lwgtpK12kyvQJHsDSwNCDXj8TLD3Xph9yhHZ6jt1MafTG/s400/IMG_7603.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buckingham Fountain at sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
This site, this was also something new to me. Maybe it's because I've been stuck in the triathlon world for so long? But... can't someone just change in a porta potty? You know how many porta potties I've changed in in my life? Or trees I've hid behind? Buildings? Alleys? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsonE-ZzFXTuRvUvwDZ3M5GuCm0kZvpsoqJJDsakZ0E_ogdcse63zoT5gvPukoDeuzOCZR2-AczEE0u5ql7LUQ8-7qPWRJNgyXau3WJ8LVczT-1IpiRL66tzbWSRdvvXqTYd-EylzmHVn/s1600/IMG_7614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsonE-ZzFXTuRvUvwDZ3M5GuCm0kZvpsoqJJDsakZ0E_ogdcse63zoT5gvPukoDeuzOCZR2-AczEE0u5ql7LUQ8-7qPWRJNgyXau3WJ8LVczT-1IpiRL66tzbWSRdvvXqTYd-EylzmHVn/s400/IMG_7614.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I opened the door on one of them, no toilet.<br />
Literally just 4 porta potty walls.<br />
Baffling.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I made my way to my coral after checking my bag and sending out my farewell text to the family. I sported a very fancy pair of WalMart sweats that cost me all of $10 that I planned on stripping as soon as the race started. It was a balmy 40 degrees at the start and I wasn't about to be cold for 45+ minutes before the gun went off.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I made my way to the 3:25 pace group and introduced myself to the pacers. 2 women and 1 man. All of them strangers to each other, all seasoned, decorated runners themselves. One of which had just run Milwaukee LakeFront Marathon only 7 days prior and PR'ed herself with a casual 3:01. I actually asked her (without any filter) "Wait, you're sure your legs can handle 26.2 back to back weekends, especially after throwing down a PR?" She laughed and promised me she'd be ok. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The gun went off and it was 8 minutes before I crossed the start line, even though I was in the first wave. I told the pacer my BQ story before the start and wanted her to know I was going to hang with her as long as I could and that I was putting 100% trust and faith in her because at this point, I had nothing to lose. The first mile was as crowded as expected, but the energy was simply A M A Z I N G. Bridges covered in spectators. Running on Lower Wacker gives me a rush like I can't describe. (It's similar to the same rush I feel while driving on it, fearing for my life). Not a car in sight, just me and 45,000 of my closest friends sharing the streets of Chicago. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first mile ticked by and it was a tad slow, but I expected it to be. We started at the front of Coral D so we were running into the back end of Coral C. And, GPS can't be trusted for the first few miles of Chicago because of all the buildings. So, it could have been faster than we thought. <i>And.. it could have been slower than we thought. </i>We closed in on mile 2 and I hung tight to the pacer and didn't let her out of my reach. We crossed the river for the 2nd time and I took a second to glance around and take in the moment. And wouldn't you believe, my eyes scanned over the median of the bridge and there stood this 6' tall skinny white man with his arms shot out wide with a confused look on his face. <i>Any guesses? </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ROB.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Somehow, he skated his way out onto the MIDDLE OF A BRIDGE over the Chicago River, climbed the median and scaled the tallest pole he could find. Totally solo in the middle of 3 million people. My guy, expert spectator. He knew what he was doing. He had spotted the 3:25 pace group and was trying to make himself as large as possible in case I'd spot him, <i>and sure as shit, I did. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<i>HONEY! </i>I yelled.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>HODE!</i> He yelled back!</blockquote>
My heart burst with joy in that moment. I had spotted my husband in the middle of 3 million people. Out of pure chance. It's not everyday you can literally <i>own the streets of Chicago on foot and spot your #1 in a sea of people.</i> Shortly after that moment, my watch beeped mile 2 and it was much slower than mile 1. I still didn't worry to much, the pacers elicited such confidence at the start, I was sure they had a plan.<br />
<br />
And it was a last minute plan. I turned my head and could tell the 3 of them were chatting and seemed a bit nervous. I heard things like "1 minute back" "no no, GPS is off." "no, it's not that off, I have splits written on my arm." And just like that, I could feel the pace drop. And quickly. Mile 3 and 4 dropped down to 7 minute miles. Way to rich for my blood. But I did my best to hang with them. I spotted Rob one more time before we started to head North, somewhere in the middle of our quick "speed session." I could tell, slowly but surely, I was fading from the front of the pack. I told myself to lay low for a mile, regroup, and make your way back up to the front of the pack. Because if I'm being honest, this pace group was rollin' DEEP and being at the back of the pack could easily put you 30 seconds behind pace.<br />
<br />
At the 8K mark, I knew Mark would be with The Green Guys (The Shamrock Shuffle is 8K so that's where they would be hanging out and cheering.) I passed through 8K and high fived The Green Guys. I never saw Mark, but it's very possible he was mere feet away but I missed him in the crowds.<br />
<br />
We reached the turn around point at about mile 8 and I was still hanging towards the back of the pace group, but I could tell that I was working way to hard to run an 8:00 mile. This is how I should feel at mile 18, not mile 8. It was in that moment I decided, somewhere between Wrigleyville and Boystown, today was going to be FUN. I was going to run just to run. I was going to laugh at the drag queens in Boystown. I was going to high five little kids on the side of the road. I was going to do what I set out to do a year ago, I was going to enjoy this city.<br />
<br />
I wasn't about to "walk" this marathon, but it wasn't going to be a record setting day. Boystown offered quite a party, Drag Queens galore. There was a stage where many of them stood and performed. One of them even called me out as I ran by. The smile on my face grew by the mile. I was about to enter the loop again and the crowds were starting to grow THICK again. I let the energy carry me for a few miles. My pace dropped slightly, but not enough to give me hopes of a fast day. Just about mile 12, I saw a women on the side of the road, frantic and cheering. Hell, most people were. But this one.. she was different. Something possessed me to turn my head and see what was bothering her. And wouldn't you believe, one of my college friends (who was also at my first Chicago Marathon in 2011) was screaming her lungs off at me, "HODE! HODE! HODE!" I couldn't believe my eyes and backtracked a half step and swung my arms around her neck and squeezed tight for a split second. This running world, this city, <i>it's damn powerful and amazing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7Q4GA7ylpX81fjdKSVSuD_5bYKoK0RltZ2FW5aOtAsIUfsqmc7_uFwGfoGPgWqqutmkDvavkg0m3sN9ky4t-IIO0XlqrNqpyNRU5yOC-y7atFJCwXSbJhTWzExAPgikaG-HTkZUWJKUb/s1600/IMG_7922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1063" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7Q4GA7ylpX81fjdKSVSuD_5bYKoK0RltZ2FW5aOtAsIUfsqmc7_uFwGfoGPgWqqutmkDvavkg0m3sN9ky4t-IIO0XlqrNqpyNRU5yOC-y7atFJCwXSbJhTWzExAPgikaG-HTkZUWJKUb/s400/IMG_7922.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile ???</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
It was less than 2 blocks later I decided to scan the opposite side of the street and once again, Rob and I locked eyes. I darted diagonally across the runners (not easy, at all) and ran up to him. He ran with me for a block or 2 while I filled him in on how my goals had changed for the day. He sent me on my way with a running kiss and promised he'd see me sometime soon. I didn't doubt him at all.<br />
<br />
I made my way West and that was when the wind REALLY made itself known. It was quite present all day, coming at you from every angle. But West was where the headwinds came from. By mile 14 I had to pee like I hadn't peed all night long and then just decided to go for a run. Mile 15's aid station offered no available porta potties so I waited until mile 16. FINALLY. I pealed off course and time myself to see how long it took. I kid you not, this was a solid 30 second pee. Good thing I suppose, I was hydrated. And when I took off again into the land of Pilsen, I felt like a new woman that had a little hop in her step again.<br />
<br />
Side Note: Out of all the parties going on in the city that day, Pilsen EASILY offered the best party. Completely with Mexican music and little Grandma's wearing warm poncho's trying to hand out taquitos to runners and Day of the Dead costumes ALL OVER. It was amazing. It was also hard to tell when Pilsen ended and Little Italy began. The party continued and flowed from one ethnicity to the next. Next thing you know, I was about to enter the ever popular China Town, but not without a Rob (AND MARK!) sighting! This time, they were DEEP in the back of crowd, jumping and yelling obnoxiously. I flashed a wave and thought to myself, "how in the hell did they get here? Surely they know, if you show up in China Town, you don't make it to the finish line?" The course is hard to navigate from China Town to the finish if you're a spectator. I assumed the next I'd see them would be at the Athlete Reunite Area.<br />
<br />
The next couple of miles kind of blur together until I made my way to Michigan Avenue. Fatigue had set in miles before and I was feeling it. I prayed for the turn on Roosevelt, signifying one more turn on Columbus before the finish line. I looked for a few others I anticipated seeing on course. I put one foot in front of the other and just before mile 26, Mark and Rob made their final presence of the day. Front and center on the fence line. <i>They had to have broken ever traffic law known to man and demolished a few people to get that spot on the fence. </i>I took that turn on Roosevelt and muscled up the small hill as I approached Columbus and I knew I was going to have break away if I wanted to break 4 hours. I dug deep, found a gear that involved playing with fire because at any moment a calf cramp could take me down, and crossed the line with 8 seconds to spare.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIU4P2QE-pxC38K3Mnf0o35sLmcqxcORvg9u64mvQel186g8I9-CjjXzFwnmtRczqxSBXxRs263ij9agv8knMsMH19PfbaoymMFOgPfcXh36geltBwmMZPWHk2nnQd1kTzZTuZaxpLFReO/s1600/IMG_7925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1040" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIU4P2QE-pxC38K3Mnf0o35sLmcqxcORvg9u64mvQel186g8I9-CjjXzFwnmtRczqxSBXxRs263ij9agv8knMsMH19PfbaoymMFOgPfcXh36geltBwmMZPWHk2nnQd1kTzZTuZaxpLFReO/s400/IMG_7925.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still no idea where this was but I'm almost convinced it was near the very end</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I never stopped moving and kept going all the way until I found Rob, and then Mark. I melted in both their arms and couldn't be happier with my day. I gave it what I had. I had fun. I saw the city the best way I know how.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYx65S_SuLFnYGYoPCIqaaiza6U6OVSJDnp8v_TDsBXyp4BzHwTs7sHhsDejtdTRrcnAFkdY_Y4YATBpROK6jfGrHkynksACf6P6oqIlUiMJvN9EUqETqOJ1Bc70_h84egRY93PKT2ZgEZ/s1600/IMG_7619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYx65S_SuLFnYGYoPCIqaaiza6U6OVSJDnp8v_TDsBXyp4BzHwTs7sHhsDejtdTRrcnAFkdY_Y4YATBpROK6jfGrHkynksACf6P6oqIlUiMJvN9EUqETqOJ1Bc70_h84egRY93PKT2ZgEZ/s400/IMG_7619.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Favorite Men</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
They comforted me, hugged me, and made sure I was mobile. Once they realized I was good to go, it was a mad dash to back to the car to get Mark to work on time (In Fulton Market. On race day.) Let's just say, I know for a FACT these 2 broke traffic laws all day long. "Honey, the police are ALL busy right now. Don't worry." - Rob.<br />
<br />
I get emotional when I think back on this day. I don't have many pictures to offer but I kind of prefer it that way. I have everything stored away in my mind. Every drag queen, every aid station volunteer soaked in water, every incredible view. It's all tucked away for a rainy day. When I'm wondering why on Earth I put myself through this, day after day? When I need just a <i>little more out of my legs</i> before the workout is over. This, this is what race day is all about.<br />
<br />
And with that, I give you 2019.Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-52500444738682288492019-10-11T05:59:00.001-05:002019-10-11T06:05:39.676-05:00Throwing Caution to the WindI wish I could go back and recap the last 4 months of life. 'Whirlwind' doesn't even start to describe what my world has been since Rob and I said "I do." Weddings and birthday parties and more weddings and more birthday parties and bachelorette parties galore! The summer of celebrations, I like to call it.<br />
<br />
I knew this summer would be hard for Running/Triathlon Megan. I snuck in a few races here and there. I never stopped running. I swam and biked as time allowed. After my failed attempt at a BQ in April, I had hopes of going back to Duluth, MN in June to race Grandma's Marathon. {Or as I call it, Christmas Day for runners in June.} But life got hectic between April and June. I officially tied the knot and I attended 2 other weddings, consecutively after my very own (1 of them happened to be one of our groomsmen, whom Rob also stood up for). None of these events came with early bedtimes or hydrating beverages such as water or a variety of sports beverages. I truly C E L E B R A T E D everything and that will always come with a price. A headache in the morning? Maybe. A little less sleep? Always. A diet you aren't used to? 100%. I always put on my shoes on the next morning. But the quality of my running I was hoping for wasn't always there. So at the end of the day, I decided to forego Grandma's Marathon and put all my eggs into one basket. The Chicago Marathon.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J1DddnuSc8A04BFSpu3YN0tLdIPVO0vXAVKnLscenUfC8rSht4grtVfGFPgg90N8_CWfjhve57wz0soVY-d6tzr5wA-mXTSOTwmmfCzQrJyvnBYWEXLbmRWlA13M3-w1JM02bP2xKPWq/s1600/296134_10100923558493190_752005825_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="960" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J1DddnuSc8A04BFSpu3YN0tLdIPVO0vXAVKnLscenUfC8rSht4grtVfGFPgg90N8_CWfjhve57wz0soVY-d6tzr5wA-mXTSOTwmmfCzQrJyvnBYWEXLbmRWlA13M3-w1JM02bP2xKPWq/s400/296134_10100923558493190_752005825_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last time I ran The Chicago Marathon, circa 2011<br />
You can spot me in the pink tank, running with Brian</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Which leaves us here.<br />
<br />
I got my butt back into gear. I've put the work in. But I continued to "celebrate" my way through the summer. I didn't nail every workout. I didn't have time sit in my boots every time I needed to. I slacked on my stretches when I needed it most. But, as of today, I'm actually feeling pretty good about this whole thing. I'm a firm believer in "You get out of something what you put in." And I know for a fact that my lead in into The Chicago Marathon hasn't been perfect 100% of the time. {Truth bomb, it never will be either.} But I can say with certainty that I didn't have the focus, energy, or time to commit to training that BQ needs this time around.<br />
<br />
But here we are.<br />
<br />
By no means do I think this will be an awful day. I'll run this marathon in the greatest city in the world and I'll have a smile on my face regardless of how fast or slow I finish. But, the last time I qualified for Boston, I had <b style="font-style: italic; text-decoration-line: underline;">19 seconds separate me from a qualification and the starting line in Hopkinton.</b> And that was after laser precision focus all winter long. I was probably the strongest runner I've ever been at that point.<br />
<br />
And since that race, the BQ standard has dropped by 5 minutes. {Currently 3:30 to qualify, approximately 3:27-3:25 to RUN Boston} Which means I need to shave off roughly 3-5 minutes if I actually want to <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">RUN</u> Boston 2021. And I have to be honest and real with myself. I'm not an athlete that has plenty of time to spare. <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm playing with seconds here.</u> But stranger things have happened.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E9gpYWFms-ZtkH2168YswuqnygCd8WmzHqs8IX90tfL2ZO9VNlZlm4BjQyLkuTKmmF7Ep45jUKxcH-twpgoI-Ql67igeZFvSEFxsV25Vi7JO3QHgfgAIl8wUFhyKwIdqD33ULO5IilmT/s1600/304117_10150361743108257_1044129833_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="604" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E9gpYWFms-ZtkH2168YswuqnygCd8WmzHqs8IX90tfL2ZO9VNlZlm4BjQyLkuTKmmF7Ep45jUKxcH-twpgoI-Ql67igeZFvSEFxsV25Vi7JO3QHgfgAIl8wUFhyKwIdqD33ULO5IilmT/s400/304117_10150361743108257_1044129833_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LIKE THIS!<br />
8 years ago. All of us still friends.<br />
Every single one of these people attended our wedding (or stood IN it)<br />
#SQUAD</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The weather is looking pretty damn good. It has me "giddy" if you will. Last week I ran after work and it was hotter and more humid than most of my workouts all summer long. So, I'm hoping I have some hidden fitness that will come show up on race day now that the weather is cooperating. My legs have done this distance 13 times before, so I'm hoping some muscle memory kicks in at some point. I've also been much better and proactive about taking care of myself. I've had 2 massage in the past 3 weeks and I'm currently sitting in my Normatec boots and I have a date with my STIM unit tomorrow night.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FLWJeQPtkJoVmMv9bcJ9JY1OtJM5wFI4p9luMa7aefW8tPAoyLXjOnGHAGm6fjRkbNsCkFhpEsr5P_FmzlrHCImN9LGzwYorOg2qY_wH7zo1cT1qil957IKiOChj2NhpnskFM0NcitCF/s1600/318397_10150361742213257_1105138780_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="604" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FLWJeQPtkJoVmMv9bcJ9JY1OtJM5wFI4p9luMa7aefW8tPAoyLXjOnGHAGm6fjRkbNsCkFhpEsr5P_FmzlrHCImN9LGzwYorOg2qY_wH7zo1cT1qil957IKiOChj2NhpnskFM0NcitCF/s400/318397_10150361742213257_1105138780_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicago Marathon 2011: Boyfriend<br />
Chicago Marathon 2019: Husband</td></tr>
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So, if you find yourself interested in my racing endeavours, you can track me on the Chicago Marathon app on Sunday morning. I'll be in the first wave, coral D, meaning I should take off pretty close to 7:30am. Bib 14721. If you'll be on course, I'm planning on gluing myself to the 3:25 pace group towards the front of the group (because claustrophobia is a REAL THING in this race in tight packs). I'll need every ounce of positive energy, good vibes, extra prayers, and anything else you can send my way. But in all honesty, sometimes life is about throwing all caution to the wind and seeing where it takes you. And this kinda feels just like that.<br />
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I'll see ya on the other side. And not in 4 months, sometime next week. I promise.<br />
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#BQORBUST<br />
#ChiMarathon2019Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-87233564037804026502019-06-25T16:25:00.000-05:002019-06-25T16:25:54.886-05:00The Wedding 5.26.2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few days ago my mom asked me, "What day is the wedding blog going to be done?" I laughed and realized.. I hadn't even thought about it. But the more I sat on the idea, I thought it'd be the perfect opportunity for me to savor the day.<br />
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If you're interested in my non-racing life for a little bit, this one's for you. If not, I promise we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming after this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfkEtE0ES0OtaelruzcBZzAWe_o7DMT8Op9cyOxIsdyfgQRDdIpvxmvoDPVT9yVpjs9Px3rHTAoc9cn5A_5yvHF2v5vdAP80G2B3G1jnbcyGJT2w2lQl6kmSBwQyeJthEFhI27UQRozkE/s1600/0810_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfkEtE0ES0OtaelruzcBZzAWe_o7DMT8Op9cyOxIsdyfgQRDdIpvxmvoDPVT9yVpjs9Px3rHTAoc9cn5A_5yvHF2v5vdAP80G2B3G1jnbcyGJT2w2lQl6kmSBwQyeJthEFhI27UQRozkE/s400/0810_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoiler Alert: It was the most perfect day</td></tr>
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Our day was more than just 1 day. It was an entire whirlwind weekend. We started the journey solo, arriving in 2 separate cars packed to the gil a few hours apart. We rushed around. Unpack this. Get this to wedding planner. Deliver this to florist. Soon it was 9pm on Thursday, May 23rd and we sat down together to enjoy dinner together. This was the last meal we'd have alone together before the nuptials.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMhWRy2iMQaIZx-NEkS7bBBML89azRsJnN9ISGVtnU7hbj56CboXb9Jc7wECN1dDNF-3hPonjnKl7U1iiH0yATJVF7e0d2hVibKS7vKJ9u2ulnWcmJFZu__-yfS6xPeTUCmVvyP8CyMzc/s1600/Wedding+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMhWRy2iMQaIZx-NEkS7bBBML89azRsJnN9ISGVtnU7hbj56CboXb9Jc7wECN1dDNF-3hPonjnKl7U1iiH0yATJVF7e0d2hVibKS7vKJ9u2ulnWcmJFZu__-yfS6xPeTUCmVvyP8CyMzc/s400/Wedding+6.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotted Cows with Cheese Curds on the way</td></tr>
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Family and some friends started to arrived on Friday. It was one of those days I didn't plan for. I went for a run after our morning massages, showered, and got dressed. When I left my room at 1:30pm to greet the first family member, I didn't realize I wouldn't be back to my room at all. I carried a Bride 'sippy cup' of wine around with me all night. In and out of the resort bars. Not one bartender stopped me. I filled it up at friends rooms along the way the entire night. We drank, laughed, danced, sang, and loved every minute of that spontaneous day and night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-D13xH7_0GX32fUb3dxqCfmJ7oitHOaktiRAGXQzaQBpjbiep7vHtMQ507ibRGRFY4j0MwGdGphACrGAZny3ac65bDyYKmW0uFjY5ivJqQkK_yFSa9zp0PCDL1z7HUqVVok3mAIMTbib/s1600/Wedding+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-D13xH7_0GX32fUb3dxqCfmJ7oitHOaktiRAGXQzaQBpjbiep7vHtMQ507ibRGRFY4j0MwGdGphACrGAZny3ac65bDyYKmW0uFjY5ivJqQkK_yFSa9zp0PCDL1z7HUqVVok3mAIMTbib/s400/Wedding+2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hode's at The Abbey </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17d26zjcemZlX6lPX95iRgvsNwpWVeDnySuV6u-EzBGvgx8GAiyKw-jFZt7X7635DFBOlgAkC-8NOHlRUMUyUnZRyEuJzNbKtmk5V2WGaw1KbE_bp8JNuIhwUIt3tamfmfQWj7dvhg15x/s1600/Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1293" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17d26zjcemZlX6lPX95iRgvsNwpWVeDnySuV6u-EzBGvgx8GAiyKw-jFZt7X7635DFBOlgAkC-8NOHlRUMUyUnZRyEuJzNbKtmk5V2WGaw1KbE_bp8JNuIhwUIt3tamfmfQWj7dvhg15x/s400/Wedding.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those Sloan boys β</td></tr>
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Saturday involved a full round of golf for the boys while I greeted the girls as they started to arrive. A little morning run, a little lunch with the girls, and next thing you knew it was time practice marrying the love of my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUkw_t3CjIrlTu70sGcW1Squ_s7EFGyxo2dJyj1AlbE6W-pXbhvVTWZNDb1SoNJTjRcFowM4pPor2Dmz6KTnOexDWSn7jchhz5YNhzRcNLQcq8KE-UqxJ8a6q8LqB9sdCNZg_A0ROHM3o/s1600/Wedding+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUkw_t3CjIrlTu70sGcW1Squ_s7EFGyxo2dJyj1AlbE6W-pXbhvVTWZNDb1SoNJTjRcFowM4pPor2Dmz6KTnOexDWSn7jchhz5YNhzRcNLQcq8KE-UqxJ8a6q8LqB9sdCNZg_A0ROHM3o/s400/Wedding+3.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready... set... where's Lindsey?</td></tr>
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I spoke at the rehearsal dinner. I had thought about what I wanted to say, I even jotted down a few notes. There was a theme. There was a message. But as soon as I stood in front of all my closest family and friends, I melted. And fast. I had dreamed of this day for so long. Everyone I love the most, all in one room. It was here and the emotion overtook me faster than I imagined. I wear my heart on my sleeve, that's never been a secret. But that night, everyone saw a pretty deep side of Megan they probably didn't bargain for.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNLCP0P-PafjG9cVsNcI20B5IBx6-egyKPoBN1bQvMbX4aJsOIqve1MHrS-z8m5tSW_ddS4N_GHMhfgHfZqbFdGuYkVHAJQ4x4fARSE6OhuOgs-DiiXVt8ClEIPjMV4KX0qPvKeCy_2rm/s1600/Wedding+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNLCP0P-PafjG9cVsNcI20B5IBx6-egyKPoBN1bQvMbX4aJsOIqve1MHrS-z8m5tSW_ddS4N_GHMhfgHfZqbFdGuYkVHAJQ4x4fARSE6OhuOgs-DiiXVt8ClEIPjMV4KX0qPvKeCy_2rm/s400/Wedding+5.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof.</td></tr>
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Sunday morning arrived and I barely slept a wink the night before. It could have been the nerves. It could have been all the "last minute texts" I was sending out to the groomsmen and family. Or, it could have been my beloved Matron of Honor snoring her ass off next to me. I dunno, that part is still up for debate. Regardless of any sort of snoring volume at midnight, 1am, or 3am, I'm certain the adrenaline in my veins kept me in a love struck haze between sleep and awake all night long. I was sitting upright scrolling my phone before 6am. I got up to make a cup of coffee and Kait turned and spotted me across the room. We both did a little silent dance so as not to wake Jacqui or the other maids in the massive suite.<br />
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The next part of this story shouldn't shock you. I took the girls on my last run as a Hode. At 7am the morning of my wedding. We laced up and hit the road. I've started most of my days as a Hode with a run. How could I start the last day any different?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIa0Gfq1fDB9PdBRrBr6NGYLlFmN0CxxFHLQlf_vTtL0V_6B_pEuzZn9FSIMHamOfbC5_ASdwGV42fhaXoanGxYI-UZQJQ7hnnZCfV-dp7Uopr_fHUdmxuENiXQrQeV0eaiZ0dP3g-CPj/s1600/WEdding+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIa0Gfq1fDB9PdBRrBr6NGYLlFmN0CxxFHLQlf_vTtL0V_6B_pEuzZn9FSIMHamOfbC5_ASdwGV42fhaXoanGxYI-UZQJQ7hnnZCfV-dp7Uopr_fHUdmxuENiXQrQeV0eaiZ0dP3g-CPj/s400/WEdding+4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's Lindsey!<br />
And Ian took Beth's place during the run portion of the day</td></tr>
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The girls and I headed to the salon after a quick rinse to start the getting ready process. Rob had spent the night at Lake Lawn Lodge. He enjoyed a suite fit for a King (or a small army) and slept in before he met his brother for breakfast. The girls finished hair and makeup and picked up lunch as we headed back. I lost my phone between the salon and The Abbey. Room serviced decided not to come clean the room while we were gone. All those little things that you don't plan for, yea they happened. </div>
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The rest of the story will be told mostly through pictures. I'll jump in and explain a few things here and there, but I'm going to try and let the pictures tell the story. Our photographer is truly one of the best. She deserves every penny plus some. She walked into a mess of women half naked, some applying makeup, some still eating lunch and she asked 0 questions. She adjusted her lens and off she went. You aren't going to see all 1,800 photos (yes, seriously) but I'll do my best to show you all the winners. If pictures don't interest you, this is your cue to move on.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Getting Ready: The Girls </span></div>
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I made sure to have all of Rob's sisters and nieces come to the room while we were getting ready. We had ALL the females of all ages, coffee, champagne, and hair curlers in 1 room.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5-GvPYTGJSrpZUtiEXD3w8PEyLjzFsxt7q5k0oOhOtcIv8ckvGwE52DEbceG3iLcHkgOaOVxvBZS_Pf1UMNz6Sn6hdamG9Te9ZWWnb-eYmMnXXybr_DDfB77tHctsFgekVGQ9Fw_QUnG/s1600/0045_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5-GvPYTGJSrpZUtiEXD3w8PEyLjzFsxt7q5k0oOhOtcIv8ckvGwE52DEbceG3iLcHkgOaOVxvBZS_Pf1UMNz6Sn6hdamG9Te9ZWWnb-eYmMnXXybr_DDfB77tHctsFgekVGQ9Fw_QUnG/s400/0045_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGney6XAoYMICn-epy8rs34huI7di-xpwcJXdi5J79TIgzPZa5qWj2KaSLyY6JJkvZe24e-RkutGiBhTGx4qfW-lsdSeFUTJhO30CLtYsOZ7uG1ayeN0CI_mqZIL8BzYOi27T6S3b4erZ/s1600/0053_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcGney6XAoYMICn-epy8rs34huI7di-xpwcJXdi5J79TIgzPZa5qWj2KaSLyY6JJkvZe24e-RkutGiBhTGx4qfW-lsdSeFUTJhO30CLtYsOZ7uG1ayeN0CI_mqZIL8BzYOi27T6S3b4erZ/s400/0053_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKSUF8FeIIcnzj_Bid4eQe6BsC-u8QwrfpSstYrAD6sQQKRs7T8d9fJCKLDPrJ86mNrKbS7SpA4GEYpWW9HJ-z0SZy4eniVcpgM75lJgtfJ2ZtdrbMM0z6QCP5lyAXSpnq1qZ03msx9OW/s1600/0060_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKSUF8FeIIcnzj_Bid4eQe6BsC-u8QwrfpSstYrAD6sQQKRs7T8d9fJCKLDPrJ86mNrKbS7SpA4GEYpWW9HJ-z0SZy4eniVcpgM75lJgtfJ2ZtdrbMM0z6QCP5lyAXSpnq1qZ03msx9OW/s400/0060_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuIIhyphenhyphenzUudvskD0i9-TxaEOdR3DEH62yfp_eAFHB3kHUCcT8w3qehXTPjCzz7WL7utJ_hNq0HsTo5i4GT6k6NhvKCb4lwQFqmpOUH3OVtUn_lQ_WJ0Psx_QNg13wtpOMmpnhSUm0KwPR3/s1600/0064_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuIIhyphenhyphenzUudvskD0i9-TxaEOdR3DEH62yfp_eAFHB3kHUCcT8w3qehXTPjCzz7WL7utJ_hNq0HsTo5i4GT6k6NhvKCb4lwQFqmpOUH3OVtUn_lQ_WJ0Psx_QNg13wtpOMmpnhSUm0KwPR3/s400/0064_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeing Rob's sister and Godmother for the first time<br />
Karen's face in the background is also priceless</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiF9xMcKBBm0EWpSBocb0qmPSfJE9-nJR2erVk7RHT-v4SQHveOOD4P7oF27YXvVP1RfBlL4QnRAO2RppF2WwaQWx_y4SImyRWs-hCNLz74t73jpeYPd-KOIPfE4PhfIV89OGpIqt8C06/s1600/0079_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiF9xMcKBBm0EWpSBocb0qmPSfJE9-nJR2erVk7RHT-v4SQHveOOD4P7oF27YXvVP1RfBlL4QnRAO2RppF2WwaQWx_y4SImyRWs-hCNLz74t73jpeYPd-KOIPfE4PhfIV89OGpIqt8C06/s400/0079_megan_robert.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petal Patrol..</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_cjn7EAJlRTXVe-K_CR3L_uGeX1Wi4DlmkGiI_RWInee44y9E5U6THFcsG8nVWNf32RUXI5fhry_wncRXVGh1LsgEvl7AT9HkRnLTThmJC1b4rWG-dZO4otmDMMIcjgHekIJF08M9y4r/s1600/0088_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_cjn7EAJlRTXVe-K_CR3L_uGeX1Wi4DlmkGiI_RWInee44y9E5U6THFcsG8nVWNf32RUXI5fhry_wncRXVGh1LsgEvl7AT9HkRnLTThmJC1b4rWG-dZO4otmDMMIcjgHekIJF08M9y4r/s400/0088_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...gettin' all glammed up with mom </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_lUjv0Pp26G7bGqHV4D3doIwlB-f5iaVjSA8PcISLy5XgTPNmujAaOo1PuTLF0IHGE62ZccesMBBx4NiIHVj6nrSx_OodYRnqghdUJ3k386NC9G5yhUc2qhljV8srN66o4zAb_1gl1lJ/s1600/0099_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_lUjv0Pp26G7bGqHV4D3doIwlB-f5iaVjSA8PcISLy5XgTPNmujAaOo1PuTLF0IHGE62ZccesMBBx4NiIHVj6nrSx_OodYRnqghdUJ3k386NC9G5yhUc2qhljV8srN66o4zAb_1gl1lJ/s400/0099_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But first lemme take a selfie </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbES32nICQfWQQw65K8LM1wu9ohikuiUwOH8f1nX4vSNRKguLjAkYlefY74yngwtkZwgKU0YRHClgCH6FuDflvmBPKscGv4DqGFitm9wjs0-ei_aZxPcxLgmbFjHqzCb2c_9jS0nOjk_v/s1600/0183_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbES32nICQfWQQw65K8LM1wu9ohikuiUwOH8f1nX4vSNRKguLjAkYlefY74yngwtkZwgKU0YRHClgCH6FuDflvmBPKscGv4DqGFitm9wjs0-ei_aZxPcxLgmbFjHqzCb2c_9jS0nOjk_v/s400/0183_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbXGUxJHb2Px2Jbe8rToyzrCED94-OWuslDCSll_Ljtfz2EvHMiKvkrMb-306Labtm_NEHSA-TthkHdc4_zxo9qUxdPDAVLckIlL4ZhIn3WVHzN44JRUnPR3T7XfOihgvTFwLu2CVkF9J/s1600/0215_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbXGUxJHb2Px2Jbe8rToyzrCED94-OWuslDCSll_Ljtfz2EvHMiKvkrMb-306Labtm_NEHSA-TthkHdc4_zxo9qUxdPDAVLckIlL4ZhIn3WVHzN44JRUnPR3T7XfOihgvTFwLu2CVkF9J/s400/0215_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom finally arrived π</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1p_Lv-M7iUh-K3hQf8oyaMnYa8Z18T6vSFLVldtfoHslkEfyUXjPH1KpYMc1KjnJ5NMsBKtGwMDd68XPOUgL7_1-UMFjD25MqKvgV186ITAqjCwWWhmB1CSy-XA3LPYuIzYjNVc-7Q4XN/s1600/0227_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1p_Lv-M7iUh-K3hQf8oyaMnYa8Z18T6vSFLVldtfoHslkEfyUXjPH1KpYMc1KjnJ5NMsBKtGwMDd68XPOUgL7_1-UMFjD25MqKvgV186ITAqjCwWWhmB1CSy-XA3LPYuIzYjNVc-7Q4XN/s400/0227_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dB2JyiMAwvnolsT_2ozmkus4gneHQJkZzOm0orM34CfYhiVpD3sQdyChEpNzV7YFNlLoZBZns4MLP02zutxbSvXZ1l5Ym8tXHyN_fSb6t-eEJmNQX-8bLQOTO5ltpWPIfL85-5uQhuVx/s1600/0232_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dB2JyiMAwvnolsT_2ozmkus4gneHQJkZzOm0orM34CfYhiVpD3sQdyChEpNzV7YFNlLoZBZns4MLP02zutxbSvXZ1l5Ym8tXHyN_fSb6t-eEJmNQX-8bLQOTO5ltpWPIfL85-5uQhuVx/s400/0232_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easily 100% my favorite picture of my mom and I</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHS3l6We-lYCCC3w0FPfAjDhB3cmGyWo6QHLpzDQdtHLH0gRpG0f86qtaHKDTLcYq5ft4vdUzcc7cJGJiGv-u_0-KwK4bGdchDytDDNkC6LZFWOohdt2grlg72YAMIHPrzg94VLX-KACJ/s1600/0308_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHS3l6We-lYCCC3w0FPfAjDhB3cmGyWo6QHLpzDQdtHLH0gRpG0f86qtaHKDTLcYq5ft4vdUzcc7cJGJiGv-u_0-KwK4bGdchDytDDNkC6LZFWOohdt2grlg72YAMIHPrzg94VLX-KACJ/s400/0308_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making sure Mia had the perfect fit</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fZb5kh6xuUfM3OEsWZzwoz-X9yogaUkiOaHDTuqaMcyWpJDlhZgCJKYImpFUtlfrfFaUXyzdyXa1W-pYNg8ngmwDE6CwbA_YWaDH__zE16FBxvU_wIAiJqUGxTsH9a-USkq8qeDx1pMG/s1600/0275_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fZb5kh6xuUfM3OEsWZzwoz-X9yogaUkiOaHDTuqaMcyWpJDlhZgCJKYImpFUtlfrfFaUXyzdyXa1W-pYNg8ngmwDE6CwbA_YWaDH__zE16FBxvU_wIAiJqUGxTsH9a-USkq8qeDx1pMG/s400/0275_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoiler Alert: I didn't wear running shoes down the aisle </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcjbLEQkskrxxKDcxgUJrpGD6izx_auRXK3gDPKdOSEQzyONzEt7HB7v0d0Xqbcys97A1LiaK0ySlKgs_35D_kE90Psiuo7v6qiNi0LDgChyKPX4wG4Uv1az6M2kv6EQ7UbUclKvuwRUG/s1600/0453_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcjbLEQkskrxxKDcxgUJrpGD6izx_auRXK3gDPKdOSEQzyONzEt7HB7v0d0Xqbcys97A1LiaK0ySlKgs_35D_kE90Psiuo7v6qiNi0LDgChyKPX4wG4Uv1az6M2kv6EQ7UbUclKvuwRUG/s400/0453_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad decided to wait until this moment to see my dress for the first time</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTIKeYhBjkozawj2fQdv2JD-XHthgjWIXx1jiIStT6rSRH2rfvcPW4_lW0ykJu46NngJ4SQgIUQS8ykFAGxwi_CNLXAFwIjdY2AC6oe8mvw0WjVMZx-5hH3d9U4DPEFOCNg3qubxMDN66/s1600/0459_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTIKeYhBjkozawj2fQdv2JD-XHthgjWIXx1jiIStT6rSRH2rfvcPW4_lW0ykJu46NngJ4SQgIUQS8ykFAGxwi_CNLXAFwIjdY2AC6oe8mvw0WjVMZx-5hH3d9U4DPEFOCNg3qubxMDN66/s400/0459_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And so did Mark π«</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Getting Ready: The Boys</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtBIRjpZB5ld-rHMj5hoSQUN0kGG73YqLuYSeSuakzh-_hFs2-qa9yF5xizdzxUyRJGZ_zF4m48wSvHLwQz8x_L0y3QnMcOQjxOvOfEI2tnIudqPt2UBNSlMb3UNoxFE9_ed-oAhqy5bo/s1600/0135_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtBIRjpZB5ld-rHMj5hoSQUN0kGG73YqLuYSeSuakzh-_hFs2-qa9yF5xizdzxUyRJGZ_zF4m48wSvHLwQz8x_L0y3QnMcOQjxOvOfEI2tnIudqPt2UBNSlMb3UNoxFE9_ed-oAhqy5bo/s400/0135_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a difference between boys and girls...</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfR234wRRxenLu0gy2BrqImyIA9KKBuARsWKjbOgyCvvw7aios02csGyxs229NWbE6SbHqvjpRAAtnE1t1asyZYbT7ILABuARd3aFJ4hxmeTMF5SEXphGVbDzr1sbw4dIL6_Q80C5mXgNW/s1600/0267_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfR234wRRxenLu0gy2BrqImyIA9KKBuARsWKjbOgyCvvw7aios02csGyxs229NWbE6SbHqvjpRAAtnE1t1asyZYbT7ILABuARd3aFJ4hxmeTMF5SEXphGVbDzr1sbw4dIL6_Q80C5mXgNW/s400/0267_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That difference includes serious hard alcohol and hearty meat sandwiches on your wedding day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcebf4BVZqokvtL2tMc06Ok9KVeS0Gjo0KFpuSuv1Bg7cbELfeEAUrQwnzcz4PUKqdqvdF2FxC-CdqP_k3maiGuLZvxn09Qx1w03TG1vHc2GRK-tkII-cfNxwaFR2peS8med7uLiZo4mwr/s1600/0150_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcebf4BVZqokvtL2tMc06Ok9KVeS0Gjo0KFpuSuv1Bg7cbELfeEAUrQwnzcz4PUKqdqvdF2FxC-CdqP_k3maiGuLZvxn09Qx1w03TG1vHc2GRK-tkII-cfNxwaFR2peS8med7uLiZo4mwr/s400/0150_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The room we had reserved for the boys to get ready had an air conditioner on the fritz.<br />
Poor Smitty was just lookin' for some airflow...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt28xiqveWbxBnouN_MwQ9C2Uu9wW1ymM_bofAtGDifskcQftjzM6VT0WOy3orfhKFjfKFSzwGN7mfv2Bv3Rw1Wa_cG8Ae_ihwGjwmEbG5tHKrL8-NH76yHVKRPW2t2NxIu2iZvx-hOvd/s1600/0263_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivt28xiqveWbxBnouN_MwQ9C2Uu9wW1ymM_bofAtGDifskcQftjzM6VT0WOy3orfhKFjfKFSzwGN7mfv2Bv3Rw1Wa_cG8Ae_ihwGjwmEbG5tHKrL8-NH76yHVKRPW2t2NxIu2iZvx-hOvd/s400/0263_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was told that Google was utilized many times to figure out how to fold those little devils..</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyhhSKOb-mUdf2A2ykXxfkOixNJUDYQ008lqlPsrBGUWZOgvmczzBV3hko3m1vK-moTQkjFM3hktGZj3a6TOBAqCpQuzLATIQaXFmA4Fji716e6TDg5fH5Zs8iHk6Hknz7KtHorJtwbkg2/s1600/0168_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyhhSKOb-mUdf2A2ykXxfkOixNJUDYQ008lqlPsrBGUWZOgvmczzBV3hko3m1vK-moTQkjFM3hktGZj3a6TOBAqCpQuzLATIQaXFmA4Fji716e6TDg5fH5Zs8iHk6Hknz7KtHorJtwbkg2/s400/0168_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ring bearer Leo. Over it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKALjw6Mk6tB6HMHDUrBLBrmyODmrArJICkZOggIFDOIVUzenkFb4hvmYVpIC6Gh7Z61_gTjwd0Xk61WZy4B_dtPTOJ-0x3tDwa8opNXZGoBRuanbK_dunsgdOjhq1ecMnu2Q8CjtHzoi/s1600/0175_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKALjw6Mk6tB6HMHDUrBLBrmyODmrArJICkZOggIFDOIVUzenkFb4hvmYVpIC6Gh7Z61_gTjwd0Xk61WZy4B_dtPTOJ-0x3tDwa8opNXZGoBRuanbK_dunsgdOjhq1ecMnu2Q8CjtHzoi/s400/0175_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuqjyeFwFOkpbQpjjPTkzlawbpdkZpYEVLR3P0aIBOraLFLRyCdfV69L28lf7bvZlFSog_NFjcL_fl3Rjgn1A1iuMGLKyp_R2_WFt1yssSyXi5JLnElEscY9V4Hgdii2KDN3HVUwIPPEh/s1600/0337_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuqjyeFwFOkpbQpjjPTkzlawbpdkZpYEVLR3P0aIBOraLFLRyCdfV69L28lf7bvZlFSog_NFjcL_fl3Rjgn1A1iuMGLKyp_R2_WFt1yssSyXi5JLnElEscY9V4Hgdii2KDN3HVUwIPPEh/s400/0337_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The room next door had air though ;) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU6FWNG_Nv5VhWrFbod6ckK2MXEQMs-fEI1DpdtRX0UK8uAjHXVN11XemfNELwSo0AgmWIZ4CR2T3mVkpmMZCU9JU-wWJZPDrUY7d3VpWTBEDp9n8xd54ixNmfwtzqo8d268gOpHQeWaW/s1600/0155_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU6FWNG_Nv5VhWrFbod6ckK2MXEQMs-fEI1DpdtRX0UK8uAjHXVN11XemfNELwSo0AgmWIZ4CR2T3mVkpmMZCU9JU-wWJZPDrUY7d3VpWTBEDp9n8xd54ixNmfwtzqo8d268gOpHQeWaW/s400/0155_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs dress shoes?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2a2wvfApzXCN_SKRh895bh-Tm2GhUAVCQJSuV7L4_LDcnoXjzav89_PyjT3B7IEt6TgGDLRE7NXMOJBzbdxqdf2ExqM3WB_RjYYyRlmAH1e370P5OA6E02lMxHbyGlFKdvY4XP1LAzdv/s1600/0164_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2a2wvfApzXCN_SKRh895bh-Tm2GhUAVCQJSuV7L4_LDcnoXjzav89_PyjT3B7IEt6TgGDLRE7NXMOJBzbdxqdf2ExqM3WB_RjYYyRlmAH1e370P5OA6E02lMxHbyGlFKdvY4XP1LAzdv/s400/0164_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">17 going on 25</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRB2pX-ontMz0vsedBI3rqhB1V1ihxwJrx8SpZIXhkLArHTz7twSZnx1x9GsOgx7LA9JwWq3YPjTmxXukBT6hVIE6IK1DiT0ddjsKlS20KNodoi04qDkZLxB2sP9Dv4xya2kwJiYWVNuX/s1600/0362_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRB2pX-ontMz0vsedBI3rqhB1V1ihxwJrx8SpZIXhkLArHTz7twSZnx1x9GsOgx7LA9JwWq3YPjTmxXukBT6hVIE6IK1DiT0ddjsKlS20KNodoi04qDkZLxB2sP9Dv4xya2kwJiYWVNuX/s400/0362_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jen saved the day with the boutineers..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4_1SiwrnDLqWfYDh6nKWDlx4Kbq5z4z-biER0JqNTL8tMT5AWDLFjiotQ215frGWrpyj_Y9dqhg3tzrENhlVe_V0YqgM9w5nFYMupL9r7hwd6ulwY8_BNQrYvU5YFp6ZdpzdL96Fi29G/s1600/0442_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4_1SiwrnDLqWfYDh6nKWDlx4Kbq5z4z-biER0JqNTL8tMT5AWDLFjiotQ215frGWrpyj_Y9dqhg3tzrENhlVe_V0YqgM9w5nFYMupL9r7hwd6ulwY8_BNQrYvU5YFp6ZdpzdL96Fi29G/s400/0442_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the men needed help</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8icgAWtPRxLpyRXouYj73se-sUsoTGvMNP05Ym5s57_BbIcZfMo_1b4V8j7860ERSZLxzLYkwtgETWLdqF-oyBxAaPQJa5OAg0c8Oti6asnahK2vgVlBY22jU5Qob1PyDmjDow86d6js4/s1600/0346_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8icgAWtPRxLpyRXouYj73se-sUsoTGvMNP05Ym5s57_BbIcZfMo_1b4V8j7860ERSZLxzLYkwtgETWLdqF-oyBxAaPQJa5OAg0c8Oti6asnahK2vgVlBY22jU5Qob1PyDmjDow86d6js4/s400/0346_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best man & My man </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCqAGycvWpZh1Pl7FMJVY8caVv3WWF5ZXuo08QNieRWm7lkqVREw-F-mJPvm9X-TIwVyjuWas7Y7Bhrz2y14h3BqQb-s6SYwj8JGf3FNqLW5k-v6OLkzGRIDWSxU5u9vv06bx1AhAYm3L/s1600/0427_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCqAGycvWpZh1Pl7FMJVY8caVv3WWF5ZXuo08QNieRWm7lkqVREw-F-mJPvm9X-TIwVyjuWas7Y7Bhrz2y14h3BqQb-s6SYwj8JGf3FNqLW5k-v6OLkzGRIDWSxU5u9vv06bx1AhAYm3L/s400/0427_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There may or may not have been blood involved when Rob shaved that morning...<br />
There also may or may not have been makeup involved as a quick fix...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Wcu6Phyphenhyphenqk6XDn5fNSolGUYfE-jRLXqDO7OyTFzMm6cWtMEvngXKSc6eu6_dWs6TwWikRz_rIyNfMlg5v6CWn9CxI8RdGbvglo89U6pwEACNIgp8RJnjqYOjNZFSC06jqgCaz4fxQJx0x/s1600/0363_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Wcu6Phyphenhyphenqk6XDn5fNSolGUYfE-jRLXqDO7OyTFzMm6cWtMEvngXKSc6eu6_dWs6TwWikRz_rIyNfMlg5v6CWn9CxI8RdGbvglo89U6pwEACNIgp8RJnjqYOjNZFSC06jqgCaz4fxQJx0x/s400/0363_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ring Bearers off duty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Portraits</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXMZPeUpF2Il5xfEiQTBnRm5h-b2RzvkxO8R12SlvAt90eQl8xKylGCKUixdpgHUMy-HT-sKNS_a6tj0nQBDigLTaZ-w6t1ICRbTcldbDkqx7w8MeQjtJ566x8yVveZxQ-T9BipFqxxQD/s1600/0467_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXMZPeUpF2Il5xfEiQTBnRm5h-b2RzvkxO8R12SlvAt90eQl8xKylGCKUixdpgHUMy-HT-sKNS_a6tj0nQBDigLTaZ-w6t1ICRbTcldbDkqx7w8MeQjtJ566x8yVveZxQ-T9BipFqxxQD/s400/0467_megan_robert.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hode's</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypHgdCHbZw92Unp2udJj74hmPrSj1bbmPhHm06uFMp-mcZrIOv4zpTgcm7DO4Qe7YBYc4ixmDMD0RJxXdpd-rKnoq0t_wPBnsS0xmhvNUrkR2pJlmApvhaBdkOXfXshXGwXdgu5Ov0vtX/s1600/0471_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypHgdCHbZw92Unp2udJj74hmPrSj1bbmPhHm06uFMp-mcZrIOv4zpTgcm7DO4Qe7YBYc4ixmDMD0RJxXdpd-rKnoq0t_wPBnsS0xmhvNUrkR2pJlmApvhaBdkOXfXshXGwXdgu5Ov0vtX/s400/0471_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPW6UFuMuE9NIHFC5btc4-zCv_CsEWpnwLMBNUIWEHdekwKvi1kGY_A_cFehOqdueWdNHnDkfbuaoW2KpzvX3fQA4RuqDv8SwvJaX-_mjVMDsXNW9v0z3i-PafiTSbQGku3TIuElpuJmx/s1600/0495_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPW6UFuMuE9NIHFC5btc4-zCv_CsEWpnwLMBNUIWEHdekwKvi1kGY_A_cFehOqdueWdNHnDkfbuaoW2KpzvX3fQA4RuqDv8SwvJaX-_mjVMDsXNW9v0z3i-PafiTSbQGku3TIuElpuJmx/s400/0495_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Boy + all 6 Sisters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYumE-0m758Zyz0NusajjSCeABLaWHGC_0qDE6eQz604-1B7JIuZiJnRKElaaIKrs8tzptP0TEYwqSojJuCYaZaWwl-qItbvaRnYi0T2PX_nLMwuwq0651plMP33fYqm3VBA_XnAiqXMq2/s1600/0500_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYumE-0m758Zyz0NusajjSCeABLaWHGC_0qDE6eQz604-1B7JIuZiJnRKElaaIKrs8tzptP0TEYwqSojJuCYaZaWwl-qItbvaRnYi0T2PX_nLMwuwq0651plMP33fYqm3VBA_XnAiqXMq2/s400/0500_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1-10 + Poppi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVQXYg1kv39RgSBs6sszMnPt0elfi5o_YUxbWsTPvjRTpmvCx5WHUu_wc-xN1WXXZeKYb_Bl5p6RtDWZW-UjBXNc8hx7TfVNjLNSr5WMitzTqGRgdKd1JauKB_o6ZJhZhADLCqoo51GdJ/s1600/0503_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVQXYg1kv39RgSBs6sszMnPt0elfi5o_YUxbWsTPvjRTpmvCx5WHUu_wc-xN1WXXZeKYb_Bl5p6RtDWZW-UjBXNc8hx7TfVNjLNSr5WMitzTqGRgdKd1JauKB_o6ZJhZhADLCqoo51GdJ/s400/0503_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sloan Boys</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkTeN9KEx1Y8jB_O7tQ7OzYag_oHTLjEbrmL3Wmy3Nb8qD5KGJ_8_EHh4t4ryZHXN8wD2cf-gAjhouEMnci3H6gqnNgjo5nUjDWTb9zYE9BymkyRhdBwZkaSLOp8NTeqvVPBEv1uygbaUx/s1600/0612_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkTeN9KEx1Y8jB_O7tQ7OzYag_oHTLjEbrmL3Wmy3Nb8qD5KGJ_8_EHh4t4ryZHXN8wD2cf-gAjhouEMnci3H6gqnNgjo5nUjDWTb9zYE9BymkyRhdBwZkaSLOp8NTeqvVPBEv1uygbaUx/s400/0612_megan_robert.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those baby blues π</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because this was my favorite part </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. & Mrs. Sloan</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_UxX-S9mdZzjUiGb3akIxLjbnn8uSb_p3liEa4bKdx8jPrmuG5EUJ4NBR4MZE4BApQIPIK82APf8PWxXcazs5SniuQy52C8cOH9XMOsLrfm_FvID5bQhEI4-50mB0BA7aR28MUte0cVN/s1600/0942_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_UxX-S9mdZzjUiGb3akIxLjbnn8uSb_p3liEa4bKdx8jPrmuG5EUJ4NBR4MZE4BApQIPIK82APf8PWxXcazs5SniuQy52C8cOH9XMOsLrfm_FvID5bQhEI4-50mB0BA7aR28MUte0cVN/s400/0942_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you look closely..<br />
...our dad's in the background </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Post Ceremony Portraits</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNdmEp8sLlNRlAnIbMPQM2U4cqZ_O4fsvfh2MX-db-_UpNLz6LyLZZj54KtTUwOYmrG6Om6cxRJApjRfiPUSYL5UQqZmTB_85OzzZqcUnvMzVyT1yNTR6KJuZ42BOPYbWWhhEWEHET_MY/s1600/0973_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNdmEp8sLlNRlAnIbMPQM2U4cqZ_O4fsvfh2MX-db-_UpNLz6LyLZZj54KtTUwOYmrG6Om6cxRJApjRfiPUSYL5UQqZmTB_85OzzZqcUnvMzVyT1yNTR6KJuZ42BOPYbWWhhEWEHET_MY/s400/0973_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob's Grandma Dolly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKCn2B9kTJ_KadK8vhh3XWD3I8zO9aoaKyKE2vxZm1wOthVY_regjKLL2A1Ts7NaROFM-xd6UN2Y-39KRT21bJ-0BoYCH72Hugmbb-TfwjzclNZCwNp0kKfe99qq51BFZfQ893nwDYUhG/s1600/0982_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKCn2B9kTJ_KadK8vhh3XWD3I8zO9aoaKyKE2vxZm1wOthVY_regjKLL2A1Ts7NaROFM-xd6UN2Y-39KRT21bJ-0BoYCH72Hugmbb-TfwjzclNZCwNp0kKfe99qq51BFZfQ893nwDYUhG/s400/0982_megan_robert.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are FAM-I-LY</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmQQVCg3MKJcR_4UDOorsGazIGA7CHFPURGTRv79RJiEadQt1aWGUqEpXCxcWfsJ3vaR6Wxmt0PE17BzWViZ6UADQpwOepU8FBwy9mna4T2z-K5hHzC0cZU0jaPAAYCCPn7yuOm3ymYxD/s1600/1013_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmQQVCg3MKJcR_4UDOorsGazIGA7CHFPURGTRv79RJiEadQt1aWGUqEpXCxcWfsJ3vaR6Wxmt0PE17BzWViZ6UADQpwOepU8FBwy9mna4T2z-K5hHzC0cZU0jaPAAYCCPn7yuOm3ymYxD/s400/1013_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Grandma Angie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhu92I0F2Yw5_1-cbKfLp_9Dap7_JA4BizZx-lR1wZ7ev3OlgtI6U4bfSsoVg4u9B3j_DTiWcTlc9XHQ2hfvMdACvfBzl3G_YH9evS9IFUoiC1lmIe_TV_QYmaH884WJOHf75l8Hl5U9k/s1600/1044_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhu92I0F2Yw5_1-cbKfLp_9Dap7_JA4BizZx-lR1wZ7ev3OlgtI6U4bfSsoVg4u9B3j_DTiWcTlc9XHQ2hfvMdACvfBzl3G_YH9evS9IFUoiC1lmIe_TV_QYmaH884WJOHf75l8Hl5U9k/s400/1044_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sloan, Party of 36</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0vc8Oj-vYcL9_mNQnJY9feR5U7-r6V0E9yhI1fyG7JEP1I58Hvg5PVSXBbdtSYAZqTB9TmswLS4PPkBeBg5-wOtxxTP1ulPM92E7f4F3_Xyscj6QY9fC5wbDc7ngoH-GkeT1VeT7xZRk/s1600/1062_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0vc8Oj-vYcL9_mNQnJY9feR5U7-r6V0E9yhI1fyG7JEP1I58Hvg5PVSXBbdtSYAZqTB9TmswLS4PPkBeBg5-wOtxxTP1ulPM92E7f4F3_Xyscj6QY9fC5wbDc7ngoH-GkeT1VeT7xZRk/s400/1062_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poppi, 1-10, Spouses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJU7zNj-qE5J9QycdBcyB7im4YvDBqa1nlcq1HlNEwHqqDzqtNR7BmF4DGzanP4e1O9KwxkH-OuMpz1FItkzK-zcl9r_pBdC1OZTMWTl56Xku2Cp-seV9s3R0ytZYSUhdzOr2OmuDAqim/s1600/1081_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZJU7zNj-qE5J9QycdBcyB7im4YvDBqa1nlcq1HlNEwHqqDzqtNR7BmF4DGzanP4e1O9KwxkH-OuMpz1FItkzK-zcl9r_pBdC1OZTMWTl56Xku2Cp-seV9s3R0ytZYSUhdzOr2OmuDAqim/s400/1081_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ALL of my siblings ππ¬π«π«ππ«</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkasAOv8yd-IYg0fjh0FDITD1v9voPbnM-ByWTj0f6r0rYsNz2A69M12iKzqDtCNpHSubREzHk0ZCNwYJV1xl5CAhaSrWQD5q4_oRa0SbjN78NbZ3U3FsGbqf6yN1-_PgxUVsaEKjhs-q/s1600/1102_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkasAOv8yd-IYg0fjh0FDITD1v9voPbnM-ByWTj0f6r0rYsNz2A69M12iKzqDtCNpHSubREzHk0ZCNwYJV1xl5CAhaSrWQD5q4_oRa0SbjN78NbZ3U3FsGbqf6yN1-_PgxUVsaEKjhs-q/s400/1102_megan_robert.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That A-frame π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHYsvDiF2VMpMQlwTFJeibs5_ChT_Mshu73YbnFGPGHv88oOLV4R1awlfuqo6wmlnh3ivzKeDqvluUk0FfIS_han8Ed2Hca2Wq1UiItb6OP3bwNl0LBd10bQNOPea-v0WUsE98c_XbpdL/s1600/1106_megan_robert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHYsvDiF2VMpMQlwTFJeibs5_ChT_Mshu73YbnFGPGHv88oOLV4R1awlfuqo6wmlnh3ivzKeDqvluUk0FfIS_han8Ed2Hca2Wq1UiItb6OP3bwNl0LBd10bQNOPea-v0WUsE98c_XbpdL/s400/1106_megan_robert.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This crew π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Mr. & Mrs. Sloan π</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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I could go on and on. The pictures never end, and I'm completely ok with that. You just got a small taste of what our day was. </div>
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Thank you's are heading out in the mail shortly but I think it's important to mention how deeply appreciative Rob and I are for everyone that helped make this day what it was for us. Our love story to get to wedding day wasn't short and there are plenty of people that have helped us write it over the years. Not a day goes by we don't understand that. Without any of you, we wouldn't be us. </div>
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Cheers πΊ </div>
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The Sloan's </div>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-8506459155635861522019-04-19T06:44:00.000-05:002019-04-19T07:06:11.270-05:00 BQ or Bust Round 2: Keep Showing UpI really didn't think I'd be sitting down to tell this story. Yet, here we are.<br />
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I'm currently sitting in my Normatec boots, post flush recovery swim, pre early bedtime because I'm a believing in <i>all</i> forms of recovery.<br />
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I really never thought Saturday's marathon would end the way it did.<br />
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I had my time to be upset, even though it wasn't much.<br />
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Yes, I'm ok. Definitely bummed, but not crushed.<br />
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Yes, I'm already formulating Plan B.<br />
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No, I don't think I took on to much at once. I live for life under pressure.<br />
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No, my quest to Boston isn't over just yet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wmFP4vTZ_qrBHL1laIvlI0bHTk-kgH5Hk4-RPvaZQGz-Z13n4_fzSfcZb4E-fDzcrjlTmF66KiqAlgWq_tF1X3ZVeVOD_FXqiGA2m4-W_bixH4GWw1FIElLTLaOT1L3HwIet-6yEjHdD/s1600/IMG_1545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="926" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wmFP4vTZ_qrBHL1laIvlI0bHTk-kgH5Hk4-RPvaZQGz-Z13n4_fzSfcZb4E-fDzcrjlTmF66KiqAlgWq_tF1X3ZVeVOD_FXqiGA2m4-W_bixH4GWw1FIElLTLaOT1L3HwIet-6yEjHdD/s400/IMG_1545.JPG" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BFG brother to offer immediate comforts</td></tr>
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I didn't have a hard time sleeping on Friday night. I had a <i>full</i> week at work and was able to zonk without to much tossing and turning. When my alarm went off my feet hit the floor and I started the process.<br />
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<i>Bathroom. Brush teeth. Coffee. Banana. Toast the bread. Coat with generous portion of peanut butter and jelly. Scroll email/news while I let my stomach realize that this is breakfast time at 3:15am. </i><br />
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I arrived to the race site and was able to grab my bib immediately and headed back to my car where I sat in the warmth until I absolutely had to get out and start my warm up to the start line. Long time friend Jason had just moved back home after finishing chiropractic school in Florida and he kept me company until Rob showed up and we all ventured to the start.<br />
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<b>A few things you need to know about this race: </b></h4>
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1. The course is a 3.25 mile loop that is run around a forest preserve in Batavia, IL.</div>
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2. It's extremely flat and fast.</div>
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3. There are 2 aid stations per loop, for a total of 16 aid stations over 26 miles. </div>
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4. The bib numbers are assigned by BQ standards. My BQ time is 3:30. My bib number was 33014. Hence, I should be on the lookout on course for other bibs that started with "330" and the 14 recognized that I was the 14th person in my age group to register. </div>
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5. An "elite" water bottle station was set up so you could drop a water bottle mixed with whatever concoction/nutrition you preferred for your race and grab it once during each loop. </div>
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6. Because of its looped nature, I was able to see any spectator 8 times over 26.2 miles. This was HUGE for my mental game. </div>
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7. The pace groups are paced to finish 1 minute under your respective qualifying time to ensure you qualify for Boston if you finish with the appropriate pace group. </div>
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I kissed Rob goodbye, gave Jason a high five and took off for the start to find the appropriate pace group. I wasn't about to get friendly with the 3:30 group because we all know after last year, it takes more than 1 minute to solidify entry into this race. So I meandered to the 3:25 group and found 1 other female. {Technically, 3:30 is the fastest any female has to run to qualify for Boston so the fact that I saw any other female with the 3:25 group meant that she was here for the same reasons I was.} We instantly made eye contact, I noted her bib number, 33017, and she walked up to me. <i>"Not interested in the 3:30 group, eh?"</i> My kinda girl. <i>"Me either, I missed entry into Boston last year because of 10 seconds so I'm not playing around anymore." </i>HOLY HELL I THOUGHT MY 19 SECONDS WAS HEART BREAKING. I knew right away this girl was one to hang onto. The gun went off and we formally introduced ourselves as we crossed the timing pads. "Hi, I'm Megan." "Nice to meet you, I'm Emily." </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWfGIH7smrvXWUCuq7SsyMmAx00jy4XZGP-XVziwPCYY0p4Lx9_pDiQyNOXhO-Pcx1oLKaLcOgzL4OeYuN-NhfSw0OEjMlob1uVoC0EvwGjGwj72z1A_YqcgJXq51WzwFu0edyu1r4Fyi/s1600/46694327375_265bdaafe5_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWfGIH7smrvXWUCuq7SsyMmAx00jy4XZGP-XVziwPCYY0p4Lx9_pDiQyNOXhO-Pcx1oLKaLcOgzL4OeYuN-NhfSw0OEjMlob1uVoC0EvwGjGwj72z1A_YqcgJXq51WzwFu0edyu1r4Fyi/s400/46694327375_265bdaafe5_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Emily, in the American flag arm sleeves</td></tr>
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Emily and I immediately latched onto each other made friends with the 3:25 pace group. She's from Indianapolis. I'm from down the street. Our pacer in the bright yellow asked, "so, who do you run with?" I asked if he knew Jacqui and Ryan Giuliano. He laughed and smirked from ear to ear. "Oh of course I do!" Mile 1 ticket by at 7:41 and we all laughed as a group. Welp, we got 5 seconds to excited. Just after mile 2 (7:44) I told the pacer to be on the lookout for Jacqui, just up the road. And sure enough, there she was smiling and cheering away. He yelled, "HEY! I told her I knew Jacqui Giuliano!" </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUt2CpDSWV81B9XKrB57wJYWTmWxgLB08qJsvIMtX1x8LJUzvolmHCBVhF1LPtQIphZ0eNqV7lfyyiwMNXpA5XtI_fv4SToErhipS9Id9eSmRNIKh37xqK_o49y0YoGC1-SF9_9xx-HvB/s1600/IMG_7268.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUt2CpDSWV81B9XKrB57wJYWTmWxgLB08qJsvIMtX1x8LJUzvolmHCBVhF1LPtQIphZ0eNqV7lfyyiwMNXpA5XtI_fv4SToErhipS9Id9eSmRNIKh37xqK_o49y0YoGC1-SF9_9xx-HvB/s400/IMG_7268.JPEG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because I was SO excited to see cheering squad number 1!</td></tr>
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We were closing in on mile 3 and just about done with the first lap and I could tell the body was feeling AMAZING. No aches. No "maybe that mile was a bit fast" issues. Just cruise control. <i>This is what I'd hoped for a lot longer than I had it. </i>As we clocked mile 3 at 7:32, we noted that we needed to slow down, regardless of how good we felt. The only problem was that I noticed my watch wasn't always reading proper pacing. I never expect it to be perfect, but at times I'd glance at my watch at see a 9 minute pace, forcing me to up the pace. </div>
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We closed out the first lap and I spotted Life Time mentor and friend Karie on the side of the path, arm extended to wish me will, leaning over to remind me to keep my shoulders relaxed and stay smooth with my strides. Karie is someone I've known of is the racing circuit for quite a while, but only in the past 4 months have we started a true friendship. And I have to say, there's something about her voice, her stern reminders. She elicits a confidence and certainty when she speaks, and today was no different. I took her advice and kept my eyes straight ahead. eyes on the prize. </div>
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Mile 4 clicked at 7:30 and I knew then that Emily and I needed to slow down. Although, something weird happened. When we slowed down, we lost the group. As in, they fell behind us. We held stride for stride but continued to run ahead of the of 3:25 group. Mile 5 clocked a 7:57, welcomed after so many fast miles. But then we noticed that Emily's watch never matched mine. If mine read fast, hers read slow. And vice versa. We did the best we could, but the miles kept ticking by faster than we hoped they would. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ8WY6ubnTU8CkJVkz6qlnPdq1MXFOykQbu3jGvlNl4kGy0a5Fq3DvvpKTW58sJymtRlL3ynJD6NB_NfnA5g0Ko-mOpE5WNOIsag7MomXtCyZ9M3_gAMzNGjlAH_r3zCCsUaF-daMhgId/s1600/IMG_6365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ8WY6ubnTU8CkJVkz6qlnPdq1MXFOykQbu3jGvlNl4kGy0a5Fq3DvvpKTW58sJymtRlL3ynJD6NB_NfnA5g0Ko-mOpE5WNOIsag7MomXtCyZ9M3_gAMzNGjlAH_r3zCCsUaF-daMhgId/s400/IMG_6365.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob caught us during lap 2 on the pedestrian bridge</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
We found Jacqui again and this time I gave her a proper introduction to Emily, promising that she was who I needed to keep pace with today. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb2xsItvaHWX_cTCV2jKlukPc2rlGtDov6iwXFbP-e_39b0mx-Nm4Lr-aCqR2TRzvoLK0I4FweBvJG3ohaszIBj8uqe2oz2KF4exryDUI_7eSM80T2uQ-bq2wLZETQpj-mzueiYDndg6m/s1600/IMG_6327.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb2xsItvaHWX_cTCV2jKlukPc2rlGtDov6iwXFbP-e_39b0mx-Nm4Lr-aCqR2TRzvoLK0I4FweBvJG3ohaszIBj8uqe2oz2KF4exryDUI_7eSM80T2uQ-bq2wLZETQpj-mzueiYDndg6m/s400/IMG_6327.JPEG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly mid-introduction</td></tr>
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Emily and I held onto each other and chatted a little here and there. She was expecting to see her sister soon while I told her that Rob would pop up on course soon, coffee in hand.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz64Yvno4HpVKLgQ-ZTEK0Ndx5ff7CpmzqRK-69DbCGlxT81nNSgZwBhYOweBGy3XBhZn3Jm0NsQwq5k8Krk4wANb5-5e3gYOWFpaAoreE8KP-iSnICSc3PwnGjlh_JphIkXt-FW5Csnp/s1600/IMG_6396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz64Yvno4HpVKLgQ-ZTEK0Ndx5ff7CpmzqRK-69DbCGlxT81nNSgZwBhYOweBGy3XBhZn3Jm0NsQwq5k8Krk4wANb5-5e3gYOWFpaAoreE8KP-iSnICSc3PwnGjlh_JphIkXt-FW5Csnp/s400/IMG_6396.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doin' what we love and lovin' what we do</td></tr>
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<div>
The miles continued to tick by lap after lap. The inconsistency of our watches continued and we never thought to much about it. I yelled at her when we were going to fast "OMG 7:05 THIS ISN'T THE KENTUCKY DERBY!" and she'd laugh. And when my watch screamed 10 minute miles, she assured me that we were not in fact walking. </div>
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<div>
To give you and idea of what we were dealing with, my splits obviously tell a story about where the course wasn't GPS friendly for me: </div>
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<div>
1: 7:41 (excited for the start)</div>
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2: 7:44 (goal pace)</div>
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3: 7:32</div>
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4: 7:30 (dream pace)</div>
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5: 7:57</div>
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6: 7:44 (goal pace)</div>
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7: 7:33 </div>
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8: 7:51 (perfect, hang here for a while)</div>
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9: 7:55</div>
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10: 7:35 (UGGGGHHHH)</div>
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<div>
After the 2nd aid station on each lap, there was a significant incline that wasn't truly a hill, but a steady incline that may or may not have left it's mark on me after the 3rd or 4th lap. After the first 2 laps I didn't think much about it, but by the 3rd lap, I could tell that Emily recovered from that little section much quicker than I did. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhta1R7zS03dGt3Am-KPEj1Ynw7M29vwUlcfqVaxsyJaGcvaE7v-xsBJ0jbrg7EGQuxf8aJi1q6-9k3Ypl8tQPx0bfcIEl7v68zUCfj6mp5dASx5V0SI7o2sLWsz7_B8oI8PGdQpZZr792p/s1600/46694361425_d8bde401f0_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhta1R7zS03dGt3Am-KPEj1Ynw7M29vwUlcfqVaxsyJaGcvaE7v-xsBJ0jbrg7EGQuxf8aJi1q6-9k3Ypl8tQPx0bfcIEl7v68zUCfj6mp5dASx5V0SI7o2sLWsz7_B8oI8PGdQpZZr792p/s400/46694361425_d8bde401f0_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lap that Emily introduced me to her dad and he responded with, "LEAVE HER IN THE DUST MEGAN!"</td></tr>
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Just around lap 5 is when I started to feel a TINY bit tired. Nothing to write home about, but enough that I could tell fatigue was setting in. No big deal, the 2nd wind is a glorious thing and I'll certainly bounce back, right? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ9TEePMvZJbf7uURkJ7C48Hr4k2LA_Gp1pFt3HRgO32Ieg_DBI6nq2ZLYvNlrNEJaVZKFs1He0g4WRnlTOBGjGaWVlopMNUise0Nao2H4oTdt_1wuaWVL5vE1tsyK5Yuk0GYRJiOWU2q/s1600/IMG_6400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ9TEePMvZJbf7uURkJ7C48Hr4k2LA_Gp1pFt3HRgO32Ieg_DBI6nq2ZLYvNlrNEJaVZKFs1He0g4WRnlTOBGjGaWVlopMNUise0Nao2H4oTdt_1wuaWVL5vE1tsyK5Yuk0GYRJiOWU2q/s400/IMG_6400.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We eventually evened ourselves out and met back with the 325 group</td></tr>
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Wrong. Miles 11-15 went as follows: 7:51, :41, :53, :49, :37. And then mile 16 happened. I went from on top of the world, to and 8:18 mile. I remember so vividly, my watched clicked and I glanced and instantly muttered, <i>oh shit.</i> I knew I was feeling a tad tired, but an 8:18 was what I envisioned for the final 3 miles when your legs take on a whole separate form of functioning. By the time I wrapped up this lap I was close to mile 19. Rob knew I was hurting, and he made his way to the park entrance and ran along side of me for a short stretch. I told him I didn't know if I should keep going for a finish or pull the plug in an effort to attempt to race Illinois in 2 short weeks. <i>If you keep running, will you hurt yourself?</i>, he asked.<i> </i>No, I told him. But I'm running out of available weekends to get this job done, I need to decide within the next mile. He pealed off course and just ahead was Karie. She knew something was up and put a hop to her step while I filled her in. <i>If you decide to finish the race DO NOT run hard right now, save yourself for other opportunities.</i> Wise woman she is. She made up my mind. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vJbEfsnskPeuR7YRQYp4drwnQEWLwE1B_M6qV5Q_7VsbxysUpyyvR45_QCEaz4HMcqP4yRLNSNxh-VeWf9zk5D4hFqfQbOVRoq9HybKdQoSWrQzSyJjrQumgRcaaKUHPc-Se5HHLRgba/s1600/33733295458_b7aae8a11e_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vJbEfsnskPeuR7YRQYp4drwnQEWLwE1B_M6qV5Q_7VsbxysUpyyvR45_QCEaz4HMcqP4yRLNSNxh-VeWf9zk5D4hFqfQbOVRoq9HybKdQoSWrQzSyJjrQumgRcaaKUHPc-Se5HHLRgba/s400/33733295458_b7aae8a11e_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wishing Karie was about to run the last 7 miles with me</td></tr>
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I didn't come here to quit. I didn't quite do what I wanted, but stepping off course was never something I've actually envisioned myself doing. I decided right then and there, I dialed the pace back A LOT, practically to a shuffle. I put one foot in front of the other. I found myself another finish line. The final miles, they weren't anything pretty at all. At one point the 3:30 pace group inched behind me and I caught a short 2nd wind. <i>OK, maybe you can hang with them for the final miles. This is your last shot.</i> My legs obeyed for about 45 seconds before they fell victim to the 9 minute mile again, and I then let them fall victim to an even slower pace. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ksZUJ9Dl1RTZQX3H5ncV5xhFNSKQvfSLtw0DU7DPx7mbF8dCs6LZ2ASNx7S_fu-X-1kKS4a1yBcmONjmfFls7xFbXYtsAuV9Lv-P6h9yJqz0W1qYs7D8sB9y6rV2lR4TU8CgYgRkF1dC/s1600/47556990972_274c603269_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ksZUJ9Dl1RTZQX3H5ncV5xhFNSKQvfSLtw0DU7DPx7mbF8dCs6LZ2ASNx7S_fu-X-1kKS4a1yBcmONjmfFls7xFbXYtsAuV9Lv-P6h9yJqz0W1qYs7D8sB9y6rV2lR4TU8CgYgRkF1dC/s400/47556990972_274c603269_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final lap, mentally the most difficult.</td></tr>
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You mind goes to some dark places during these types of events. People always ask me what's harder, the marathon or the Ironman? I always tell them the marathon. 100%. The Ironman is such a long day that you have so many opportunities to bounce back. The marathon can break you down physically and mentally faster than almost any distance triathlon. I thought of a lot during that last lap. I remembered how hard it was to finish my first marathon, 9 years ago. A college student with some guts that decided to take a chance. I remembered crossing that finish line in 5 hours and 27 minutes and thinking to myself, <i>"there's no way I'll ever do that again."</i> I remembered how awesome it was to qualify for Boston at Grandma's only 10 months prior, almost 2 hours faster than my original marathon time. I remembered watching The 2018 Boston Marathon on TV and seeing Des Linden take home the title, in the pouring rain and nasty winds on the bitterest day. The underdog. The blue collar runner. She defied the naysayers and got the job done. She showed up. She kept showing up. <i>When the going got tough and the wind forced her to sway down Boylston street, she got the job done. </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I showed up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ak68dZGqmZj7inc-TKBC6exsfQPhtKlnE7CqcISvPtFX3FM8r_PRtjfRoYVOPzLw5kwqN7nhWulaOXHkoNR5pftLKEHYwfxh4jSVbJNhjK2JVsyj3RiOsGPuhvkupgwSmTGsMZVlzUcF/s1600/IMG_6435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Ak68dZGqmZj7inc-TKBC6exsfQPhtKlnE7CqcISvPtFX3FM8r_PRtjfRoYVOPzLw5kwqN7nhWulaOXHkoNR5pftLKEHYwfxh4jSVbJNhjK2JVsyj3RiOsGPuhvkupgwSmTGsMZVlzUcF/s400/IMG_6435.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I'll keep showing up until I get the job done.</td></tr>
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I found the finish line 11 minutes after my qualifying time. I could make many excuses about why my day didn't go as planned. Analysis has been running through my mind for 7 days now. It'll never stop, if I'm being honest. Maybe I'll find the answers one day, maybe I won't. But I do know one thing, the day I do toe that line in Hopkinton I'll cry buckets. I'll hug every volunteer I encounter in Boston. I'll drink nothing but Dunkin' and 26.2 Brew and Sam Adams all weekend. I'll stop at the finish line to stand there and soak in the moment so I'll never forget. I'll pay respects to the bombing victims and their families. I'll be forever grateful for my chance to run the greatest marathon in the world. Because it'll be <i>the </i>hardest thing I've ever worked for in my life to date.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLSaAmuNXdG7dKq60OLMfj__I4FFdmQVBSbmNwoPFwlEsjR0SjV9xBitJzjmlWkqmyXEhMMFCIqTdWTlzSRi3Fp9yQkmgLxZUAhRSM5PvW3Vwhb_DO4BBUs2vjCPvksFlvDtAf3-sVZn4/s1600/IMG_1508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLSaAmuNXdG7dKq60OLMfj__I4FFdmQVBSbmNwoPFwlEsjR0SjV9xBitJzjmlWkqmyXEhMMFCIqTdWTlzSRi3Fp9yQkmgLxZUAhRSM5PvW3Vwhb_DO4BBUs2vjCPvksFlvDtAf3-sVZn4/s400/IMG_1508.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last race as Megan Hode<br />
Soon to be Mr & Mrs Sloan</td></tr>
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Until then, I've got a wedding to plan π<br />
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You know this story isn't over. Stay tuned for Plan B. </div>
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Cheers.<br />
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PS. I gave this race a much more formal review for Chicago Athlete Magazine. If you're interested in that, you can find it <a href="http://www.mychicagoathlete.com/spring-chance-bq-2-marathon/?fbclid=IwAR306aHZgEHH1pMhqbZLSQJjNtJRs-iLE1A15xB8BWmFodgZaWAO7cIssI4">here!</a></div>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-13977644761603559922019-04-12T05:36:00.000-05:002019-04-12T05:37:22.736-05:00Hi I'm Megan. Thanks for Being so Patient. Let's Re-Familiarize Ourselves? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I wish I could articulate how much I have <i>thought </i>about writing over the last 3 months. Seriously, so many times I have wanted to sit down and let my fingers fly. But...</div>
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...I often bring work home. This calendar year at the office is proving to be challenging in so many ways, and there are times I can't shut work off on the weekends.</div>
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...My wedding to-do list grows daily. Vendors to contact or meet up with, things to order, contracts to go over, decisions to make. It truly never ends.</div>
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...Wedding Dress fittings. Why are there SO many? I swear, I've had 3 and counting..<br />
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...I need to make dinner. Lame, I know. But I've found lately that I can get lost while I cook. It soothes me sometimes. I might start cooking at 7pm, but not eat until 8:30. Ya know, #foodieproblems.</div>
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...Occasionally I need to clean my house. I know I know, houses should be lived in, not museums. And trust me, <i>my house is definitely lived in as we inch closer and closer to my wedding day. </i>But can I get an AMEN! for my girls who really enjoy a Friday night with a bottle of wine, cranked up music, and a spotless kitchen and bathroom with some freshly folded laundry to kick off your weekend? </div>
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...My workouts need to be done. </div>
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Yes, you read that right. Workouts. I haven't fallen off the deep end, promise. In fact, quite the opposite. I truly don't remember a time in my life when I've been busier, and I believe that has something to do with my mindset this time around. </div>
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Let's back up. Last June I ran Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, MN and qualified for the Boston Marathon with 4 minutes and 33 seconds to spare. Ultimately, it took a 4 minute and 52 second cushion to punch your ticket to Boston 2019. Hence, why I'm not packing my bags to head to Bean Town this weekend. As 2018 came to a close, it was made very obvious to me that 2019 was going to be SO busy that finding the time to punch my ticket to Boston 2020 might be a challenge. </div>
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To put it into perspective. My wedding is in 6 short weeks. {eeeeeks!} For the 2 weekends in a row after my own wedding, I have friends weddings to attend. And then another over 4th of July weekend. And then one of Rob's sister is getting married at the end of July. And then ANOTHER sister at the end of September. Moral of the story: I knew I needed to qualify early in 2019 in order to save my sanity for the rest of the year. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJexBmE7On_YmzvI-CYCQGHsZ71wSlGLCRCxQydoeH6M8MFYgl-p3AJj0TuwTJZ5iG1HJhhF7DY5QC9NFlEE8ZDDeCASNPmPDYBFbs_7_C-tcJD3hzLJrfqAbI2QNaBK_bTmdwIXWR9H2f/s1600/IMG_5517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJexBmE7On_YmzvI-CYCQGHsZ71wSlGLCRCxQydoeH6M8MFYgl-p3AJj0TuwTJZ5iG1HJhhF7DY5QC9NFlEE8ZDDeCASNPmPDYBFbs_7_C-tcJD3hzLJrfqAbI2QNaBK_bTmdwIXWR9H2f/s400/IMG_5517.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma's Marathon 2018<br />
Convinced I was Boston Bound</td></tr>
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Oh, as a side note: did I mention I recently got a 2nd job? <i>GUYS IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE 10 MILLION OTHER THINGS GOING ON. </i>No, I didn't take a side job as dog walker or bartender in the evenings. You're looking at the newest Run Club Coordinator at Life Time Fitness Algonquin. There may not actually be a more perfect 2nd job for me out there. My job is to get everyone excited to RUN at the Life Time Fitness in Algonquin. The run club members aren't entirely strangers to me, so walking into this group of people wasn't scary or even hard. If anything, it was welcomed with open arms.</div>
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So, back to being busy. I have found a way to make sure I get everything done everyday. Minutes are planned to a T. I even write in "recovery" into my day to make sure my legs are in working order. When life takes you in this many directions it's easy to forget how you to take care of yourself. But I wasn't about to head down that road again. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTwjkRIRnNTdlJzv9LhZmW9RAPPxDCoLqxWtOx8OhyphenhyphengOYMvQWqUf2shSj2-WVOGC8mLIEmYJ8ludGVLqhLQktx_6kG4dt6FT1MXvYlZWxO1WP2BZhvLT5KpiKa2DfTDzzEp3FP5r6VFQ3/s1600/IMG_0956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTwjkRIRnNTdlJzv9LhZmW9RAPPxDCoLqxWtOx8OhyphenhyphengOYMvQWqUf2shSj2-WVOGC8mLIEmYJ8ludGVLqhLQktx_6kG4dt6FT1MXvYlZWxO1WP2BZhvLT5KpiKa2DfTDzzEp3FP5r6VFQ3/s400/IMG_0956.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post Normatec Boots, Pre Stretching and R8 Roll Recovery</td></tr>
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That being said, my first attempt at BQ or Bust Round 2 is TOMORROW, and I might be the calmest I've ever been leading into a such a large race. Last May and early June, my mental space was up for grabs. ALL my thoughts were consumed with Grandma's Marathon. Some might consider this a great thing, keeping your eyes on the prize and the focus in tact. And at the time, I'm sure it was. But this time around, I KNOW I can run the race I need to. My speedwork has proven so. My long runs have proven so. Hell, Ryan has told me on more than one occasion, "Wow, that was a solid workout. You're in some good shape!" And no, this isn't to sound cocky or arrogant. But this time around my CONFIDENCE is so much higher. I know what I need to do. I've been putting in the work and then some. I've had some serious late nights, extremely early mornings, and the workouts keep proving my worth. And because I've been so consumed with everything else life has to offer right now, I don't have time to stress over the "little" things involved with marathon training. </div>
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During the warmup for March Madness on St. Patrick's Day, Kati and I were running side by side and she asked me how I felt about my fitness and where I stood trying to re-qualify for Boston. I had been thinking it for a while but had never said it out loud. "Honestly Kati, I'm so busy lately I haven't had time to really even THINK about where I'm at. I'm hitting every workout Ryan gives me. I go home and my mind is consumed with so many other things I truly haven't even had time to assess where I'm at and if I have a shot come April." Some might read that and think <i>shit you're in trouble</i> while others see that and think <i>nah, you're right where you need to be. Don't overthink it. </i>I'm gonna side with the latter half on this one. Because honestly, I have 0 reason not to. </div>
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It's been a FULL winter. So full. The first weekend of January continued to prove how much I love S-NO-W Fun Run at the Grand Geneva in Lake Geneva. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNbWl5QxMIa9t_4mUaIi-h4u1FPS9OGcWL_uWsQnL6IKXi8ClFE3MO1OaVW8ySLdinJ-FUIxFejoQq0C7vccPZ7UMkQoyplblDaWkbnj1u4gvzGnigdKgxI7ikKqIwLh_MxHPaUCInw53/s1600/IMG_9605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNbWl5QxMIa9t_4mUaIi-h4u1FPS9OGcWL_uWsQnL6IKXi8ClFE3MO1OaVW8ySLdinJ-FUIxFejoQq0C7vccPZ7UMkQoyplblDaWkbnj1u4gvzGnigdKgxI7ikKqIwLh_MxHPaUCInw53/s400/IMG_9605.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The weather was also unseasonably warm and I could have done without the sleeves for the race</td></tr>
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January also threw everyone for a curveball and offered some of the coldest weather Chicago has ever seen, dipping into the -50's and pretty much shutting down the city and surrounding suburbs for 2 full days. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdW_qkuHkhyphenhyphenji76olLz4xMWPjjZTxjVngikDKz61FyJp3ktJOO3f_Rct5lREq0HR9Yc0QJlMhoau_ZYrNCyzf2GY3IkpRzT2Onm4Ej_yvFMhNmpM7Fw0XwK9yeNBiNyhFCTOeboeQ5syk/s1600/IMG_9910.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdW_qkuHkhyphenhyphenji76olLz4xMWPjjZTxjVngikDKz61FyJp3ktJOO3f_Rct5lREq0HR9Yc0QJlMhoau_ZYrNCyzf2GY3IkpRzT2Onm4Ej_yvFMhNmpM7Fw0XwK9yeNBiNyhFCTOeboeQ5syk/s400/IMG_9910.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I barely ran outside at all in January because of this </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
February brought a few more sub 0 day but it also brought a trip to NOLA with 6 of my nearest and dearest friends for my bachelorette party and lemme tell ya, this trip was welcomed with open arms.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bi-4Y8SwZPp4utoQI_oKRB5JEsjYBzbAgejaBCIyn6yxUddwzkpb5j5MPl8FEhoY3iITgXrYxsu7rIl2v-fVGeNe2UyYE5Fe7yXqbV9OLmOpiGQHs0YQTBQTWQf-RTi-6scFZiUY1P_F/s1600/IMG_0467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bi-4Y8SwZPp4utoQI_oKRB5JEsjYBzbAgejaBCIyn6yxUddwzkpb5j5MPl8FEhoY3iITgXrYxsu7rIl2v-fVGeNe2UyYE5Fe7yXqbV9OLmOpiGQHs0YQTBQTWQf-RTi-6scFZiUY1P_F/s400/IMG_0467.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beignets in the French Quarter </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcS3CG_Rwsp-Hqw_93SutFT7sumw4ViSiNz_aat_6zxdYGrkt78frbOj-8kQF0HxmBgVoXE7xF8AoH0qTnfW3e4WcXJcrMIjCz1bYArUbHFf_6-mQrd9laRrtda4f7ilwzjYFQBp2D2zG/s1600/IMG_0372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcS3CG_Rwsp-Hqw_93SutFT7sumw4ViSiNz_aat_6zxdYGrkt78frbOj-8kQF0HxmBgVoXE7xF8AoH0qTnfW3e4WcXJcrMIjCz1bYArUbHFf_6-mQrd9laRrtda4f7ilwzjYFQBp2D2zG/s400/IMG_0372.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a full day on Bourbon Street, we somehow found a way to clean up for a nice dinner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
The next weekend, Rob and I met with our wedding photographer in Milwaukee, WI. I was always hesitant booking a photographer who I didn't know. Someone who was expected to capture our most sincerne moments on the best day of our lives.. as a stranger. But let me tell you, this lady is good. She brought her camera to a coffee shop and hung out with Rob and I. We barely noticed she was snapping photos the whole time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QgiYCqEEn-wRmeXtxkUV8sU3wc9M_IugbRzoyKH-lEGvf_npuXXhVgKp_wYAmXNvQPevBWkVi1E5RjEC2XqqSkVdn1H4ze-SkD5ZSqc65lZseXMnrN0y-4Xz_zQoOFXmcRcdcqnbSyDJ/s1600/IMG_0772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QgiYCqEEn-wRmeXtxkUV8sU3wc9M_IugbRzoyKH-lEGvf_npuXXhVgKp_wYAmXNvQPevBWkVi1E5RjEC2XqqSkVdn1H4ze-SkD5ZSqc65lZseXMnrN0y-4Xz_zQoOFXmcRcdcqnbSyDJ/s400/IMG_0772.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ππ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Rob and I also spent a weekend at The Abbey (our wedding venue) during the month of February. We had a few things to take care of, so decided to spend the weekend. The gazebo we'll be married under was completely snow covered at the moment, and we got a little emotional as we pictured ourselves back in the same location with all of our family and friends sharing our special day. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6l9Cu0sC0jmJklXI27L3-V6Dd-ErOb0RAFyNqzBkyh80m4pnvoBrd0F9Xc5mPQsdMALAxtP3MlHWjNeviM1EsDjL7vpdo0vDsZabvSjZKX_9ZC9aWGqhKoGCaAL4yswvgqcU1KSdbqWu/s1600/IMG_0133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6l9Cu0sC0jmJklXI27L3-V6Dd-ErOb0RAFyNqzBkyh80m4pnvoBrd0F9Xc5mPQsdMALAxtP3MlHWjNeviM1EsDjL7vpdo0vDsZabvSjZKX_9ZC9aWGqhKoGCaAL4yswvgqcU1KSdbqWu/s400/IMG_0133.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#waitedSloanlongforthis<br />
#weAbbeysolutelydo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
March started to bring the thaw, slowly but surely. I ventured out in shorts when I probably should have kept my pants on, but after -50, 25 degrees felt like a heatwave at times.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Pu0TIRtFy07pXnqTeA5c2f8eEt34r63CP9pnPdkLGhr6LwuT_7beUUTaVynduc9rgIc_rVC3lvNaA4_GGbi4JzbqXMTXt7WWgWko2JhupxB9ACKl0KvB6IakhEoW_M5eZwWQEwJxKtfL/s1600/IMG_0942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Pu0TIRtFy07pXnqTeA5c2f8eEt34r63CP9pnPdkLGhr6LwuT_7beUUTaVynduc9rgIc_rVC3lvNaA4_GGbi4JzbqXMTXt7WWgWko2JhupxB9ACKl0KvB6IakhEoW_M5eZwWQEwJxKtfL/s400/IMG_0942.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antsy and impatient with Chicago weather</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div>
<br />
I also began to realize that my 30+ year old skin isn't exactly 20 anymore and I needed to start making sure I had some of my best skin come wedding day. I did some research and made my very own face mask with some essentials oils and swear by it. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SO5MVkHbIgV-ZWlEVe6tcly6YOlh1VWLpc3CtrEDK0JuAYuBfp7FjAWPcYD_wF_e7X6bDe8hklNmJAZlOe8S2qYLE4H43Iemz5mx6dg4ezqj9bgE1G4kBRiCbRmY7gRWFXLfOrQzqX3e/s1600/IMG_1016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SO5MVkHbIgV-ZWlEVe6tcly6YOlh1VWLpc3CtrEDK0JuAYuBfp7FjAWPcYD_wF_e7X6bDe8hklNmJAZlOe8S2qYLE4H43Iemz5mx6dg4ezqj9bgE1G4kBRiCbRmY7gRWFXLfOrQzqX3e/s400/IMG_1016.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smooth as a babies bottom<br />
Inquire for mask details π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And of course, March wouldn't be March without the kick off to the running season, March Madness Half Marathon. I had a solid showing and was very pleased with my race, even though it was a tad slower than last year. I purposely took a few of the hills slower than I wanted knowing I could possibly flare up my left hamstring again. It ended up being the right call because I crossed that finish line and for the first time ever, I felt stronger than the hills.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKztvgHZPO1se9Erd_LxeVYmvbgC8WbLyvVVCm4x36FiT4Ht5svlPivTVfa4R9RS3tjRwIiIAdSOKfUSJuTTMBIw7aJBj7MyO3qYoa-DA_Bb2yf_NJT0F143CiYtOLdERoInuKnZdZWvQP/s1600/IMG_6138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKztvgHZPO1se9Erd_LxeVYmvbgC8WbLyvVVCm4x36FiT4Ht5svlPivTVfa4R9RS3tjRwIiIAdSOKfUSJuTTMBIw7aJBj7MyO3qYoa-DA_Bb2yf_NJT0F143CiYtOLdERoInuKnZdZWvQP/s400/IMG_6138.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PERFECT weather for one of my favorite races!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHFnoToR4vOA4BBo85DZ_weTVdxcA-a4EzWnKruz_iwxfBE6VMnaFirmJKl0fGLHzD-ua2UEgoKdNlovbi1m9TxG9MbSh95mp1SXHdn1bLG7UjNprHq7BKOhuzZGWHn_3ezp2ZlPDYmEy/s1600/IMG_0991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHFnoToR4vOA4BBo85DZ_weTVdxcA-a4EzWnKruz_iwxfBE6VMnaFirmJKl0fGLHzD-ua2UEgoKdNlovbi1m9TxG9MbSh95mp1SXHdn1bLG7UjNprHq7BKOhuzZGWHn_3ezp2ZlPDYmEy/s400/IMG_0991.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RyBread turned Vixen.<br />
#RyBreadforLife</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
And we can't forget about the famous Green Guys. The Bank of America Shamrock Shuffle. Last year Mark joined the crew and he continued the tradition this year. Of course I volunteered my photography for the day and was promptly in bed by 7pm that night after a 3am wakeup call and being a sherpa for 8 adults painted in green body paint. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCLwSZyBwORfzhyphenhyphenLtrIktQtcJYUMVT4gAy6vDFGCAlQhFHvFDTPJT55W45hGUQVLioJJU4nrc3MiQD-Dq5xtDOUh2M_gGHd4Iy5Uqg2eYS98LruyvTWkdkC3oCLeUpMdhz_06dLUW40-8/s1600/IMG_1204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCLwSZyBwORfzhyphenhyphenLtrIktQtcJYUMVT4gAy6vDFGCAlQhFHvFDTPJT55W45hGUQVLioJJU4nrc3MiQD-Dq5xtDOUh2M_gGHd4Iy5Uqg2eYS98LruyvTWkdkC3oCLeUpMdhz_06dLUW40-8/s400/IMG_1204.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least it was warmer this year!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YJoGWbJScSi5x8zTATaKv5nOD87n60ud4mu9sWw7_8oyJx-I0WEsX0fxg2J0V1vJcKLnsBqVqqoqy490nDHNQ6sT70fWF9Hk5yKO0Fk_ha0V_oIq1SJrlwUTP_ceqFjcBn5H4z82umrY/s1600/IMG_6267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YJoGWbJScSi5x8zTATaKv5nOD87n60ud4mu9sWw7_8oyJx-I0WEsX0fxg2J0V1vJcKLnsBqVqqoqy490nDHNQ6sT70fWF9Hk5yKO0Fk_ha0V_oIq1SJrlwUTP_ceqFjcBn5H4z82umrY/s400/IMG_6267.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot the Green Guys? It's hard to miss them..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not to worry, the day before the Shamrock Shuffle I logged my own serious mileage. 19+ miles for me and I hit some pretty awesome splits towards the end that I was definitely proud of. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzW2U5I7Pac9TdB5VzlWfsyZHZmUj-EGTwr1qmGZseNLRHek4oAXaAvJIboINicpPEAarpHHzSxTLOEk8SHyX2P7Y1AE2RQgZdI8kEN4yOAP1Fx3iYVA-Uh8-oXCcE8eoVo1bhcNqir2c/s1600/IMG_1074.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzW2U5I7Pac9TdB5VzlWfsyZHZmUj-EGTwr1qmGZseNLRHek4oAXaAvJIboINicpPEAarpHHzSxTLOEk8SHyX2P7Y1AE2RQgZdI8kEN4yOAP1Fx3iYVA-Uh8-oXCcE8eoVo1bhcNqir2c/s400/IMG_1074.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This could also have something to do with my complete and utter exhaustion after Shamrock Shuffle sherpa-ing for 8 adults in green body paint</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
And, during the last weekend in March I received my initiation into the Life Time Fitness family. The Run Club and the Cycle Club joined forces for the night and had a 2019 kick off Meet and Greet at local establishment in town. I met the entire crew and was welcomed with open arms. I started this day with an AMAZING 22 mile run that I completely nailed:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupu5ayqWGXmgH2qQ217gwzMeMt83h46BAxOvav0rDvWffCvlVhwh3yEbY5666jEAx8Azst1ZX5wOtwQZVnh0WHo5JIlJDCJMTUeVsHUhiNb2FPFI9rMg5WqW5ttSzC5HWSurP9KFBaZ_1/s1600/IMG_1312.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupu5ayqWGXmgH2qQ217gwzMeMt83h46BAxOvav0rDvWffCvlVhwh3yEbY5666jEAx8Azst1ZX5wOtwQZVnh0WHo5JIlJDCJMTUeVsHUhiNb2FPFI9rMg5WqW5ttSzC5HWSurP9KFBaZ_1/s400/IMG_1312.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#BQorBustRound2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
And I ended it like this: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacCjbz51FoRrNJtxFjmMuQ3zzmZTSvI9CEfsgEs7pWypmSHANwhIZPaxLhN4XBnXEdCb6XlufgW7BoQM_07rXdtqmmV0pSXPD3kAISSCRYRhCORa-lZRJ4mr_mVe8Qf9xmN6NFtav28uf/s1600/IMG_1324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacCjbz51FoRrNJtxFjmMuQ3zzmZTSvI9CEfsgEs7pWypmSHANwhIZPaxLhN4XBnXEdCb6XlufgW7BoQM_07rXdtqmmV0pSXPD3kAISSCRYRhCORa-lZRJ4mr_mVe8Qf9xmN6NFtav28uf/s400/IMG_1324.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Karie. Current Cycle Club Coordinator. Former Run Club Coordinator.<br />
Mentor and bad influence π€£</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
And here we are into April. Last weekend, I had the pleasure of having a SECOND bachelorette party with Rob's 8 sisters. {Yes, you read that right. 6 sisters and 2 in laws. 8 total.} I was so touched they insisted on hosting a separate bachelorette for me. We drank all the Kim Crawford, laughed until we cried, ate some amazing mexican food, and sang and danced to live music until our feet and lungs begged for mercy. {Because that's exactly what a marathon taper calls for, right coach?}</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b31Hr9lMrsfcFQquH578JBX-aALl7GqxGnQe3Ty87cVLezA_YjKHHPJQ7ztP6MBg12FR_5KiS69hlvSGaA1NW33x4xb83uIr7YO639qTjF2-aNEiHIoWqLG0HL05sMbDLNr_ylZaV95i/s1600/IMG_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b31Hr9lMrsfcFQquH578JBX-aALl7GqxGnQe3Ty87cVLezA_YjKHHPJQ7ztP6MBg12FR_5KiS69hlvSGaA1NW33x4xb83uIr7YO639qTjF2-aNEiHIoWqLG0HL05sMbDLNr_ylZaV95i/s400/IMG_1386.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because before pictures are always pretty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KQWoN1zkpgv2MefgMHpA3hPKQUDp2bmsoFcyz6sTgg8e8oc1-4NRButfutVLmFXZGVakPfIcezKQbCuqQAVded8F4EMcPnjIsi39IN1fz5F6a0mBD5RwJI8qSeKxRwOgijg1F68V3p1o/s1600/IMG_1431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KQWoN1zkpgv2MefgMHpA3hPKQUDp2bmsoFcyz6sTgg8e8oc1-4NRButfutVLmFXZGVakPfIcezKQbCuqQAVded8F4EMcPnjIsi39IN1fz5F6a0mBD5RwJI8qSeKxRwOgijg1F68V3p1o/s400/IMG_1431.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those during pictures always have a story to tell</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVp0ELc9-siITzfUQQ-MocIKxpCLKGrtxJlpFYntCxbw00MXRB6AFpm5vrjPrYQZFByZrwWQHWlmp3PY717l3GZjI_F_mfHvyGeqASCc6hiQ54YJSicOUBWnez_zGwbqkwcS6UJ1j5lOPE/s1600/4FF3757A-6C3D-45A1-8E53-70981DED7008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVp0ELc9-siITzfUQQ-MocIKxpCLKGrtxJlpFYntCxbw00MXRB6AFpm5vrjPrYQZFByZrwWQHWlmp3PY717l3GZjI_F_mfHvyGeqASCc6hiQ54YJSicOUBWnez_zGwbqkwcS6UJ1j5lOPE/s400/4FF3757A-6C3D-45A1-8E53-70981DED7008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But after pictures are always honest </td></tr>
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<div>
So. Back to present day. Would I suggest this much chaos when training for such an important marathon? Hell no. Without a doubt. But for someone like me. Someone who can't turn off their mind. Someone who will obsess over every little detail if you let me. I think this might be just what the doctor ordered. This time around, the mental marathon game didn't have a chance to sneak into life. Everytime I had to leave the house, my running shoes came with me, along with all of my recovery equipment. {And sometimes, a dress and a pair if heels made the trip too, depending on the occasion.}<br />
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At the end of the day, I know for a fact I was true and honest to my running shoes and my high heels during this wild and amazingly crazy time of life. I'm not getting any younger and I'm reminded of that every time I lace up my running shoes. My legs have logged more miles than most people will ever log in a lifetime. I'm finding new recovery tricks to help me get through life while I set out to conquer some serious athletic goals. I am so grateful that I am able to live my adult life the best way I know how, on the run.<br />
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I'm lacing up for another test tomorrow. Another 26.2 mile test in Geneva, IL. The BQ.2 Spring Marathon. This time around, sub 3:30 is the ultimate goal. Of course, my sites are set on faster. I have a 7:49 pace engraved in my brain and I know the mile splits all the way from mile 1 through 26 at this point. The reality is, I'll need a 5+ minute PR to *hopefully* punch my ticket to Boston 2020. But at the end of the day, a 28 second PR will grant me another qualification in the Boston Marathon. 28 second PR will grant me another chance to attempt to register for the race. But how much wiggle room will allow me to run the race? 1 minute? 2 minutes? 3? Only time will tell.<br />
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In the words of Alexi Pappas:<br />
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Run like a Bravey</div>
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Sleep like a baby</div>
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Dream like a crazy</div>
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Replace can't with MAYBE, lady</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92bXMgynTtaDrYmhOChEw0AV9DbCEMpb7fvWG4gCDrMRYm3ng6OjrYS9mbHMivyrC6buOn8KlQmRxb9jaRABPHkLCaWs_HNut0s5RAvwM2GnGPK3VCng9_mINUDl5tOpyawfVj15_OSff/s1600/IMG_1175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92bXMgynTtaDrYmhOChEw0AV9DbCEMpb7fvWG4gCDrMRYm3ng6OjrYS9mbHMivyrC6buOn8KlQmRxb9jaRABPHkLCaWs_HNut0s5RAvwM2GnGPK3VCng9_mINUDl5tOpyawfVj15_OSff/s400/IMG_1175.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh yeah, forgot to mention. This happened in March too ββ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One more sleep.</div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-43818726555046668332019-01-03T20:17:00.000-06:002019-01-03T20:57:51.742-06:002018 Rollin' Straight into 2019I'm behind. I know.<br />
<br />
I owe you some words. I'm working on it.<br />
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The truth is, <i>the holidays and wedding planning and training (gasp!) hit me in full force the month of December and now that one variable is removed (holidays) I can breathe a little better. </i><br />
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I hate that I wasn't able to sit down and write down reflections on the 2018 season before the New Year. Reflecting is such an important part of the growing process. <i>How can you expect to improve without taking a deeper look at your habits with a microscope?</i><br />
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The truth is, I've had a lot of time to mentally reflect on my 2018.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IJZxmR7GLTnXvClRCP0nzeLidGIPAPE1IMfvp4Ba41eoOXfpLqQN3yQf5MGanxr37Cm54mNmgUPB0BHTuGenRIZxGz79FhEs6yEzOUrhIZvhChPVVeyI7yNXLzCVRiBAnHiYvLC4hCy6/s1600/BA692D62-1332-4C52-B80D-1D6DEC631FE7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IJZxmR7GLTnXvClRCP0nzeLidGIPAPE1IMfvp4Ba41eoOXfpLqQN3yQf5MGanxr37Cm54mNmgUPB0BHTuGenRIZxGz79FhEs6yEzOUrhIZvhChPVVeyI7yNXLzCVRiBAnHiYvLC4hCy6/s400/BA692D62-1332-4C52-B80D-1D6DEC631FE7.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2018, in a nutshell π</td></tr>
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I'd first like to state, after the SLEW of races I put my body through in 2017, these 9 races were it for me in 2018 (with the exception of S-NO-W fun run π, but who really counts that as a "race"?). I wanted to devote 2018 to one goal. BQ or bust. I entered myself into Grandma's Marathon in June and refused to schedule ANY race after that until I crossed that finish line in Duluth. We all know how that turned out. But let's go into each race a tad further, shall we? Starting with the top left.<br />
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/01/f3-lake-half-marathon-middle-of-winter.html">F^3 Lake Half Marathon - January 2018</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aARLokP279Cx6y7trip95_AM1Sy6fCCTtFtQyEx8qB7PGGsHvp6XDOqJZ8jy6PifFGZ-05PBKnyi0xSBWkWRjeCNToYaN3Il6eS_6jcRQQzOqy9htMDA2foy_78ccQSOPc81cMhKxTqZ/s1600/F3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aARLokP279Cx6y7trip95_AM1Sy6fCCTtFtQyEx8qB7PGGsHvp6XDOqJZ8jy6PifFGZ-05PBKnyi0xSBWkWRjeCNToYaN3Il6eS_6jcRQQzOqy9htMDA2foy_78ccQSOPc81cMhKxTqZ/s400/F3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 100% a last minute race decision. The 10 day weather forecast was lookin' mighty fine on the Chicago Lakefront and I had a hard time passing up a 50 degree Saturday in January with my RyBread Crew. I toed the line, eager to see where my fitness sat. Lesson learned: <b><i>the body reacts to all sorts of stress. The bad and good kind.</i></b> My engagement to Rob 10 days prior did little for my performance that day. I was on top of the world, carrying around the shiny new rock on my left ring finger. You couldn't wipe that smile off my face. But when it came time to race, it was clear my body was low on energy and adrenaline. I raced fair, but could have easily pulled off better on a "fresh" mind & body. As Ryan stated, "Next time, save your engagements for AFTER the race!" Noted, Speedy. </div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/03/march-madness-when-emotions-run-high.html">March Madness Half Marathon - March 2018</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDOYy6rGabEi4US5Fiz4FL-hV2LDeYv8DCsuWqt2KMAzTqJRnrj1iTBou-MJHhGhIm2xalg1cF8-QaFzLQy6M7Fl-K7cSLPMvkZpwxC41-TqO8gmytCW-qmmXe6YrnhG4Pr-KE3jmhbRB/s1600/IMG_0041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDOYy6rGabEi4US5Fiz4FL-hV2LDeYv8DCsuWqt2KMAzTqJRnrj1iTBou-MJHhGhIm2xalg1cF8-QaFzLQy6M7Fl-K7cSLPMvkZpwxC41-TqO8gmytCW-qmmXe6YrnhG4Pr-KE3jmhbRB/s400/IMG_0041.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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My most favorite of races. Closest to home. A damn challenging course. Always a promised brunch afterwards. This course was designed by the devil himself, and I have continually improved on this course, year after year that I've raced it. It takes time. Patience. Knowledge. Push here. Reserve here. I've had my sites set on a sub 1:40 half marathon on this course for a few years now and this year I got the job done. 1:39:47. Lesson Learned: <i><b>Head down. Stay focused. Trust your training. </b></i></div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/05/the-ugly-truth.html">Illinois Half Marathon - April 2018</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOeozH2OFUylAiDeIEnWfvh2VkcZx8mCL0leP7aW2y-GLcRJNjjhNa6Q619BJi5hzdr7JJnjGI-V2h7goMeBB0xYS9rBeXwjyY2meqV7tTQYbmVmCPaX7USE3aNZdwiNiQhHcy7zoctov/s1600/IMG_4115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="642" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOeozH2OFUylAiDeIEnWfvh2VkcZx8mCL0leP7aW2y-GLcRJNjjhNa6Q619BJi5hzdr7JJnjGI-V2h7goMeBB0xYS9rBeXwjyY2meqV7tTQYbmVmCPaX7USE3aNZdwiNiQhHcy7zoctov/s400/IMG_4115.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I went back to my Alma Mater, riding the high of March Madness and the rest of my spring training. I was certain this would be one of my best days. Until it wasn't. Lesson Learned: <i><b>The highest of highs in running also bring the lowest of lows. Mentally, you need to be tough as nails.</b></i> I woke up and raced on lifeless legs. I got emotional as I hoped to feel a sense of nostalgia running through parts of campus. Instead, I felt as shitty as they come. I swallowed back a lump in my throat as I willed my body forward. I crossed the finish line and sobbed. I hid my sorrows as my friends crossed the finish line.. until Beth caught me crying on the side of her house later that day. <i>Megan, it's only a race. Why so many tears? </i>I had some serious goals I was hoping to attain and I was second guessing whether or not I had made some untouchable goals for the 2018 season. It took me a while to get my head on straight after this race. But damn, this one definitely reminded me that triathlon and running are 2 TOTALLY different sports. </div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/06/grandmas-marathon-boston-bound.html">Grandma's Marathon - June 2018 *BQ*</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmaClT3_syFe0298WLhAKWAL0jIzsR-bPU2mE0e_TZggt_bcq_JQBf1X-BiMQ_HdKFPMU2G7EDtS9K3qYMy5wQkQFBs0csRyJ0zKgbJBVeGGVLfoQU7XO7jN2D8DIVQiNA4wEmRxa2auW/s1600/IMG_5537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmaClT3_syFe0298WLhAKWAL0jIzsR-bPU2mE0e_TZggt_bcq_JQBf1X-BiMQ_HdKFPMU2G7EDtS9K3qYMy5wQkQFBs0csRyJ0zKgbJBVeGGVLfoQU7XO7jN2D8DIVQiNA4wEmRxa2auW/s400/IMG_5537.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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I totally wanted to toe the line of Grandma's Marathon after a successful half marathon in April, proving that my training and fitness were right where I needed it to qualify for Boston. But I also 100% believe that everything happens for a reason. Because I totally think that I was meant to "fail" at the Illinois Half Marathon in order to put my head in the space I needed it most. You know what I'm talking about. The "I ain't going through that again" space. The "this shit is gettin' DONE TODAY" space. And I did just that. Lesson Learned: <i><b>Dedicating myself to one goal this season was totally what I needed to succeed. Boston here I come!</b></i></div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/07/america-all-in-name-of-f-u-n.html">Family Fitness 10k - July 2018</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C84MqzZXx-6DIEyOcVl0TfL2si7-gmq4vbe65bynJqFVnz0Zs0Uc7z5tECHDboxRqQw1pFlnxWmDOKXWdUpdosWkIvei7j8zo2MrYx7cyW6sbLul4UC9PhE2PVs5Xc2I2HPrtEFCr5H0/s1600/IMG_5708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C84MqzZXx-6DIEyOcVl0TfL2si7-gmq4vbe65bynJqFVnz0Zs0Uc7z5tECHDboxRqQw1pFlnxWmDOKXWdUpdosWkIvei7j8zo2MrYx7cyW6sbLul4UC9PhE2PVs5Xc2I2HPrtEFCr5H0/s400/IMG_5708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm just gonna go straight into the Lesson Learned: <i><b>your body is not meant to race 10K kills 3 weeks post BQ marathon that happened to be an 11 minute PR.</b></i> Part of this comes from my stubborn ways. I love this race. It's fun, local, and a great way to start the 4th of July holiday. I knew I wouldn't perform well {even though I told myself "your legs have been feeling good, this <i>might</i> go well for you!" Ha. Not to mention it was hotter than Hades that day. Pretty sure I sweated more lbs than miles ran. Another lesson learned:<i><b> always have all the fun. Do the things that make you happy and don't look back. </b></i></div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/09/imwi-round-2.html">Ironman Wisconsin - September 2018 *my 31st birthday*</a></u></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDFUGdN1FdEvBumkwlqVvNAigxSRtWsXYuvcZMcE2Pf2Qyjz5iBbAlYigfX3f4EbzgAVPisCj-HEMGkKPGNVIQDCp6T_2XVdyLSqlbB1cRfo6jRTh0pPu3vwZO46CPyR_8dedS5CWKupb/s1600/IMG_5757+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDFUGdN1FdEvBumkwlqVvNAigxSRtWsXYuvcZMcE2Pf2Qyjz5iBbAlYigfX3f4EbzgAVPisCj-HEMGkKPGNVIQDCp6T_2XVdyLSqlbB1cRfo6jRTh0pPu3vwZO46CPyR_8dedS5CWKupb/s400/IMG_5757+%25282%2529.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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The 2nd half of 2018 was 100% up in the air until about mid July. I've never had the freedom to totally choose what I want to do with the rest of my season, mid season. I knew one thing was for sure.. I wanted to give my run legs a break. I missed Matilda, my TT bike. I wanted to reconnect with her, the country roads, and all the moo-moos. When I came to the conclusion that my bike legs were recovering well, I decided I wanted to join my RyBread crew and race IMWI {that also happened to be on my 31st birthday}. This wasn't a hard decision. Madison Wisconsin gives me all the chills and I enter complete nostalgia whenever I see the exit for John Nolan Dr. I had 0 expectations for race day. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to spend my birthday weekend with my friends. And I did all of that. However, Lesson Learned: <b><i>a marathon trained body is NOT ready to race a HILLY Ironman less than 3 months post marathon.</i></b> I had damn near sacrificed my left hamstring when I qualified for Boston. 100+ miles of climbing on my bike didn't help. And when it came time to run a marathon, I quickly remembered that I had *just* done this less than 3 months ago, without the 112 mile hilly bike ride before it. I finished IMWI, but it wasn't pretty. I was certain I did some major damage to my hamstring that day, but I've since proved otherwise. Regardless, I wouldn't take this day back for anything. </div>
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<b><u>***************BOSTON DISCLAIMER******************</u></b></div>
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It was a short week after IMWI that I was given the chance to apply for entry into the Boston Marathon. I was 4 minutes and 33 seconds under my qualifying time. <i>No one had any doubts about my entry. </i>Until I received this daunting email and I was forced to spread the word to my family and friends, Boston 2019 was officially off of my race calendar. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ97XLyQ01zn-54s8f9wBysq8dov-ffzi6GXOA4wFQ7HYZ9X6l9KMjuEjlQdzyavRJz_im8gD4gMZSiBkSJnzd3wxjd9K9_dzamCKjFwdvPJu5tVU5YiVIUt7swjAr61k6GM8VXRn4PKfb/s1600/IMG_7593.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ97XLyQ01zn-54s8f9wBysq8dov-ffzi6GXOA4wFQ7HYZ9X6l9KMjuEjlQdzyavRJz_im8gD4gMZSiBkSJnzd3wxjd9K9_dzamCKjFwdvPJu5tVU5YiVIUt7swjAr61k6GM8VXRn4PKfb/s400/IMG_7593.PNG" width="225" /></a></div>
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A bum hamstring. A Boston Marathon rejection. Can you say "defeated?" I ate myself into a hole that night. I cried at the drop of a hat. This was something I wanted terribly. I had <i style="font-weight: bold;">earned </i>the right, fair and square. And it was taken away from me. But at this point, <i>Rob was just as invested as me.</i> We were ready to kick off Spring 2019 together with The Boston Marathon and end it together as Mr. & Mrs. Sloan. The shock in his voice when I told him the bad news, I'll never forget it. It was that moment I knew, my 2019 racing goals were about to be altered, drastically. </div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/12/a-perfectly-imperfect-fall.html">Care 4 Cancer 5k - October 2018</a></u></b></div>
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I still owe you all the juicy details on the treatment that I took for my hamstring, and I promise it's coming. But just know that it's a work in progress and something I'm never going to truly be "done" with. But I took plenty of time for myself. I rested as instructed. When I felt decent I <i>jogged.</i> I rolled the dice when I decided to run a 5K with my work family. It wasn't until that morning that I decided to race it. Lesson Learned: <i style="font-weight: bold;">when the body is on, GO. </i>Something clicked when I was warming up that day. I had a feeling, today was going to be worth it if I pushed it. And that it was. A shiny new 5K PR, 6 weeks after one of the hardest physical days of my racing life. Damn, the body is something amazing. </div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/12/a-perfectly-imperfect-fall.html">Crystal Lake Food Pantry Turkey Trot - November 2018</a></u></b></div>
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As long as I celebrate Thanksgiving in Crystal Lake, this is something I will probably always do (assuming all body parts are attached and functioning). I never race this one. It's on a trail and trails aren't my friend. This is more of a "calorie burner" before I gorge myself all day. This year was no different. It's always fun and promises some memories with friends before a day of celebration with family. Lesson Learned: <i><b>continue this tradition always. </b></i></div>
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<b><u><a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/12/a-perfectly-imperfect-fall.html">Kiwani's Santa Run for Kids - December 2018</a></u></b></div>
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This is another race I have a hard time saying no to. Knowing that I'm apart of 100's of Santa's running through Downtown Crystal Lake, how could I want to sleep in this first Sunday of December? This year, the body wasn't exactly feelin' the speed. I had been running well lately. But the pieces didn't fit on race day. I didn't push anything, I wasn't about to take steps backwards after working so hard with progress on my left leg. Lesson Learned: <b><i>progress isn't always forward, so you gotta roll with the punches when they come.</i></b></div>
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I don't think it's any secret, BQ or Bust 2018 has turned into BQ or Bust 2019. This time, I can't be fearful. Many will tell you that after you are defeated, it's easy to hide. But that's the last thing on my agenda. I need to be seen. I need to be held accountable. I will always be grateful for the miles, fast or slow, confident or not. The goals I have set for myself are risky and putting them in writing for the world to see is bold and scary. I lay my heart on the line everytime I race, allowing myself to be vulnerable in the event of failure. My motivation comes from many sources, but watching my peers succeed AND struggle is one of my greatest sources. <i>"If she can come back from that, I can re-qualify for Boston." </i>I have always thrived on a good hearted running conversation with a fellow runner. We're a different breed and we know it. But our spirit is one to be reckoned with and the drive in our hearts is something you won't find stronger elsewhere. </div>
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Boston qualification the 2nd time around is only getting harder. The BAA lowered the qualification standards this year by 5 minutes per age group. That means I'm looking at a 3:29:59 to even qualify. Most likely a sub 3:25 even consider entry to the race. I didn't imagine I'd be planning a wedding and training to run a sub 3:30 marathon at the same time. But here I am. Once again, proving that life never goes as planned. My first attempt takes place in April 2019, the same weekend as the Boston Marathon. I'll be racing a marathon called BQ.2 series in Geneva, IL. It's a marathon designed specifically for people like me. Those who are within the skin of the of their teeth of qualifying for Boston or gaining entry. It's pancake flat and boring, 8 laps along the Fox River in Geneva, IL. But at this point, I'm over the scenery while I run. All I want to see right now is this: </div>
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My journey with Boston isn't over yet. Stay tuned. Cheers. </div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-40391603685151667662018-12-05T08:07:00.000-06:002018-12-05T08:07:00.326-06:00A Perfectly Imperfect FallI've been M.I.A. I know.<br />
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Last we spoke, I wasn't in the *best* headspace. <a href="https://meganhode.blogspot.com/2018/09/19-seconds.html">(In case you missed it.)</a> </div>
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I know I know, I didn't necessarily let you <i>completely</i> into my head. I'm not even sure I knew exactly how upset I was. I definitely had something going on with my left hamstring AND I had just been rejected from The Boston Marathon.</div>
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I cried more in the months of September and October than I ever remember in a long while.</div>
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I tried to make light of the situation when people brought it up. "Oh so you didn't get into Boston, you have a wedding to plan instead. No BIG DEAL!" <i>Listen people, I thrive on chaos and the hustle and bustle of what training and life have to offer. Take away the ONE thing keeps my headspace normal and we've got some serious issues. This is a HUGE DEAL.</i></div>
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I had a pretty serious heart to heart with a dear fellow Rybread teammate, honest and true friend, and one of the strongest and guttiest runners I've ever come across. <i>"Kati I'm not strong enough to do what I need to do to get to Boston. I qualified fair and square and it was TAKEN AWAY FROM ME. This entire experience has me questioning so much. Maybe I'm not supposed to do this?" </i>She listened to me. She let me cry and rant and cry some more. She reminded me that her and I are far to good at comparing our athletic abilities to others only to discredit our own. She reminded me that <i>NO ONE</i> expects me to be ok right now. But she also reminded me how far I've come. {5:27 marathon --> 3:30 marathon} "<i>Megan, you don't have the quit in you. This is what </i><i>you do and who you are. Come back to me when your head's on straight." </i>And I did just that. </div>
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Instead of training for Boston right now {which I had every intent of running "relaxed" so I could enjoy every step of the world's more iconic marathon only a month before I married my best friend} I'm now training to run faster and harder than I ever have before. We're talking about some numbers that truly frighten me a lot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits4YZ7rJkSg120lMuFTNM9alMn2JFeF0D5J1BwdilJPlGjEkpVg5x1QOnhHl9d07skwX9L7_clO0k6-i6FEszQSYuoUEA2SVljTAldtlAxrBeMioXrTMiD7A-q69P94FXDHfNcG7_ef3y/s1600/IMG_8959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits4YZ7rJkSg120lMuFTNM9alMn2JFeF0D5J1BwdilJPlGjEkpVg5x1QOnhHl9d07skwX9L7_clO0k6-i6FEszQSYuoUEA2SVljTAldtlAxrBeMioXrTMiD7A-q69P94FXDHfNcG7_ef3y/s320/IMG_8959.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Qualifying for Boston 2020 isn't going to be easy at all. Hell, it wasn't easy the first time around. After I ran Grandma's one of the first things I said was, <i>"I'm so glad I never have to run that fast again.</i>" If I could go back in time and eat my words... I think another part of the Boston 2020 quest that scares me is the mental game. I had me a few breakdowns while training for Grandma's. I never thought I'd say this, <i>but I guess that was only the beginning. </i>I'm going to finish planning a wedding. I'm also going to train to run the fastest 26.2 I've ever done to date. <i>Someone please say a prayer for my mental state because this sounds like a recipe for all the wedding guests to receive my favorite gel + nutrition combo as the thank you gift π€¦. </i></div>
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But let's not forget, <i>as of 2 months ago, I wasn't exactly "healthy" in running terms. </i>I've decided to give you all the details on the treatment route I embarked on in my next blog (coming soon!) But for right now, all you need to know is that I've gotten myself into a solid maintenance plan and running is once again... fun.</div>
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I first decided to test my legs in late October at the Woodstock Care 4 Cancer 5k. My office had decided to run/walk this event as a company and raise money for a good cause. I never intended on racing this at all. I only agreed to run with a coworker and enjoy the morning. Hell, my first speedwork back to the game (which was pretty weak) was only a few days prior to the race. But then... I did a warm up run and my leg felt different. Good, different. <i>Alright guys, change of plans I might need to see what I can do right now. </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can see, I found myself on the starting line with all the young whipper snappers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I gave it my best shot π</td></tr>
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It wasn't a long race obviously, and it was over a month ago. So the exact details aren't completely there anymore. But I so vividly remember watching my first mile tick by at a 6:56. And I remember thinking to myself.. <em>"Man, that didn't feel so bad at all. Looks like I'm here to play today!" </em>It was at that point that I tried to remember how many females were ahead of me. One for sure, possibly two. Shortly after the 1 mile mark we turned into a neighborhood and weaved our way around. Weaving can tire out the body quickly so I thought this might be my downfall. But... I continued my groove and even made a few more passes. When mile 2 clicked my watch showed me a 7:13, I decided to go for it the last mile. I knew I had a shot to PR if I picked up the pace for the last mile.</div>
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<em>Megan you're nuts! You barely had enough time to recover from Madison, your leg is still not right, what are you thinking!?</em></blockquote>
I'm thinking a little RnR does the body good and when you're ready to go you GO. I passed a spectator during that last mile and he screamed as I ran by<em>, "Second female, right here</em>!" I knew first place was out of my league at this point, but I didn't want to surrender my current position. The last half mile everything burned. But it was well worth it. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2nd place female, 21:55, and a 25 second PR</td></tr>
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After I went home that day I knew, my running legs were coming back. I needed to be patient and continue my current regimen. Trust the process. Don't skimp on stretches, exercises, massages. <em>Keep the momentum moving forward.</em><br />
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The next month was spent logging more miles as well as more speedwork. I texted Speedy on a pretty regular basis "Holy cow that workout was AWESOME! I NAILED it!" I got SUPER busy going head first into wedding planning that I didn't even think twice about my next race. I went to work, I did my workouts, and all free time was spent wedding planning. <br />
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But of course Thanksgiving Turkey Trots were coming up, and I decided to run the local Turkey Trot at Lippold Park (free entry with donation to the food pantry) with my brother, the Giuliano's (Speedy and Jacqui) and our newest RyBreader, Zach. I never truly race this one as it's on a crushed limestone path. But I always give myself a solid workout during the race. However when we showed up we learned that the course had changed due to ice and construction, so we were now running a 2 loop cross country course. As soon as I heard that I knew I was in for a true "fun run." Put grass under me and I suddenly have 2 left feet and can't figure out speed at all. But it was still fun. We burned some calories so we could enjoy Thanksgiving the way it's meant to be enjoyed. We gave back to the community and had some fun in the process. All in all, I'd call it a great day to run. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As promised, selfie from BFG with the long arms<br />
Happy Thanksgiving! </td></tr>
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I've also been known to run a 5K during the holiday season dressed like Santa Claus. This year was no different. The weather is generally of the frigid nature with a chance of snow and/or blizzard. This year.. RAIN. All the rain. And a COLD rain. In all honesty.. I was miserable the entire time. I took off with Jacqui to run a "warmup" in the 40 degree rain. Literally I felt like a moving popsicle it was so cold. BFG decided to sit out the warmup (shocker). Naturally my shoes and socks were socked within a quarter mile of the warm-up and my pig tails were flipping the water all over the place. <i>Yep, this was one of those mornings I could have overslept and it would have been ok with me.</i><br />
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Of course, Jacqui and I got done with our warm-up LITERALLY as it stopped raining. We peeled our wet layers and got "Santa Ready" with a few minutes to spare. At this point... I was bone cold. All I wanted was to be DONE with the race. Just before the gun went off I started to shiver that annoying shiver that chatters your teeth and tightens your skin. Yea, and then the gun went off and I was supposed to race. <i>I ain't so sure about one. </i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirg8rc59IcmLy-3uwPnL8H0KEG9em5xULJNxuaEB9Z4Cu40rhQ1EFPfiZHV6aa4p3wism03fLtZYFIoMp4xopuer_40ij-FwW2_a5P1jSctUUQ4TkRvj-6kBPqlAFo3OQNyfwwM0v4B5ND/s1600/IMG_8946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirg8rc59IcmLy-3uwPnL8H0KEG9em5xULJNxuaEB9Z4Cu40rhQ1EFPfiZHV6aa4p3wism03fLtZYFIoMp4xopuer_40ij-FwW2_a5P1jSctUUQ4TkRvj-6kBPqlAFo3OQNyfwwM0v4B5ND/s400/IMG_8946.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are my lips blue? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I'll be the first to admit, my head was not in this one. I'm not a fan of winter in the slightest, but I might hate the freezing cold rain even more. And that's what this was. Dodging freezing cold puddles of water while catching a cold 36 degree mist of dampness on your face at all times. Oh, did I mention there was a casual wind as well? And the breeze kept grabbing my beard and at one point I damn near gagged on it and my hair at the same time and coughed like I was on my death bed while trying to maintain any sort of respectable pace? Yea, all of that happened. I was able to hold a decent first mile, 6:55. But, it wasn't easy for me (even though it was slightly downhill). I know for a fact, my head wasn't in the game. I was cold. I was <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">damn</u> cold. I could have run on a treadmill later in the day and probably broken a solid sweat! But, alas here I was with my crew doing my thing. After I choked voilently on my Santa beard and hair, I never truly recovered. I had a hard time catching my breath and finding my groove again. So I just went with it. It is what it is. No records were being broken on this miserable morning. I found the finish line and was greeted by Jacqui's dad, camera ready! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialVmrQdMIftN70x6kGLDeytMG06emtAlqMmqhfzIJfnwKDlXvGTiuV-SAELUeAj4FtIIZRNtvYfk7LissP9beeUWW3-2Auf6CJYTtiLHR2edmrOPI3RBzp5l3IMYogvQc6n3oK9C7NYF8/s1600/IMG_8938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialVmrQdMIftN70x6kGLDeytMG06emtAlqMmqhfzIJfnwKDlXvGTiuV-SAELUeAj4FtIIZRNtvYfk7LissP9beeUWW3-2Auf6CJYTtiLHR2edmrOPI3RBzp5l3IMYogvQc6n3oK9C7NYF8/s400/IMG_8938.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">πππ<br />
Dodgin' raindrops!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I can't say I didn't have fun though. This race is as close to home as it gets and always draws in some close family friends and acquaintances. It's always a great time seeing everyone. The first chance I had I made sure to change out of my wet clothes so we could all enjoy a lovely breakfast as a group.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMVWbTBUaWoDFzJ8oBEYpUa45riWNisLBwOWFpMWROjR7RyLcElT-5nNMDkgF_jaXbCIzToiDwEAsau-jAGXeFJa6kUJrJhth5-bOTD-_4NSnzcq8jwnYGlFgc8BKLr4ssQb0BPfCEv12/s1600/IMG_8957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMVWbTBUaWoDFzJ8oBEYpUa45riWNisLBwOWFpMWROjR7RyLcElT-5nNMDkgF_jaXbCIzToiDwEAsau-jAGXeFJa6kUJrJhth5-bOTD-_4NSnzcq8jwnYGlFgc8BKLr4ssQb0BPfCEv12/s400/IMG_8957.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is why we can't have nice things Mark</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyUc9g6-gLWMhTLMKMIMOkxzX5zvwhL18SnkbwNzYddTmM3r-ohhhzEi5Rhj7ksIG8sLnPGg2mnKZfsu5cZKwdZhIdZFZ7_cY1pYyOg7Sb3KnUGybOw-2Qvub1Ja2QRt_aZI_S6OSHTbR/s1600/IMG_8945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyUc9g6-gLWMhTLMKMIMOkxzX5zvwhL18SnkbwNzYddTmM3r-ohhhzEi5Rhj7ksIG8sLnPGg2mnKZfsu5cZKwdZhIdZFZ7_cY1pYyOg7Sb3KnUGybOw-2Qvub1Ja2QRt_aZI_S6OSHTbR/s400/IMG_8945.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacqui won (are you shocked?) while I took home an age group medal </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
We even stuck around long enough after the race to meet the REAL SANTA! Santa's house sits right outside of Benedict's and as we were leaving he was walking up, about to invite all the children of Crystal Lake to sit on his lap. Mark and I snagged him before he even had a chance to sit down.</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNihP1e3SyHbjX2oLwR_-WOSCUwf5O8oZ37lCTTMbT7guu0YKnUobNQEWWeigrGBZCz-hEMUYsD9UbCRjfvVNFrFbf-guzq_LFRO90RnvpwU1XJ3ipoASEJoxTlnA6RXOdTMpQUWdR56x/s1600/IMG_8951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNihP1e3SyHbjX2oLwR_-WOSCUwf5O8oZ37lCTTMbT7guu0YKnUobNQEWWeigrGBZCz-hEMUYsD9UbCRjfvVNFrFbf-guzq_LFRO90RnvpwU1XJ3ipoASEJoxTlnA6RXOdTMpQUWdR56x/s400/IMG_8951.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Dear Santa, bring me wine to drink while I plan my wedding"<br />
{He didn't argue this at all}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
When I got home I promptly showered, put all the layers on, curled up on the couch and took a nap. I was finally warm, fed, and ready to take a nice little snooze. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAfTmcRwDR2tfs3m8UlFihMhSdXnsLq1x-gQLmh339VPZgxoXJYqSyLTpqT6uEbQXrNbhiaUbHgYOhcUpDRaGuPkuAaKKlLlguqExbr5mPCMtjwpE0j1cqtc48TbkyDo1CoWur1-GjhX5/s1600/IMG_8989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1483" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAfTmcRwDR2tfs3m8UlFihMhSdXnsLq1x-gQLmh339VPZgxoXJYqSyLTpqT6uEbQXrNbhiaUbHgYOhcUpDRaGuPkuAaKKlLlguqExbr5mPCMtjwpE0j1cqtc48TbkyDo1CoWur1-GjhX5/s400/IMG_8989.jpg" width="370" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The next morning I woke up and found out I made the paper, incognito obviously π€£</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
So what can I say? This fall definitely didn't go as I would have imagined. Hell, the 2nd half of this year didn't go as I planned at all. But what can you do? I've taken some time to give my body the rest it needs. I've invested more and more into my body to help it heal and recover properly. I raced less, slept in more, and did what my body <i>allowed </i>me to do without pushing it any farther. I know I'm still young. But, I've been running for about 20 years. No matter how "old" or "young" I still am, that's a long time to be pounding pavement. I know a time will come and my body won't be able to do this anymore. If I don't truly listen to it now, my running expiration date is going to be sooner than I hope for. I'm pretty comfortable with where I am at the moment. I've got my body back to working order (you'll get details on this next blog), my run speed is coming back (5K PR in October), and I have a pretty good plan of attack for 2019 (also to come at a later date). Santa Claus is coming to my house in a few short weeks, wedding festivities start shortly after the first of the year, and before you know it, <i style="font-weight: bold;">I'm going to be racing under a different name. </i>{That one still gets me, every time. Megan Sloan...} </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On that note, I have some Christmas shopping to get done and I'm sure I'm behind on my wedding to-do list. </div>
<div>
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<div>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-25459617140096390892018-09-30T07:25:00.000-05:002018-09-30T11:34:13.754-05:0019 Seconds.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have referenced many times, the plans you make for yourself aren't always the plans that the good Lord has in store for us. </div>
<br />
Almost exactly a year ago, I decided I was going to devote 2018 to "Boston or Bust." I put my head down and gave my training every ounce of focus it required. Just after the New Year, Rob and I got engaged. When it came time to choose a wedding date, I immediately nixed the month of April. "I am not going to get married and <i>possibly</i> run The Boston Marathon in the same month. That's just too much." At this point, I hadn't qualified for Boston. But Rob understood, my mental game was on point. By literally planning one of the biggest events of our life around the POSSIBILITY of a race meant one thing, <i>it was game on and nothing was going to stop me from toeing that line in Hopkinton. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Until I received this email a few days ago:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSvWSUcVo4qwZMnkyPWdhLL0gnfxyeTzNI4CCijB7Viot4Bo9Z1YSuK8XAUGWzTFMrqXxJIzBkegOCp1TduJ3Dwk_N-1JjN9tfYm-peR6QgH2j3vMTuHRqKHYTd3bJgMo8R2J-UGAcBgO/s1600/IMG_7593.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSvWSUcVo4qwZMnkyPWdhLL0gnfxyeTzNI4CCijB7Viot4Bo9Z1YSuK8XAUGWzTFMrqXxJIzBkegOCp1TduJ3Dwk_N-1JjN9tfYm-peR6QgH2j3vMTuHRqKHYTd3bJgMo8R2J-UGAcBgO/s400/IMG_7593.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About as crushing as it gets</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had done my part. I trained my ass off. I suffered through the mental breakdowns of marathon training. I damn near sacrificed my left hamstring in the process. I qualified for the race. With 4 minutes and 33 seconds to spare. But apparently my security blanket needed another 19 seconds.<br />
<br />
No one could have predicted such a huge jump in the time qualification. Last year, you needed to better your qualifying time by 3 minutes and 23 seconds. Add a minute and 29 seconds to that this year and you officially have 7,384 runners that were rejected from the 2019 Boston Marathon. Myself included.<br />
<br />
It's been a roller coaster of emotions for me the last few days. Instantly I felt shock, anger, complete and utter disbelief. I made my phone calls and marched myself right back into work and put on my poker face. In the hours immediately following I felt almost petty for being so upset. <i>Megan, there are SO many other more important things in life. A silly race shouldn't cause this much emotion. Get over it. </i>And then 10 minutes later, <i>Of course you deserve to be angry and upset. You worked your tail end off to be able add the term "Boston Qualifier" after your name. Go ahead, cry. Eat all the cards. Cry some more. </i>That night I wallowed in my self pity and ate almost an entire pound of baked macaroni and cheese from Mariano's. I've had my eye on it for months now, and moments like this completely justified an indulgence. I needed comfort food.<br />
<i><br /></i>
I woke up on Friday morning and I honestly felt hungover, without a sip of alcohol the night before. My eyes were as puffy as I'd ever seen them. I had a pounding headache. I felt as though I hadn't truly slept. I wasn't normal peppy self walking into work. My boss noticed. My coworkers noticed. Hell, <i>even the owner noticed and approached me, "Hey, you alright?" </i>I thought I was ok, I just kept to myself and did my job and didn't really interact with anyone unless I needed to. Apparently that's everything I needed to do to reassure everyone that I really <i>wasn't</i> ok. I made a conscious effort after that to be more like "Megan."<br />
<br />
So many people have reached out to me since Thursday evening. Phrases like "you deserve to be at that starting line" and "that's absolutely brutal" and "my heart aches for you" and "I've been in your exact position before" have been flying around. I can't thank everyone enough for their kind words. At times, running can feel like such a lonely sport, especially on the bad days. But after a situation like this, I'm assured that the running community is as tight nit as they come. Support runs deep and thick in our blood. Success isn't measured by speed or distance run. It's measured by the joy running brings, the passion runners hold in their hearts, and our complete disregard to accept failure as an option. The email I received on Thursday evening, some would consider this a failure. Me? I'm choosing to look at it as an opportunity to grow. I refuse to let myself be bitter about this situation. I'm going to allow it to make me get better. In the words or Kara Goucher, <i>"Nothing has ever broken my heart the way running has. And yet, I can't breath without it." </i>The amount of truth behind this statement is unreal and completely defines this situation.<br />
<br />
Not for a single second do I discredit the success I had at Grandma's Marathon in June after receiving that email from the B.A.A. on Thursday. Grandma's Marathon is easily the best race I've ever executed. I just hope I can remember every single detail I need to execute that type of race again, because this isn't over. Boston and I aren't done. Thoughts and ideas have already hit the drawing board to find a way to get me to Boston in 2020. And, <i style="font-weight: bold;">the plan {hope}</i> is that I won't be running Boston alone in 2020. My birthday twin, Lauren. has some unfinished business herself with the Boston Marathon. Lauren ran Boston in in 2016. Well, she started the race. She knew she wouldn't be able to finish due to an outstanding injury but she wanted to be apart of the experience. She promised her boyfriend (now fiance) that she'd see him at the finish line. She soaked up 7 miles of the Boston Marathon, stepped off course, and was driven to the finish line so she could welcome Matt to Boston. Between the 2 of us, <i>we have a serious fire lit. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlsXv9ut6xVe9QWV8N_okWFKOBuOLDYZdDz1fY0Q-tKFHyHbKH_OWYz6pN17bP1bWMGE2CCPvJduaGedPl1WgkManThewznGk7GuyJtmbBvi_X46KOV7Iah3WhGOVGrkNLVpz02qYbgaD/s1600/IMG_7636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlsXv9ut6xVe9QWV8N_okWFKOBuOLDYZdDz1fY0Q-tKFHyHbKH_OWYz6pN17bP1bWMGE2CCPvJduaGedPl1WgkManThewznGk7GuyJtmbBvi_X46KOV7Iah3WhGOVGrkNLVpz02qYbgaD/s400/IMG_7636.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race miles in Lake Placid, NY circa 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We know, plans can change. Curveballs happen. At this point, rollin' with the punches is my middle name. But this is where I stand. This is what I have my sights set on. And if you thought I was motivated before, hell you ain't see nothin' yet.Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-3530299469122262932018-09-19T04:51:00.003-05:002018-09-19T19:46:56.541-05:00IMWI: Round 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the Ironman/Triathlon world, when you utter the words, "Ironman Wisconsin" there are a variety of things that can pop into a fellow triathletes mind. For instance, many may think of this site:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzxayE6vT_wKuUtoTUO6bIl294bZTh_yZhSpcst3kJewa0ipafSt_0yRTGCS3VdRsCN2B1ClFmDpSJSSYYms7o0fZjMNyzQhso-vC_t1lB6Tc1SSzh0nTkaPkMOriBkM7KOz9ndDU8jSc/s1600/IMG_7366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1328" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzxayE6vT_wKuUtoTUO6bIl294bZTh_yZhSpcst3kJewa0ipafSt_0yRTGCS3VdRsCN2B1ClFmDpSJSSYYms7o0fZjMNyzQhso-vC_t1lB6Tc1SSzh0nTkaPkMOriBkM7KOz9ndDU8jSc/s400/IMG_7366.JPG" width="331" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Capitol building amidst the darkness of the late night finishers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Others who who are a little scared from race day might think of something like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxq9C0AArXQEHn9oyTCBx6QBI_8PznzLVI11Dkik6TY5OnJLGtCIQr4t7JAVlYrHGJfq8QQRGSVFKW7seo08ph3cg1RQzNjWmG1MDqmOEjDCtTYVR_BVrfnbl9GWCCByFeS3qtrBZ4iGWG/s1600/IMG_7358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxq9C0AArXQEHn9oyTCBx6QBI_8PznzLVI11Dkik6TY5OnJLGtCIQr4t7JAVlYrHGJfq8QQRGSVFKW7seo08ph3cg1RQzNjWmG1MDqmOEjDCtTYVR_BVrfnbl9GWCCByFeS3qtrBZ4iGWG/s400/IMG_7358.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legit. This guy hasn't missed a race in years. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Either way, it never ceases to amaze. And this weekend was no different. Mark and I rolled into town around 3pm, dropped our things at the AirBnB and then headed straight back to Monona Terrace to check-in. We went through the motions. Show your photo ID: check. Sign your life away in case anything happens: check. Make sure your emergency contact is listed correctly: check. Step on the scale for pre-race weigh in: check. Make sure you are branded with your Ironman wristband that serves as your only identification as an athlete throughout the weekend: check. Alas, we were officially checked in and promptly spit out into the Ironman Merchandise store and expo. Let the games begin.<br />
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-4m7DLjE6cyijcynT8-0EXoTV8KM9qR2SnEizTaxKf70o4jbdT-_z9HSdh2j-3OLTT0xLhVmaW2H7qwpcWYMCW5Noj45J3jBGJ0SLBq6sunLpRnejKChBW5abfU3-qNXpZSzUFoB7Fvz/s1600/IMG_7200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-4m7DLjE6cyijcynT8-0EXoTV8KM9qR2SnEizTaxKf70o4jbdT-_z9HSdh2j-3OLTT0xLhVmaW2H7qwpcWYMCW5Noj45J3jBGJ0SLBq6sunLpRnejKChBW5abfU3-qNXpZSzUFoB7Fvz/s400/IMG_7200.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That Capitol π<br />
Right after this pic, Mark goes "Ok, now take a picture without touching me" π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was absolutely exhausted. Madison isn't far away from home. But when you try to cram a 5 day work week into 3 and a half (because Monday was Labor Day) it left me feeling like I was missing out on a few ZZZ's going into race day. Mark and I had dinner with Jacqui and Ryan at the Athlete Welcome Banquet. We sat and listened to Mike Reilly welcome us to town while the Mayor insisted we take home some of the overflow water from Lake Monona. In the weeks leading up to Ironman Wisconsin, Madison had received a record amount of rain causing Lake Monona to overflow and push the swim start/exit back about 100 yards from it's normal location, making transition a tad longer. <i>Honestly, I was just AMAZED at Madison's efforts to make sure the swim portion of this race COULD go on.</i> We said goodnight and parted ways. Tomorrow brought a long list of To Do's.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vGbcRU8P2QnWSkbQFv8_0AfMsTJpYTb_xoo0XxtaWivfZHzrg9iguxVhJ8-f5sZtgScwURvuzFXFMyOJ8eVbcRK4rDf69ieRPZ10lJf32Z3bKET0UOiuaiLxxSRqN6Fz6EdpJbWnKPbp/s1600/IMG_7207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vGbcRU8P2QnWSkbQFv8_0AfMsTJpYTb_xoo0XxtaWivfZHzrg9iguxVhJ8-f5sZtgScwURvuzFXFMyOJ8eVbcRK4rDf69ieRPZ10lJf32Z3bKET0UOiuaiLxxSRqN6Fz6EdpJbWnKPbp/s400/IMG_7207.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#rockstarseating</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>SATURDAY</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
Mark and I woke up on Saturday morning and I felt extremely refreshed. I needed a solid night of sleep and that's exactly what I got. Mark and I got in the car to meet the group for an open water swim and I got word from Rob that he didn't have to work Saturday night. YES! HE DOESN'T HAVE TO MISS THE RACE! Caveat: He had to work Monday morning at 3am. Loophole: Finish the race as fast as possible so Rob can get home and get some sleep before work. Challenge accepted.<br />
<br />
We pulled up to the water and were quite surprised to see some giant white caps throughout the lake. Lake Monona is famous for it's chop the farther out you go, but this was a different story. The air was cold, the wind was strong, and the waves were fierce. Needless to say, BFG wasn't happy about the situation considering his swim training history in the past 365 days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGl_jQmkM-w5BlEa604IF_A3gHreMeWwUeWeeDVMCaDrtTKVtlG9zwQY09uyD2BytfAoVuRni8bYydNMWdM9Xouc2zF0sOcHL9p2O_UPcx8JhXVI0z7qhMQ3dTcq0zDOVnEf2ccq9RwC2/s1600/IMG_7212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGl_jQmkM-w5BlEa604IF_A3gHreMeWwUeWeeDVMCaDrtTKVtlG9zwQY09uyD2BytfAoVuRni8bYydNMWdM9Xouc2zF0sOcHL9p2O_UPcx8JhXVI0z7qhMQ3dTcq0zDOVnEf2ccq9RwC2/s400/IMG_7212.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rethinking his training plan π€</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all survived a short little practice swim. It wasn't ideal, but we knew we could pull it off in the chop if we had too. But, some calmer waters on race morning would definitely be preferable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVm7I4SxkNfpEheigPuJkK0K78mm-LiTh2N46uJnHM4ubODEXBTWZLKxwAyAUk2iAMXA1Dwe-1nxmnA6HEHsvRK0c_7NFm4lm3wCepm6rNrSO39lgWYbsOR08CXVOOYerTTWl-VKzTDlMB/s1600/IMG_6470.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVm7I4SxkNfpEheigPuJkK0K78mm-LiTh2N46uJnHM4ubODEXBTWZLKxwAyAUk2iAMXA1Dwe-1nxmnA6HEHsvRK0c_7NFm4lm3wCepm6rNrSO39lgWYbsOR08CXVOOYerTTWl-VKzTDlMB/s400/IMG_6470.JPEG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, Speedy did not swim with his bike.<br />
He's not that good.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mark and I took off to finish up the rest of the low key workouts of the day, a spin around the neighborhood followed by a 1 mile shakeout run. We finished up going through the motions, stickering bikes and helmets and packing up our gear bags. It never takes to long, but the process can be stressful. <i>Did I pack everything I need? Are these 5 extra gels necessary? How about an extra pair of socks? </i>Normally, this is something I can do in my sleep. But it had been a full YEAR since I had done any sort of triathlon, let alone an Ironman. I was trying to remember what the motions felt like.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiRN4A2Ue12gJfzjYfNt773WgWU3K1pTqH4JDhWy2XLzXY-E2WwhggAh5OJ6A3ha_qlLALE3zy4DXt03R69eEK-7vg0e84e6b45FuALfhBtS7auvU3vTizH6ztbaNEp52UP4xTHI8ob4I/s1600/IMG_7260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLiRN4A2Ue12gJfzjYfNt773WgWU3K1pTqH4JDhWy2XLzXY-E2WwhggAh5OJ6A3ha_qlLALE3zy4DXt03R69eEK-7vg0e84e6b45FuALfhBtS7auvU3vTizH6ztbaNEp52UP4xTHI8ob4I/s400/IMG_7260.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I went pretty "bare minimum" for this race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We packed up the car and headed back into town for bike and gear check in. This was the easy part. Once it's all packed, all you have to do is drop it off.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieF8jQn9IatdWKEn-fNPSFLNDTo1Ej7symH44cu47Jfbpjpn6k2Jwmp0iYDNSH_5a6jMdRLTSPZffjKGUkTS70wcJdqpWfV5yMaX8lKl0BpLebtDM8CzbPdsGeYdcbpLJN1Bm69FvCLGjK/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieF8jQn9IatdWKEn-fNPSFLNDTo1Ej7symH44cu47Jfbpjpn6k2Jwmp0iYDNSH_5a6jMdRLTSPZffjKGUkTS70wcJdqpWfV5yMaX8lKl0BpLebtDM8CzbPdsGeYdcbpLJN1Bm69FvCLGjK/s400/4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only half of the bikes!</td></tr>
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<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpzZQQFWXQhMg6Hz7X4GM-nrcOfCo3fNsoW6T_UgXmYl_6PuzCIahyphenhyphenkHeFIeJJhSv-6BPu-faUuQwltRdNrYqFWeA3_uJPTjpySz93xRcUCTtU0mk5PRDjxhbgT0KDLWflEj3Y6_ZsksYq/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpzZQQFWXQhMg6Hz7X4GM-nrcOfCo3fNsoW6T_UgXmYl_6PuzCIahyphenhyphenkHeFIeJJhSv-6BPu-faUuQwltRdNrYqFWeA3_uJPTjpySz93xRcUCTtU0mk5PRDjxhbgT0KDLWflEj3Y6_ZsksYq/s400/2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes are in! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXC0eTT1GzzmkcygyGEmC0y2zmimHEMCOjUxRRs7UERfl6wP9KeL7JSSlS2Aa_u0eKEFTN7YEEtpDn2lIgO10UN7lT4xkgZztPaDE1x2WjAMVA7e3-_Yfk4ECbBSKfuUwhTbLod9qcpRt/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXC0eTT1GzzmkcygyGEmC0y2zmimHEMCOjUxRRs7UERfl6wP9KeL7JSSlS2Aa_u0eKEFTN7YEEtpDn2lIgO10UN7lT4xkgZztPaDE1x2WjAMVA7e3-_Yfk4ECbBSKfuUwhTbLod9qcpRt/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gear bags too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We relaxed for a while and finally it was time to eat. EATING ALSO MEANT ROB WAS IN TOWN! We all thoroughly enjoyed our pre-race meal with some great company and laughs. Race day was only 1 sleep away. Hell, <i>my 31st birthday was only 1 sleep away but honestly that was the last thing on my mind.</i> Waking up to some calm water and minimal winds was what I wanted most.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xFawxeiSy1_OxTBjNqJivtpZU0iFNqi28vFzSRlmY_Hg7WzTIvBI7nKW7bel2Cylk1RgYFXU2TOrAcEwUcnanq8f9TbMewrf4bqENi6a1OEIJIgiQ-dSM5xbvicQVB8mzvXfZQCM2wlT/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xFawxeiSy1_OxTBjNqJivtpZU0iFNqi28vFzSRlmY_Hg7WzTIvBI7nKW7bel2Cylk1RgYFXU2TOrAcEwUcnanq8f9TbMewrf4bqENi6a1OEIJIgiQ-dSM5xbvicQVB8mzvXfZQCM2wlT/s400/5.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks who's hereeeee!!!! π </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPrKHQ5PtMrdKRZ6iBwgrLEOiJW2n5jDAeNgVP0aXQwoqGpzX0B3pMtKqzgOJ5-WzYP_o4LsYLBKo2bCDRfN76pH6kt9WpUc4bYyeoq-ZG4r2Ehx7SrVqFbh6-KhBxf5CfDf9Z-aPvzvd/s400/6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark trying to steal some training through conduction from Coach Speedy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPrKHQ5PtMrdKRZ6iBwgrLEOiJW2n5jDAeNgVP0aXQwoqGpzX0B3pMtKqzgOJ5-WzYP_o4LsYLBKo2bCDRfN76pH6kt9WpUc4bYyeoq-ZG4r2Ehx7SrVqFbh6-KhBxf5CfDf9Z-aPvzvd/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceXW8paD59Stcnfk1onNknCSs8xypDWKnZ_zzVqRmP5ZJntUv5yq8FqNqa7jilOX7wTPLK7quY3E3kOLotctIT1xLuX36yi0_TiSgb6bFPO9-VS417xirm-iNFiqv9U2RooTgYu9lFD0P/s1600/IMG_7357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceXW8paD59Stcnfk1onNknCSs8xypDWKnZ_zzVqRmP5ZJntUv5yq8FqNqa7jilOX7wTPLK7quY3E3kOLotctIT1xLuX36yi0_TiSgb6bFPO9-VS417xirm-iNFiqv9U2RooTgYu9lFD0P/s400/IMG_7357.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark found Lauren on the street and stole her for the evening!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>SUNDAY (RACE DAY AND MY BIRTHDAY! π)</u></b></span><br />
<br />
The night before a race is always restless sleep, especially a big race like this. And this particular night was no different. Just as I started to feel like I was finally asleep, my alarm went off. <i>Alright it's time to get this show on the road. </i>The morning routine started. Coffee. Banana. Peanut butter english muffin toasted. Let Mother Nature take it's course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXYxhPJnMrz0b-bWEXjYek6a3nUHD8U2HzCb-CdHjZYI43LwXGY8aj6imSoycOXaI-i0rxjEhGGjAgm_DQkKHBp6XFZQsuY600OymtHw_ELWdboB8lWS9jT_jZR2ZU5WkTM_jJTXLgKI5/s1600/IMG_7443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXYxhPJnMrz0b-bWEXjYek6a3nUHD8U2HzCb-CdHjZYI43LwXGY8aj6imSoycOXaI-i0rxjEhGGjAgm_DQkKHBp6XFZQsuY600OymtHw_ELWdboB8lWS9jT_jZR2ZU5WkTM_jJTXLgKI5/s400/IMG_7443.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm pretty sure 10 years ago I was still awake at 3:48am celebrating my 21st birthday<br />
My how times have changed</td></tr>
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<br />
I gave Rob a kiss goodbye and told him I'd see him on course at some point. Mark and I made it to transition just as they were opening the doors at 5am. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that giving yourself a few extra minutes to make sure everything is set to go isn't the end of the world. We don't need anymore <a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2016/05/ironman-texas-2016-north-american.html">Ironman Texas</a> repeats as far as I'm concerned. Because within a few minutes of dropping off last minute items to our gear bags, Mark realized he didn't have any socks in in his bike bag. <i>It's currently 5:07am and transition closes at 6:30. What's one to do?</i> ROB TO THE RESCUE. Rob was planning on making it to the swim exit and not seeing us before the start of the race. But when I called him at 5:08am and asked him ever so nicely if he could leave a *tad* earlier than expected to bring Mark his socks, that was the end of that plan. </div>
<div>
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<div>
Jacqui and Ryan were staying at the Hilton (literally attached to Monona Terrace) so we made our way back up to their room to get away from the commotion until we had to head back down to the starting line. Soon enough, Rob had arrived, wetsuits were being shimmied, and it was damn near go time. I dropped my morning clothes bag, kissed Rob goodbye, and scaled a fence with Mark and Trina to finally weave our way as close to the front as possible. </div>
<div>
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<div>
It didn't take long before Mark, Trina, and I found Nate and the 4 of us wiggled through the crowd to the 1:11-1:20 swim start area. Ryan was long gone already but at one point Jacqui squeezed past us and made it a little farther ahead. The closer it got to firing the gun, the more my nerves intensified. Four years ago I was wading in Lake Monona with all 2500 athletes waiting for the gun to go off. This time around, the mass swim start had been eliminated and we were standing like sardines in the grass waiting to be freed into the water for the newly self seeded swim start. The National Anthem played and within seconds the gun went off to start the pro women's race and I nearly pooped myself. Like I said, I was all sorts of high strung. Before I knew it the amatuer gun was fired and my toes hit the water. IMWI round 2, here goes nothing. </div>
<div>
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<div>
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u>SWIM</u></b></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
The first couple minutes of any Ironman are always about getting your bearings. Today was no different. We had to swim on a slight angle in order to officially hit the rectangular swim course. I tried to find a buoy, but following the masses ended up being my only option. I don't remember seeing my first buoy until I reached the 2nd one (and I only know that because it said "2" on the side). Usually, the first 5 minutes of THIS particular race are compared to a washing machine, considering the ever so unpopular mass swim start of years past. But this rolling start? Man, I could get used to this. The water was wide open. Sure, there was a foot here, a body there to maneuver around. But NOTHING like it was in the past. I made it to the first turn buoy in what seemed like no time. This was the part I was dreading though. Direct sunlight and a little intenser chop.<br />
<br />
Compared to the practice swim on Saturday, the chop was nothing at all. But don't be fooled, it was still present. And that loooooong backstretch hasn't changed in 4 years. It's long and brutal. The sun is KILLER in your eyes the entire time. Sighting is a b*tch. Occasionally a chop takes you by surprise and your arm doesn't even make it out of the water for the next stroke. This time around I kept swimming up on small packs of swimmers, maybe 5-6 at a time. Nothing drastic. But enough for me to have to make a decision. Swim THROUGH or around? When I could, I swam around. But there was a a few times I remember I found my hole and made my move. <i>The shortest distance from point A to B is a straight line. You can't blame me for this one.</i> I'm sure I pissed off a few people. I took in some water in the process (because even though this is my 7th time I'm still somewhat a newb and can't not swallow lake water during a race). Everytime I found my mind drifting off to any sort of negativity (i.e. "well that mouthful of water certainly set you back another minute!") I fell deeper into this nasty mind game of "just how bad will this swim actually be?" I knew I wasn't in the BEST swim shape. The chop certainly wasn't helping. And I could definitely do without this sun in my eyes. I made the final turn towards home and could hear Mike Reilly over the speakers. I was getting close. I finally popped up out of the water and glanced at my watch 1:16:53. By the time I crossed the timing matt I finished that swim in a shocking 1:17:06. <i>Man, maybe I do remember how to triathlon!</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxnoFASdZMIdQin5KNSPDkcqY1T31aEjFxi186dmSxz7OyNrCWjH-bwRU5HF6STSjNvF0JK74fD3LlsfISsBylpCxmkMXzrI33RfPC9ScuxvhW27lafvQUxG1H3cZ1KvotwwGmyOePzdn/s1600/2_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_001081-20641023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxnoFASdZMIdQin5KNSPDkcqY1T31aEjFxi186dmSxz7OyNrCWjH-bwRU5HF6STSjNvF0JK74fD3LlsfISsBylpCxmkMXzrI33RfPC9ScuxvhW27lafvQUxG1H3cZ1KvotwwGmyOePzdn/s400/2_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_001081-20641023.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace out wata β</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
{Sidenote: the last time I swam 2.4 miles in a wetsuit was for Ironman Lake Placid in 2016. (IMTX 2017 was non-wetsuit. IMCHATTY 2017 was also non wetsuit downstream.) I had my all time best swim at IMLP in the calmest of waters with a 1:15:02 and I'd like to say I was in really good swim shape at the time. My 1:17:06 in Lake Monona literally tickled me pretty as I took off for what I thought would be the biggest test of my day.}<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u>T1 7:19</u></b></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
Coming out of the water the wetsuit strippers were busier than I'd hoped for. But I had my wetsuit to my hips on my own and was able to snag one of the last strippers to help me with the lower half. The swim start being pushed back added about 100 yards to T1, not the end of the world. Until you start running on that concrete and realize how FRICKEN COLD THE CEMENT IS. I had barely made it to the base of the helix and I could already tell my feet were numb. The helix crowd was THICK with fans. The energy electric. I know for a fact that my heart rate is never higher than when I'm in transition. I made my passes to those dawdlers. I even passed a few who were running. Finally I was off the concrete ground and inside the Monona Terrace to grab my bike bag, change, and hit the road.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicm0sX1PmojNWPcU0UcD1oFmB6wDK0xf_yyoRUVU4n6orMIAZaYoJqKB_sUoSq-khFk0hjP_o9DbGBn2kQbvyOUlfNLml23qkPcsf4lzOpHvKRZ-sOrbPeSzcPyBKMr9ROhPiykt4qYrWh/s1600/IMG_5589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicm0sX1PmojNWPcU0UcD1oFmB6wDK0xf_yyoRUVU4n6orMIAZaYoJqKB_sUoSq-khFk0hjP_o9DbGBn2kQbvyOUlfNLml23qkPcsf4lzOpHvKRZ-sOrbPeSzcPyBKMr9ROhPiykt4qYrWh/s400/IMG_5589.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob found himself a nice little seat on the concrete wall of the Terrace and stalked us as we found our bikes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh98rfPWNDKdC8tmrAnflHyD1_K0LS9Ns67pPTWr1tU_4coJ46QHXzMG-PDA4Zoj3ETtEHaSOAmx84ng4f3qfg8B9JyKIf8yZ7cDDznTaIzikPsrsINyGitLxCaJCBAyEypdVkQdb0EWow/s1600/IMG_5597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh98rfPWNDKdC8tmrAnflHyD1_K0LS9Ns67pPTWr1tU_4coJ46QHXzMG-PDA4Zoj3ETtEHaSOAmx84ng4f3qfg8B9JyKIf8yZ7cDDznTaIzikPsrsINyGitLxCaJCBAyEypdVkQdb0EWow/s400/IMG_5597.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now the scary part: Ride your bike DOWN the helix π
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u>BIKE</u></b></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
In years past, I have watched athletes start their IMWI bike as the exit Monona Terrace coming down from the parking garage helix. Hell, I did it myself 4 years ago. And I swear every time it gives me a set of nerves like nails on a chalkboard. It's a tight turn. And it's 3 full 360 degree turns to the bottom. And at the bottom, you have to make sure you don't run into one of the vestibules where you would normally pay as you exit a parking garage. <i>Legit this is the coolest and scariest transition setups you've ever seen. </i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NaF9KKfDQA1X6PHc8RL7JZnIWAvYf-nTNk3oVSW_CMcpRYElkYeAXwpWt3tv9dJj-P0bgVkC_gJSkpdn0vX4d7mOAG8LSMyvJOwsXRH_b2W-12xM-CpjkD9bXoS7QlhQ9OP3-Jy7uRAs/s1600/33_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_062446-20641054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NaF9KKfDQA1X6PHc8RL7JZnIWAvYf-nTNk3oVSW_CMcpRYElkYeAXwpWt3tv9dJj-P0bgVkC_gJSkpdn0vX4d7mOAG8LSMyvJOwsXRH_b2W-12xM-CpjkD9bXoS7QlhQ9OP3-Jy7uRAs/s400/33_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_062446-20641054.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yea, I wasn't lying.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
Over the years, I've become VERY familiar with this bike course. I don't need pavement markings at this point. I've been riding the 40 mile loop on repeat for training for the past 5 summers. But the stick leading out to the loop? That is something I barely remember. I knew it wasn't flat, but I honestly had forgotten anything about it. The stick is 16 miles, then you ride the 40 mile loop twice, and then you ride the stick back to Monona Terrace, hence giving you your 112 mile bike course. </div>
<div>
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<div>
The wind seemed to be in our favor on the way out. I never had to much trouble and even saw a 14:XX 5 mile split at one point. I knew that wouldn't last forever so I graciously accepted the speed at this point of the bike. We finally entered Verona and as far as I was concerned, this is where the games really began. I felt like I was on my home turf, these are my roads damnit! I knew exactly when to flip into the smaller gears so I wouldn't trash my legs. I knew exactly what hills seemed to tax my body over others. I knew exactly what to flip it into high gear and let loose because if you're smart, you can ride Witte Road like a roller coaster and use practically 0 energy. Some might call this an advantage while others would call it slightly "unfair." Call what you want, I've beaten my body to shreds over the years on this bike course so I think I deserved a little bit of fun today.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihMbW14dRKLeUibGrsmT77p6hbDj8Ul48GBejc5xWEoKWp0Bz6a8g9uYDsG6NdhGY-2oIkkcp8ZOqgS2lWJ58CFVtJ-HH_Aq7-cyjao-Ug9uaI35MpKXtBCLwT4EIpOT4GTFIZdaJXZTP/s1600/21_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_046123-20641042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihMbW14dRKLeUibGrsmT77p6hbDj8Ul48GBejc5xWEoKWp0Bz6a8g9uYDsG6NdhGY-2oIkkcp8ZOqgS2lWJ58CFVtJ-HH_Aq7-cyjao-Ug9uaI35MpKXtBCLwT4EIpOT4GTFIZdaJXZTP/s400/21_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_046123-20641042.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the millions descends of the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It didn't take long before I noticed that the wind wasn't what it normally is. Having ridden this course plenty of times over the years, the wind direction is pretty easy to predict, give or take. Today? It pulled a 180 on us. The sections of the course where you can normally pick up some speed, you were fighting the wind. And aggressively. There are few flat sections of this course, but the few that are generally offer minimal wind and a chance for you to relax and gather yourself before you have to start doing some serious work again. This day? We worked allllll day.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Heading into Mount Horeb was the worst. There is a bit of a flat section followed by a false flat followed by a pretty large climb. But, it's normally very manageable. I did everything I could to stay as low as possible and NOT come out of aero even when I was climbing. I needed to conserve as much as possible. Just after Mount Horeb there was a nice little section of wind as well, just before turning onto Witte Road. I barely lifted my head up. I looked up enough that I knew there were no bikes directly in front of me. I didn't want my eyes any higher than they needed to be. Just before turning onto Witte Road I looked up to take the turn and there stood the first person I recognized while on the bike, Jodi Menke. A local triathlon acquaintance, I knew she'd pop up on course at some point. We made eye contact and literally we both screamed. We were both so excited to see each other that no words came out, simply excitement. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After I enjoyed Witte Road, I started to wonder where Mark was. I knew he should have passed me by now. <i>What if he had an issue in the water? What if he cramped and can't ride? What if something happened and they had to call Rob to go get him? Speaking of, where's ROB!? </i>You have no idea where my mind will take me during a day like this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ro8cM2gHNJ83OziuW1nDt36KuU1x2XIczO4J9zXZkEtkPGr1mlyx8z3pShbAJvAi2ahXgJRS1Vf-mEneMPPnQ3QdhbdN9i-gK0o_XR00SfFJLix4UQsha_cT8vVOSQg62ap99PZNX7rG/s1600/11_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_017908-20641032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ro8cM2gHNJ83OziuW1nDt36KuU1x2XIczO4J9zXZkEtkPGr1mlyx8z3pShbAJvAi2ahXgJRS1Vf-mEneMPPnQ3QdhbdN9i-gK0o_XR00SfFJLix4UQsha_cT8vVOSQg62ap99PZNX7rG/s400/11_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_017908-20641032.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure I was fighting some sort of wind at this point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Soon it came time to climb the Three Sisters/Bitches (whatever you prefer to call them). I was really starting to worry that I hadn't seen Mark at all. I knew I'd see familiar faces on one of the Sisters so I'd have a chance to ask. Sure enough, I made it to Sister #2 at the base of the hill stood John Lorenz ready to run me up the hill. <i>You're looking great! Jacqui is in the top 7, Nate and Trina are literally just ahead of you! </i>I was feeling great and used that energy to power up the massive hill, but managed to ask John if he had seen my brother at all. <i>He's doing good, just a little ways behind you!</i> THANK GOD! Then, he passed me off to Mr. Giuliano, Ryan's Dad. Mr. Always Excited. Mr. Intensity. His energy was electric and seriously made me feel on top of the world. <i>Holy hell would you look at this girl, she knows how to power up a hill! GO GET EM MEG!" </i> And just like that, I made it to the top and the crowds thinned.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I started loop 2 and was anticipating the breakdown of my body. Generally, if it's gonna go it'll be on the 2nd half of the bike course. For me, I usually start to get off pattern with my nutrition. My watch is set to beep every 20 minutes to remind me to take in some sort of nutrition. But after 4 hours or so, I just don't wanna sometimes. But today, I was on point. Gel, banana at aide stations, water, nutrition bottle, cliff bar. You name it, I did it. And nothing cramped. Nothing hurt. My stomach survived. </div>
<div>
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<div>
Just before mile 85ish, I had my first Rob sighting. He was sitting off to the side, solo, no crowds around him, wearing his flashing neon construction work vest so I could find him easily. He pulled the camera down so I could make eye contact. It wasn't until that moment that it clicked. <i>Mark is ok and Rob is just now showing up on course. I bet he took a nap after the swim. </i>Sure enough, this girl knows her fiance best. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQN0wDPAmHZkY1jDB0GFI9Tl38PcwKD1T7-_qpiJFn4NZZfTkK1l8_G_dW4xnhalG2yBiVBFIx15s6AL3xVkrNL32jFvT4Xw_dMOQOzvaYhasadN7B7gnzngM8qzrhhuucbUuAEz3PUML/s1600/IMG_5624+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQN0wDPAmHZkY1jDB0GFI9Tl38PcwKD1T7-_qpiJFn4NZZfTkK1l8_G_dW4xnhalG2yBiVBFIx15s6AL3xVkrNL32jFvT4Xw_dMOQOzvaYhasadN7B7gnzngM8qzrhhuucbUuAEz3PUML/s400/IMG_5624+%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I told ya, head down. Only look as far up as necessary.<br />
#wind</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally I was on the last section of the loop and knew the stick was quickly approaching. I've never been more excited in my life, until the moment I realized that the wind would be in our face the ENTIRE 16 MILES BACK. And immediately after turning off of the loop, I remembered. I remembered an awful memory. The first 3-4 miles heading back is a nice, steady, mean, dirty, nasty, climb... in a headwind. If ever there are moments in your life that you feel like you're truly being tested for survival mode, this might be one of them. It takes away ANY positivity you had left. It eats at your mental status. It destroys your legs. And I'll be damned, you still have 10 miles to go once you get to the top.<br />
<br />
Finally we hit the bike path. Three miles to go. And then it was John Nolan Drive. The capitol building in sight. Let's get this shit over with. But. There's always a but.<br />
<br />
Remember the helix that you so cautiously have to ride down at the beginning? You get to climb that to finish off your ride.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMafhQKYW6cM3fwpjiqqz0xHoEvcBOjtskA1z-vTZKOULPfELRqIjlQIvUOwH7emGW54NTKZUH8kXcEJRPZSeYQ3kw_JeYlrRpolcb163uRsz9Y642uGadF7eL8Q-uB5TP_ybOlyh2nG1/s1600/IMG_5647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMafhQKYW6cM3fwpjiqqz0xHoEvcBOjtskA1z-vTZKOULPfELRqIjlQIvUOwH7emGW54NTKZUH8kXcEJRPZSeYQ3kw_JeYlrRpolcb163uRsz9Y642uGadF7eL8Q-uB5TP_ybOlyh2nG1/s400/IMG_5647.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legit, throw it in the smallest gear and say your prayers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
And finally, 6 hours and 27 minutes later, it was time to run. {A casual 48 minutes faster than it took me to bike the course 4 years prior, for the first time. Take away some of this odd wind and I bet it could have been closer to an hour.}</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u>T2 3:18</u></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div>
Rob found me coming off the bike, but I didn't see him. I handed my bike over and took my first steps to get my bearings. (The term "brick legs" is never more appropriate than after riding this course.) It didn't take long before I had my sea legs back and was flying down the aisle of bags to grab mine. Run shoes on. Belt on. Quick pee. And we're off. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdprUXV04OEMI1k2GWNX5JrKcqg9bhxa73XudFkZO3xJfAHc9sskYbwzApr65TDXkgiSvJclk9GZ9LWz9Ir6C6_GYpXAOH-v1-Pf5lqHZDFD3QVneNZ4qF7tGLmQWwpwzukKX07rTDxZmq/s1600/IMG_5649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdprUXV04OEMI1k2GWNX5JrKcqg9bhxa73XudFkZO3xJfAHc9sskYbwzApr65TDXkgiSvJclk9GZ9LWz9Ir6C6_GYpXAOH-v1-Pf5lqHZDFD3QVneNZ4qF7tGLmQWwpwzukKX07rTDxZmq/s400/IMG_5649.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The run out was also different this year because of flooding.<br />
But it worked out because Rob was able to find me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u>RUN</u></b></span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div>
I have a lot of mixed emotions about this part of the race. <a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2017/10/ironman-chattanooga-2017-rybread-version.html">IMCHATTY2017</a> left me with a bad taste in my mouth after my run went south from the very second I stepped foot off my bike. But I raced A LOT last year and those last 26 miles of the year might have been what put me over the edge.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This year, I knew my run may or may not suffer. I had just spent 9 of the last 12 months focused on run training. <i>This is what you do now! You're a runner! You should be good at this!</i> In the same breath, my body was pretty beat up. My left hamstring suffered a major beating from the months of March-June. Tension and tightness and pains never TRULY went away, only subsided a lot. If I was going to have a bad run, this would be why. And surely enough, that's what happened. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia4ctQpHOIlA0Yrq3uyYoYAHX_Li0iq7hLikj4krZCZsJRJHkPoyrT4VN35TphrZdeeOW8IskG9oWaZbEGEQtQblXrDCCCNvxu9fZ6oO3yxB635U_Ya3z9lNccr-Cf3nV4m98eYDBVEdgb/s1600/IMG_5698+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia4ctQpHOIlA0Yrq3uyYoYAHX_Li0iq7hLikj4krZCZsJRJHkPoyrT4VN35TphrZdeeOW8IskG9oWaZbEGEQtQblXrDCCCNvxu9fZ6oO3yxB635U_Ya3z9lNccr-Cf3nV4m98eYDBVEdgb/s400/IMG_5698+%25282%2529.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean, I didn't feel great but check out that dude behind me. Yikes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
I hit the run and didn't even look at my watch. Run easy and run don't focus on time. That was my motto. I saw Jacqui and Ryan's parents on State Street right away and was feeling on top of the world! It was starting to get hot, quite a bit actually. It was only 70 degrees, but with no clouds and 112 bikes miles under your belt, you tend to heat up quickly. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZMrzJvP14S7UhSlOLBdkvJHziNj-FNTNXVIM2uJrs6YfY_V8oTSDo1-tQLuN426QvwrcOjOeMRzUehwpKLBzDgHcKt5rFyAuZpgAhMAA-LjhYVqOdAK0HV1Z2IeUaK04zRqKj4Ualh6E/s1600/29_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_057793-20641050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZMrzJvP14S7UhSlOLBdkvJHziNj-FNTNXVIM2uJrs6YfY_V8oTSDo1-tQLuN426QvwrcOjOeMRzUehwpKLBzDgHcKt5rFyAuZpgAhMAA-LjhYVqOdAK0HV1Z2IeUaK04zRqKj4Ualh6E/s400/29_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_057793-20641050.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running on Astro Turf didn't help either<br />
Camp Randall Stadium<br />
ILL - INI!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
I saw Ryan on his way home to win the race around mile 2.5, just about the time my run started to go South. My foot tightened up to the point I had to stop and try and stretch it out. It cramped like you would expect in the middle of the night. Soon, that tightness shot up in my calf and hamstring. And before you knew it, my left leg was completely useless. There was more walking than I'm proud of during miles 3-6. It wasn't pretty. But I NEEDED to get my body to a point that I could move comfortably. I finally caught a second wind and saw Rob on State Street. He sat in the middle of the road. construction vest on, camera in the air. Normally this kind of behavior would elicit an Ironman official to ask a spectator to move off course. But, we're pretty sure they thought Rob WAS an Ironman official in that fancy vest of his. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmdXZarHcIXukrGYJe8Kr3zpLpiR958mLcWmg2MOyLwoIJhRGGZsQ7YZRT_sCnshlxDFrEhSqjRxZUjqN4Q59871ygAMrG8ErIrD_1groI0GyQ9xHx-i2MP0-UKw8RFVWupsZbUA4NAUP/s1600/IMG_5708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmdXZarHcIXukrGYJe8Kr3zpLpiR958mLcWmg2MOyLwoIJhRGGZsQ7YZRT_sCnshlxDFrEhSqjRxZUjqN4Q59871ygAMrG8ErIrD_1groI0GyQ9xHx-i2MP0-UKw8RFVWupsZbUA4NAUP/s400/IMG_5708.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hi Honey kinda having a rough day, hope you enjoyed your nap on my BIRTHDAY!"</td></tr>
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This run course really throws me off, every time. There are so many twists and turns and small out and backs that I seriously can't keep it straight. I remember I saw Jon Crane and his wife. Jon damn near clubbed me on the bike course during the last 4 miles with his beer in hand. So he hopped on the run to apologize and wish me a happy birthday. I could tell he had been drinking for a while, and to be honest, I was a little jealous. </div>
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I remember seeing Lauren Matricardi on the bike path along the lake at one point. She was with her CES friends and stood on the ready to snap my photo in all my birthday glory. When I approached her she asked, "So how do you feel!?" Instead of telling her the honest truth about wanting to sell my left leg to a homeless person, I told her, "You know, I've had better birthdays!" </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1NRw_gILlybYlpNBeewKPZEINRwljmgWTtbQ1i60NPWZ08uIC-Td5oX_B0TTbaOVCDMSofmAUGcu4C0vzHZf27FSOvIy_Zpf2xJoYCl1DjN7ocPQC4fimgESaty7c0JAGFkNyAdi1j9Z/s1600/IMG_7325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1NRw_gILlybYlpNBeewKPZEINRwljmgWTtbQ1i60NPWZ08uIC-Td5oX_B0TTbaOVCDMSofmAUGcu4C0vzHZf27FSOvIy_Zpf2xJoYCl1DjN7ocPQC4fimgESaty7c0JAGFkNyAdi1j9Z/s400/IMG_7325.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiiiiiii L-Mat!</td></tr>
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<div>
The 2nd half of the first loop my body seemed to relax enough to let me actually run. 9-10 minute miles. I wasn't complaining. I knew this had potential to go South quickly so I accepted it with open arms. I made it to the turn around point, literal feet from the finish line (brutal I tell ya) and prayed that I'd be able to pull off 13 more miles on a bum leg. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wcX780c9ebdR-ov2O54DLtLg922E1QGWKm4jvrd6nQZ-MCIjZ513upHQUk6jHwj1OFgJzejwkfsBqldunOpF1buzQH2wd3M8tutacpo80j8OgLoThLV3t1jKGPzEYADiSmedaDjOlTVn/s1600/37_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_067841-20641058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wcX780c9ebdR-ov2O54DLtLg922E1QGWKm4jvrd6nQZ-MCIjZ513upHQUk6jHwj1OFgJzejwkfsBqldunOpF1buzQH2wd3M8tutacpo80j8OgLoThLV3t1jKGPzEYADiSmedaDjOlTVn/s400/37_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_067841-20641058.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being able to see the finish line and know you have 13 miles to go is the WORST. </td></tr>
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Mile 15 or so is the first time I saw Mark all day. He was finishing up his 1st lap while I was well into my second. We stopped and talked for a minute. He was feeling surprising well, considering he <i>actually didn't train for this race. </i>Me on the other hand? Shoot me. The 2nd half of this run is a big blur. I spent a lot of time trying not to focus on the shooting pain up and down my left leg. I was slow moving for sure. Jacqui had passed me long ago and taken home her first Ironman title ever. I spotted Nate and Trina many times throughout the run.<br />
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I knew that was I was on the clock though. Remember how I mentioned Rob needed to get back home so he could sleep for work in the middle of the night? Yea, that was still happening. I had set Rob back longer than I was hoping for. I knew I'd see him again around mile 20 and thought about telling him he didn't have to stay if he didn't want to. But then I saw him. And he was all smiles. And he knew I was hurting. And he gave me a little love tap and sent me on my way. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGd7GXO0MNjpdAnlJGRc6gvvfMv6aFN9eVegBvuUy46QW76rx9dElXbgeMz5y5CUBuDZ7gNVtvcSTN_GPEoM69V5xZZQQbSH_gFh3xlDlT2P8BYZfEDWJ79_NiLTumxLiIoE3VSSQMq2S/s1600/IMG_5757+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGd7GXO0MNjpdAnlJGRc6gvvfMv6aFN9eVegBvuUy46QW76rx9dElXbgeMz5y5CUBuDZ7gNVtvcSTN_GPEoM69V5xZZQQbSH_gFh3xlDlT2P8BYZfEDWJ79_NiLTumxLiIoE3VSSQMq2S/s400/IMG_5757+%25282%2529.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Cred: My #1 Spectathlete</td></tr>
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<div>
The sun officially set and I was only a few miles away from the finish line. The last miles might have hurt the worst. I remember thinking, "Forward motion, keep the forward motion." I got closer and closer and started to get a little emotional. I finished this race 4 years ago and I had a slew of people at the finish line. My mother, who doesn't travel well. My father, who had recently had a heart attack and open heart surgery. My brother, who truly had no idea what it felt like to do something like this. Rob, who had literally spent his ENTIRE day chasing me all over the course. Jacqui and Ryan, who were both hanging from a street lamp as I rounded the final turn to the finish line screaming their heads off. Friends from high school and college who had made the journey to watch me find the finish line after 140.6 miles. </div>
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And today, I had mom and dad glued to their live feed at home. Mark on course with me. Jacqui and Ryan on course with me. And Rob at the finish line, ready to greet me with my birthday kiss. And ALL of my support at home.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97XM_OOVC1fXtH1yWBI1mZv6qkXxB257pWw_uk393VygQoPGXuLGvUt78_jgV5feN_3Ur1AUP3bmP1fjxmpeVFI22vtDf7PeHxtP8J303BIX5dOiljSgr4UOkTQ4RPzlQOf3JGTn3Pprh/s1600/43_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_078471-20641064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97XM_OOVC1fXtH1yWBI1mZv6qkXxB257pWw_uk393VygQoPGXuLGvUt78_jgV5feN_3Ur1AUP3bmP1fjxmpeVFI22vtDf7PeHxtP8J303BIX5dOiljSgr4UOkTQ4RPzlQOf3JGTn3Pprh/s400/43_m-100840779-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-2266_078471-20641064.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#7</td></tr>
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People always ask why I keep coming back to do this time and time again. There are plenty of reasons. But honestly. That feeling of crossing the finish line. There's nothing like it. It releases so many raw emotions that you just can't put into words. We repeatedly do what brings us joy. These moments are ingrained in our brains in such a permanent way. Why would you NOT to repeat something like that? </div>
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I've said it before, the more you race the distance, the easier it gets. And it's true. Recovery tends to be quicker. The body doesn't hurt as much after each race. But this one? This one for sure took it's toll on me. I limped and waddled and dragged my foot the rest of the night while waiting for Mark to finish. (Which was only and hour and a half after me) For someone who completely had their focus set elsewhere all summer long, his finish was simply amazing to me. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADV9vgBOnKnF8-htYY3iZ4ocsdg7DAFndQMBDHh4wNbdC6K2xZ3AjqUlq3CHAp93e-dISK4k525dy-LgM_o6a3_FfqyuvuE3eqkYfT6QD3ipac2DNZoGRMwXKbtqF1SZpsFWfB33rXw6t/s1600/IMG_7324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADV9vgBOnKnF8-htYY3iZ4ocsdg7DAFndQMBDHh4wNbdC6K2xZ3AjqUlq3CHAp93e-dISK4k525dy-LgM_o6a3_FfqyuvuE3eqkYfT6QD3ipac2DNZoGRMwXKbtqF1SZpsFWfB33rXw6t/s400/IMG_7324.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He apparently forgot he wasn't exactly ready for take off during the run</td></tr>
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As we were saying our goodbyes to Rob, Mark was officially asked to join the wedding party. It was a moment I didn't see coming, nor did I expect to be apart of. Of course it was filled with Rob's smartass comments and we all laughed. But I wouldn't have it any other way I can definitely say it was the perfect end to my birthday. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLtb9II73l7W4R5NeBYqJqWNgDF3lbLyMCVvJF3jmDxBUpO92JZ97VoWeBcFq20RUvz8kzww1utRiiV4NuKLtBlpKsUtzhMMkNB2ltpZfy2Lty9eIvfgYUvOqdwynCxJutEceY20NL0-s/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLtb9II73l7W4R5NeBYqJqWNgDF3lbLyMCVvJF3jmDxBUpO92JZ97VoWeBcFq20RUvz8kzww1utRiiV4NuKLtBlpKsUtzhMMkNB2ltpZfy2Lty9eIvfgYUvOqdwynCxJutEceY20NL0-s/s400/11.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I literally had a hard time keeping my eyes open at this point</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-lAFE_Rv1zdikJ2b8pCTXrEVTnflUuWA5trXINSt-n8tQdWcYs42BrRb6m5YfHX5fdtQw055EvFp3u3xUEsUO2mMgV4yrczkzTVGBclulWVEzVNZa4ybgsAJAIIGJySqpr4WjWq-RQGMR/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-lAFE_Rv1zdikJ2b8pCTXrEVTnflUuWA5trXINSt-n8tQdWcYs42BrRb6m5YfHX5fdtQw055EvFp3u3xUEsUO2mMgV4yrczkzTVGBclulWVEzVNZa4ybgsAJAIIGJySqpr4WjWq-RQGMR/s400/9.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BFG! BFG! BFG!<br />
Training? What's that? #nailedit</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We sent Rob on his way, grabbed our bikes and hit the road. We had to make it home before pizza delivery wasn't an option anymore for a Sunday night. We ate as much as we could (which wasn't much at all) before we both felt sick to our stomachs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPgnqD6jKHI0t0PEJeHwvrn_ks8lLOJ_01OB9-321ygJXhZIgB5oc7I8-5anv1CQeZ-a6gUYB-G-08e-jVoXgC7mq40qsbYLJFhs5rZ5oO9GcosOAr8lMLKPEl9gTj2KTNnMEd5bX1djo/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPgnqD6jKHI0t0PEJeHwvrn_ks8lLOJ_01OB9-321ygJXhZIgB5oc7I8-5anv1CQeZ-a6gUYB-G-08e-jVoXgC7mq40qsbYLJFhs5rZ5oO9GcosOAr8lMLKPEl9gTj2KTNnMEd5bX1djo/s400/12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing with 2 Ironman Champs. Best Friends. NBD.</td></tr>
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The last thing I am is upset with my race. My biggest goal this year was to qualify for Boston. And that happened earlier than I anticipated. So since I was able to spend the 2nd half of my year actually having FUN before I go head down planning this wedding was absolutely amazing. Speaking of Boston, registration for the 2019 race officially closed a short while ago. My application is in. I'm sitting over here, fingers and toes crossed, anxiously awaiting my acceptance.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYFHaa33UqBlGZda2scn_L964qVlTGtyobPbdySHhJy6tDvj1M7vEXXgH-XIJTUrCe23S7lZlbJFuImOVSvLyKyr93moVA4NKa51gjakmJRI7JCugPO5x_0Mf4Q0WeSIxHnw9abAEUIMT/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYFHaa33UqBlGZda2scn_L964qVlTGtyobPbdySHhJy6tDvj1M7vEXXgH-XIJTUrCe23S7lZlbJFuImOVSvLyKyr93moVA4NKa51gjakmJRI7JCugPO5x_0Mf4Q0WeSIxHnw9abAEUIMT/s400/13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacqui said it best... #squad</td></tr>
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The next morning the 6 of us went to the athlete breakfast and sat through the awards ceremony. It's always fun to see the victors on stage the next morning. Jacqui and Ryan were able to stand side by side, champions. It was such an awesome moment to witness. We finally went our separate ways, saying goodbye to the land of nostalgia.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9AvBq4JLW9QOdohFvM0TQ4C0_nH9czjvn6Zxm0IvyPkepP41QnfLRJrKdoCIWCc5JTaG4wN3km1R4DSgRJS7Th5zxLv9uVM7E670j7pM-qDKLSS2mG5jj1CgIVq-_5PjDwtLe0-c5dcN/s1600/IMG_4087.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9AvBq4JLW9QOdohFvM0TQ4C0_nH9czjvn6Zxm0IvyPkepP41QnfLRJrKdoCIWCc5JTaG4wN3km1R4DSgRJS7Th5zxLv9uVM7E670j7pM-qDKLSS2mG5jj1CgIVq-_5PjDwtLe0-c5dcN/s400/IMG_4087.JPEG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RyBread Racing</td></tr>
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{And for those worry warts out there, please know that I have already started seeking treatment for my leg. I'm not about to run Boston on this bum leg of mine. I'm starting at the bottom and checking off all the items on my list if necessary. I've had one intense session of Active Release Therapy done and I'm about to embark on my 2nd as we speak. I already feel relief and I'm certain with some proper relaxation of the muscles and longer recovery, this too shall pass.}<br />
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On that note, RyBread OUT! Cheers.<br />
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-14480618544885987462018-09-07T06:21:00.001-05:002018-09-07T12:14:18.928-05:00Deja Vu: The RyBread Racing IMWI LineupI can't help but feel like I've been here before. Four years ago I packed up all of my triathlon belongings and embarked on my first Ironman journey, naive and full of nerves and uncertainty. This time around, I'm what most would call a "veteran" with some upgraded equipment over the years. But I still can't shake the same emotions I had four years ago.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1ET7-_ivbQ4MQNOBh8d5L8fcjWZCHRxIyAfNJdlWMvlMs4R1u4hPBFYCzslRleX3QIOv_WdmQbHWNNOvHBRWbeJk_FjQj-Bm5QtUbjpOPWV8_Ixrq5DkN9vLWlTc1bHjWTjaDS8W2_bL/s1600/10628577_10104086040219460_1689890144946657724_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1ET7-_ivbQ4MQNOBh8d5L8fcjWZCHRxIyAfNJdlWMvlMs4R1u4hPBFYCzslRleX3QIOv_WdmQbHWNNOvHBRWbeJk_FjQj-Bm5QtUbjpOPWV8_Ixrq5DkN9vLWlTc1bHjWTjaDS8W2_bL/s400/10628577_10104086040219460_1689890144946657724_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-Bike check-in 2014!<br />
Please note the borrowed race wheels and road bike</td></tr>
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Sometimes I wonder, <i>if I wasn't so naive going into Ironman Wisconsin in 2014, would I have even attempted something like this in the first place? Would I EVER have decided to attempt an Ironman? </i>I remember dismounting my bike on race day, very vividly. I stood still without moving for the first time since the race had started. The volunteer grabbed my bike from me and we made eye contact. "Do me a favor, sell it, " I told him. He laughed. Less than a year later, I owned bike number 2. But in that moment, I swore I'd never ride a bike again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9E1RKGxq77r5ps-tQfg4A9rd1h0JNuhrKI9dRQz2bqm3vqqhGipyKramYMnGVn5vdRB6WF8lmCMSK47cYyCQO8CUpJABAtvtz66gdHZJuj7aKuorScq0d3DSpdPZn_4s59zMnAdXrfWHW/s1600/0795_048340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9E1RKGxq77r5ps-tQfg4A9rd1h0JNuhrKI9dRQz2bqm3vqqhGipyKramYMnGVn5vdRB6WF8lmCMSK47cYyCQO8CUpJABAtvtz66gdHZJuj7aKuorScq0d3DSpdPZn_4s59zMnAdXrfWHW/s400/0795_048340.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I might have also LOOKED naive.<br />
Crooked helmet and all </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But here we are, 4 years and 6 full Ironman later. I'm heading back to the land of nostalgia. Looking over the lake from Monona Terrace, that left hand turn onto Witte Road on the bike, wondering "where exactly will the clown show up?", and cruisin' down State Street with a view of the capitol building. And so.much.more.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJCnNwgmORX0pej35-dHb5Oql_cyiMPQfmh9OcNAvEuwsB5rJnG18xHthUs5v5kKitg4emf6dT8k8BF8BpiXGXtIBbXQ2BG07KRx3HPgiYEiQdFDSPcURJgCzF81CKBcaQlWsRp22dZks/s1600/10616069_10104097882337760_4946287719152606189_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="960" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJCnNwgmORX0pej35-dHb5Oql_cyiMPQfmh9OcNAvEuwsB5rJnG18xHthUs5v5kKitg4emf6dT8k8BF8BpiXGXtIBbXQ2BG07KRx3HPgiYEiQdFDSPcURJgCzF81CKBcaQlWsRp22dZks/s400/10616069_10104097882337760_4946287719152606189_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMWI 2014 Swim Start<br />
I'm in there somewhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Four years ago, I raced alone but had a great deal of support. My family, Rob, many friends, and Ryan (Coach Speedy, who will still tell you to this day, "I fought back tears watching you find that finish line!"). We've used the word "lab rat" over the years to describe my training that summer, and it's damn fitting. Back in the day, RyBread Racing wasn't even a thing. Coaching was still something Ryan "wasn't sure about" for a full time gig. The day I signed up for Madison in 2013, I called him up and told him I wasn't about to do this alone. And the rest is history.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjan2FA7ZleNmSxpXzJOWZkio-utHMZ9FH8VZiVGuSG9OdHX0DC_BddOQyWWjP-VnbtL6MwpWXiNpoVo60wFZfXm7hw2E_IUYgR8e-PqFNbYDo_lRU1_Arw5rtAHdBuWi3p0LW3QSwmhY3D/s1600/1601088_10152646750063257_3505010888917880317_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjan2FA7ZleNmSxpXzJOWZkio-utHMZ9FH8VZiVGuSG9OdHX0DC_BddOQyWWjP-VnbtL6MwpWXiNpoVo60wFZfXm7hw2E_IUYgR8e-PqFNbYDo_lRU1_Arw5rtAHdBuWi3p0LW3QSwmhY3D/s400/1601088_10152646750063257_3505010888917880317_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back when he pulled double duty<br />
Powerbar Tent by day, Coach in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time around, the racing crew looks a little different. In fact, I was the LAST to join the party. Unsure what would happen at Grandma's Marathon in June, I left the 2nd half of 2018 wide open. Once I took care of the major goal of qualifying for Boston, I could do whatever I wanted. And here I am, with my RyBread crew. Don't worry, I'll re-introduce everyone in case you forgot.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>The 2018 RyBreading Racing IMWI Lineup</b></span></div>
<br />
<span id="goog_2051898011"></span><span id="goog_2051898012"></span><br />
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><strong>Mr. Tomato</strong></u></span><br />
<b>Nathan Tamayo - #mrtomato</b></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<div align="center">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi33SIt1RyHTsBCvxl_ONStzds8gwHwRwnHcO5uRL_N3EpxhO_NpreplHhCMkVgOqDgoc5ghfDRsucl16ETuBlAQxRtnTtB3Bd4RbYrgOwUzQZy_kz5W4_2iqUb5YIQs3cxu80s8oMSTTY/s1600/21765291_1154516191346004_8421467836721189089_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi33SIt1RyHTsBCvxl_ONStzds8gwHwRwnHcO5uRL_N3EpxhO_NpreplHhCMkVgOqDgoc5ghfDRsucl16ETuBlAQxRtnTtB3Bd4RbYrgOwUzQZy_kz5W4_2iqUb5YIQs3cxu80s8oMSTTY/s400/21765291_1154516191346004_8421467836721189089_n.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMCHOO 2017<br />
Nate gettin' some support from his dad on the run course!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Once again, we haven't broken the trend. I have raced ALL of my Ironman races with the Tamayo's since Ironman Lake Placid in 2016. Still living the vampire life with the Mrs, Nate continues to show up on race with his guns loaded and ready to tackle whatever comes his way. Living life opposite of the rest of society isn't a piece of cake, but this guy always makes it look easy. Nate raced Ironman Wisconsin as his first IM back in 2012 so he's ready to see what kind of progress he's made over the years. ο»Ώ</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
ο»Ώ<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Mrs. Tomato</u></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Trina Tamayo - #mrstomato</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gKBdG2ZsE5wJUKb_QgHHYkuTyZnKXeEb4bliqWSNvJSrt1SSMzwnugEagFSrMTMBZek9FnUeur0fdG0tIA0oeokL7HeRJoTpaAQ5Ir9fXAUUO6QNgdU89Btr8AmSeH0DQxLA0tz-QcaF/s1600/IMG_1101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gKBdG2ZsE5wJUKb_QgHHYkuTyZnKXeEb4bliqWSNvJSrt1SSMzwnugEagFSrMTMBZek9FnUeur0fdG0tIA0oeokL7HeRJoTpaAQ5Ir9fXAUUO6QNgdU89Btr8AmSeH0DQxLA0tz-QcaF/s400/IMG_1101.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMCHOO 2017 Swim exit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is the first year since 2015 that the Tomatoes and I haven't raced 2 Ironman in one year. I decided to take the running route the first half of 2018, while the Tomatoes decided to donate some of their Ironman funds to their tattoo collection. This year when Trina exits the water, she'll be sporting TWO fabulous sleeves. Of course this passion of theirs cost them some valuable time in the pool. But not to worry, the RnR did them both a solid because I sense some fast swims out of these two! Living the night life makes it hard to find a common time for the group to get together with the Tomatoes. So if racing an Ironman once a year means I get to laugh until my cheeks hurt (which cheeks, eh Trina?! π€£) then so be it. I don't get nearly enough time with this fabulous couple and I can't wait for more memories in Madison with these 2!<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="font-size: x-large;">
<span style="font-weight: 700;"><u>Mr. Speedy</u></span></div>
<span style="font-weight: 700;">Ryan Giuliano - #speedygiuliano</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: 700;">Aka - Da Coach</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69dHNBa2kc-XVOM3XORPTcTldQKfPXWVPVIaixcle4xNnty_cj1Ugq9AHz-fqobN2fjKRmHEevXHrnU4HM7lQfW_FB_-qabo5YJQcUes3Oeyv212P4_zfMFvWUndNBhnVZpmRAInLgEvG/s1600/runlastlap_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69dHNBa2kc-XVOM3XORPTcTldQKfPXWVPVIaixcle4xNnty_cj1Ugq9AHz-fqobN2fjKRmHEevXHrnU4HM7lQfW_FB_-qabo5YJQcUes3Oeyv212P4_zfMFvWUndNBhnVZpmRAInLgEvG/s400/runlastlap_orig.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMTX 2018<br />
Overall Amatuer Win<br />
North American Champion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
This guy, you know his story. His limits are meant to be pushed on a daily basis. Between him and his wife, they work harder than anyone I know. The amount of work ethic, dedication, and commitment it takes to race at his level for <i>as long as he has</i> is something most can't even fathom. He'll tell you his training has suffered the last few months due to work, life, being sick, stress, and more work. And he's not wrong, I've witnessed multiple training cycles out of his man. But at the end of the day, his willingness to take the mind to that whole separate level is what separates him from the mere mortals of the world. <i>You gotta be willing to really hurt, and that's what this guy does best.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Mrs. Speedy</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Jacqui Giuliano - #thecomebackkid</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEo-5rZslyoQ4fDbZi9l98tZbe1DMY53C2GoEWn4sG4LegGUq5_AcKoBZo34I69H7JeJx-CenSZ-IJ3jDXcdDQgnp3yZHGM80hlUYN-OTO3pu28IGaMXhvIHnRALc2YfVrIGD8HAPNBlZ-/s1600/35194259_10109755358839500_8277910286007009280_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEo-5rZslyoQ4fDbZi9l98tZbe1DMY53C2GoEWn4sG4LegGUq5_AcKoBZo34I69H7JeJx-CenSZ-IJ3jDXcdDQgnp3yZHGM80hlUYN-OTO3pu28IGaMXhvIHnRALc2YfVrIGD8HAPNBlZ-/s400/35194259_10109755358839500_8277910286007009280_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grand Rapids Half Ironman 2018<br />
Overall Female Champion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I could go on and on about how much these 2 impress me. But until you witness their commitment to the sport, day in and day out, month after month, year after year, you won't truly understand. Winning is the name of their game in that house and together, they do everything the can to make sure that the rest of the pack is chasing them. This summer, Jacqui brought home her first W in the 70.3 triathlon world in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Her smile says it all. She oozes joy whenever she's on that race course. Her passion and love for this sport is infectious. It's been an entire YEAR since we've raced a triathlon together (to the day actually, 7<a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2017/09/ironman-703-world-championships-2017.html">0.3 Worlds on my birthday last year</a> was our last tri together) and I'm ready to see that smiling face somewhere on the run course on Sunday.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>The BFG</u></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Mark Hode - #bfg</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfnTdbI9UAzzNTMTtsOeBWJJOUP6uNltZt3t0i1BAWQE6zR9Fh0-xEmzJmfqbRAxZzwmwWDQLi11B0YbIo9EFOmJtjkOcCvdJBIfufxEZqX2ilZVBM5k8-cHGYyUuWsBdLl_g3sIF3d4J/s1600/21766865_10154907663474212_6191603003135445643_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfnTdbI9UAzzNTMTtsOeBWJJOUP6uNltZt3t0i1BAWQE6zR9Fh0-xEmzJmfqbRAxZzwmwWDQLi11B0YbIo9EFOmJtjkOcCvdJBIfufxEZqX2ilZVBM5k8-cHGYyUuWsBdLl_g3sIF3d4J/s400/21766865_10154907663474212_6191603003135445643_n.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMCHOO 2017<br />
Showin' off for the family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
BFG. Brother Bear. Pain in the a$$. He's about to embark on Ironman #3. His training has been.... incomplete, to say the least. Working and flying (yes, flying) has COMPLETELY taken over Mark's day to day life. He's about as close as you can get to sinking his teeth into his private pilot's license and he works his ass off everyday (starting at 5am) to pay for it, because the good Lord knows it ain't cheap to do that. So Mark has taken a different training route for this Ironman. His motto is something along the lines of "Well, I'm gonna get my money's worth at this race and push the 17 hour time limit." He knows what he's in for. He knows it's gonna hurt and that it's gonna be far from pretty. He knew when he signed up for this race he'd be testing his fitness luck due to life. <i> But he also knows that there's not much that can top that feeling of crossing the Ironman finish line, and he wasn't willing to go an entire year without. </i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Nathan Jeffrey</u></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Nathan Jeffrey Vannoy - #amijeffreyoraminate</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1k9qu65Ir5rw9R35VrWX0DgJgCJnCTgWXqvg-x33zJYGx1rf1LhCB5aYY9kEjo7Q-ApNXB33OMVUqy5MoP84cFJKaY4Uicr7-nRRCpzqk63adZObdSS5uN7xEfTJJGDvvaeoulYRyySoH/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1k9qu65Ir5rw9R35VrWX0DgJgCJnCTgWXqvg-x33zJYGx1rf1LhCB5aYY9kEjo7Q-ApNXB33OMVUqy5MoP84cFJKaY4Uicr7-nRRCpzqk63adZObdSS5uN7xEfTJJGDvvaeoulYRyySoH/s400/IMG_1156.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post Race IMCHOO 2017<br />
"Ironbae, come at me" - Nathan Jeffrey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I have to start you off and immediately tell you that unfortunately, Nathan Jeffrey is not racing Ironman Wisconsin. He was the first to sign up for the race, way back when. But as of 48 hours ago, his Dr. officially put him in a boot and told him the race was out of the question due to a stress fracture in his foot. I can tell you 100% that this is the right decision, racing an Ironman with a stress fracture could mean so much more damage in the future. He's still trying to find a way up to Wisconsin for race day, he's told me many times he misses his RyBread family. And we can't imagine race day without our favorite Southern Gentleman. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Yours Truly</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Megan Hode - #mightymouse</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmaClT3_syFe0298WLhAKWAL0jIzsR-bPU2mE0e_TZggt_bcq_JQBf1X-BiMQ_HdKFPMU2G7EDtS9K3qYMy5wQkQFBs0csRyJ0zKgbJBVeGGVLfoQU7XO7jN2D8DIVQiNA4wEmRxa2auW/s1600/IMG_5537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmaClT3_syFe0298WLhAKWAL0jIzsR-bPU2mE0e_TZggt_bcq_JQBf1X-BiMQ_HdKFPMU2G7EDtS9K3qYMy5wQkQFBs0csRyJ0zKgbJBVeGGVLfoQU7XO7jN2D8DIVQiNA4wEmRxa2auW/s400/IMG_5537.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma's Marathon 2018<br />
BQ - 3:30:27</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Had you told me back in December when I had dedicated 2018 to "Boston Or Bust" that I'd be spending my birthday on the IMWI race course because I already checked BQ off my list, I would have given you a laundry list of reasons why your prediction was wrong. But here we are. This is my 2nd year in a row I've decided to celebrate another trip around the sun in the Ironman world. It was a no brainer, really. Once I knew my body was going to be recovered and ready to go in time to race, I really didn't have to think about where I'd want to race this fall. Madison stole my heart 4 years ago and I've ALWAYS promised myself I'd go back and race one day. One day. I never imagined that "one day" would be with a team of people I've grown to call family on my birthday. My emotions reach an all time high when I think about everything I get to experience in the next 72 hours, and I simply.cant.wait.<br />
<br />
I promise you I'll take all the pictures. I'll make all the mental notes. I vow to soak up every moment of the day. I wholeheartedly promise that I will cherish the entire weekend. I'll make sure to bring my words to life for you in my next post about the race. Because we all know, NOTHING ever goes according to plan. And I certainly didn't plan this race into 2018.<br />
<br />
And because this race wasn't on the calendar, this guy may or may not be making an appearance because of his work schedule. Of course I WANT him there. But I can't be selfish. I can't throw these curveballs and expect everyone to cater to me. But, I've got my fingers and my toes crossed, all in hopes we'll be able to snap a similar photo at the finish line on Sunday, my 31st birthday. As a side note, if he can't make it, the new Garmin 935 (birthday gift from him! Spoiled, I know!) I'll be sporting on my wrist will serve as a nice little reminder that I know he wants to be there as well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1cjCDmcc4XHNTzkYkNB4alABQf8it0RYMhPtL8IAr1BdKQ8SmfJ1pQCNNt6XWUHWrBC47ANo2qtbAhVUgs5RPVGig2rdFXcpsfCMnmD0LgWDl1ar2aJlp-sW8wRKAWKNEodeyZrY0YsV/s1600/IMG_9458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1cjCDmcc4XHNTzkYkNB4alABQf8it0RYMhPtL8IAr1BdKQ8SmfJ1pQCNNt6XWUHWrBC47ANo2qtbAhVUgs5RPVGig2rdFXcpsfCMnmD0LgWDl1ar2aJlp-sW8wRKAWKNEodeyZrY0YsV/s400/IMG_9458.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMWI 2014 finish line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But we'll have some friends and local triathlon acquaintances there on race day to help us when we need it most. All in all, it's gonna be a great day. Well guys, I'll see ya'll on the other side.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERJn_dzIcxCygVLB5wY-rL_ovP7CkcWkXM3P9VdfV3Mhkyaqse2qnYC9qwmHsYu-qSPdkIglJTdMwpX2kfl-zuDuoC_uHVbB8HWF1fv59npEKWEZSh-AjFyukZG89lRay-JSKGeUghKnf/s1600/0795_039108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERJn_dzIcxCygVLB5wY-rL_ovP7CkcWkXM3P9VdfV3Mhkyaqse2qnYC9qwmHsYu-qSPdkIglJTdMwpX2kfl-zuDuoC_uHVbB8HWF1fv59npEKWEZSh-AjFyukZG89lRay-JSKGeUghKnf/s320/0795_039108.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running on Camp Randall Stadium</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs93uz6JEQziLvMhjyz9T-57K7EZUf68YFP-5myodC139A6AMvYhZos9T1Nj2vztuJoVI6TL34xpLtsq0MYd8h3ZDri7LXYGn9ylgTUpPW7Vmtfd3ZvjU6fZMzmU-O1eR59mDiYB-XKSf/s1600/0795_080958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs93uz6JEQziLvMhjyz9T-57K7EZUf68YFP-5myodC139A6AMvYhZos9T1Nj2vztuJoVI6TL34xpLtsq0MYd8h3ZDri7LXYGn9ylgTUpPW7Vmtfd3ZvjU6fZMzmU-O1eR59mDiYB-XKSf/s400/0795_080958.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMWI 2014 Finish line</td></tr>
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Cheers.</div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-1947981349065196972018-08-09T05:59:00.000-05:002018-08-09T09:51:45.448-05:00What's Next?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I realized pretty quickly after I qualified for the Boston Marathon at Grandma's Marathon in June, <i>that I didn't think I actually would.</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
I had people asking me daily, "So what's next?" "You have the whole summer left to race!" I was <i>SO </i>focused on qualifying for Boston that I truly had a one track mind. My mind was already made up. If I <i>didn't</i> qualify, I was going to be running a last chance qualifying marathon somewhere in the local area in August. I had never considered what I'd do if I qualified. Which leads me to believe, I <i>150% believed that I would still be training to run a marathon right now. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But we're all well aware that I punched my ticket to Boston on June 16th and I have officially had the rest of the summer to do whatever I want. And I can't express to you enough how badly I've wanted to toe the line of my 7th Ironman and welcome myself back into the triathlon world. Which is why I'm going to do just that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs93uz6JEQziLvMhjyz9T-57K7EZUf68YFP-5myodC139A6AMvYhZos9T1Nj2vztuJoVI6TL34xpLtsq0MYd8h3ZDri7LXYGn9ylgTUpPW7Vmtfd3ZvjU6fZMzmU-O1eR59mDiYB-XKSf/s1600/0795_080958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvs93uz6JEQziLvMhjyz9T-57K7EZUf68YFP-5myodC139A6AMvYhZos9T1Nj2vztuJoVI6TL34xpLtsq0MYd8h3ZDri7LXYGn9ylgTUpPW7Vmtfd3ZvjU6fZMzmU-O1eR59mDiYB-XKSf/s400/0795_080958.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ironman Wisconsin 2014<br />
Goal: find the finish line</td></tr>
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<br />
Ironman Wisconsin was my debut Ironman back in 2014. This year, the race happens to fall ON my birthday and there is a small slew of RyBread friends that are racing (BFG brother included). Would you be shocked if I told you that I'm joining the fun? I mean, I can't let the group celebrate my 31st birthday without me...<br />
<br />
<i>But Megan! Your bike legs, you don't have any! And your left hamstring that's been causing you so much distress, what about some good ole fashioned RnR! And the wedding, shouldn't you be planning right now!?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
All of these are very valid concerns. But, lemme lay it allllll out for you.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>1. </b></span>It was probably 1 week after Grandma's Marathon that I knew I wanted to <i>try</i> and race an Ironman this year. Location and time of year unknown for sure. I just needed to get back on my bike.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>2.</b></span> During marathon training, I mentioned more than once how much I missed full blown triathlon training. Training to qualify for Boston took it's toll on my body, even though I kept my bike and swim base. Now that I had qualified, I wanted to go back to what I've grown to love, triathlon. I'll finish Boston fully bike trained, but I doubt I could qualify fully bike trained.</div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>3.</b></span> I gave my body all the time it needed. I checked out the Ironman Wisconsin website and saw that registration was still open (and would be for quite a while). I didn't have to make a rushed decision. Step 1, make sure my body recovers properly from Grandma's. For almost 3 weeks, all of my runs were listed as SLOW in Training Peaks. NOTHING was fast about my running. My bikes were also very slow. I never pushed the pace, I simply pedaled. Eventually I increased bike mileage slowly, eventually started to incorporate back some run speed, and spent almost every morning at the pool at 5am.</div>
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</ol>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb3xRAYpYAmzvXlHlxbOHqI2fl3e7mRM35awbVJzRvVicsK86oaJp0DP3HSZ-Gbw1V9lNjBaHkzHDz9V_jAlPcirrzPOytQhSwgbnTNwE3w2eLjz4B8bNEsGuy4nnpJdV-IpyH1iNLhzT/s1600/IMG_5977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb3xRAYpYAmzvXlHlxbOHqI2fl3e7mRM35awbVJzRvVicsK86oaJp0DP3HSZ-Gbw1V9lNjBaHkzHDz9V_jAlPcirrzPOytQhSwgbnTNwE3w2eLjz4B8bNEsGuy4nnpJdV-IpyH1iNLhzT/s400/IMG_5977.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a casual Sunday stroll in the neighborhood</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuLO_uNpBVbIw74_B03ykLMUDueHM6Q2_cU6o29-MNTs0uOFJNBdlLjaRuLkeAx9Wq2VF9PTdlc9nqxp2QdsNFGpGHVyQyw5z0OxKbsEVhPXbFpmyAwEOkrrVhlDxKlMZTRERUCkIVrqa/s1600/IMG_6522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieuLO_uNpBVbIw74_B03ykLMUDueHM6Q2_cU6o29-MNTs0uOFJNBdlLjaRuLkeAx9Wq2VF9PTdlc9nqxp2QdsNFGpGHVyQyw5z0OxKbsEVhPXbFpmyAwEOkrrVhlDxKlMZTRERUCkIVrqa/s400/IMG_6522.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even bought myself a new cute suit because everyone loves Summertime Watermelon</td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>4. </b></span>I told myself I wasn't allowed to sign up for Madison until I felt comfortable that my bike legs would come back in time. How does one know something like that? I ventured North with the BFG and tested out my legs on the Ironman Wisconsin bike course during mid July. If I could pull off 2 loops and still have something left in the tank, Ironman Madison on September 9th, 2018 was a done deal for me.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJ_HLXfMr7h2B1NoOrjyxm_suZYi9sdO4W-xJ9Z2eDcoIKi9yo1jnY_yKzt4LBthJ24nKKEYgHwaQuEXBueO0oe_D6kHed9EV4DLjdAgXR9mhRCfN1TXDBaW9XiHG3PuZLLjiHfy_veZv/s1600/IMG_5861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1109" data-original-width="1600" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJ_HLXfMr7h2B1NoOrjyxm_suZYi9sdO4W-xJ9Z2eDcoIKi9yo1jnY_yKzt4LBthJ24nKKEYgHwaQuEXBueO0oe_D6kHed9EV4DLjdAgXR9mhRCfN1TXDBaW9XiHG3PuZLLjiHfy_veZv/s400/IMG_5861.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All systems are a GO</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVf00Luj8fz3jyuW68ofDi-Jo6fqi1c-5jeDVDidIfeshFRPuHvnES_BHWIFV8pFGR9p5wzpEy_Uk5NKphZb-3PywqHaclgU56fcxRf37T7_QGmaThLmH75TjSrJpJFR53M58UGfqH6Va/s1600/IMG_6523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="1242" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVf00Luj8fz3jyuW68ofDi-Jo6fqi1c-5jeDVDidIfeshFRPuHvnES_BHWIFV8pFGR9p5wzpEy_Uk5NKphZb-3PywqHaclgU56fcxRf37T7_QGmaThLmH75TjSrJpJFR53M58UGfqH6Va/s400/IMG_6523.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't get me wrong though, it's still Madison and kicked my ass.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>5.</b></span> The more I biked and swam, the less and less my left hamstring gave me issues. I was still getting 1 solid speed workout a week on my run legs, but the rest of the week seemed to keep my hamstring in check. <i>Seriously, those people just run crazy amounts of miles without cross training are super human.</i> Everything seemed to be lining up.<br />
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<div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>6.</b></span> Rob is back on his night shift schedule. We see each other for a few hours (sometimes a full 24 hours!) on the weekends if we're lucky. It's the busy season, and he has a hard time saying no to weekend work right now. What else is a girl to do on a Saturday morning at 6am if her fiance is just getting home from work? BIKE ALL THE MILES.<br />
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<div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>7. </b></span>Most people (other than closer friends and anyone who pays super close attention to Strava) don't even know I've been training. I haven't let it get in the way of life and summer. I recently flew out to Napa, California for Lauren's bachelorette party for 5 days. I didn't have my bike. I had my run shoes and a free 1 day pass at the local pool if I so desired. I drank allllllll the wine and ran according to feel and even cut my long run short <i>because there was wine to be had and I couldn't add 2 more miles and miss out on a solid 15 minutes of wine tasting.</i> </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8yUleFArw9jneKDRf8sjbUFbkRfXEkbRQ9OFcD6SRMtblLtPcVa-Km0U2IupqNEq6HEgyl1UJ8r4xyynrpnkJ76IqJz6sp8L6HAjPulLg0CjfyzfAd_hLIl_RKG0v17MGEiIQCk7QGIj/s1600/IMG_0157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8yUleFArw9jneKDRf8sjbUFbkRfXEkbRQ9OFcD6SRMtblLtPcVa-Km0U2IupqNEq6HEgyl1UJ8r4xyynrpnkJ76IqJz6sp8L6HAjPulLg0CjfyzfAd_hLIl_RKG0v17MGEiIQCk7QGIj/s400/IMG_0157.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had time to spare before hotel check in, so we tripletted the shit out of this pool</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDwK6F8bvG-9yJ8i289LV7pe783gbTjWqwBcMYbRay2VNLXyks-fHSlQPoaCC05wuefXqawyrjOmhqYi0ydflp5_EzLgHtg6jfU01VUgLv6TjzI4cbwRAFzapOPIepwunh1mPiJKhWIvV/s1600/IMG_0212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDwK6F8bvG-9yJ8i289LV7pe783gbTjWqwBcMYbRay2VNLXyks-fHSlQPoaCC05wuefXqawyrjOmhqYi0ydflp5_EzLgHtg6jfU01VUgLv6TjzI4cbwRAFzapOPIepwunh1mPiJKhWIvV/s400/IMG_0212.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing some miles with the bride in Wine Country!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>8.</b></span> I think everyone knows how much I adore Madison, Wisconsin. You'll always hold a special place in your heart for your first Ironman and the city it resides in. It just so happens that mine has one of the BEST crowd supports. It also happens to ALWAYS fall on my birthday weekend (this year, my ACTUAL birthday). And the beauty of this entire course will always take my breath away. (Literally and figuratively). I've always wanted to go back and race. If I let this year slip by without racing, I may never actually get to do it.<br />
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<div>
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>9. </b></span>July 23rd, 2018. D-Day. Only 5 and a half weeks after a BQ marathon, I had signed myself up for Ironman number 7. It's only been 2 weeks since I've signed up. We're exactly 1 month out from race day. And I can't tell you how pumped I am to be back on 2 wheels ready to tackle the backwoods of Wisconsin.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNL0cmVOEB-QYr83OfHUJzsggCtPUWdY7_cAa9uiMXcDSv_yPb8-WrAIItmR9VtaGVDqq3mZbHScD_dsRGnSmA-3QWkvpGaNH_3gCWXLHHcYiFOqEECGpVI2U3vilDGJ5qsSAm7zoE-HEx/s1600/IMG_9417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNL0cmVOEB-QYr83OfHUJzsggCtPUWdY7_cAa9uiMXcDSv_yPb8-WrAIItmR9VtaGVDqq3mZbHScD_dsRGnSmA-3QWkvpGaNH_3gCWXLHHcYiFOqEECGpVI2U3vilDGJ5qsSAm7zoE-HEx/s400/IMG_9417.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMWI 2014 Finish line</td></tr>
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Guys... I'M BACK!</div>
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(But, on next years birthday I plan on NOT racing an Ironman event. I'll do more normal things like drink a few beers and relax or something. Promise π)</div>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-41570717399060730402018-07-09T19:33:00.001-05:002018-07-09T19:53:39.385-05:00America: All in the name of F-U-NI'd like to preface this by stating that no matter how many "bad" days I may have on the road, "disappointing" races I may have, or how many "negative" thoughts that might run through my head after one of those "bad" days, <i><b>I still won't stop running simply for the fun of it.</b></i><br />
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The 4th of July happened to fall exactly 2 and a half weeks after Grandma's Marathon. Which is not an ideal amount of time to allow for recovery and jumping into your local 10k for the best holiday ever. Oops. Guilty as charged. In all honesty, I had been REALLY good at listening to Ryan to a T after Grandma's and followed my scheduled RnR plan. I did all of my properly scheduled "SLOW" runs to keep the active recovery alive and well. In fact, my first official speed workout back was supposed to take place on the 4th of July. <strike>Surely this was a great alternative to the 1st speed workout post-marathon</strike>.<br />
<br />
I know I've said this before but when I walked out my front door that morning, I was positive I couldn't remember the last time it was that humid outside. I enjoy the heat, really and truly I do. Ask anyone. <i>But this air was dangerously thick and could make even the skinniest of people feel morbidly obese due to the rapid amount of sweat coming out of their pores. </i>I had signed up for this race less than 12 hours ago and was having a very earnest internal argument in my mind about why I do this kind of thing to myself, time and time again.<br />
<br />
I parked the car, dripped a couple droplets of sweat just waiting in line to pick up my bib, and decided to hide in the shade behind the porta potties to try and keep all my electrolytes before this 6.2 mile death march ensued.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBh-uk4mFBrmhINcCIl9qx45L8zw49mnWWBMxnW63c9W8x4gBXkqvI76mN-I5f7ooJQRvOmKpg4adlRqQJxjdaTnY5YEv6fGlIYfVcJDm4HyfW1RxlgEOGbP-SVeBsBXZ48fUsT6HpWKLm/s1600/IMG_5702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBh-uk4mFBrmhINcCIl9qx45L8zw49mnWWBMxnW63c9W8x4gBXkqvI76mN-I5f7ooJQRvOmKpg4adlRqQJxjdaTnY5YEv6fGlIYfVcJDm4HyfW1RxlgEOGbP-SVeBsBXZ48fUsT6HpWKLm/s400/IMG_5702.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, I may have wandered and found a long row of flags and admired them too.</td></tr>
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I took off to warm up and didn't look at my watch until I was done. I wanted to run by feel and see how the legs responded. Let's just say, it wasn't fast but it felt good. But it came with approximately a 1.5lb sweat loss over 1 mile. <strike>Sweet this is exactly what my body needs right now.</strike><br />
<br />
I came to this race solo so I contemplated just getting in my car and going home at this point but decided I should at least see what the legs could give me before the heat took over my body. The gun went off and the first mile is a significant downhill mixed with the usual mile 1 excitement that I carry in my blood so I pulled out a 7:20. <i>Ha, this is a DOWNHILL and you just ran a 7:20 first mile of a 10K, this just ain't gonna be a pretty day. </i>I knew right away. My body wasn't about to respond well to the rest of this race. I hung out in the 7 minute range for mile 2 before I decided to dial it way back and just "enjoy" the day before I actually hurt myself.<br />
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The hills came one by one and soon we hit Otis Rd. Otis Road is beginning of our Barrington bike loop, and it comes with one of the worst, unshaded banked hills. I zoned out and just ran easy. Hell, at times "easy" felt like some serious work. The course had a decent amount of shade, but the unshaded sections were out for all the sweat. I felt like I was out for a recovery run as I watched people pass by me, slowly but surely. {No records were being broken by any means and everyone dialed back on the speed ALOT.}<br />
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I made it to the turn around and wondered how in the hell I was going to make it the 2nd half of this race without a blister from soaking wet shoes, 3 miles down and 3 miles to go. {Oh yea, I was wearing my Feeatures π}<br />
<br />
I trudged one foot in front of the other and felt as though I was running horizontal up the last significant hill in DIRECT SUNLIGHT. All energy at this point was completely and utterly zapped. Half mile to go and I hear someone from behind me: <i>"Come on, you can do it! Let's finish this together! I've been behind you the whole time!" </i>These words spoken by a kid, no older than 15. I turned my head to glance at him and saw the ridiculously large grin on his face. <i>Geez Megan, you look bad enough that you're getting hit on by a high school kid. </i>I thanked him kindly but told him be best finish this race with his posse behind me.<br />
<br />
I've never been more excited to see a finish line. And I have never cared less to have one of the worst races of my life. My pace at one point resembled a super slow cooldown. I immediately peeled my RyBread tank off because it was actually stuck to me. My shorts were dripping from every crevice and seemed to dump sweat like a faucet. Some probably assumed I was peeing my pants. "Don't mind me over here, just sweating β"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5jAwPo7-DsHWHiUig9_pUA-uDAwUuv9vM3fwLAjfONRoo244GuFNFAKKhl48XxNIGbq0qgwGnKovdDV6VYef2FzNtVDU9q6Fz4TFqLM5dCiVYFHvOia22a7Ap0xBpWrMC7SM4VY8cqkM/s1600/IMG_5708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5jAwPo7-DsHWHiUig9_pUA-uDAwUuv9vM3fwLAjfONRoo244GuFNFAKKhl48XxNIGbq0qgwGnKovdDV6VYef2FzNtVDU9q6Fz4TFqLM5dCiVYFHvOia22a7Ap0xBpWrMC7SM4VY8cqkM/s400/IMG_5708.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much gross. </td></tr>
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I found a spot on the curb to sit and stop sweating and dry off long enough to claim my 1st place age group award. <i>Huh? Seriously? I practically crawled that race. </i>'Twas an experience, that's for sure. My shorts still weren't completely dry by the time I got in the car to drive home but I was only going to get so dry as long as I stayed outside. On the bright side, my legs never felt like this was a bad decision (good sign, 2.5 weeks post marathon!) . Just my rosy red cheeks that were questioning me π<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rNKofZHsoQoAp6TEr6wX3kjTl4DZ2AuZklttRdOGt8U_llU3C923wkBrlbgBRS180oGBPSwq01tvuh8uc4u2UqcYbMgXzVVflw17CBoROgSk21Ei_PE6m3znRUVo7ecEzksyl3qpGR6u/s1600/IMG_5709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rNKofZHsoQoAp6TEr6wX3kjTl4DZ2AuZklttRdOGt8U_llU3C923wkBrlbgBRS180oGBPSwq01tvuh8uc4u2UqcYbMgXzVVflw17CBoROgSk21Ei_PE6m3znRUVo7ecEzksyl3qpGR6u/s400/IMG_5709.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't even like Gatorade and I downed 2 of them at the finish line immediately after finishing because I needed ALL the sugar</td></tr>
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Moral of the story: I still had fun. I laced up my running shoes and trotted through one of my favorite towns and lost enough water weight to justify all the salty brats and beers I was going to ingest later in the day. <i>I can't really complain. </i>In all honesty, I can't get enough of this kind of stuff. Pushing my body to it's limits is what I live for. And the day was young. I had plenty of holiday left and I wasn't about to waste it.<br />
<i><br /></i>
I made my way out to Rob's brothers house that afternoon and was promptly greeted in the pool by his nieces and nephews. From then on, it was HOURS of cannonballs, throwing children across the pool, chasing kids with squirt guns, and constant shrieks of, "MEGAN WATCH ME DO THIS! MEGAN CATCH ME! MEGAN CAN YOU DO THIS?!" <i>Let's just say I contemplated taking a nap during dinner just to make it to fireworks. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivMxijhWUJOkygQ3z6kak6_o9eFU9MV4AzavUBuABH2u4Vktg_tyUWVdo-hJ7bt1nep9I4xZnkSae_SDMKKMECkk_1LvjJWU7ogHAVScRx0wOUbYrFol5Yve78xEaR88QSeeaSKUHeaVw/s1600/IMG_5735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivMxijhWUJOkygQ3z6kak6_o9eFU9MV4AzavUBuABH2u4Vktg_tyUWVdo-hJ7bt1nep9I4xZnkSae_SDMKKMECkk_1LvjJWU7ogHAVScRx0wOUbYrFol5Yve78xEaR88QSeeaSKUHeaVw/s400/IMG_5735.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post pool fun, pre dinner</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i>
I'm happy to report that I didn't have to take a nap, and I <i>barely </i>made it to the start of fireworks. And it's a good thing I did, otherwise I would have missed the proposal!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoMuXQeqCIWCPjVsk4GGcn836ltk6OU5oS5H7kJSXWpm89hZO_bWXGqsvForMS7a75bCMQ2wbm1JAtswzAhMo_DLPsbzzfznuuShHVboh3lhWQyB8xqE8ICyNs2oHtCawgtFSMi5zmPiw/s1600/IMG_5759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoMuXQeqCIWCPjVsk4GGcn836ltk6OU5oS5H7kJSXWpm89hZO_bWXGqsvForMS7a75bCMQ2wbm1JAtswzAhMo_DLPsbzzfznuuShHVboh3lhWQyB8xqE8ICyNs2oHtCawgtFSMi5zmPiw/s400/IMG_5759.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob's sister EB and her fiance Derek! </td></tr>
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I've never been apart of any proposal other than my own. And I have to admit, it was so fun to watch. Fireworks were going off in every direction and EB's prince went down on one knee in front of the ENTIRE family (yep, 90% of the Sloan's were there!). It truly was a terrific ending to a great day.<br />
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Cheers, America πΊMeg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-13848203272757262352018-06-22T06:17:00.000-05:002018-06-22T06:47:28.333-05:00Grandma's Marathon: Boston Bound I have sat and thought about how I'd begin to write this blog. And still.. I'm drawing a blank. Call it writers block, a loss of words, whatever you will. But I'm pretty sure the reason I can't seem to find my keystrokes is because <i>I still can't believe it actually happened.</i><br />
<br />
That's not to say that I didn't have high hopes. <i>Because I certainly did.</i> That's not to say that I didn't KNOW that I could do it. <i>Because I've known for years that this would happen one day.</i> That's not to say I didn't have the faith.<i> Because the good Lord knows we had many conversations regarding running over the last few months.</i> I'm just a realist. My running body isn't young anymore. My left hamstring has never felt fully 100% over the last few months. I know <b><i>exactly</i></b> when my body will begin to break down during those 26.2 miles. And I have <i>yet</i> to find a way over that dreaded 20 mile wall. I guess I'll just put it this way. I had more faith in myself than anyone. <i>But I was also just as prepared for this race to not go as I had planned.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_eBCO3ueOmE24eNa20iWoItXTkQ-1SkwltS_YwHVRXoV7yNBkRkS_OTA36cE5vIzLelGc7sJkLnclmwZdeTheseP1BVrPUXqAjpu7sI32asctlNhOVsC_Bvg9WJ39-eekd4fYmGOYxiL/s1600/IMG_5537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_eBCO3ueOmE24eNa20iWoItXTkQ-1SkwltS_YwHVRXoV7yNBkRkS_OTA36cE5vIzLelGc7sJkLnclmwZdeTheseP1BVrPUXqAjpu7sI32asctlNhOVsC_Bvg9WJ39-eekd4fYmGOYxiL/s400/IMG_5537.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoiler Alert: It did happen. <br />
And the beginning of mile 19 was one of my stronger moments of the entire race</td></tr>
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I woke up on Saturday morning and I couldn't believe how soundly I had slept. I barely heard Rob sneak in and out of the room. My night shifter can't exactly flip his schedule completely so he took a little late night drive on the course while I got my beauty sleep. I made my way to the 4am breakfast that my hotel was serving and I certainly wasn't alone. The room was full of runners, all eyes fixated on the TV screen. The local weather station. The storms that were predicted from the 5am-10am hour had slowed course, now entering the Duluth area mid-afternoon. The high temps would hover around 55 degrees with a low hanging fog. <i>Did I hear that right? The weather was ACTUALLY in my benefit?</i> I even heard rumor that there would likely be a tailwind. <b><i>You gotta be shittin' me smalls.</i></b><br />
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<b><i><br /></i></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaKjiP8zZZAvXPz5461XOxsSJM7E1bDcwd-1s06huGOpVFl0NwVVWo9Al3kYi4G41tiA9oitjJ9vTHKfXwj6nDOQpNvL3OE2MALv1DgTsVa_qV2orl84g8cpwbcZ6zvuRWe7WdHL0L_5v/s1600/IMG_4986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuaKjiP8zZZAvXPz5461XOxsSJM7E1bDcwd-1s06huGOpVFl0NwVVWo9Al3kYi4G41tiA9oitjJ9vTHKfXwj6nDOQpNvL3OE2MALv1DgTsVa_qV2orl84g8cpwbcZ6zvuRWe7WdHL0L_5v/s400/IMG_4986.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:15am. No rain. Whaaaaaaat?</td></tr>
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I got ready pretty quickly since I had everything laid out the night before. Rob might have been lucky to get a few hours of sleep and when I waltzed into the room at 4:45am and flipped the lights on he immediately covered his eyes. "You said we didn't have to leave til 5:30, wake me at 5:29" he said. What actually happened was this: we pulled out of the parking lot at 5:15am so Rob could drop me off at the busses because he know I wouldn't be able to actually wait until 5:30am.<br />
<br />
We pulled into the mall and could see all the half marathoners getting onto their busses. That's how early we were. Rob finally kicked me out of the car. I don't know why, but it was <i style="font-weight: bold;">hard</i> for me to leave him. I knew that once I did, everything was real. The next time I'd see him would be on course. Mid-race.<i> And that seriously scared the shit out of me. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibteRDYIdVKKIe8ssbnbAzNLUBC1-RIzKvoFKzztKX7UWCsW5jpW5bV6lXWqP4T8Gp5-xtho2e19JvunsQu8YCZTn89xfYmyiOAQHvQsOQZwFUvEom0IN2MmuqZ3zJeLp2suUag7eDYXeN/s1600/IMG_4959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibteRDYIdVKKIe8ssbnbAzNLUBC1-RIzKvoFKzztKX7UWCsW5jpW5bV6lXWqP4T8Gp5-xtho2e19JvunsQu8YCZTn89xfYmyiOAQHvQsOQZwFUvEom0IN2MmuqZ3zJeLp2suUag7eDYXeN/s400/IMG_4959.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day before, just a few blocks from the downtown/finish line area</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7TFEvPkM3pX5OhK6mMfs5MuflJ5Hk16oUudmowbYJ1PpD4l8YGttIdmNHHDhrZ2Bg-D5DIW03Xf_An21Yl4TnzZ1C0A8vlBCqY3D1CEutV9um9rZiVorZe47KTduDumnK9FRrZLnxWpl/s1600/IMG_4956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7TFEvPkM3pX5OhK6mMfs5MuflJ5Hk16oUudmowbYJ1PpD4l8YGttIdmNHHDhrZ2Bg-D5DIW03Xf_An21Yl4TnzZ1C0A8vlBCqY3D1CEutV9um9rZiVorZe47KTduDumnK9FRrZLnxWpl/s400/IMG_4956.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love his love for architecture and boats and bridges<br />
#kidinacandystore</td></tr>
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<br />
I gave him my kiss goodbye and went to stand in line. I got on the bus and almost immediately I was greeted by an older lady who sat next to me for the 26.2 mile journey from Duluth to Two Harbors. I never caught her name. But she was not a newbie to this sport, Grandma's was her 25th marathon. She rambled on and on. I listened, nodded, and giggled when appropriate. But I couldn't help but stare out of the school bus window, <b><i>because the sun was actually shining.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
Once I got off the bus I started my game of, "how many times can I go to the bathroom before the race starts?" I was all alone, no phone, and had over an hour to kill. I immediately jumped into the porta potty line and made my first peeps. I then went to the medical tent and snagged a couple of tylenol in an effort to be proactive with the pain that was coming my way. Then, I stood in the porta potty line again, because what else do I do? 2nd potty successful. After that I found some open ground and sat down to stretch. Of course it wasn't long before someone noticed my jacket and asked if me I knew Ryan. I met new faces, mingled, and made my way back to the porta potty line for my final bathroom break before I dropped off my gear check bag. I pealed my sweats and was greeted with a nice little chill. I made my way to the start and could feel the wind at my back. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Seriously Megan, if you waste this opportunity you'll never forgive yourself. </i>I knew before the gun went off. Today was my day.<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">THE PLAY BY PLAY</span></u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Mile 1 - 7:43</span></b><span style="color: blue;"> </span> The gun went off and it was a lot more crowded that I anticipated. I started right behind the 3:25 pace group and was still shuffling my way through the first quarter mile. It didn't take long though.. the road opened up and I was feeling mighty fine. Fine enough that I had to pull in the reins immediately. I'm <i>really </i>good at taking off to fast at the beginning of the race. I know it. Ryan knows it. And he even gave me permission to "bank" some time in the beginning. Not to much, but he knew it was a losing battle to ask me to run anything under an 8 minute mile. I don't think he expected the first <i style="font-weight: bold;">20 miles</i> to all be under 8 minutes. {Spoiler Alert}.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue; font-weight: bold;">Mile 2 - 7:51</span><span style="background-color: white; color: yellow; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">I had to WORK to make sure this mile wasn't in the 7:40's. I barely scraped by with a 7:51. I didn't want to burn to many matches in the early miles of this race. I kept repeating my early mile mantra in my head: "If it feels to easy at that fast pace, slow down." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<b style="background-color: blue;"><span style="color: yellow;">Mile 3 - 7:51</span></b><span style="background-color: white;"> Consistency can also be hard to come by. Yes, it was still SO early but I liked what I was seeing right now. </span><i style="background-color: white;">I like these miles. Let's hang out here as long as possible. </i><span style="background-color: white;">Mile 3 is also when I met my new friend Emma. Long and short of her story: she had the same exact goal I did. BQ with a 3:30 or under in order to secure our spot. </span><i style="background-color: white;">"Hey, my name is Megan... we should try and hang out together as long as we can." </i><span style="background-color: white;">This was my plea to the nice 21 year old stranger I was about to cling to for as long as possible. She had no arguments. YES.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue;">Mile 4 - 7:50 </span></b><span style="background-color: white;"> I had a feeling I was going to be in trouble if I kept these kinds of miles up. I can pace myself... but I've never been successful at it over such a long distance. I had the angel on my left, </span><i style="background-color: white;">Megan, you should really tuck down into the 8:00 range. It's safer</i><span style="background-color: white;">. But the devil on my right, </span><i style="background-color: white;">Take it and roll with it girl. Chances like this don't happen every day.</i><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;"><b>Mile 5 - 7:46</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Have we been going downhill this ENTIRE time? I swear, I'm not doing ANY work. Also, fog. Like serious fog. We were running within feet of the Lake Superior and couldn't see ANY water at all. Finally, if I keep up this pace I'm sure Ryan will text Rob and tell him to make me slow down. <i>Speedy is gonna yell at you, especially if this race comes back to bite you in the ass. </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mmZjXbO38t2KV9GGe3pVduc8tRK_ReMyA_vawYkdkJTGYuPofRGZfmGkxo22tcmlgofMIfcbKfgyBJBrzAR6koWoqRNY6k1ENmB-mH8lOPweFQHfMdu6fHHiCAiW6OWVSgOF9S8FzzyK/s1600/IMG_5511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mmZjXbO38t2KV9GGe3pVduc8tRK_ReMyA_vawYkdkJTGYuPofRGZfmGkxo22tcmlgofMIfcbKfgyBJBrzAR6koWoqRNY6k1ENmB-mH8lOPweFQHfMdu6fHHiCAiW6OWVSgOF9S8FzzyK/s400/IMG_5511.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was during the most visible portion of the race</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Mile 6 - 7:50</b> </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><i style="background-color: white;">"Emma, are we really at mile 6 already? How did the first 6 mile FLY by?" </i><span style="background-color: white;">She agreed, the miles were ticking by like crazy. Also, I think I took my first gel around mile 6. I don't remember needing it. But I wasn't about to screw up the cardinal rule today: Fuel early and often. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;"><b>Mile 7 - 7:51</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> ROB SPOTTING! I knew I'd see him sooner or later, but it's always a surprise. I couldn't contain myself. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJexBmE7On_YmzvI-CYCQGHsZ71wSlGLCRCxQydoeH6M8MFYgl-p3AJj0TuwTJZ5iG1HJhhF7DY5QC9NFlEE8ZDDeCASNPmPDYBFbs_7_C-tcJD3hzLJrfqAbI2QNaBK_bTmdwIXWR9H2f/s1600/IMG_5517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJexBmE7On_YmzvI-CYCQGHsZ71wSlGLCRCxQydoeH6M8MFYgl-p3AJj0TuwTJZ5iG1HJhhF7DY5QC9NFlEE8ZDDeCASNPmPDYBFbs_7_C-tcJD3hzLJrfqAbI2QNaBK_bTmdwIXWR9H2f/s400/IMG_5517.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Emma in the orange hat<br />
Me<br />
Another lady we befriend for about 4 miles before she decided we were to slow for her π</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsWZeMBOzdO8D3POBTPgg2OM6Y9OFPsPCAbYzMY6EMlTKUt8bxcfiPTr_SAoFz6lWqL8WFykGxU9x9lnZpwzMP1zgJ8Tz1OLTw6QN_WZyrscAvRsgeXbSX984V1SKEfaF42x9Vwt-Dyrk/s1600/IMG_5518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsWZeMBOzdO8D3POBTPgg2OM6Y9OFPsPCAbYzMY6EMlTKUt8bxcfiPTr_SAoFz6lWqL8WFykGxU9x9lnZpwzMP1zgJ8Tz1OLTw6QN_WZyrscAvRsgeXbSX984V1SKEfaF42x9Vwt-Dyrk/s400/IMG_5518.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean, we're having like ZERO fun obviously ππ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Mile 8 - 7:51</b> </span></span> The consistency is seriously CRAZY to me. I'm not questioning it though. Just go with it.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;"><b>Mile 9 - 7:57</b></span> Speedy warned me about a "hill" around mile 8. I wasn't sure exactly where it would fall. I thought was going to be around 7.something. Turns out it was around 8.something and it was <i>barely</i> anything. But I made sure to slow my roll going up to make sure to conserve all energy.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><b style="background-color: yellow;">Mile 10 - 7:46</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Seriously? How am I still (not only) sub 8 but THIS far under 8? Nothing is falling apart yet. My hamstring is still in tact. Emma and I keep taking turns dodging people as we make our passes. We separate but also find our way back to each other. Overall, I did more talking than she did throughout the race. But there was a decent amount of time where we fed off of each other's body language. We knew when to speed up, when to slow down, when to make the pass. It was the weirdest thing. Perfect strangers, in perfect sync. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;"><b>Mile 11 - 7:53</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Another forewarned "hill" that wasn't truly a hill. But a little later in the race it was noticed a touch more. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><b style="background-color: yellow;">Mile 12 - 7:55</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Consistency on point still. Another gel into the gut. Gel miles are always a tad slower for me. I'm still good at choking on water at aide stations. 12 marathons and 6 Ironmans under my belt and every once in a while I take a solid amount of water up the nose or down the wind pipe unsolicited. ::facepalm:: Also, for the record, I'm almost positive I've been running downhill this ENTIRE race. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;"><b>Mile 13 - 7:53</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Emma and I still hanging onto each other through the halfway point (1:42 and change). I noticed that every once in a while she would fall a half stride behind me. This perfect stranger had me seriously cheering for her. She told me that her last marathon was also a BQ (3:33) but she was unable to register for the race because there were that many FASTER qualifying times than hers. <i>Come on girl we're not playing that game today.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b style="background-color: yellow;">Mile 14 - 7:49</b></span> I could tell Emma was possibly going to fall back. I couldn't sacrifice my good day for her but I wanted to make sure she knew exactly where she stood. "<i>Emma, if you happen to have a bad mile, just know that we have 2.5 minutes in the bank. Any mile over 8 minutes, subtract from your bank."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b>Mile 15 - 7:50</b></span></span> Emma fell back <i>every so slightly</i>. Literally, I could turn barely turn my head to the left and see her a stride or 2 behind me the entire mile. I SO hoped this wouldn't be the last time I saw her. I made sure to stay focused and not lose my rhythm just because I lost my pacer. I got into such a groove that I almost missed Rob.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8zP6c-bD4SJVGXD50Wjiol-3KAbAuGV2LVkaYhr26NziK2WCxQkQE24KVMsRz8UjJWGD8FqQuwm3ig_c5LLco7zJNmik09GnO5-mEZRNWa93Z9Nhu5ID5CsvY50ANo14JVyJJRQ7U6ku/s1600/IMG_5525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8zP6c-bD4SJVGXD50Wjiol-3KAbAuGV2LVkaYhr26NziK2WCxQkQE24KVMsRz8UjJWGD8FqQuwm3ig_c5LLco7zJNmik09GnO5-mEZRNWa93Z9Nhu5ID5CsvY50ANo14JVyJJRQ7U6ku/s400/IMG_5525.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oblivious to how close I am to Rob</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8wm7n_iFRRe8eTqmoFWutE2OFAev3qaRupFlgLxSrdUFS4M6LZQnRKJhf0oyNeMWLvMeZQIwenG6A8kY9I8yOUlVthvCLuzPqn7cSPwdasdjXylWD7CKBTdFqve1HA5SGYBd7CF_JELi/s1600/IMG_5522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8wm7n_iFRRe8eTqmoFWutE2OFAev3qaRupFlgLxSrdUFS4M6LZQnRKJhf0oyNeMWLvMeZQIwenG6A8kY9I8yOUlVthvCLuzPqn7cSPwdasdjXylWD7CKBTdFqve1HA5SGYBd7CF_JELi/s400/IMG_5522.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A runners paradise π</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b style="background-color: yellow;">Mile 16 - 7:50 </b></span> I never expected my body to hold out this long. At all. I knew for a fact that any mile moving forward that I could log under 8 minutes was HUGE. Looking ahead of me I could tell my downhills were coming to an end. I wasn't about to start climbing. But when you've been cruising for 16 miles downhill and all of a sudden you're expected to run on FLAT ground it can start to zap the energy.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Mile 17 - 7:56</span></b> At this point I'm so used to running damn near the 7:40's that for a split second I was actually MAD with this "slow" mile. HA! <i>Megan, have you forgotten that you still have 9 mile sto go? Take it girl. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue;">Mile 18 - 7:58</span></b> Another mile that seemed like an uphill but was truly just flat in comparison to rest of the miles. Fatigue started to set in. I fully expected my "wall" to hit from this point moving forward with ANY step that I took. Because if you've ever run a marathon you know how quickly that wall can face plant you. One step you're on top of the world and the next you're makin' deals with the devil himself.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b>Mile 19 - 7:50</b></span></span> WHAT. Where did this come from? I seemed to have gotten a 2nd wind. I spotted Rob on the side of the road and all I could muster was, "I'm still under!" He knew what I meant. He didn't dare say anything in response because he knows just as well as I do how badly the last 10K of a marathon separate the boys from the men. Instead, he proceeded to get on his bike and cruise next to me for a few minutes asking me all sorts of questions I couldn't answer. <i>"Did you see the chef that's beating you? Yea, a guy dressed like a chef carrying a huge pot is beating you." </i>Thanks honey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiB-1pdDDdavdyCOPfqaktpXBWZBpko7IwTSalChiApnuBjC7l66Ye6FZmMnaPGU2zR5dtkmZTNvAvwgmDiHOO2LxkLT0VPztSDtKRlOUOD7-UaFTX9Octz582WO6bGrUfLE9li-8E_N1r/s1600/IMG_5537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiB-1pdDDdavdyCOPfqaktpXBWZBpko7IwTSalChiApnuBjC7l66Ye6FZmMnaPGU2zR5dtkmZTNvAvwgmDiHOO2LxkLT0VPztSDtKRlOUOD7-UaFTX9Octz582WO6bGrUfLE9li-8E_N1r/s400/IMG_5537.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running on top of the world at mile 19 </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSTtVj25pmb2W6ewLmc-B7e9aKmYODghSaSMI7OqQ3RVlIuGoX79EK4sfJ8Fk2SJ6MJfjPiqwRKm1Gs0gRUWqVv9XVmPylMYRzRaeFRBzblWycDdGUM3v99P0JG_ZtVg9cEkpPJRzkXzo/s1600/IMG_5535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSTtVj25pmb2W6ewLmc-B7e9aKmYODghSaSMI7OqQ3RVlIuGoX79EK4sfJ8Fk2SJ6MJfjPiqwRKm1Gs0gRUWqVv9XVmPylMYRzRaeFRBzblWycDdGUM3v99P0JG_ZtVg9cEkpPJRzkXzo/s400/IMG_5535.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently this guy was not far ahead of me and I had no idea.</td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: blue;">Mile 20 - 8:03</span></b> I knew my sub 8 minute mile streak wasn't going to last forever. I just can't believe it lasted damn near TWENTY MILES. <i>Alright Megan. Head down. Eyes forward. Open heart. These last 6 miles are what you trained for. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Mile 21 - 8:11 </span></b>I was definitely having to work for my miles at this point. But I had only given up 14 seconds OVER an 8:00 mile and was still WELL below an 8:00 minute average. <i>This is what your bank is for, but ONLY IF YOU NEED IT. Keep your stride long, shoulders relaxed.</i><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Mile 22 - 8:26</b> </span></span>Sub 8:30. <i>You're doing just fine, keep it right here and you're golden. Nothing to worry about. </i>Legs weren't feeling the best at this point, but I couldn't believe how much BETTER they felt compared to this point of past marathons. I knew I had a significant "hill" coming up so I did everything I could to keep my bank as full as possible in case I needed to cash it in on Lemon Drop.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Mile 23 - 8:33</span></b> Lemon Drop Hill. Not truly a hill, but a bridge you have to cross. But at mile 23 of a marathon anything can be considered a monster hill, curbs included. I made it to the top, gathered myself, and was able to bring my mile time back to where I wanted it without draining my bank, and I didn't feel like I had nothing left.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Mile 24 - 8:31</b></span></span> This was EXACTLY what I knew I had to train myself for. And not just my legs, but mostly my mind. I've been here ELEVEN times before. EVERYTHING inside is telling me to stop. Slow down. Walk it out. Stretch out your hamstring. <i>But I was damned if that devil was gonna win. </i>I thought about 2 months ago. I went to my parents house after work and watched the Boston Marathon with my mom. I watched Desi fight for every step in the <i>worst</i> weather I've ever seen. I watched all the age groupers muscle through with everything that they are. I sat and cried as the first American women took home the Boston Marathon title in 33 years. I remembered how emotional I was that day. And I wanted NOTHING more than to run that course with the Greats of our sport. <i>I wanted to run in the Superbowl of running. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b style="background-color: blue; color: yellow;">Mile 25 - 8:17 </b><span style="background-color: white;"> HUGE mile. Just after my watched beeped at mile 24, I needed to turn the last few miles around. Thankfully, I had a little help. I heard a faint voice behind me on my left, "<i>Hey, I'm back!"</i> EMMA! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! I squealed like a school girl. I may have leaped in the air, I was SO excited to have my buddy back. <i>"Emma, we're gonna do it!" </i> She smiled and laughed. Within a quarter mile of Emma finding me again, I heard my name from behind. <i>"Megan! Kati's friend!"</i> A girl I had met at the Illinois Half Marathon, Kim, who recognized me solely by the logo on my jersey knew who I was and introduced herself. We quickly found out that we were both running Grandma's in attempt to BQ. Mile 24.5 of Grandma's Marathon was the next time I saw her. <i>"OMG KIM! WE'RE GOING!!" </i>I yelled back at her. I couldn't believe it. And just like that, I brought my head up and spotted Rob. I couldn't stop smiling. I was going to Boston and I fuckin' knew it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jc-_wSH4l4EElBm9IlosBdCunui5UrqQgpdDxsEWYic4SXuOVIvQOxezvqW1eEr3_FKloCoFhpVr0jpnlijpRtMP7uyE1QtnH6oCcz_pMA-oZqAlf1wLvIugrDAV2nStTqBG1U0kiF3b/s1600/IMG_5544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jc-_wSH4l4EElBm9IlosBdCunui5UrqQgpdDxsEWYic4SXuOVIvQOxezvqW1eEr3_FKloCoFhpVr0jpnlijpRtMP7uyE1QtnH6oCcz_pMA-oZqAlf1wLvIugrDAV2nStTqBG1U0kiF3b/s400/IMG_5544.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The EXACT second I spotted Rob at around 24.6ish<br />
Notice Emma is back! ORANGE HAT! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I couldn't get to him fast enough. He was on the other side of the street and I did my best to make my way as close to him as I could. I was almost 25 miles into this marathon and I had damn near solidified my day. I had no reservations with more emotions pouring out of my heart than you can truly imagine. I ran past Rob and belted as loud as I could, <i>"PACK YOUR BAGS BITCH WE'RE GOING!" </i>Without meaning to I created quite the scene and made a lot of spectators bust out laughing. I didn't care, my dream was actively coming true. I was living the moment, I knew it, and I was busting with all the joy. Rob responded with the biggest laugh and yelled back, "<i>You're gonna beat me to the finish line!!" </i>Damn right I am.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FUGOp5S0f9PbRy2-I5I22zJcfl37wUl6KbzDGc_B_-LZ6DeifiVd2HN6hzGWQ9xvDnVjE8T6dLZ8PGofBtZcHa_IOk-yFjm2D7sSJ3Qaw4rh52WXCSc97rItHJJOgo-MreMz1WJETQHA/s1600/IMG_5546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FUGOp5S0f9PbRy2-I5I22zJcfl37wUl6KbzDGc_B_-LZ6DeifiVd2HN6hzGWQ9xvDnVjE8T6dLZ8PGofBtZcHa_IOk-yFjm2D7sSJ3Qaw4rh52WXCSc97rItHJJOgo-MreMz1WJETQHA/s400/IMG_5546.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what we call...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwZYrBTx-im6NhICket6HzUGq1LTIZi694gfLO5RVAe2JXot-WSm9YrNM_YqLkbR65AWW6RhemrPRteYqUsELVcHlyp2LB0N4ZTs6_hVjDUBV4eVmNJKOwfvLevbc6169l-BEF7RuCR6P/s1600/IMG_5549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwZYrBTx-im6NhICket6HzUGq1LTIZi694gfLO5RVAe2JXot-WSm9YrNM_YqLkbR65AWW6RhemrPRteYqUsELVcHlyp2LB0N4ZTs6_hVjDUBV4eVmNJKOwfvLevbc6169l-BEF7RuCR6P/s400/IMG_5549.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PRICELESS</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuX12Xb93WuGkpz5qRFXayDtigO61a3WpUJ-3wLNog-qyDqul1_VmvjYKclu83vH106izUMd3jDDrtLxXWSYvl56QgpYOtxoDrgMaPjVMRII0U-EJvf8sALy89Zk8owlqJBovXZqKQuy55/s1600/IMG_5553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuX12Xb93WuGkpz5qRFXayDtigO61a3WpUJ-3wLNog-qyDqul1_VmvjYKclu83vH106izUMd3jDDrtLxXWSYvl56QgpYOtxoDrgMaPjVMRII0U-EJvf8sALy89Zk8owlqJBovXZqKQuy55/s400/IMG_5553.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PACK YOUR BAGS BITCH WE'RE GOING!</td></tr>
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<div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue;"><b>Mile 26 - 8:25</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"> Crowds were thick. My legs felt like they weren't attached. Someone else was moving them, surely not me. One lady was in the middle of the street pointing out all women and getting in their faces. She made her way to me, </span><i style="background-color: white;">"You, YOU'RE GOING TO BOSTON!"</i><span style="background-color: white;"> She told me. I wanted to kiss this woman. Truly I did. But I still had a few strides to go. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: blue;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b>FINISH 3:30:27</b></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"> I did it. Rob truly almost missed me at the finish line. I played this moment out in my head a million times. I was convinced I'd ugly cry. But no, I smiled and spotted Kim, hands on her knees, panting. I let her know I was close and we embraced in the grossest hug 2 strangers could share. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1L-ARqsdQWCutlwXXGMRucSbrO22ZpUM2YclNqFtrwuuRf29SyMCJ9R5ltgB2kj46h53dASAQBk4GEb7Jcf9SnwwP5rXdjoBlcKdRimID3hwMJxxMWSWM0dtbd8XCTiHDFBflO9Z8jz1L/s1600/IMG_5012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1334" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1L-ARqsdQWCutlwXXGMRucSbrO22ZpUM2YclNqFtrwuuRf29SyMCJ9R5ltgB2kj46h53dASAQBk4GEb7Jcf9SnwwP5rXdjoBlcKdRimID3hwMJxxMWSWM0dtbd8XCTiHDFBflO9Z8jz1L/s400/IMG_5012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captured on film by Grandma's marathon<br />
Screenshotted by a friend of Kim's<br />
BOSTON BOUND</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I glanced to my right and saw my Spectathlete. I trotted (yes, trotted) to him and made him kiss me in all my sweaty salty glory. Finding my way out of the finish area I spotted Emma and flagged her down. I congratulated her, thanked her, and wished her well. Talk about one of the <i>coolest</i> stories. This, this is what running is capable of. </div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7gv-zoTyX8cb18f5yGtyJi1pMEhVwaFoOfateoPL2gRW3mUPixZXxZi5hQbXsJ7hJE9wwEitjzMt72bmR1GUn0BztYNuLc6_1VqBmu-Oi3b24BegwdqpLZ_EKDsk8CJZDdcNvQHDY0zR/s1600/IMG_4987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7gv-zoTyX8cb18f5yGtyJi1pMEhVwaFoOfateoPL2gRW3mUPixZXxZi5hQbXsJ7hJE9wwEitjzMt72bmR1GUn0BztYNuLc6_1VqBmu-Oi3b24BegwdqpLZ_EKDsk8CJZDdcNvQHDY0zR/s400/IMG_4987.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See you in Boston π¦</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thank you's for this one will certainly get me choked up and are quite obvious, at least to me.<br />
<div>
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<div>
<b>My family. My parents. My brother.</b> As kids, Mark and I were never given limits. Sky's the limit. The older we got, the more mad our goals sounded to our parents. We definitely received a few funny looks. But at the end of the day, we always had 2 permanent cheerleaders. And they are certainly the number one reason I ever dreamed of chasing that unicorn in the first place. And Mark has NEVER thought twice about setting an early Sunday morning alarm to shuffle around a race course when I ask him. He's always willing to pace me on the bike when I ask. He's truly my sidekick that I can't live without. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxzEm3pqYrUbB_J7GX74omIXh7MK6_Xl-NnQy9uUt3ZJsq_D0n-uuevPFi5EYRXYZXJ_E1wHrG0y3jkt5j3ls9YCUeyoB99TN_fgpHOOoVmYoSdY_Dne1dTa5rdsIzpZKPBBfQHzvQUGD/s1600/IMG_3726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxzEm3pqYrUbB_J7GX74omIXh7MK6_Xl-NnQy9uUt3ZJsq_D0n-uuevPFi5EYRXYZXJ_E1wHrG0y3jkt5j3ls9YCUeyoB99TN_fgpHOOoVmYoSdY_Dne1dTa5rdsIzpZKPBBfQHzvQUGD/s400/IMG_3726.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As promised, every run is an adventure with my pacer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Rob. My Fiance. My forever Spectathlete. </b>He's about to marry into this mess. He may never truly understand my passion on the deepest level, and may he does. But he's definitely accepted it and knows that it's a package deal. And I can't thank him enough for loving me for who I am, running/triathlete included. We aren't an easy bunch to handle, and he's taken it like a champ over these last 8 and a half years. Next April I'm going to run the Boston Marathon as a Hode and the following month I'm going to marry into the Sloan family ready to continue the fun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiys5itkvML50PL54cgXxGmf3E6B_FwFtlT7zcFU_Cn30O3ts4OgCY0IzM6aYXAf7SETrJt6f6X7vPPMnuMsPsNkKcHUlHZ78goBB5_NqsAB0MpEGIq49g2bvcVRtSpyXY-PCWE_NPX1s_/s1600/IMG_4996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiys5itkvML50PL54cgXxGmf3E6B_FwFtlT7zcFU_Cn30O3ts4OgCY0IzM6aYXAf7SETrJt6f6X7vPPMnuMsPsNkKcHUlHZ78goBB5_NqsAB0MpEGIq49g2bvcVRtSpyXY-PCWE_NPX1s_/s400/IMG_4996.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">πππ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Ryan.</b> I probably sound like a broken record at this point but I can't help it. He gave me full disclosure that my training cycle for Grandma's wouldn't be pretty. It wasn't until around April that I truly understood what he meant. Sure, the legs underwent a little speed and some discomfort. But <i>this time around it was all about the mind.</i> I can't tell you how many times Ryan had to dig me out of a mental hole. I can't tell you how many times I dug myself out of a hole because I was to embarrassed to let Ryan think I was that weak. Ryan Giuliano. Resume includes but not limited to: Ironman 70.3 World Champion. Ironman Texas and Ironman Lake Placid Champion. Sub 9 hour Ironman stud. Clinical Therapist. #truth<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPY33yM2SepVcpXQ2rCsQBEjRD-08CKBWnlCEXpXvpbvui8EmzISyfPrRv7iB_uxKQ7fnXfE3UlmviXlzfAbIfwLj3GSB7pUVUPG8uPNIaxaAktlAA10IubD_50vBPrrDN_AjYQeZWlJV/s1600/IMG_5198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYPY33yM2SepVcpXQ2rCsQBEjRD-08CKBWnlCEXpXvpbvui8EmzISyfPrRv7iB_uxKQ7fnXfE3UlmviXlzfAbIfwLj3GSB7pUVUPG8uPNIaxaAktlAA10IubD_50vBPrrDN_AjYQeZWlJV/s400/IMG_5198.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No questions asked. <a href="http://www.rybreadracing.com/">RyBread For Life</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<br />
I still haven't found the proper words for all of my emotions almost a week after the race. The obvious is true. Happy, joyful, excited, and beyond. But the deepest of feelings.. Do words exist for those? Sometimes I wonder. I get choked up thinking about next April. For YEARS I was the runner who just needed to move. Times were never important. And then at some point my fire was sparked and here I am. Sometimes it's hard for me to comprehend. <i>Wait.. Boston? Didn't you just run a 4:30 marathon a few months ago?</i> No, no Megan. You're shipping out to Boston.<br />
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<div>
I've challenged myself over the years. I've dedicated my life to this sport and truly don't know what it's like to not have half of my dresser taken over by spandex running shorts and athletic apparel. I'm living, breathing proof that you don't have to have ALL the talent to chase your dreams that seem untouchable. Saturday's marathon shaved 1 hour and 57 minutes off of my first ever marathon. Nothin' but good ole hard word, dedication, passion, and a fire in my heart got me to Boston. If you want it, go get it.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>#bostonhereicome</b></span><br />
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-3790241048261142562018-06-15T08:56:00.000-05:002018-06-15T11:00:43.044-05:00Grandma's Here I Come: By the Numbers<br />
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Iβm not really a huge numbers person. Iβm good with them,
but not like some people I know. But Iβve recently looked at the numbers that
are about to get me to starting line tomorrow.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>169 days.</b></span> I signed up for Grandmaβs Marathon days ago. (December
28<sup>th</sup>, 2017 was D-Day. My Christmas present to myself.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>757 miles. </b></span>Iβve run 757 miles in 2018 in preparation for
this race. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">106 hours. </span></b>I have logged 106 hours of running.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">128 runs. </span></b>I have run 128 times (within the last 166 days of
2018). Youβre probably wonderingβ¦ thatβs not A LOT of runs. Youβre right.
Thatβs because I refused to let my body completely fall apart in itβs old age
by taking away my beloved cross training that I have adopted over the years. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">35. </span>The average number of run miles I logged per week. Not a lot. At all. We were all about <i>quality </i>over <i>quantity.</i><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">67 rides. </span></b>I have ridden my bike 67 times since January 1<sup>st</sup>.
A good chunk of these have been βrecovery ridesβ while others still test my
triathlon fitness. (Just to keep the all systems a go at all times.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>88 hours.</b></span> Thatβs 88 hours of bike riding. 88 hours Iβve
chosen to take away from the run and devote to a separate set of leg muscles in
hopes it will keep my run legs primed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1,476 miles ridden. </span></b>This number canβt be taken to heart. 99%
of my bikes have been indoor on a computrainer. And we all know that power is
what everyone cares about <span style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">π</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">62 swims.</span></b> I dipped my toes into the water 62 times in 2018.
In all honesty looking back, I should have swam more. The pool is SUCH my zen
place these days. When muscles hurt. When joints ache. When my legs say WTF.
There werenβt TO many lung busters in preparation for Grandmaβs, but occasionally
Speedy would give me a workout to test the fitness. Spoiler alert: I can still
crack a sub 1:25 100 (on repeat) if needed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">33 hours. </span></b>33 hours of swim therapy. And I wish I would have
give a few more hours. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">125,800 yards.</span></b> Of swimming. That number probably shocks most
people. But itβs really not a ton. Itβs approximately 5K a week. For you hard
core runners, yes a 5K on the road is the same distance on the road as it is in
the pool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">12.</span></b> This will be my 12<sup>th</sup> open marathon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">11. </span></b>The previous 11 marathons, starting with number 1β¦.
Illinois Marathon 2010. Walt Disney Marathon 2011. Illinois Marathon 2011.
Chicago Marathon 2011. Omaha Marathon 2012. CIM 2012. Wisconsin Marathon 2013.
Nashville Hard Rock CafΓ© Marathon 2013. Big Sur International Marathon 2014.
Marathon of the Treasure Coast, Jensen Beach, FL 2015. Indianapolis Monumental
Marathon 2016. (2017 was pretty triathlon heavy, 2x Ironman, 3x half Ironman.
By the time October rolled around my legs pretty much were screaming FU.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>17.</b></span> The number of times Iβve run this distance. 11 open
marathon distances + 6 full Iron distances (the run has never been cut short,
only swim and bike occasionally). Soon to be 18.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">5.</span></b> I averaged 5 runs a week since January 1<sup>st</sup>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">3.</span></b> I averaged both 3 rides and 3 swims a week since January
1<sup>st</sup>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">6.5 hours.</span></b> The total number of hours GPS predicted it would
take us to drive from Crystal Lake, IL to Duluth, MN. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">7 hours. </span></b>It actually took us 7 hours to get here with our few stops we made for gas and food. Rob's still upset it took us longer than the GPS prediction. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2.</span></b> Rob ate 2 Subway sandwiches for dinner on Thursday night
on the drive up to Duluth. No, heβs not running. No heβs not trying to gain
weight. Thatβs just his M-O. Tall skinny dude who can eat whatever he wants. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">26.2 miles. </span></b>The number of miles I have to run tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">5:27:11. </span></b>That was my first finish time in the 26.2 mile distance. It was a hot hot day. The humidity was out for blood. But a year prior one of my friends had told me, "There's no way you can run a marathon." so I wasn't about toss the in the towel just because it was hot.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">3 hours and 35 minutes. </span></b>The time I have to run to qualify
for the Boston Marathon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">8:12. </span></b>The pace per mile I have to run for 26.2 miles to
qualify for the Boston Marathon.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3 hours and 30 minutes.</b></span> My goal finish time to solidify
entry into the Boston Marathon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">8:00. </span></b>The pace per mile I need to run to solidify entry into
the Boston Marathon. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">3:41:17. </span></b>That is my current marathon PR that I set in 2016 at the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">8:26. </span></b>The fastest pace mile that I have ever run 26.2 miles.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">6 minutes. </span></b>The number of minutes I <i><b>need</b></i> to shave off my current PR to qualify for the Boston Marathon.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">11 minutes.</span></b> The number of minutes I <b>HOPE </b>to shave off my current marathon PR in order to solidify my BQ.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">January 10<sup>th</sup>, 2018. </span></b>The day my spectathlete
became my fiancΓ©. My ride or die promised that he was 100% into this crazy life
Iβve chosen. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">April 15<sup>th, </sup>2019.</span></b> Not just tax day. The day Iβm
hopeful Iβll be taking my own tour of Massachusetts, starting in Hopkinton and
ending on Boylston Street in Boston. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1 mental breakdown.</span></b> Ryan endured 1 mental breakdown over the
phone at the end of the April after I had finished the Illinois Half Marathon.
I was convinced I wasnβt the right kind of athlete for the job. I was in the
darkest of athletic dungeons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
people donβt realize it, but being a coach also means youβre practically a licensed
therapist as well. Ryan put together a really really convincing story about how
much I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">deserve</i> to give myself the
faith that everyone else has in me. He made me believe what I do day in and day
out is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">worth it.</i> He convinced me that
it wasnβt time to toss in the towel on Grandmaβs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1 extra mental breakdown,</span></b> just for good measure. Shortly
after my little therapy session with Ryan (like 5 minutes after) I was caught
in the kitchen of my best friendβs house, wiping my tears and checking how
blotchy my face looked. She caught me in the middle of a breakdown that I was trying
to hide from her and all of our college friends. βMegan! I heard you... please,
are you ok!?β Cue the next breakdown. Thereβs a reason I try to hide this stuff
from her sometimes. Sheβs good. Almost too good. She knows me all too well. And
the waterworks continued to flow in overdrive in her kitchen. Maybe she never
told the rest of the group about it, maybe she did. Iβm not sure. But all I
know is that I needed that good cry. I needed her to understand <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how much this stuff means to me.</i> Sheβs
always had an idea, but that day she was certainly reminded. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1 sleep.</span></b> 1 more sleep until none of the numbers matter and
all I have left to do is run every stride with my heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
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BQ or bust.<o:p></o:p></div>
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#grandmashereicome<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-19891293265497992132018-05-26T06:04:00.000-05:002018-05-26T06:33:21.131-05:00The Mental GameLast we spoke, me and running weren't on the best terms. My legs took much longer than expected to regain any sort of life after the Illinois Half Marathon. The following weekend, I cut my long run short and couldn't even consider trying to run the workout. ALL runs for almost 2 weeks were "recovery runs." <i>My legs had hit a wall and needed some serious rest. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Speedy and I agreed that my body needed to be reset. True RnR. No active recovery in the pool or on the bike. No running. For 3 whole days. It was... miserable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSgp69A2hYBnfLHc1BCTmrufdijFgAvFNMf8ZFdGkXfJMK2yse-ZDXadpW8gdeowneV3JPI4WFY0CfRE1aXIa24IdE5PGVHFlnCFNnos4WpmsDOTC_uWcgt3FI4z93I5kYKsdqfRNpbvV/s1600/IMG_4484.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSgp69A2hYBnfLHc1BCTmrufdijFgAvFNMf8ZFdGkXfJMK2yse-ZDXadpW8gdeowneV3JPI4WFY0CfRE1aXIa24IdE5PGVHFlnCFNnos4WpmsDOTC_uWcgt3FI4z93I5kYKsdqfRNpbvV/s400/IMG_4484.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan's response after I told him how bad my long run was the week after Illinois</td></tr>
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I did what I was told. I came home from work and twiddled my thumbs. I cleaned my house. I went to Wrigley Field one night (because come onnnnnn a girl's gotta do something with all her free time!) I got multiple massages. I made sure to give my hamstring some extra TLC. My left hamstring might not have been an issue on race day, but I could definitely tell it was more tired/tight/sore than my right hamstring at all times. I've sat in my boots more than ever this past month. I recently invested in a tens unit that has turned into a true Godsend. After I used my mother's tens unit a few weeks ago, I was sold on how well it triggered deep into my muscle. It's so simple really, but it took so long for me to put the pieces together. It's safe to say that I zap my leg back to reality about once a day now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVq2ciIioesvZGV_UHXgl8oMabQbnHUFVZGIkjK6LPRhubpsSBcZXfdtz2YFHREzXF9vf11rCKK1e3jg_Zngw0U6b9uqPDXkUu9nVUyG-qKECr1q9WTI38zuANxUHyUCGTf8Sv5u_vn1XC/s1600/IMG_4482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVq2ciIioesvZGV_UHXgl8oMabQbnHUFVZGIkjK6LPRhubpsSBcZXfdtz2YFHREzXF9vf11rCKK1e3jg_Zngw0U6b9uqPDXkUu9nVUyG-qKECr1q9WTI38zuANxUHyUCGTf8Sv5u_vn1XC/s400/IMG_4482.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little shock to the system never hurt no one ;)</td></tr>
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Last weekend my legs were <i style="font-weight: bold;">FINALLY</i> ale to pull out 16 miles and nail the workout at the same time. It wasn't a struggle to hold my steady pace. My legs didn't fight me. I felt fluid. I felt smooth. I felt like I could have set the cruise control all.day.long. <i>Three weeks post Illinois Half Marathon, it's about fricken' time. </i>If only you knew how much I needed that run, <i>mentally.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm about to head out the door for my biggest training run in almost 2 years, 20 miles with a workout mixed in. To say I'm not nervous would be a lie. My body has been through alot recently. So has my mind. And double digit mileage is usually when the body starts to really break down. But there's something about breaking that 20 mile barrier that can really mess with your head.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikF20CAzAlbItInzVbVBzgNK_ONpGavoREpt4g88ekyzQGjIfH_ywen4tDVsURiIMV5OxevDL1qtHiJvlq72Ro81KHmqWyzQJL_O8RKOaGtMo1E43Fkjf_BT4lT2D0N-t1BHqZq_jgGtTs/s1600/mental.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikF20CAzAlbItInzVbVBzgNK_ONpGavoREpt4g88ekyzQGjIfH_ywen4tDVsURiIMV5OxevDL1qtHiJvlq72Ro81KHmqWyzQJL_O8RKOaGtMo1E43Fkjf_BT4lT2D0N-t1BHqZq_jgGtTs/s400/mental.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What endurance athletes do best</td></tr>
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The glycogen storage is depleted around mile 20. Your body starts running off of fat instead of glucose (because your glucose is damn near gone) at mile 20. And your mind... your mind starts to play tricks on you. It's been said by many runners, the marathon doesn't even start until you finish your 20 mile warmup. Combine that with the lack of glucose in your body you best hope that the voice between your ears keeps your legs moving at the rate you can only pray for.<br />
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<i>But Megan, you've run 20 miles so many times! So many races, so many Ironman's, so many training runs!</i> Right... but I've never cared about the clock as much as I do this time around.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#BQORBUST</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
I like where my mental space is at at the moment. Which is why I wanted to make sure I told the world about this daunting workout I'm about to do. I want you all to keep me accountable. Ask me about the run. Text me. Call me. Message me. Demand the truth about the run. Because as of today we're officially 3 weeks away from Grandma's, and I need <i style="font-weight: bold;">all</i> of my spare thoughts and energy to be focused on this race.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#GRANDMASHEREICOME</span>Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-32642621034013692362018-05-10T08:31:00.001-05:002018-05-10T21:25:21.932-05:00The Ugly Truth<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've spent the last almost 2 weeks debating on whether or not I should write about this race. Reliving it crushes my spirit a little bit each time, so the thought of creating something concrete where the memory will live forever.. stings a little. And everytime I sit down to try, I find "something better to fill my time with."<br /><br />But the truth is, I am able. I am willing. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let one bad day win the mental game.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRFSoRQbAKHQwvEkh0o9m4xQMGoh8_9omPhky8rrLTqIrKL2xSxXENo1AkDX2q6fsREPBdTxzUhJRc1WOALYmGEB5987fC_xLMBtYrcy4dBEC8eg1Z70-LzBF2dL53jvm6GB-q82nRpmA/s1600/IMG_4109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRFSoRQbAKHQwvEkh0o9m4xQMGoh8_9omPhky8rrLTqIrKL2xSxXENo1AkDX2q6fsREPBdTxzUhJRc1WOALYmGEB5987fC_xLMBtYrcy4dBEC8eg1Z70-LzBF2dL53jvm6GB-q82nRpmA/s400/IMG_4109.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highlight of the day: watching these 2 have amazing races!!</td></tr>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Going into Illinois, my head space was as clear as it could be. I had put in the work. My long runs had all been pretty on point. I was nailing my weekday workouts on the road. Recovery was going well.. up until the weekend before.</span><br />
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had a nagging tender hamstring/IT band after the last long run going into race weekend. Nothing to be nervous about. Just a longer than normal recovery. I paid extra attention to my legs during race week, including a deep tissue massage and a cut back on mileage to make sure everything was ready to go. And on top of this, <b><i>I am the adult that has acquired allergies as they go through life</i></b>. My first experience happened about a month prior to Illinois. My 2nd experience? Illinois Half Marathon race week, of course. I pretty much bought stock in Allegra and popped those pills like candy to keep as much phlegm out of my lungs and sinuses as possible going into race day. It seemed to do the trick, so long as I overlapped the medicine dosage juuuuust a tad. <i>Surprisingly, neither of these 2 reasons are why I had such a bad race on race day.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I rolled off of my air mattress at Beth and Jordan's new house at approximately 4:55am and started my pre-race routine. Banana. Coffee. English muffin with peanut butter. Let the magic happen. Get dressed. And ready to go. The college crew had relaxed over the years and they didn't seem as antsy as I was to get to the race site, so I hopped in the car and told them I'd see them there. {Turned out to be the best decision. Beth, Jordan, and Brian left about 10 minutes after me and barely made the start of the race. Yikes}</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I parked the car and met up with Jacqui (who was considered an Elite so had her own little private room in the iHotel) and we took off for a short little warm up together. We both got a little reminiscent as we ran through familiar parts of town and eventually spotted the track. Jacqui competed on that track in college while I admired her. I still couldn't help but be a tad emotional. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7ckdSII3Bz4XoZldJ18jBSCt3t-n8m8dtLlT5R5zujGNNDOzZTGjk8EoCrSmytjBPxBF67YvbzW0jWxn9VND-G06xxkG5ZOUYieMjuPAL_7aFxfmVoMUnFW-lz60zf8FbOHZS2XgDJ58/s1600/IMG_4101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil7ckdSII3Bz4XoZldJ18jBSCt3t-n8m8dtLlT5R5zujGNNDOzZTGjk8EoCrSmytjBPxBF67YvbzW0jWxn9VND-G06xxkG5ZOUYieMjuPAL_7aFxfmVoMUnFW-lz60zf8FbOHZS2XgDJ58/s400/IMG_4101.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect morning at the Alma Mater!</td></tr>
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<div style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I made my way to the starting corrals after I dropped my bag off and let myself relax as much as possible. At one point I turned my head and looked straight ahead of me and I was practically face to face with Tatyana McFadden. She was an arms length in front of me as she wheeled into position for the start of her race. My jaw dropped as I admired the broadness of her shoulders and enormity of her upper body strength. Anything you've seen on TV or in pictures doesn't do her physique justice in person. The women is truly a machine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The head wind was coming in from the North, but being short in a corral full of tall, thin men has it's advantages. I tucked in behind the 3:05 pace group because all of the men seemed to hide me from the wind pretty well. The national anthem played and before I knew it, we were off. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I came out of the gates and knew instantly the pace was to fast. I dialed it back right away and choked back a lump in my throat as a I ran under the American flag, hung on the corner of 1st and Kirby by 2 fire trucks, ladders fully extended. It's a site that I'll never forget. And one of my favorite parts of this entire race. I got comfortable and started to glance around me. <i>Where are all the women?</i> <i>I don't understand.</i> Shortly after I began to wonder, I saw looked up and saw that I hadn't quite gotten rid of the 3:05 pace group like I had planned on. I was cruisin' with all the 18-34 year old men trying to BQ. <i>Of course you're the only female in this group Megan.</i> I passed my old apartment on 1st and Daniel and immediately my watch beeped. 7:13. A few seconds faster than I'd hoped for, but onto the next mile. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We turned right onto Green St. and into the sunshine and I was hoping I'd be in my groove at this point in the race. I was maining the 7:15-7:20 pace I needed, but every single step felt <i>HARD.</i> I convinced myself I wasn't completely warmed up yet and by mile 3 I'd be ready to cruise. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">SIDENOTE: Running down Green St. had me all sorts of nostalgic. Station? Ummmm how does anyone get in that bar right now? Construction practically up to the front door and you have to climb dirt mounds just to get in. Can you imagine that place around midnight on a Saturday night? Then Starbucks. Nowadays, I cruise through a Starbucks drivethru and walk away with a black hot coffee. I ran by this Starbucks and instantly I had memories of Vanilla Lattes with books on books during study groups. I could practically taste the Vanilla syrup. Rob's old apartment building. 309 E. Green St tower. Back in the day, the only highrise in town. Now... 1 among many. Gameday Spirit seemed to have received a facelift as well. Once we hit Green and Wright St, the construction hit once again and we were taken to 1 lane. <i>Wow, this could get crowded farther back in the packs. Hell, how do 2 cars drive on this section of Green St!? It's gotta be a 1 way right here! </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Thankfully I had enough to distract me during mile 2, so my 7:17 didn't feel quite as labored. But once we hit Urbana, my struggle set back in. I cruised through the streets of downtown Urbana and honestly, everything is kind of a blur. At one point I remember around mile 4 or 5 I got passed by Abe Lincoln. Yes, that's correct. A man dress like Honest Abe passed me. A few times throughout the streets of Urbana I heard a few "Go RyBread!" cheers. I have no idea where they came from, or who they came from. But they definitely put a hop in my step when I needed it (as short lived as it might have been.) I held pretty strong through mile 7. Once I got to mile 8 (through the park), my legs decided they were done charging. Slowly I dipped into the 7:45 range and held on for a few miles. Everything was a struggle. Breathing. All of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once I exited the park, my spirit was officially broken when I saw a photographer at the top of a small hill and I was doing everything I could to make sure I didn't appear to be walking up the hill. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPtbvf41dMyb5YZNCVH0LosozRzCxB0VdsM2SXoD7E4MyqHW6vnj3zJUbTeO3Z1Wa6QbKs2dVDx70gaAENXklsRucBg8u_RtVpfuIVZdHJJLa4n53-xpzdu2GdsAmNGlc72KwfBD05Bc0/s1600/IMG_4118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="627" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPtbvf41dMyb5YZNCVH0LosozRzCxB0VdsM2SXoD7E4MyqHW6vnj3zJUbTeO3Z1Wa6QbKs2dVDx70gaAENXklsRucBg8u_RtVpfuIVZdHJJLa4n53-xpzdu2GdsAmNGlc72KwfBD05Bc0/s400/IMG_4118.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemme tell ya about this thing called the struggle bus..</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I know I've said it a milllion times, that SO much can happen during a race. You can't check out until the finish line. But in this case, I knew for a fact my legs weren't going to let me do what I wanted to do today. I had 4 miles left when I decided to run "comfortable" to the finish line in and effort to save myself from injury. <i>Sometimes, it's best to listen when the body says no.</i> I made my way back onto campus down Race St and then down Pennsylvania and ran by my old dorm. I heard my name around mile 11 from a spectator, a girl that I had ONE class with in college. I looked up, spotted her, and couldn't believe my eyes so let out a small laugh in response. Any other type of response would have required to much energy, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We made it back to the heart of campus and I saw buildings like The Armory, The Sixpack, and Huff Hall. Nostalgia started to creep back, but this time the effects weren't quite as great. I rounded the corner and took my first steps onto the turf of Memorial Stadium and crossed that finish line in an hour and 42 minutes. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1dutTkW_TCJpFbhXXx2xr4LBwgpBnBH3x0LJ2sr-VfP4WPdgrFYXzlMjnNZagQyXCWeJmiDPk-fV14HvEt5qG4Y3xqiM_HPMkQwq_accYXK69td21AKScNiXn8tZ0Q-eS3qTeOz6chT/s1600/IMG_4117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="607" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzb1dutTkW_TCJpFbhXXx2xr4LBwgpBnBH3x0LJ2sr-VfP4WPdgrFYXzlMjnNZagQyXCWeJmiDPk-fV14HvEt5qG4Y3xqiM_HPMkQwq_accYXK69td21AKScNiXn8tZ0Q-eS3qTeOz6chT/s400/IMG_4117.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Speaks for itself.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5L5KarJbIM_wc9rJdDSzZ5qKsGOFumP8gPHD8IaJUtwzU_ajTon7t8FB28dYaeTT1Pv7ZxB7RD-6E0jZmydzPWaaJ4KSdN5TJJSxnund9hgYBY1jdU7D1augX15jmGYnaXkHwNLIe9JX/s1600/IMG_4119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="537" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5L5KarJbIM_wc9rJdDSzZ5qKsGOFumP8gPHD8IaJUtwzU_ajTon7t8FB28dYaeTT1Pv7ZxB7RD-6E0jZmydzPWaaJ4KSdN5TJJSxnund9hgYBY1jdU7D1augX15jmGYnaXkHwNLIe9JX/s400/IMG_4119.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I had felt like I usually do, this guy WOULDN'T have finished ahead of me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOeozH2OFUylAiDeIEnWfvh2VkcZx8mCL0leP7aW2y-GLcRJNjjhNa6Q619BJi5hzdr7JJnjGI-V2h7goMeBB0xYS9rBeXwjyY2meqV7tTQYbmVmCPaX7USE3aNZdwiNiQhHcy7zoctov/s1600/IMG_4115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="642" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOeozH2OFUylAiDeIEnWfvh2VkcZx8mCL0leP7aW2y-GLcRJNjjhNa6Q619BJi5hzdr7JJnjGI-V2h7goMeBB0xYS9rBeXwjyY2meqV7tTQYbmVmCPaX7USE3aNZdwiNiQhHcy7zoctov/s400/IMG_4115.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the pain.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I crossed that finish line and had no one. Rob wasn't able to make the trip due to work, Jacqui had finished the race but was likely halfway back to the Elite room, and the rest of my friends were still on the course. I grabbed my medal and a water. I went to gear check and grabbed my bag. And then I sobbed. I sobbed like a baby. I called my parents and my brother and sobbed to them. After all of the hard work I have put in, my body just decided that today wasn't meant for me. I know, it's silly. I ran a very respectable time and for the first 8 miles I ran the race I planned. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">BUT, it never felt smooth in the beginning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It never felt fluid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nothing hurt, my hamstring actually felt wonderful. My allergies weren't to bad at all and I actually had both airways available for breathing that morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My breathing never reached that steady rhythm that it usually does.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The weather was perfect, the wind was a bit strong at times but it never lasted to long. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For whatever reason, I had a day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Later on that day I spoke with Ryan. He had just crossed the finish line of IMTX in a blazing 8:17 taking home the Amatuer title. A race of a lifetime, some might call it. I felt like the worst friend in the world, but I cried over the phone to him again. His perfect day ended with my tears and that made me feel even worse. He assured me, "<i>Your fitness is there. It's good that you decided to listen to the body and back off. No, you don't need to race again before Grandma's."</i> And the part that truly hit home was this, "<i>Trust me, I know how frustrating this kind of race is. I have more of these races than any other."</i> You might wonder how in the hell this is possible, the man is practically a machine! But it's all relative. He might be blazing fast, so <i>every</i> race he does looks like a winner in our books. But to him, not quite so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's been a hard adjustment for me this winter. One I didn't quite expect. I knew things would hurt from time to time. I knew I'd be in for some lung burning. But what I didn't expect was to have <i>SUCH</i> disappointing results for this particular race. My body has grown accustomed to SBR {Swim, Bike, Run}, and in that order. My legs sometimes feel foreign to me as I head out for a run that DOESN'T immediately follow a bike ride. But that's not an excuse, I was a runner before I was a triathlete. But, I've learned a thing or 2 from this experience. </span><br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Running BEATS up the body like you wouldn't believe. No, not my knees. Those are still in tact. The little things. Tight muscles need ALL the attention. Foam rolling and time in my Normatec boots is a MUST. And sometimes, actual time away from your running shoes is just what you need. Active recovery isn't always best when your primary focus is to RUN. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You're going to have more lows than highs in the running world. In triathlon, there are so many different ways your day can go right or wrong. The run is just 1 fraction of that experience. If you have a terrible 1st half of a run, but the rest of your race is flawless, you can still cross that finish line accomplishing whatever goal you set out to do. In the running world, it's <i>Right, Left, Repeat.</i> One thing might go wrong and you have to be DAMN prepared with that mental game....</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Which brings me to number 3. Mental. Endurance in general is a mental beast. Trust me, I know. I've crossed 6 Ironman finish lines. But this running thing? Talk about a test. I have less than 50 days before Grandma's marathon and the biggest challenge I have ahead of my lies between my ears. </span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I stood at that finish line and watched the first of my friends to cross. I found Beth, squeezed her tight and congratulated her on a fantastic PR! We waited for the rest of our group with smiles on our faces. I wasn't about to let my bad day ruin their great success stories of the day. We continued to enjoy the day outside, soaking up the sun, enjoying each others company, and catching up on life. These are the people I don't get to see nearly enough anymore. But everytime I see them, I'm reminded how MUCH MORE of them I need in my life. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCUWqhvBqKcjVmnzzueF4VJDzuCcHZGXsBY4mgU5Hm8pBNQlv6BtbYlkT8ynbYJ7vOZAZL5oaxIxS7ipUq38Qp675_IG6RzJqTBlNiUVOTcUS7cpBlzsstDvxBl6gheq4aXfPjKlnp74X/s1600/IMG_4103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCUWqhvBqKcjVmnzzueF4VJDzuCcHZGXsBY4mgU5Hm8pBNQlv6BtbYlkT8ynbYJ7vOZAZL5oaxIxS7ipUq38Qp675_IG6RzJqTBlNiUVOTcUS7cpBlzsstDvxBl6gheq4aXfPjKlnp74X/s400/IMG_4103.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brian ran in a 20lb weighted vest to raise money for Miseracordia<br />
Sub 2 hour half!<br />
Great success!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxLSO9vxuXIuQtlI1rrFQ_Dd7s84Jk2MIVRjiUSx6idSUjuoiCKB7LRpvD9z2B9t_-htJfSOdJ00uwgYIrBqLdzIcB3ZwrYyHcf46LSrnPDVoiInzuONCEEWipa7FLHs2611F0xAX_LiG/s1600/IMG_4107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxLSO9vxuXIuQtlI1rrFQ_Dd7s84Jk2MIVRjiUSx6idSUjuoiCKB7LRpvD9z2B9t_-htJfSOdJ00uwgYIrBqLdzIcB3ZwrYyHcf46LSrnPDVoiInzuONCEEWipa7FLHs2611F0xAX_LiG/s400/IMG_4107.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "short" friends<br />
"Hurry let's get a picture before the tall people finish and make us feel like midgets"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWq0AMCB95vohNk0gYPNZi9dUwsi7IjgHuM4tlz5t7QU0iIk4HEXmbVErOn0qqAmVhaAvhIISF3YJzzt2ass9qSVdAJ8uZTQLypSoJvYLZU3sweiDV7WdtEcdD1x6UIi7sb1R_MVdtHNNX/s1600/IMG_4112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWq0AMCB95vohNk0gYPNZi9dUwsi7IjgHuM4tlz5t7QU0iIk4HEXmbVErOn0qqAmVhaAvhIISF3YJzzt2ass9qSVdAJ8uZTQLypSoJvYLZU3sweiDV7WdtEcdD1x6UIi7sb1R_MVdtHNNX/s400/IMG_4112.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I rest my case.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRFSoRQbAKHQwvEkh0o9m4xQMGoh8_9omPhky8rrLTqIrKL2xSxXENo1AkDX2q6fsREPBdTxzUhJRc1WOALYmGEB5987fC_xLMBtYrcy4dBEC8eg1Z70-LzBF2dL53jvm6GB-q82nRpmA/s1600/IMG_4109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRFSoRQbAKHQwvEkh0o9m4xQMGoh8_9omPhky8rrLTqIrKL2xSxXENo1AkDX2q6fsREPBdTxzUhJRc1WOALYmGEB5987fC_xLMBtYrcy4dBEC8eg1Z70-LzBF2dL53jvm6GB-q82nRpmA/s400/IMG_4109.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once more because π</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Another sidenote: I took my Normatec boots with me on the trip and of course let everyone use them post-race. I'm not quite sure who enjoyed them more, but the picture below.. it's why I love this girl. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewoCI9qHunnMcYDxijs-Zg39AOYngZdLRyUZvQkQ9kd_Y6LjGCJdaDhyCJ4eWVZX4IgTOQtFuwFpNd3d9rWUeQ-lgOE3W2x3LEZFR7brEtA25ysuYYYli3wgJhQF_Glc3ZtvN73rAjbyk/s1600/IMG_4132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewoCI9qHunnMcYDxijs-Zg39AOYngZdLRyUZvQkQ9kd_Y6LjGCJdaDhyCJ4eWVZX4IgTOQtFuwFpNd3d9rWUeQ-lgOE3W2x3LEZFR7brEtA25ysuYYYli3wgJhQF_Glc3ZtvN73rAjbyk/s400/IMG_4132.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#zeroshitsgiven</td></tr>
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<div style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And to top it off, I gained a couple Bridesmaids that weekend. Jacqui, closest thing to my twin over the last couple of years, said "yes" on the car ride down to Champaign on Friday night. And Beth and Heather, 2 of the worlds greatest college roommates turned best friends turned practically sisters, they agreed to stand next to me the day I say "I do." It was kind of fun and special to be able to ask them that particular weekend. Because exactly 6 years ago on the same weekend (Illinois Marathon weekend), Heather asked both Beth and I to stand for her wedding. I guess you could say it was a little dejavu for sure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I still have a lot of work to do before Grandma's. Mentally and physically. A lot can still happen and I know what I've got to do in order to see the success I plan for. Cross all your fingers and your toes, say your prayers, and send me all the good vibes. Because the good Lord knows I'm sure as hell gonna need it come race day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Cheers.</span></div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-9639127048551594602018-04-27T05:20:00.000-05:002018-04-27T07:41:17.387-05:00Tell the World I'm Comin' Home<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
If ever there was a week where emotions were all over the place... this is the week.</div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Two years ago, I won a free Ironman entry and used it to race Ironman Texas with Jacqui and Ryan. An unforeseen hailstorm/monsoon took over the run course, knocking down the finish line, finish shoot, and ultimately stopping parts of the race until the weather passed. I decided I wasn't done with Texas just yet. Last year, I toed the line again. This time just Ryan and myself. I ended up puking up my insides multiples times on the bike and run course after the extremely dirty swim canal portion of the course poisoned me. At the time, I swore off Ironman Texas forever. But I can't help but feel like I still haven't finished what I've started down in The Woodlands, Texas. Tomorrow is Ironman Texas. Spoiler Alert: I'm not racing Ironman Texas this weekend.</div>
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This winter, I made the decision to devote 2018 to getting faster on the run. That didn't mean letting my bike collect dust. I still bike and swim 3 times a week, but with less intensity. My runs however,<em> talk about a wake up call. </em>My legs have entered a whole new arena and every day I learn something different about my run legs (that have been running for 20+ years). BQ or bust has become the motto for this year, the big test will take place in June at Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, Minnesota. We're about 8 weeks out from Grandma's and I've decided to see where my speed lies in the half marathon distance this weekend. I'm headed back home to the Alma Mater, Champaign, Illinois. My junior year at the University of Illinois was the Inaugural year for the Illinois Marathon Weekend. That particular year I ran the relay with a group of friends. My senior year I ran my first marathon and crossed the finish line on the 50 yard line of Memorial Stadium and then graduated 2 weeks later. For about 3 years after I graduated, my college group met back in Champaign and toed the line and then pretended like we were still in college. <i>To say this race holds some sentimental value would be an understatement.</i> It's been about 5 years since the band has met up at our old stompin' grounds. Until today.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vurl65Fm_FCx9e7mR_KdvHmBshtxZoPxv-1ytP20jWSmcc2L6HB_Bs0jEJpwFX9FHskGELXlp9xgVcm-pSdwxyx7KSrYacMOcrMUNLAlFdglr7fDWZ_ZhwMfFiWWUDfnH0FFj0P9okDH/s1600/IMG_4068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="960" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Vurl65Fm_FCx9e7mR_KdvHmBshtxZoPxv-1ytP20jWSmcc2L6HB_Bs0jEJpwFX9FHskGELXlp9xgVcm-pSdwxyx7KSrYacMOcrMUNLAlFdglr7fDWZ_ZhwMfFiWWUDfnH0FFj0P9okDH/s400/IMG_4068.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That one time Rob ran his first Half Marathon and made the front page of the local paper ;)<br />
Illinois Half Marathon 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6EL0dHyrK8rpDfHhH0MsFS0UKvVCPsFl8hDsVqG8Xr7usxGy9afQtS-i5IGYD-kfSK4bnS1w2eEMMoiqkCKEvjjwwvTnYmLDSGlKE1S1wGR1Z8M1STKgFKEPNEvrBpkyWm0VCy_3Yrxh/s1600/IMG_3950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="277" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN6EL0dHyrK8rpDfHhH0MsFS0UKvVCPsFl8hDsVqG8Xr7usxGy9afQtS-i5IGYD-kfSK4bnS1w2eEMMoiqkCKEvjjwwvTnYmLDSGlKE1S1wGR1Z8M1STKgFKEPNEvrBpkyWm0VCy_3Yrxh/s400/IMG_3950.JPG" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Illinois Marathon<br />
Circa 2010, mile 2 of my first marathon as a college Senior</td></tr>
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There's nothing more I want than to head back to my home away from home and enjoy a weekend full of running highs and celebratory beers with a group of friends that I don't get to see nearly enough. I want to run by the Alma Mater on Green St and feel her welcoming me back home. I want to drive by my old dorm and peer up to the 8th floor and wonder if the the drama is still thick as hell that high off the ground. I want to knock on my old apartment door with the best roommates a girl could ever ask for and inspect the cleanliness of it now (because God knows we had the damn cleanest place on campus). I want to roam campus and take in the beauty. I want to walk into one of my favorite book stores and have an internal argument with myself over how much new Illini gear I<i> really do need.</i> I want to go to my favorite watering hole and order a beer for dirt cheap while I sit and wonder, "Just how many people in this bar are ACTUALLY 21 right now?" And so much more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWLBXecnPQ_rN_2mT17T-dwH8LqyVz0USyts5IYJCd4H3l2QgkMpcdbDw-smUETP65jtm0_vWKJ3ln_BZi-MOq8FLA4uAEB0hKNzoT-_DGzI_LBEznI23BwMNNVzRUXXzresSGe8LTAUQ/s1600/IMG_3954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="404" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWLBXecnPQ_rN_2mT17T-dwH8LqyVz0USyts5IYJCd4H3l2QgkMpcdbDw-smUETP65jtm0_vWKJ3ln_BZi-MOq8FLA4uAEB0hKNzoT-_DGzI_LBEznI23BwMNNVzRUXXzresSGe8LTAUQ/s400/IMG_3954.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post race of my first marathon - trying to hobble to the family!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hghHKLhFlt6us_gIL1nhOAZLuHSoFUchVcauritqktv3wkAl5r51pPemsl60oUQMnJrz3yeUKUj6tGYvg_RqoHPNVQVbQjF3fdcPR8a2n5pA2jkkH2IjEZOxh_QY8CvHJaIzrGkxW4k3/s1600/illinois+2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="563" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hghHKLhFlt6us_gIL1nhOAZLuHSoFUchVcauritqktv3wkAl5r51pPemsl60oUQMnJrz3yeUKUj6tGYvg_RqoHPNVQVbQjF3fdcPR8a2n5pA2jkkH2IjEZOxh_QY8CvHJaIzrGkxW4k3/s400/illinois+2009.jpg" width="372" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inaugural Illinois Marathon Weekend 2009 (junior year)<br />
Ricky, Megan, Brian (full Marathon), Kevin and Jordan<br />
Relay Team Name: The 3 Cocksmen and A Pretty Cool Chick π</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">But. There's always a but. This whole week, my mind and my heart have been split in 2. </span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">This time last year you were on a plane to meet Ryan in the Woodlands. This time last year you were checking in your bike. This time last year you were sitting at dinner when Dad and Uncle JB surprised you from the corner of the restaurant. </i><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">We all know how Ironman Texas ended for me last year. In the past 3 weeks I've thought alot about "what were you doing at this time last year." No, not because I'm stuck in the past and can't move on. But because </span><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">I have some serious unfinished business in Texas. </i><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I won't be jumping into Lake Woodlands this year, or even next year. But one day. One day I'll be back to finish what I started. I've stared at my bike a lot this winter from my yoga mat while I stretch after a run. I miss Matilda more than I ever thought I would. I miss the wobbling sensation you feel as you hop off after a killer workout that pushed some watts only refrigerators should know exist. And the pool. Oh the pool. While I'm still swimming, my arms never feel like noodles anymore. <i>I miss my noodle arms.</i> I miss the odd things about triathlon that you hate in the moment. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTszgYzFxor-G9gx_0hyphenhyphenRn-R47iFQv9aVa_YrpRM2s09BeUJ8xbx_GyYkOEOcja5JlKL3mml5FkZQSqxjS3SvRtGQDeRbGfEUt5-_x1SngZXVHmd3EH1sLkf6GlqSK2l4lKMVC-555jxPA/s1600/TexasSwim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="1080" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTszgYzFxor-G9gx_0hyphenhyphenRn-R47iFQv9aVa_YrpRM2s09BeUJ8xbx_GyYkOEOcja5JlKL3mml5FkZQSqxjS3SvRtGQDeRbGfEUt5-_x1SngZXVHmd3EH1sLkf6GlqSK2l4lKMVC-555jxPA/s400/TexasSwim.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I miss the sea of swim caps. Who knew?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC1DguKYbqbHS2-kkiKJApuhqW4seOb7I4erOBoj1oxWb4b2V6TGtMbtNVfmRMfGHAUgBmyJK3Ji-EVBZ-Eh0iOxYL6_RZpGGUgs8x-I_ASY7sBlLut8uc0WYznBUCG0haTPeX_Mlyk-2/s1600/50_m-100758510-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-1874_084650-7094671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzC1DguKYbqbHS2-kkiKJApuhqW4seOb7I4erOBoj1oxWb4b2V6TGtMbtNVfmRMfGHAUgBmyJK3Ji-EVBZ-Eh0iOxYL6_RZpGGUgs8x-I_ASY7sBlLut8uc0WYznBUCG0haTPeX_Mlyk-2/s400/50_m-100758510-DIGITAL_HIGHRES-1874_084650-7094671.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This π<br />
Ironman Texas finish line 2017</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br />I told Ryan the other day that the fact that I'm not signed up for a single triathlon at the moment seriously makes me sad. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">"Triathlons aren't going anywhere. Eyes on the prize!" - Speedy G</span></blockquote>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">We practically said the same phrase in sync. I know what I want and I'm going after it. But I'll be damned if it's not harder than ever to not want what I can't have at the moment. But the reality is I'm </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>more excited that I'm currently driving to Champaign, IL with Jacqui instead of checking in my bike in The Woodlands, Texas. </i>My time will come again in the Ironman and triathlon world, maybe sooner than later or later than sooner, who knows. But there's no time like the present. And I can't wait to see what my legs can do tomorrow morning. The last time my legs touched this course I was still your runner who trained with miles logged instead of speed workouts and intensity. I've seen the beauty of this campus more than enough. Tomorrow, I'm ready to see it in a blur as I fly by. I want to greet the winds of the South Farms with open arms (well, more like closed because that wouldn't be aero, right Speedy? π€£). </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">And in all honesty, I can't wait to see what post-race will look like for my college group at the ripe old age of 29-30. Because back when we were in our prime, we hosted the classiest of events named "Short Shorts and Favorite Sports", where all attendees were required to wear the shortest shorts they owned with their favorite sports jersey. Of course we served the finest of beverages as well. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnlSxfJTlh1Ijj28eKx4xUqKF4jstCl_pNwaRgeNn4413W3pa5XCoRACUcZJ-49DZ6CtBA-iPLkgVU43VM3suU-NHZTZORPLIJ3_nlD07v6hbuaY0UH8-ThHRGfy3HNPrXZuWtGdRXILh/s1600/IMG_3953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="720" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnlSxfJTlh1Ijj28eKx4xUqKF4jstCl_pNwaRgeNn4413W3pa5XCoRACUcZJ-49DZ6CtBA-iPLkgVU43VM3suU-NHZTZORPLIJ3_nlD07v6hbuaY0UH8-ThHRGfy3HNPrXZuWtGdRXILh/s400/IMG_3953.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, Rob is wearing a pair of my running shorts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmz4_9vRuthcMafevwArFEZThWkDmfGURvku1z8D9T-mCF0sGPcXXGEsDeotPsChyILNXYb_rzu-71Plj4fnQUXpCZOSqJ6zr2XtRgbRW4TSRVH7tpW-b2Z3xqUTnuTijwZpEJ72TfWqd/s1600/IMG_3952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="720" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmz4_9vRuthcMafevwArFEZThWkDmfGURvku1z8D9T-mCF0sGPcXXGEsDeotPsChyILNXYb_rzu-71Plj4fnQUXpCZOSqJ6zr2XtRgbRW4TSRVH7tpW-b2Z3xqUTnuTijwZpEJ72TfWqd/s400/IMG_3952.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My partner in crime in the 217 area code </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">This year, my partner in crime, Beth and her husband Jordan, have opened up their home to us. Yes, as of very recently, they are officially full time residents of 217 area code. Beth can't get enough of academia as she is now employed by the University of Illinois, of course involved with all things science and business. So I guess you could say, I can technically head back "home" whenever I feel like it.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbFEd6DV98CuPW_kemOI9PYBcKVEKsJmElYK0w-enEjmsDFhyphenhyphenFzCaG86a7mZtkEwsT_0Wrf4JTiF4Z185Yuz7smOmhxxRHxTm3nrQrLKFldc5kuB46d-Q4TZP4grk_bO8fA0okHmVbnZ6/s1600/IMG_4070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="960" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbFEd6DV98CuPW_kemOI9PYBcKVEKsJmElYK0w-enEjmsDFhyphenhyphenFzCaG86a7mZtkEwsT_0Wrf4JTiF4Z185Yuz7smOmhxxRHxTm3nrQrLKFldc5kuB46d-Q4TZP4grk_bO8fA0okHmVbnZ6/s400/IMG_4070.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And who knows, maybe I'll convince Rob to run the Half Marathon again!<br />
Rob, Me, Beth post Half Marathon in 2012</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And of course this week of all weeks my VERY NEWLY acquired allergies have decided to make quite the appearance, making me sound like a man at times. Not to worry, I have purchased some solid stock in Allegra D which will be enough to get me through the race with minimal flem. Along with an annoying flare up of my IT band/hamstring/we're not sure what muscle is so tight right now. I've had my pre-race massage and I've taken my RnR this week to make sure all systems are a go. My bags are packed, Jacqui and I are on the road, (with coffee of course), and the fun is awaiting our arrival. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Stay tuned. Cheers.</span></div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-15603237343347599352018-03-30T08:20:00.000-05:002018-03-30T13:24:54.501-05:00The Green GuysIf you've run the Bank of America Shamrock Shuffle in the last 11 years, chances are you've seen one of the infamous Green Guys running through The Loop. Confused? Let me enlighten you:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUdhM9MnCTPGkfE-iHyjYpc1OADwVG0a37A_enKVFprY0CXg2kj6rrR4Nt0Ht0cAVdM24w5fFxzaXfHGTFWQyiRMTs9Dr5CCFll4O1UnHzP4Ls44fctLfEwhH72v7Ubu1ZFg0SQOM5IKJ/s1600/IMG_3496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUdhM9MnCTPGkfE-iHyjYpc1OADwVG0a37A_enKVFprY0CXg2kj6rrR4Nt0Ht0cAVdM24w5fFxzaXfHGTFWQyiRMTs9Dr5CCFll4O1UnHzP4Ls44fctLfEwhH72v7Ubu1ZFg0SQOM5IKJ/s400/IMG_3496.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yea, I wasn't kidding. All the G R E E N π</td></tr>
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I'm very <strike>proud</strike> to state that these incognito people are my friends, one my brother. In reality, I envy them and their courage to run the streets of Chicago in March half naked. </div>
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<i>But Megan.. What? Why..? I'm so confused.. Just.. huh? </i></div>
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Right, I know. I was in the same boat the first time I saw these guys floating across my TV screen while I sat on my bike, pedaling away on a Sunday morning training for Ironman Wisconsin circa 2014. </div>
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Let's back up. I met John Atchison and his wife in 2015 at the Egg Shell Shuffle, all of us volunteering our time for good friends Jacqui and Ryan (Mr. And Mrs. Speedy). Less than 3 months later, we were signed up to race across the country together in Lake Placid, New York. In reality, I had "known" John for a while, I just had no idea. John proposed to his wife Brittany the morning of my first Ironman in Madison, Wisconsin. John and I were both racing. I got out of the water and proceeded to my bike. John got out of the water and snagged a ring from Ryan and popped the question to Brittany on the helix. Ryan had told me about the plan millions of times. <i>"I'm sorry I can't see you before the race starts, I have to save a spot on the helix!"</i> Fast forward to the run and I remember seeing a guy running on the course wearing a tuxedo. <i>Oh, that's Ryan's friend John. He proposed this morning!</i> This guy, I knew before I "knew" him. He's all about the fun and makin' memories. And his large heart was clearly evident. It should have been no surprise to me that this was the same guy I saw running across my TV screen in March, completely covered in green body paint at the Shamrock Shuffle. </div>
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Back in 2008, John convinced long time friend Ryan to invest in an $8 container of paint, a green afro wig, and a pair of green tights to run the Shamrock Shuffle. I can't tell you if it was a long conversation or not, but I can tell you that that's how the Green Guys were born. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTqAERmJe9LTozYM0NTGIAXpML0VtxSc2TMjvW1C0WZMeuRSIExH3s1Y0DmkBDmazvhqtS1C101NmveVhohAmMM4_jLDDgle-j5QBHIQCHyEzqA7wBk6FepVbWnfJtv2nDiK_MXXyCX52/s1600/558520_352968228097353_1538136332_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTqAERmJe9LTozYM0NTGIAXpML0VtxSc2TMjvW1C0WZMeuRSIExH3s1Y0DmkBDmazvhqtS1C101NmveVhohAmMM4_jLDDgle-j5QBHIQCHyEzqA7wBk6FepVbWnfJtv2nDiK_MXXyCX52/s400/558520_352968228097353_1538136332_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bank of America Shamrock Shuffle 2008</td></tr>
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And the rest is history. Over the years, John has recruited a few of his closest friends to run alongside him during the kick off to Chicago's racing scene. The only constant over the years has been John himself. 2009 resulted in blizzard-like conditions, easily the worst weather he's ever had to run {naked} in. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpGEAPGXZKpheJf7aCQO2RxdFX4aC5n5_Sik3d-pKf3te0k50iRkVGvSHs53Xr4Ya8FLFEJ-a8a6SXij22lESHaz4VJ7J18t9nS_Rp_KEH7CQ3Galtq77HNbdB3dKusgsz7PlPyhA8BF0/s1600/432075_519847841409390_350294642_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="477" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpGEAPGXZKpheJf7aCQO2RxdFX4aC5n5_Sik3d-pKf3te0k50iRkVGvSHs53Xr4Ya8FLFEJ-a8a6SXij22lESHaz4VJ7J18t9nS_Rp_KEH7CQ3Galtq77HNbdB3dKusgsz7PlPyhA8BF0/s400/432075_519847841409390_350294642_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2011<br />
RJ Pucci, Oscar Munoz, John Atchison, Ryan Giuliano</td></tr>
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The Green Guys multiplied over the years, the painting got a little easier each time, and the look started to make a name for itself. They began to be noticed as "The Green Guys." Walking around before or after the race proved to be difficult, photo opportunities aplenty with every stranger they encountered. </div>
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In 2014 the first Green Girl was added to the lineup. John will tell you this might have been a turning point for The Green Guys. At the time, John had convinced his princess to paint herself green and run the streets of Chicago. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjGoRML__80YzBpBxEr8FE4o8BvGR6-R_uWfHmwJHkFTFHWtJ07bvhDerENiaWpG6mlN7sBfQU4fqGNbsZ7pzI1ZBP_es4uD9_PwtdCnrFAbN-4sw-F_JA8xY3tZI8-SUZcGO8LKmSMmC/s1600/10372540_827696563957848_9072389257216265631_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjGoRML__80YzBpBxEr8FE4o8BvGR6-R_uWfHmwJHkFTFHWtJ07bvhDerENiaWpG6mlN7sBfQU4fqGNbsZ7pzI1ZBP_es4uD9_PwtdCnrFAbN-4sw-F_JA8xY3tZI8-SUZcGO8LKmSMmC/s320/10372540_827696563957848_9072389257216265631_n.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2014<br />
RJ Pucci, Oscar Munoz, Brittany Sorensen, John Atchison</td></tr>
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Little did she know she'd soon be married into this crazy tradition. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk2RfH2ScyhKzUDEsSvpLp7PDEYYKyd51VbxiwZeLUoE8_lRaY4OwVYWzKwQSQtVLGytR5HsAc185oGQV1Z7oFDSe0TmuV-fG7RsdZdVnIGzuhP1o8msFm08AoC3h8QqwFY01AJd2z3HR/s1600/proposal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="809" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk2RfH2ScyhKzUDEsSvpLp7PDEYYKyd51VbxiwZeLUoE8_lRaY4OwVYWzKwQSQtVLGytR5HsAc185oGQV1Z7oFDSe0TmuV-fG7RsdZdVnIGzuhP1o8msFm08AoC3h8QqwFY01AJd2z3HR/s400/proposal.jpg" width="336" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2015, just a few months prior to the Wedding Bells!</td></tr>
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At some point during all of this Green, The Bank of America noticed The Green Guys. Enough so that this happened: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAyog_pfGph1yfEpOWDmRFEcKqLDhnVcKTwuvS6WuUv4ZaBke4QrdIPSfpt12NTspoCo3GyqnIENXUc-LfqQVi6REgg2XyUrrpFXCa5c0SZRWBqjdwEcrqycY7Bi7VXduzsI_fCdTMFYi/s1600/Expo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAyog_pfGph1yfEpOWDmRFEcKqLDhnVcKTwuvS6WuUv4ZaBke4QrdIPSfpt12NTspoCo3GyqnIENXUc-LfqQVi6REgg2XyUrrpFXCa5c0SZRWBqjdwEcrqycY7Bi7VXduzsI_fCdTMFYi/s400/Expo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#famous</td></tr>
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Yes, that is the entrance to Shamrock Shuffle expo. And yes, those are my green friends faces greeting every.single.person that walks in the door. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAZx0Xc7zc5SUmpnYFy4BvY73U5tW4WLoGdyN4HoXTG4ZcXLcwT-p-vsNolmL8rcilGTy4OBcUQUqJGrjd_UR8LPLUCCs8dCCFsVYd68PrEHBJz789MhkewKWqWCh79-2c0F0miOE8IT1/s1600/10399806_1048690348525134_6974555742672085648_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAZx0Xc7zc5SUmpnYFy4BvY73U5tW4WLoGdyN4HoXTG4ZcXLcwT-p-vsNolmL8rcilGTy4OBcUQUqJGrjd_UR8LPLUCCs8dCCFsVYd68PrEHBJz789MhkewKWqWCh79-2c0F0miOE8IT1/s400/10399806_1048690348525134_6974555742672085648_n.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2016 - John, Brittany, RJ<br />
I mean, how cool? </td></tr>
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I guess you could say this was practically a dream come true for John. What you don't know is that he's a physical education teacher in the Chicago Public School system. He spends day in and day out trying to make America's youth as active as he can. For years, he had painted himself green to run a race and maybe just inspire a student or 2 along the way. <i>"Green means go! Go out, have fun, be healthy and enjoy life!" </i>Yea, that's The Green Guy's motto. </div>
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Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, 2017 happened. It made the papers and John still raves about it to this day: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIjWdZ4vQxwS_7RCxQvkwJqrHyxCA9OHs16OAl7qzTcwcm-pq0EaidiEtDfusRH59Upedaz4j-Wbkn_rLEfNOX5ts79KBMPUYxSNRsZosN9ocp8vjrzvVigyB-cH7e9LQ7ipi8POMcS6_/s1600/12920401_1050761271651375_5883260591419279696_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIjWdZ4vQxwS_7RCxQvkwJqrHyxCA9OHs16OAl7qzTcwcm-pq0EaidiEtDfusRH59Upedaz4j-Wbkn_rLEfNOX5ts79KBMPUYxSNRsZosN9ocp8vjrzvVigyB-cH7e9LQ7ipi8POMcS6_/s400/12920401_1050761271651375_5883260591419279696_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"GUYS! I was the first to the Pedestrian Bridge! Photo proof!"<br />
2017 Shamrock Shuffle starting line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSXUuX0W-faaUHOrMkFJIkiPK7tc8uCyY-RNDIyRDDiZ7SO2-MKW8k1QkLnXy0JCPh_U2O-CrXc9c2V29UIrcm-Cfxo7dXhM4dIpLOI1NNKyKj5HNXz0RFNDr0xPbHTqb52assDV0nbzu/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="750" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSXUuX0W-faaUHOrMkFJIkiPK7tc8uCyY-RNDIyRDDiZ7SO2-MKW8k1QkLnXy0JCPh_U2O-CrXc9c2V29UIrcm-Cfxo7dXhM4dIpLOI1NNKyKj5HNXz0RFNDr0xPbHTqb52assDV0nbzu/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cruisin' with the elites π</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And that brings us to present day. John convinced a few others to join his posse, my brother included. When I found out that the Mark was joining in the fun, I decided to sherpa/spectate/document this Green Guy process. I pulled out of my driveway at 4am, parked my car at 5am, walked into The Chicago Hilton at 5:15am, knocked on The Green Guys door at 5:17am, and by 5:30am the painting started.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxpCjra10xjKjw4g6KvQjqX01HUmzoC_o5uXrajlhZVyAokSnEGcq9czDRQ0gXKlLyigRQH7UhlorDXf0dJn7UygDq1Kju_zyYBMzRyzVlpAtbpliJmZOZ-Uy-kgxK5C3KmyO3qV-valp/s1600/IMG_3453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxpCjra10xjKjw4g6KvQjqX01HUmzoC_o5uXrajlhZVyAokSnEGcq9czDRQ0gXKlLyigRQH7UhlorDXf0dJn7UygDq1Kju_zyYBMzRyzVlpAtbpliJmZOZ-Uy-kgxK5C3KmyO3qV-valp/s400/IMG_3453.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 people in a tiny Chicago hotel bathroom<br />
Good thing we're all friends</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja87mpYtJSnwXmID-5dEMOzIhUwcI3KSuvwmQlv9NliV8C_qU1iSEMr3ku_1Y9dK01T6awJgEEkYmdeCvbJh0dBIUSac0_NQ_Dr3izrjgfTXWzFxkkzgyeNXbNN0fCwcSK0kf-yC44Bqn2/s1600/IMG_3444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja87mpYtJSnwXmID-5dEMOzIhUwcI3KSuvwmQlv9NliV8C_qU1iSEMr3ku_1Y9dK01T6awJgEEkYmdeCvbJh0dBIUSac0_NQ_Dr3izrjgfTXWzFxkkzgyeNXbNN0fCwcSK0kf-yC44Bqn2/s400/IMG_3444.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somehow these 2 snagged their own bathroom?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I learned a lot in the hour and a half it took everyone to get ready. I learned that 3 fingers dipped into a cup of water works best to moisten the paint. I learned that circular motions make for the most even green appearance. I learned that this process is <strike>one of the cleanest.</strike></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxzV3sRfU9BFHXF8StQCM0wFtemjaRrDMN1QzHOOgjijkRXCrzuUrmKFwU5SEYc44OSZFT8OuoJe-8l6RBMglycGbig9U1nBvEtj0KH-0VaBsznMRlTvwwEahOQsuwc_wQmeWN05F_pJT/s1600/IMG_5298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxzV3sRfU9BFHXF8StQCM0wFtemjaRrDMN1QzHOOgjijkRXCrzuUrmKFwU5SEYc44OSZFT8OuoJe-8l6RBMglycGbig9U1nBvEtj0KH-0VaBsznMRlTvwwEahOQsuwc_wQmeWN05F_pJT/s400/IMG_5298.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And to think... John used to do this at his own house!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksGYYbed6Q1CMBpShHkN0Pw7aFt-fZ5p7Wegj9yOEBBCiUAPufQAfR9tFZZWutvPPeGxoMB_6epTZhu76rSLaWIReibwUa6UdWNV9ENwtYMP5f4LWlc4fuX2kWmiW_0Cy_LvwSz9XBHz8/s1600/IMG_E3463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksGYYbed6Q1CMBpShHkN0Pw7aFt-fZ5p7Wegj9yOEBBCiUAPufQAfR9tFZZWutvPPeGxoMB_6epTZhu76rSLaWIReibwUa6UdWNV9ENwtYMP5f4LWlc4fuX2kWmiW_0Cy_LvwSz9XBHz8/s400/IMG_E3463.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's like a leprechaun peed everywhere!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, it came time to head down to the race start. John huddled everyone together and said, "Alright, here are the rules!" <i>Rules? What's he talking about?</i> "When we get into the lobby of the hotel, you can take pictures with people if they ask. At some point we'll have to leave, but some pictures are ok right now." <i>You gotta be kidding me smalls, this is gonna be like walking around with a celebrity. </i>And that it was.<br />
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpzZCXJOab9K7v-sZVuG-Zqyv_CurU5LalaaDyAc6wcGbQ8PBXCK-Y4XWWRQcDXQQCBIqcc3X7NfezgJmekO10DHsNhwasUcfHQpNBfQs_dmQRt4qA-4bnj17eet7Fk4tFBDo_lrUoZDW/s1600/IMG_3476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpzZCXJOab9K7v-sZVuG-Zqyv_CurU5LalaaDyAc6wcGbQ8PBXCK-Y4XWWRQcDXQQCBIqcc3X7NfezgJmekO10DHsNhwasUcfHQpNBfQs_dmQRt4qA-4bnj17eet7Fk4tFBDo_lrUoZDW/s400/IMG_3476.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because they're classy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I couldn't believe how people swarmed them. <i>"Can I have a picture with you? Oh please, one more! This is so cool!"</i> I stood in the background and watched as the 6 of them entertained the guests of the Chicago Hilton. Eventually it was time to depart. We had to make our way to the Elite tent and meet up with newest Green Girl Amanda McGrory, 7x Paralympic Medalist. <i>Yep, this just got REAL. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Once again, John had to lay out the rules. "Alright, as soon as we walk out the doors, we BOOK IT to the tent! It's COLD! Stop for no one! Take no pictures! JUST GO!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And that we did. We walked outside and the wind cut through me like a knife, <i>and I was wearing all the layers. </i>Shrieks filled the air on Michigan Avenue as we all sprinted down the street and played frogger the entire half mile to the tent. Once inside, I immediately started to sweat bullets while everyone else hugged the heaters that were keeping the tent warm. We found Amanda, said hello, and then made our way to the start line for our photo opportunity. </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4zqy4OO8p5OQM7cruidt3e2bvLI368VMpt3V-jvkN4xS1z24NTVNMPRJ6a8alqs4Pm8w7M3lEWb7T5nXgEIhcOcBesv04KgqJK9tEADc2e0iXonBLVuye0_ALGGy6NJ5xM6qRe-YtHZi/s1600/IMG_5318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4zqy4OO8p5OQM7cruidt3e2bvLI368VMpt3V-jvkN4xS1z24NTVNMPRJ6a8alqs4Pm8w7M3lEWb7T5nXgEIhcOcBesv04KgqJK9tEADc2e0iXonBLVuye0_ALGGy6NJ5xM6qRe-YtHZi/s400/IMG_5318.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're all muscles in a heated tent.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Caveat, I was nervous as soon as we left the hotel. I didn't have a race bib. I didn't have any official credentials. I was just their sidekick. After the Boston Marathon bombings, race security it always very tight and I was convinced that I would be held back at some point. Except, security allowed me all the way to the starting line, hassle free.</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdWQI7ng0szam6l9dxftuefM0JT0V3uAb6UJVHy46y51DRGrLc7ye9VZ0X7LRpmqySjNAhf-4SXCx7lX12dBQbH7lz0tMpe-sgGbxxjivSTHLmu3lStcK_9Ew_aY8GDcMxZl9Uq8oaNMF/s1600/IMG_3496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGdWQI7ng0szam6l9dxftuefM0JT0V3uAb6UJVHy46y51DRGrLc7ye9VZ0X7LRpmqySjNAhf-4SXCx7lX12dBQbH7lz0tMpe-sgGbxxjivSTHLmu3lStcK_9Ew_aY8GDcMxZl9Uq8oaNMF/s400/IMG_3496.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once more, because it just makes me smile soπππ<br />
Eric, Brittany, Mark, RJ, John, Matt and Amanda in the front!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
They even let me sneak in for a group photo!</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWscBLuvwsfIpDzSrVyvBy2sF896z7oIGu-kdiYszzTMtU5wKegZaDWDXTry-Z7Ck_Ety0IPK0UegEur7tpKUB9WX6Du8Yf1ZXscclEpdUrM9CWXxBWJucgqZoOhjydquVezhCETfM_5-_/s1600/IMG_3497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWscBLuvwsfIpDzSrVyvBy2sF896z7oIGu-kdiYszzTMtU5wKegZaDWDXTry-Z7Ck_Ety0IPK0UegEur7tpKUB9WX6Du8Yf1ZXscclEpdUrM9CWXxBWJucgqZoOhjydquVezhCETfM_5-_/s400/IMG_3497.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hey coach, is this aero?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIwrKd1R5StySaNsGra91W2PHZuKEWCZO1NR6N9ja6iV_eK17KugKJ3mhoEjg6TUljqaoa7x0Mw49nhp87aMEcZ9LJAxTeVN_X_pOWMJjDxiTFCdsxDW5XONO-9bMwZs3h6naHp1eGNsN/s1600/IMG_3510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIwrKd1R5StySaNsGra91W2PHZuKEWCZO1NR6N9ja6iV_eK17KugKJ3mhoEjg6TUljqaoa7x0Mw49nhp87aMEcZ9LJAxTeVN_X_pOWMJjDxiTFCdsxDW5XONO-9bMwZs3h6naHp1eGNsN/s400/IMG_3510.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The originator and his beautiful Green Bride </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNm8wQlmeyGJOQof9Yo5_LgMPcb1XJv2kEpdeY31K2JDSzTdFqtJtjv_-JAmN9agYyaIVYoIJYeMIMWBcTBhwRupZBF5KEnCTo7JR7BA7tNYa7TDE3Hwu4Gid5C7lieWpcufynHu39T2U/s1600/IMG_3507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNm8wQlmeyGJOQof9Yo5_LgMPcb1XJv2kEpdeY31K2JDSzTdFqtJtjv_-JAmN9agYyaIVYoIJYeMIMWBcTBhwRupZBF5KEnCTo7JR7BA7tNYa7TDE3Hwu4Gid5C7lieWpcufynHu39T2U/s400/IMG_3507.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark and I </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXqMtqh73wg1T5Bg8-bFu05UvJkU7fj7DL1nN1NMg2Dxl2mNI6f9xnuBuZdbG-zaRtvehKSZmSwN2_dSxzKvGLJjiah0Og9mgGFblQ-jWzaPcikCMNbFnwvEazL31qzXyL8PHGeR9xsBx/s400/IMG_3512.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brittany christened me with Green war paint</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXqMtqh73wg1T5Bg8-bFu05UvJkU7fj7DL1nN1NMg2Dxl2mNI6f9xnuBuZdbG-zaRtvehKSZmSwN2_dSxzKvGLJjiah0Og9mgGFblQ-jWzaPcikCMNbFnwvEazL31qzXyL8PHGeR9xsBx/s1600/IMG_3512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXqMtqh73wg1T5Bg8-bFu05UvJkU7fj7DL1nN1NMg2Dxl2mNI6f9xnuBuZdbG-zaRtvehKSZmSwN2_dSxzKvGLJjiah0Og9mgGFblQ-jWzaPcikCMNbFnwvEazL31qzXyL8PHGeR9xsBx/s1600/IMG_3512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div>
Eventually, it was time for me to say my goodbyes and find my spot on the bridge for the starting line photo. I was a little happy to be moving, but not so happy to be in the wide open wind. I got to my position at 8:15, plenty of time to spare (and for my fingers to go numb). Soon the gun went off and the wheelchair athletes took off first, followed by the elites. It was time to play where's waldo! </div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25kVXxINXxuqc0tq6ofuAC9JXpmi4TIEP3Bijwr2qFp-FjNRTzh4fg5OH-Jp5MTcxmU_GLAJjHS5-WrkE-w87JSAYEq6eZjPBk984rAHzK5F8eoF_REXP54GVWUMHwooi7gKBCcGLBJM1/s1600/IMG_5352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25kVXxINXxuqc0tq6ofuAC9JXpmi4TIEP3Bijwr2qFp-FjNRTzh4fg5OH-Jp5MTcxmU_GLAJjHS5-WrkE-w87JSAYEq6eZjPBk984rAHzK5F8eoF_REXP54GVWUMHwooi7gKBCcGLBJM1/s400/IMG_5352.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amanda, leading the wheelchair race!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGNS7de2xTcvy6asx9HlxRIx9uiusKuLFfaxyJVCk4fbwq5gBIk0UtaCMeaN15aM8jJK8Henx219k6FjFGgWOTV_4VZSfW0r8ffmkZK1O4PotZMhX2mmML5JRlHzQOKRju-PhNpHUAjUD/s1600/IMG_5391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGNS7de2xTcvy6asx9HlxRIx9uiusKuLFfaxyJVCk4fbwq5gBIk0UtaCMeaN15aM8jJK8Henx219k6FjFGgWOTV_4VZSfW0r8ffmkZK1O4PotZMhX2mmML5JRlHzQOKRju-PhNpHUAjUD/s400/IMG_5391.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#priceless</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This was an event I wasn't 100% sure I'd attend when Mark made plans to race. Rob and I had originally tried to look at wedding venues that weekend, but the plans fell through. So off to the race I went. And after witnessing what I saw, I couldn't imagine missing it. </div>
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I've heard about The Green Guys a lot, seen all the pictures, and laughed at every story over the years. But it wasn't until I SAW the process, the enthusiasm they have, the joy they ooze, and the memories they create for thousands of people. It wasn't until then that I truly understood The Green Guys. They're a passionate bunch that lace up their shoes and paint themselves green year after year for the love of the sport. They reminded me that this sport and community is one not to be reckoned with. To them, Green means Go. So let's all pull a Green Guy today and <i>GO.</i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-PGPQxYJvCa7W20n8_EsQXXTq8HlzogzIYNITLz1EyqatAy4hjhyphenhyphenTeOWcMpVPz98SXrxEdl6AZmgIO0bndeIywkBekAODNkHZQCxU_qVnYtACsGPZ9B7oi1wylXyEBWAQ2-yCoaKKnHP/s1600/17620559_10213218769443722_2222079828014087717_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1440" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-PGPQxYJvCa7W20n8_EsQXXTq8HlzogzIYNITLz1EyqatAy4hjhyphenhyphenTeOWcMpVPz98SXrxEdl6AZmgIO0bndeIywkBekAODNkHZQCxU_qVnYtACsGPZ9B7oi1wylXyEBWAQ2-yCoaKKnHP/s400/17620559_10213218769443722_2222079828014087717_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#Chirish</td></tr>
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-43075437963973364152018-03-24T07:11:00.000-05:002018-03-24T07:36:25.045-05:00March Madness: When Emotions Run HighI'm honestly not sure how many times I've run this race, but this will be my 3rd time writing about it. And I'm not gonna lie, the keystrokes feel like dejavu every time.<br />
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I <i>always </i>take off faster than I should (even though I was given permission to "bank time" this year by Speedy). I <i>always </i>convince myself around mile 11 that "it's just not my day" and that any sort of success story for the day is off the radar. I <i>always</i> walk away from this race limping for days, fearful of the stairs. I <i>always </i>build this day up more than most would expect. And in the most recent years, <i>I always walk away so.damn.emotional.</i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhch3BvfjeOSpYyUm4aJ3qymumvv_OCJvKaf-cyX1d9MHryafCGTQroTxKJ17oDGugb_T0Col0ts3kZ9DOTHrO6H4TTkn-5O0puIgAJ3_v-vY7WtgQmNmcXNTzgDzuomfFM12ru-oluaLvx/s1600/IMG_0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhch3BvfjeOSpYyUm4aJ3qymumvv_OCJvKaf-cyX1d9MHryafCGTQroTxKJ17oDGugb_T0Col0ts3kZ9DOTHrO6H4TTkn-5O0puIgAJ3_v-vY7WtgQmNmcXNTzgDzuomfFM12ru-oluaLvx/s400/IMG_0008.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year has girl had *something* to do with the emotional part</td></tr>
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Ryan has been working his magic on my legs thus far this winter. Their first test: March Madness Half Marathon. I won't lie, I bow down to those that are full bred runners. I know that the worst is still to come, but I still can't imagine the past 12 weeks without my recovery rides on Sunday afternoons and multiple swims a week to keep my body in check after some wicked speedwork that will damn well keep you honest and humble. Yes, I'm still "young." But not necessarily for someone who has 20 years of running under their belt, still trying to get faster and faster. At some point, things just hurt<i> <strike>all the time.</strike> </i>Waking up in the morning takes a few extra stretches and a little more caffeine. Needless to say, it's been a fun game of "is that hurt, sore, tight, or just a muscle that's getting old?" all winter. </div>
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Ryan never truly asked me about my goals going into March Madness. At one point we had discussed the opportunity of a PR, but as it got closer and closer I think we both knew deep down that the chances were slim. <i>The mountains of Cary, IL are no joke and would require some Hogwarts magic. </i>The week before we both agreed that a <b>COURSE PR</b> wasn't out of the question at all and likely the most realistic option. Sub 1:40 or bust (aka - sub 7:38/mile or better).</div>
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Kati and I took off for a few warm up miles with Todd (Strugglebus member). The 2 had never met, but were quickly acquainted over those 2 miles. We ran back inside to drop our sweats, slurp down a gel, and snag our Speedy friends (Jacqui and Ryan) before heading out to the starting line. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfIoBqRER-waBofJPHikNMyUyNIY7UufOGOUfa-KEixzEgvBiQ9sIqUX4e6W9NovGG08BM5PN47m3WLyb0VJdGvZKk4jV0SIMb8aUG0pafPR6NP-_Dpv2JtcvEEjxkFNggZp3SwmWxEBP/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfIoBqRER-waBofJPHikNMyUyNIY7UufOGOUfa-KEixzEgvBiQ9sIqUX4e6W9NovGG08BM5PN47m3WLyb0VJdGvZKk4jV0SIMb8aUG0pafPR6NP-_Dpv2JtcvEEjxkFNggZp3SwmWxEBP/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Repeat after me: I will not cry. I will not cry.</td></tr>
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With seconds to spare, the 3 RyBread ladies of the group toed the line and all choked back a lump in our throats. You see, exactly a year ago this is where Jacqui and I were formally introduced to Kati as she joined the RyBread team. It's been a year of ups and downs and tears and laughs and everything in between. And today, today was Kati's last race as an Illinois resident. Her bags are packed and her story continues in Golden, Colorado in a few short days. Now, <i>now you see why these final 13 miles hold some serious sentiment.</i></div>
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The gun went off as Kati and I were lost in conversation with her Fleet Feet friends and we simultaneously yelled, "OH SHIT!" as we started our watches. </div>
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Todd and I locked eyes as we took our first steps over the start line and made sure to hang tight to each other. In years past, we're good at hanging out together for as long as possible during this race. But every year it's a mystery: who will drop who and when will it happen? Last year we couldn't run together, but 2 years ago I dropped him at mile 8. I'd be lying if I didn't secretly want that to happen again.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Mile 1: 7:08 </span></b></div>
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Adrenaline movin'. Spectators all along the course. Very steady downhill. The fact that I kept this mile over 7 minutes is damn near a miracle. </div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 2: 7:06</b></span></div>
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Todd and I speak very little as we race. But just after we crossed mile 1 he glanced over at me and said, "How was that?" I responded with, "Perfect. Let's keep it right here for a few more miles." And that we did. We continued to work our way downhill and took full advantage of topography being on our side. </div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 3: 7:12</b></span><br />
The famous "10 mile hill" in reverse. This is where you bank all the time you can. Todd is better at letting his legs go out of control on the downhills, so his stride separated us briefly. Once we found the bottom, we reunited and hung a left, the real fun about to begin.</div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 4 7:24</b></span><br />
A very gradual incline for an entire mile, mile 4 is very deceiving. Your adrenaline is still flowing mighty strong from the start and flying down 10 mile hill, but you don't realize that you're actually climbing the entire mile. I still felt very strong, but knew that my "fast" miles were about over and it was time to lock into the pace I wanted to maintain the rest of the race. Todd, on the other hand, looked about as fresh as I've ever seen him. {Full disclosure: Todd has turned himself into a full blown ultra trail runner. His training takes place in all the forests and his speed never goes over an 8 minute mile on a fast day. How was he holding strong? My mind was blown. <strike>Surely he'll be down for the count soon</strike>.}<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 5 7:30</b></span><br />
Just after we made the right hand turn onto Rawson Bridge Road, I knew it was time to dial it back and settle into my comfort zone. Within seconds of telling Todd it was time for me fall back, long time friend Andrew blew past me and found Todd. The 2 of them chatted and took off together. I kept them in my sights for quite a few miles afterwards. I was perfectly content getting comfy and hopefully finding Todd later on in the race.<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 6 7:40</b></span><br />
The first decent climb kicked my ass {glanced at my watch at one point and read 8:50 pace} but cruised on the downhill. I'm officially in the thick of the hills and there's no turning back now.<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 7:46</b></span><br />
Sneaky hill. Gets me every single time. A quick left into a neighborhood followed by an immediate right greets you with the maybe the steepest hill McHenry county has to offer. And it's a b*tch. Found my groove after getting back out onto Crystal Lake Road. The recovery is short because the next one comes quick and isn't any better.<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 8 7:39 </b></span><br />
Substantial hill reminds me of a large skating ramp. Banked and curved. And never seems to end. But the volunteers handing out gels on the side of the road help the pain and seem to distract me. And as soon as you reach the top, you can start flying downhill and making your way towards the fastest mile of the course. And once I reached the bottom of the hill I spotted Mark, waving and cheering. I did my best to look alive. <strike>Great success.</strike><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn616C6LyWZYtEVQbvuHFnPT3BKcTpa97EhtBGPXtSnszHgb2fPNekg6rRaASzZ8JiGromXvZ9pOYSKdG9loMIeW0Szz_wn46_8_8JG878krQOFGXN7l1wtzMc2XwTG4KJMKS8A9HnFU7n/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn616C6LyWZYtEVQbvuHFnPT3BKcTpa97EhtBGPXtSnszHgb2fPNekg6rRaASzZ8JiGromXvZ9pOYSKdG9loMIeW0Szz_wn46_8_8JG878krQOFGXN7l1wtzMc2XwTG4KJMKS8A9HnFU7n/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't promise pretty pictures.<br />
PS - a small part of me hates this race because look how pasty I am!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsOzpHSMEtEc2vS6BwjDR2dQOMKsXeayMUnBaiEneMUGnGCn1qs9II4mBJUfYggblUbvr0FgqgovsIH2K1nMCGl6VncPHr-jOwPqNzr02rbH1Kyvi3pB6Q0i7J9xaMKI4zZYu1ouPAb9R/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLsOzpHSMEtEc2vS6BwjDR2dQOMKsXeayMUnBaiEneMUGnGCn1qs9II4mBJUfYggblUbvr0FgqgovsIH2K1nMCGl6VncPHr-jOwPqNzr02rbH1Kyvi3pB6Q0i7J9xaMKI4zZYu1ouPAb9R/s400/IMG_0022.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least you can't see the pain from the back. </td></tr>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 9 7:22</b></span></div>
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A very steady decline with the wind (usually) at your back, this mile can be the fastest of the day if you play your cards right. I definitely did some major work to put some time back into the bank. I was hoping for high 7's but was very satisfied with a sub 7:30. Although, the entire time you're running mile 9 you can see mile 10. And mile 10 takes no prisoners. </div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 10 7:57</b></span></div>
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Fully expected. Fully prepared to take the hit. <i>This is why you bank as much time as you can in the early miles. </i>Mile 10 offers the same hill that we flew down during mile 3, a quarter mile of hell. It never ends and will humble the cockiest of souls. I made sure to reserve, short and quick steps up the hill. <i>Let yourself go slow, conserve for the end.</i> The water station at the top of the hill greeted me like the Pearly Gates and I was ready to tackle these final 3 miles. </div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 11 8:08</b></span></div>
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No matter what I did I could not find my groove. The hills are fierce and aggressive these last 3 miles, but I felt like I was throwing down MUCH faster than an 8 minute mile. My body wasn't responding. <i>Shit. Maybe this isn't your day. You don't have enough time in the back for a COURSE PR if you keep this up. Hell, you're not Boston material if you can't get your shit together. Might as well take up chess, Megan. </i></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 12 8:07</b></span></div>
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This hill isn't officially named, but if I had to name it I'd call it "WTF WHERE'S MY BREAK?" hill. I felt like I was crawling. I glanced at my watch and technically, I was. <i>Seriously why the hell do I think this is fun? This is miserable. </i></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><b>Mile 13 7:44</b></span></div>
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This last mile is decent, nothing drastic at all. But your body is literally shot from the first 12 miles. Once my watch clicked at 12 miles and I saw the overall time (1:31) I did some quick math in my head and knew that 1.1 miles in 8 minutes and change was doable if I got my head out of my ass. And I did. Pretty sure my heart rate reached an all time high that last mile (including all the climbing) but it was worth it. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDOYy6rGabEi4US5Fiz4FL-hV2LDeYv8DCsuWqt2KMAzTqJRnrj1iTBou-MJHhGhIm2xalg1cF8-QaFzLQy6M7Fl-K7cSLPMvkZpwxC41-TqO8gmytCW-qmmXe6YrnhG4Pr-KE3jmhbRB/s1600/IMG_0041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDOYy6rGabEi4US5Fiz4FL-hV2LDeYv8DCsuWqt2KMAzTqJRnrj1iTBou-MJHhGhIm2xalg1cF8-QaFzLQy6M7Fl-K7cSLPMvkZpwxC41-TqO8gmytCW-qmmXe6YrnhG4Pr-KE3jmhbRB/s400/IMG_0041.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry dude, you don't get to cross before me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7S6AxZgGpEYeBv0FePl_ENr6ViK_btlk8K8SYQic1GrQ4biAlneF7uq-PgA6DpfaM358L9CaB_sL-JNSdZ-XH0V354C9IjwS-9PbZbZqsgaqiUB0M77qOdoP6VgqfDRBe4DBHR-u5akT/s1600/IMG_0038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7S6AxZgGpEYeBv0FePl_ENr6ViK_btlk8K8SYQic1GrQ4biAlneF7uq-PgA6DpfaM358L9CaB_sL-JNSdZ-XH0V354C9IjwS-9PbZbZqsgaqiUB0M77qOdoP6VgqfDRBe4DBHR-u5akT/s400/IMG_0038.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told ya.</td></tr>
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Official time: 1:39:47. <i>Plenty of time to spare. </i>I crossed the finish line and Ryan was there almost instantly to greet me. I huffed and puffed while he talked my ear off. All I did was flash him my watch so he could see: Sub 1:40 or bust. I made it happen. Moments later Kati and Jacqui were on the fence with me, congratulating me and demanding a cool down run right away. I found Todd and congratulated him on his 1:36 (seriously, how does that happen when training for a 50 mile trail race?) and asked him if he'd want to come with us for a cool down. He immediately declined and said his goodbyes. The Strugglebus is good at ghosting these days, no post race goodies or anything. <i>I wasn't kidding, they do everything they can to race and get back home to the family right away. </i>I spotted Russ on my cooldown and tried to run him into the finish line, but my body instantly rejected any pace over a 9:30. I let him finish this one up on his own.<br />
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Those hills really did a number on me this year. In case you're curious, this is the elevation map:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9lDxnJQTza55B_iHmGYl4YiopQmnyD9HVWi2rqMu6yeTYEA481D8tVjlx8RKhkfZ9TF0iVpwQlbPWcWU5V85WasSs8wUghAfmfyrOMJGN_n_hyphenhyphenSlvBL-nFSpmsKhsQ1WbabFRkIQgXCR/s1600/IMG_3363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="1242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9lDxnJQTza55B_iHmGYl4YiopQmnyD9HVWi2rqMu6yeTYEA481D8tVjlx8RKhkfZ9TF0iVpwQlbPWcWU5V85WasSs8wUghAfmfyrOMJGN_n_hyphenhyphenSlvBL-nFSpmsKhsQ1WbabFRkIQgXCR/s400/IMG_3363.jpg" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knew there were mountains in Cary, IL?</td></tr>
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Celebrations continued with the group while we dissected our races over hot stadium style pretzels (probably the only reason I keep coming back year after year) and then over brunch. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5PvsWjoRw2Uk2iZiePWYFGTwoQoDN7V5fc7gctHfGRRcu4lnWUgb4qYnnVv-L2hEHTUwin81XdagKuU67ZDCdCgOdG6NFd0Cs3bk0pki6PNS20Ts8JzjS1_77e78y0PdWEP_ceLDyKnB/s1600/IMG_3259.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5PvsWjoRw2Uk2iZiePWYFGTwoQoDN7V5fc7gctHfGRRcu4lnWUgb4qYnnVv-L2hEHTUwin81XdagKuU67ZDCdCgOdG6NFd0Cs3bk0pki6PNS20Ts8JzjS1_77e78y0PdWEP_ceLDyKnB/s400/IMG_3259.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is why we can't have nice things, Mark</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMND_pWGGA8aumwuAl431vIwIsxA6sC5s7u1pGPnLy1ZN0GI4_VowhceQsMaNXbyr_PxLauzdYXFcLK8HN1_AIaC42-j4aEuzPdwVHpyh2ltU3UheM5eamEr6Z1A5eNRJDNDeoNCZ19QbZ/s1600/IMG_3272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMND_pWGGA8aumwuAl431vIwIsxA6sC5s7u1pGPnLy1ZN0GI4_VowhceQsMaNXbyr_PxLauzdYXFcLK8HN1_AIaC42-j4aEuzPdwVHpyh2ltU3UheM5eamEr6Z1A5eNRJDNDeoNCZ19QbZ/s400/IMG_3272.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacqui: 1st female!<br />
Kati: 4th female!<br />
Ryan: 1st male!<br />
Me: 3rd place in age group!</td></tr>
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Also, might you note our newest and shiniest accessory? Those new RyBread coats are courtesy of Kati. She thought up the plan and made it happen. And now, RyBread Racing is flashy and official in our brand new warm up jackets (that also reflect like crazy, we glow in the dark!)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because we're cool now</td></tr>
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We continued the fun at breakfast and lingered as long as possible. No one really wanted the morning to end. Saying goodbye for the day also meant saying goodbye to Kati. I'm proud to report, there were no tears (in front of the group) and we all have a day on the calendar that we'll see her again soon. I made sure to send her off with Suburbia's best donuts (because this girl is a donut connoisseur like you wouldn't believe) and the biggest hug. I've said it once and I'll say it again. I'm convinced that people are brought into your life for a reason and I know for a fact that Kati was truly a blessing when I needed it most. I already have Chicago --> Denver on hopper ready to give me the best deals at at a moment's notice. Certainly distance makes the heart grow fonder, yes? </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told ya she's legit</td></tr>
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As far as the racing scene goes, I couldn't be happier with my results. I did exactly what I wanted to do. I raced smart, hard, and with everything I had. I was reminded that mental toughness is finding fuel in an empty tank. Success at this race was a step in the right direction because now I can officially dive head first into marathon training with the right mindset. </div>
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<i>Wait what? You mean official marathon training hasn't started yet? </i>Please, the fun is just getting started. As of today, Grandma's Marathon on June 16th is 12 weeks again. I'll have one more test before the big BQ attempt. I'm so excited to say that I'm headed back to college town, USA. The band is getting back together again and reliving the glory days in Champaign, IL at the Illinois Half Marathon in April. </div>
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Alma, get ready for me. I'm comin' home. </div>
Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-5137369734194455472018-03-17T07:30:00.000-05:002018-03-17T08:18:20.532-05:00The Train of LifeVery recently, I was reminded of how absolutely wonderful the running/triathlon/endurance community really is.<br />
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When I graduated from college and started working part time at the local gym before I found my big-girl-job, I befriended a small group of guys and we spent more time together at 5am on Saturday mornings than most can imagine. Todd was also an employee of the same gym and we started running together after work from time to time. Closest to my age, we bonded quickly and it wasn't long before Rob and I found a new everlasting friendship in him and his wife. Eventually we decided that we each wanted to bring in another friend to our small running posse. Todd introduced me to Shane, the Sherpa of the group. While I brought in Russ (a member of the gym whom I saw damn near every day at 4:45am as I opened the doors), the biggest pain in the ass there ever was. Shane and Russ are both "older" than Todd and I and always refer to us as the "whipper snappers" of the foursome. Russ and Shane were also formerly in the military. Russ, the Marines. Shane, the Army. Put the 4 of us together and we are an unfiltered, determined, masochist bunch. Being the only female in such a strong group (and the youngest), I learned pretty quickly that I had to have the sass ready to fire at a moments notice.<br />
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The 4 of us were in very different stages of life. I had just graduated from college while Rob finished his degree, 3 hours away in Champaign, IL. Todd spent more time at the gym than ever as his wife was working the night shift in the ER as a trauma nurse while going to school for her masters degree. Shane and his wife were extremely comfortable with life and were about to embark on the journey of parenthood. And Russ traveled the globe at the drop of a hat for work and spent all of his time in the states running with us or with his wife and son.<br />
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So how does a group like this find a common ground? We shared one commonality. Endurance. We all thrived on the pain of a hard workout. We needed to know that after an awful week of work, traveling overseas to Sweden & Germany, working 12-14 hour days, we'd all find each other on Saturday morning during sunrise for a long run around Crystal Lake. Together, we named ourselves The Strugglebus.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9LocOMXjVU6bq9KTl2ZUfo3NzkHObrDRIHfT9pWCFU_7tkGuB4F9o-HgcrGWV1Er8mdeKTQsDF2ZRnDpMTMzUWts1dOOWHo0r9jNhtdAMxpniCjXlTSZwF4nMJ3fyZNctpVnHTRnpgUG/s1600/Strugglebus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9LocOMXjVU6bq9KTl2ZUfo3NzkHObrDRIHfT9pWCFU_7tkGuB4F9o-HgcrGWV1Er8mdeKTQsDF2ZRnDpMTMzUWts1dOOWHo0r9jNhtdAMxpniCjXlTSZwF4nMJ3fyZNctpVnHTRnpgUG/s400/Strugglebus.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan's first 70.3</td></tr>
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<b>These guys</b>, they're the reason I bought my first bike.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they're the reason I can swim respectively at all.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they're the reason I started triathlon.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they're the reason I know any sort of biking routes in the Marengo/Union/Woodstock area.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they believed in me when I never believed in myself.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they watched my cry when I was <i>such a bad cyclist that I would cry when they wouldn't wait for me.</i> All the while they knew what they were doing. <i>Let her cry, she's gonna laugh at herself one day. </i>And they weren't wrong.<br />
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<b>These guys</b>, they told me I'd be a badass when I doubted myself most.<br />
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<b>These guys</b> have wives, kids, demanding full time jobs. And they found it reason enough to guide me towards a sport I never knew I needed in my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwqfWIK7sjOhEFlJs9VRM619Sf8oqpVWtblTWb2fSfSLZ7ZbsBqWrNIksCGQcTFlhjJiAgBfVSBDmE1cicn6RRihUJyf4CJoxZYIOnYWKUw0MqRjDuPqPBAHZr9CXQL1uX0PxIL3BWSsm/s1600/Strugglebus2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwqfWIK7sjOhEFlJs9VRM619Sf8oqpVWtblTWb2fSfSLZ7ZbsBqWrNIksCGQcTFlhjJiAgBfVSBDmE1cicn6RRihUJyf4CJoxZYIOnYWKUw0MqRjDuPqPBAHZr9CXQL1uX0PxIL3BWSsm/s400/Strugglebus2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Todd and Russ were my catchers as I crossed the finish line of my first 140.6</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-p8FpVVBnMS4XuomqNFSMAugu8f9bU5EV_DkNfVBVZr2Qu88-59xUBLs8csrVdoOgSUoOcnLI-jIfZmTtrsF-S1pNQ4mu0hgK1WGKp2jClKXVI6Et3h1DcKMK-kI549yTXi9Brw4gkyL/s1600/Strugglebus7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-p8FpVVBnMS4XuomqNFSMAugu8f9bU5EV_DkNfVBVZr2Qu88-59xUBLs8csrVdoOgSUoOcnLI-jIfZmTtrsF-S1pNQ4mu0hgK1WGKp2jClKXVI6Et3h1DcKMK-kI549yTXi9Brw4gkyL/s400/Strugglebus7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As loyal as they come</td></tr>
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Last Wednesday morning as I was finishing up a swim workout, Shane walked onto the pool deck with a mighty large gift bag. Back in the fall I had a housewarming/belated birthday/season celebration party. Unfortunately Shane couldn't make it but still had a gift to share with me. He finally put it in his car and decided to surprise me at the gym with it one day. Wednesday was that day.<br />
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The bag contained 2 items. An extremely nice zip up Sugoi Ironman hoodie that I have worn almost constantly since I opened it. And the other was a picture frame that had the phrase "The Struggle Bus Is Real" He continued to explain himself and the gifts.<br />
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<i>"Megan I'll always have 2 pretty amazing memories with you. The reason you have the sweatshirt is because I remember more than once running through the dead of winter with you and the guys. We stopped at one of your friends houses and he had water out on his front porch for us. Weekend after weekend he always had water for us. And the picture frame is because the 4 of us will always be The Strugglebus. We were the beginning of your triathlon journey." </i></blockquote>
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Don't forget, it's approximately 6:30am and I have just finished a pretty tough swim workout and I am running late for the showers to get ready for work. And here's Shane, makin' me tear up and get all emotional.<a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2016/03/mixed-emotions.html"> Of course, he had to mention my water boy. You all remember him, right? </a>He went on into further detail to explain how the 4 of us, the Strugglebus, we were all apart of each others Train of Life. He told me about a book he had read, and how a train can be a metaphor for someone's life. Every once in a while the train stops in different towns, different people get on and off your train, some stay on your train longer than others. And all make some impact on your life, whether it be small or large.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH89O1H93cJRLNnqBF8pp5hjMbpInmP0CRBrczlYOLDGaUeaCk068eGqnKpLv3nsVJ8Q7th4_WZeZpNfcUCoClLBShSWBx-M6n7G16YKZugWjuscAkqCgr5145GIYT389FCaOhHxRQCxKP/s1600/Strugglebus4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1136" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH89O1H93cJRLNnqBF8pp5hjMbpInmP0CRBrczlYOLDGaUeaCk068eGqnKpLv3nsVJ8Q7th4_WZeZpNfcUCoClLBShSWBx-M6n7G16YKZugWjuscAkqCgr5145GIYT389FCaOhHxRQCxKP/s400/Strugglebus4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan's pre-triathlon days, only a few months after I bought my first bike</td></tr>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">These guys, they've been some of the best mentors and and friends a girl can ask for.</i> (Yes, even crabby and unfiltered Russ.) And the truth of the matter is, they never left my train. At the end of the day, we find our way back to each other. I may not need swim lessons from The Strugglebus anymore, and I might be able to lead the pack on the bike on a good day, and I might not cry anymore when I think I'm lost, but I still need these guys more than ever. I need their wit, their sass, their raw unfiltered humor that can leave my abs sore for days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v7p8TEyTRh-MRiDOoOPRSE4KO2NOmq1HdE80Z8JG56Kapy0iciaq9uhsjnYlNj1bzzJ_uLYfGKfWzmTYg2HxAaCL_p4_71QfbmAqS95tjwDjutdABNN8Ai-dy605J3gq_ZK4pnwPtyi9/s1600/Strugglebus5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v7p8TEyTRh-MRiDOoOPRSE4KO2NOmq1HdE80Z8JG56Kapy0iciaq9uhsjnYlNj1bzzJ_uLYfGKfWzmTYg2HxAaCL_p4_71QfbmAqS95tjwDjutdABNN8Ai-dy605J3gq_ZK4pnwPtyi9/s400/Strugglebus5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annual end of the season celebration!<br />
Celebrating Megan's first 140.6</td></tr>
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These are the kind of relationships that I can't imagine my life without. These people are one of the biggest reasons I'll forever be passionate about this sport. Our families have grown into some of the best friendships. I've watched Todd and his wife bring 2 amazing children into this world (and any day now, a 3rd!). I've watched Shane and his daughter Shayla dance and eat more cake than I thought possible for a 4 year old. And Russ' son Jack and I, well let's just say he still thinks I have cooties. (But I hear that goes away once they hit highschool, right?)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g9oTHWs-JANFWXLdsoWKny88zCYnUWHMpApFct6p4ggD5rCFNUG1mGskQs_2zrEGzH6TdUareTQ2CX-kse3Gjx04CsqUedr589pQXkvZo3TrA1BL_KMC2h5qSkkjJe-LQSxhts-TdEU0/s1600/Strugglebus6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1136" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g9oTHWs-JANFWXLdsoWKny88zCYnUWHMpApFct6p4ggD5rCFNUG1mGskQs_2zrEGzH6TdUareTQ2CX-kse3Gjx04CsqUedr589pQXkvZo3TrA1BL_KMC2h5qSkkjJe-LQSxhts-TdEU0/s400/Strugglebus6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We can do more than swim, bike run<br />
πΊπΉπ·</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjchAN2NkxzL4bdFxdHQQVyWPFUdb08BIT1W8MI9vybFlBcDDBbwi1s6h4jE52H9gMl0c2U5qYKkL-hlCCY6HzWvyxpf_L91wXBKHY887yUoh431h1NgQQi-zs9fDy0uHyWxGCOnRQWGT/s1600/Strugglebus3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="643" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjchAN2NkxzL4bdFxdHQQVyWPFUdb08BIT1W8MI9vybFlBcDDBbwi1s6h4jE52H9gMl0c2U5qYKkL-hlCCY6HzWvyxpf_L91wXBKHY887yUoh431h1NgQQi-zs9fDy0uHyWxGCOnRQWGT/s400/Strugglebus3.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where it all began, Todd and I roping Russ into race after race with us.</td></tr>
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All this being said, I couldn't be more motivated for the season opener tomorrow. As far as I'm concerned, the unofficial start to the racing season happens every year in Cary, IL at the March Madness Half Marathon. Todd and Russ will be in attendance, among most of the the RyBread crew. Some of my most favorite racing moments happen when my worlds collide. And I can't wait to toe the line with Todd and and set the pace for a record day (while we wait for Russ to finish with a sundial π) All while I pay my respects to <a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2016/03/mixed-emotions.html">my favorite waterboy.</a> It's officially been 2 years without him and this race holds a whole new meaning to me since that 9th day of March 2016 when we all had to say our finals goodbyes. My phone no longer lights up with a message post-race, "You need to get your head checked if you think that this Sunday morning running stuff is fun! But I love ya all the same!" - Mike Powers, my waterboy. He was another example of someone who was always aboard Megan's Train of Life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqn7AjIho9-dELjPtLhcnCerBq6xMGH6m130CsAIjj1c7N865Ek7ET3QE-R3-4AjNPjzt8yVNKaMauWq8fIOLit7I5oRMAwuFrZobz4qHp9LehcqrIjq9U8PW6OBRq0-cMrXniuvXlcbi5/s1600/MikePowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="925" data-original-width="1242" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqn7AjIho9-dELjPtLhcnCerBq6xMGH6m130CsAIjj1c7N865Ek7ET3QE-R3-4AjNPjzt8yVNKaMauWq8fIOLit7I5oRMAwuFrZobz4qHp9LehcqrIjq9U8PW6OBRq0-cMrXniuvXlcbi5/s400/MikePowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because it's just not the same without him</td></tr>
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Ready or not legs, it's go time.Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3049573970284464114.post-53502602660851216312018-02-09T14:22:00.001-06:002018-02-10T16:19:56.328-06:0021 Day Sugar Detox: Not for Everyone<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Day 1: My usual banana and coffee was replaced with a coffee and 2 pre-prepared egg cups (eggs + spinach + lean ground beef baked in cupcake form, reheated and seasoned to perfection). Quite tasty and a good change to my usual. And... I wasn't hungry an hour later. But when I was at work, I found my mouth watering constantly. I drank more water the first 2 hours of work than I sometimes do all day. My body was definitely not used to this new routine. 10:30 Snack: Carrots and hummus. A staple in my mind and something I eat almost daily. It subsided my watery mouth short term, but as work began to pick up it was a good distraction from my body sending out an SOS for sugar. 1pm lunch: Spinach salad with pine nuts, walnuts, grilled & seasoned chicken, feta cheese, and homemade balsamic vinaigrette (balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt & pepper, no brainer). What I REALLY wanted was my granny smith apple and almond butter but was saving that for afternoon snack. On this detox you're allowed either 1 green banana (yuck, disgusting) or a green apple a day. And that's all the fruit you can eat. I don't even like green apples, but I LOVE apples to an unhealthy level so I decided to go for it and used the almond butter to soften the sour. It worked. Still not as satisfying as my honeycrisp and peanut butter, but it'll do for the time being. After my 3pm snack of granny smith apple with almond butter I walked into a co-workers office and stood there and simply said, "Banana." She laughed in hysterics. DAMN JUST GIVE ME A BANANA ALREADY. 5:30pm swim workout: warmup was definitely sluggish and I felt winded much quicker than normal. Uh oh, this could be a rough 3 weeks. However, this could also be a result of a hard run over the weekend. As I got into the workout I fell into my groove much quicker and started to feel like my old swim self. Crisis averted. 7pm dinner: scrambled eggs with onion, mushrooms, peppers, spinach and cheese. A side of mashed sweet potatoes (athletes allowed 1/2 cup of sweet potatoes or 1/2 cup of quinoa daily on this sugar detox) with butter. Unsweetened almond milk to wash it down and I'm officially through day 1 of no sugar and I'm not twitching, nor do I have a headache. But my mouth is definitely salivating much more than normal..."<br />
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The above was written on January 8th, 2018. At the time, I had just started a 21 day sugar detox. Sounds simple enough, but we're talkin' ALL sugars. Carbs and fruits included. Literally if there was ANY sugar in the food, I wasn't allowed to eat it, natural or not. My list of go to foods included, all forms of meat, eggs, most veggies (starchy potatoes a no-no), most nuts, unsweetened almond milk and coconut milk, with a side of water. Mmmmmm. I was planning on keeping a daily log so I could write a blog about how the entire process went. But, we all know plans change.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEv5jroer5QOX5GGO0VwanOMrCFR6Uh6bsk_Bw6firBm0ygI0KKf50MO-jG2GuP3wR-7YZBihGkCUAiLwZ7c1Jy90P-hdwYb6skU9hUXa-OSlrE2hmg4f6ElR0kCZ7BSHw7AFBpBVDWt_m/s1600/21dsd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEv5jroer5QOX5GGO0VwanOMrCFR6Uh6bsk_Bw6firBm0ygI0KKf50MO-jG2GuP3wR-7YZBihGkCUAiLwZ7c1Jy90P-hdwYb6skU9hUXa-OSlrE2hmg4f6ElR0kCZ7BSHw7AFBpBVDWt_m/s1600/21dsd.jpg" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">BUT MEGAN, WHY? YOU DON'T NEED A DIET!</span></blockquote>
No, the intention was never to "lose weight" by any means or to go on a "diet". After I got home from Chattanooga twice in the month of September, I slowly but surely fell into a spiral of all the foods I shouldn't be eating. And then the holidays came. I said no to nothing. I gained maybe a few pounds, but that wasn't the point of this at all. The point was, <i>I wanted to feel better.</i> I was constantly tired and sluggish. I was always craving something sweet and caving at the drop of a hat. I was finding less and less joy out of the veggies I usually thrived on. I needed to reboot my system and what better way to do it than to eliminate every last bit of sugar in my diet?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_QegDWqPXoQO9DxqAFgG4W9i5qhHloa3ZYKM3bQxaUvt1p48TcGHprzVC4Fm39jbj0ElBXLbR-m70S3ywXVYgXmf0DsQl7GQqM2uB9GfhCDy6d4cIM-w0q_NdxtBzbB9JOkO-_xXCk1K/s1600/IMG_2435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_QegDWqPXoQO9DxqAFgG4W9i5qhHloa3ZYKM3bQxaUvt1p48TcGHprzVC4Fm39jbj0ElBXLbR-m70S3ywXVYgXmf0DsQl7GQqM2uB9GfhCDy6d4cIM-w0q_NdxtBzbB9JOkO-_xXCk1K/s400/IMG_2435.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I followed a "Level 1" Diet</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYnoIrB15gb3AfDY0KOdOF2enn_ndYXyE9HCrBIs2iG-sxqxJ4dvA_Ozvc0lQuzR4puQ-bcG5pavMYwPGJ9m7EkWCqKoOb_VKCFa4EutNOf2lA9YW_1i9bsMXLRxrhib4LrEK_sX2-q0f/s1600/IMG_2436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1595" data-original-width="1242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYnoIrB15gb3AfDY0KOdOF2enn_ndYXyE9HCrBIs2iG-sxqxJ4dvA_Ozvc0lQuzR4puQ-bcG5pavMYwPGJ9m7EkWCqKoOb_VKCFa4EutNOf2lA9YW_1i9bsMXLRxrhib4LrEK_sX2-q0f/s400/IMG_2436.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My menu for the next 21 days!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieElhWn2F2p2k3FRMTW7jMRRHVckPmlkdogeuSHznpCBBtYO_EEvrEMBrpjDmiSCmL0nolSOSC6O3Ss-A3uReJp1u1LlZbd1jsOncGKE8ulKXY0iZR5waXXYbzcseDNGUVM3CORv3hn06y/s1600/IMG_2437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1578" data-original-width="1164" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieElhWn2F2p2k3FRMTW7jMRRHVckPmlkdogeuSHznpCBBtYO_EEvrEMBrpjDmiSCmL0nolSOSC6O3Ss-A3uReJp1u1LlZbd1jsOncGKE8ulKXY0iZR5waXXYbzcseDNGUVM3CORv3hn06y/s400/IMG_2437.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there was ever any question, this chart answered it.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://meganhode.blogspot.com/2017/06/fitness-junkie-buds-4-lyfe.html"> You all remember Kait, right? </a> She introduced me to this diet a few years ago and I attempted it circa 2015. But when a few family members fell ill, it was near impossible to live on hospital food without sugar in it. (Ironic, yes?) I had to call it quits halfway through the 21 day program just so I could I simply eat at the hospital while visiting family. Assuming I didn't have any "life" curveballs this time around, there was no reason I shouldn't be able to complete the detox. The nice part about this detox is that there is an athlete version that allows anyone who is active, a specific amount of natural sugars a day. I focused on the 1 green apple a day, 1/2 cup of sweet potato or 1/2 cup of quinoa a day. That was what I allowed myself in the form of "athlete foods".<br />
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I decided to give myself the best chance and started on January 8th. S-NO-W Fun Run is always the first weekend in January and the thought of missing out and watching my friends eat and drink the night away sounded like a nightmare. Starting after my favorite winter running party was what I was going to do.<br />
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I made sure I was prepared and prepped everything I needed, down to the emergency snacks for when all triathletes get hangry. They say the list of side effects can be quite extreme, ranging from severe headaches to mood swings to "the shakes". I never experienced any of that. Instead, this is what I experienced:<br />
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<ol>
<li> Crazy amounts of mouth watering on Day 1. Holy cow. The most awkward thing as I felt like I was constantly spitting all day when I spoke. By Day 2 the mouth watering subsided but was still most definitely more active than normal. </li>
<li>I wanted a banana like you wouldn't believe. I live on bananas. Between the coffee pot and my favorite food ever, it's a close tie for which I touch first thing in the morning when I wake up. </li>
<li>During the day, I felt completely normal. No headaches. No mood swings (that I noticed of myself, but no one told me I was moody either). No shakes. Just me. </li>
<li>While I worked out, it always took me longer than normal to get my momentum going. Warmups felt like workouts. The workout felt like I was racing almost every time. And, my ears ALWAYS felt plugged up when I was working out (swim, bike or run). Why? I have NO idea. But I definitely noticed a huge difference in my ears while working out.</li>
<li>DRASTIC weight loss. Enough that it scared me a little. And made me rethink this entire process. </li>
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The first couple of days I didn't think to much about the workout sluggishness. I knew there would be an adjustment period and I was willing to see what the other side was like. Except, when I woke up on day 5 and stepped on the scale. I had lost 6 lbs in 5 days. Uh oh, this isn't good. I immediately followed that up with my usual Friday workout, a swim and a shakeout run. It took everything I had in me to finish 3 measly miles. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was time to re-evaluate, for sure. </b></span></div>
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I didn't want to completely throw in the towel just yet, but I knew that my Saturday long run was definitely going to suffer and possibly injure me if I didn't make some adjustments. My cousin (who happens to be a rockstar dietician) created this phenomenal energy balls that I was planning on using on my run (since gels and the usual running nutrition was a no-no) but I was starting to think that even that wouldn't save me. I already had my lunch/snacks packed for that Friday of work so I needed to formulate a plan by dinner time. After discussing with a few co-workers, I decided to add in some carbs to my dinner that night to help fuel my run in the morning. Dinner included steak, green beans, sweet potato, and 2 dinner rolls with butter (and regular ole 2% milk). Definitely nothing drastic. But after dinner I can't tell you how different I felt. The only additions I ate were the 2 dinner rolls and a glass of milk. <b>THAT'S ALL IT TOOK FOR ME TO FEEL A BIT MORE ENERGIZED. </b></div>
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The next morning I ate my usual egg cups that I had prepared and a few of the energy balls pre-run. I also weighed myself again and was officially down 6.5lbs in less than 6 days. Once I was done with this run, I was positive my next meal was going to include more sugar than I had consumed in the past week.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23Yplqn9icEks3VKl5pI9GonE5fjAUqAnRVOMzTY3Zo6MXHIi9Dlk9-V9w4sWXYYe5cYr4u7nYrZInlYkM_o_im2WavPjJnETfQq-uFxNkK0ci2IGE7dZyorV1oauulvI6JpdtFDcY28S/s1600/IMG_2445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi23Yplqn9icEks3VKl5pI9GonE5fjAUqAnRVOMzTY3Zo6MXHIi9Dlk9-V9w4sWXYYe5cYr4u7nYrZInlYkM_o_im2WavPjJnETfQq-uFxNkK0ci2IGE7dZyorV1oauulvI6JpdtFDcY28S/s400/IMG_2445.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My on the go breakfasts! Egg Cups: eggs + ground beef + veggies (spinach, peppers, and mushrooms)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwwksnMnSz3XLvnQ-caAmr3bFgh8Mem41M2_aTSgUzPd00quHZ9mZNJjAl1wqW0OeqwUPOoetjuLMAoRK9Y0Z6GvJ9qWjXtkTn35L7GiImZwjFxd-Ar-S7Pq3xrJfTz2E1Dr35Y_nRUqH/s1600/IMG_2590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwwksnMnSz3XLvnQ-caAmr3bFgh8Mem41M2_aTSgUzPd00quHZ9mZNJjAl1wqW0OeqwUPOoetjuLMAoRK9Y0Z6GvJ9qWjXtkTn35L7GiImZwjFxd-Ar-S7Pq3xrJfTz2E1Dr35Y_nRUqH/s400/IMG_2590.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "if I have time breakfast"<br />
Sweet potato toast, avocado, and a hard boiled egg. DELISH!</td></tr>
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<td style="padding: 3.0pt 4.5pt 4.5pt 4.5pt;"><span style="text-align: center;">So, was it worth it? Totally. I know people think I'm nuts when I have these crazy ideas. But now I can definitely say I think twice before I put food in my mouth. I opt for different choices, less bread, more veggie. I wanted my taste buds to come back to normal, and they did. I'll call it a success. You might also remember, Jacqui did this same detox during the month of December before going on a family cruise over Christmas. You'll never believe the difference in our stories. </span><a href="http://jacquisjourney.com/blog/the-toughest-test-of-willpower-yet" style="text-align: center;">Read about it here if you're interested!</a><span style="text-align: center;"> That just goes to show ya, every body is created differently and everyone has separate needs. </span><br />
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Was it hard to avoid sugar? No. It was actually easier than I thought. After I got past the first day, I didn't think about it much. Sure I was envious of my coworker as he walked in a Chipotle burrito the size of my head for lunch, but I never dwelled on it and it wasn't hard to sit and eat my meal next to him at all. In fact, I got engaged on Day 3 of the sugar detox. And still, I wasn't even tempted to bust out the champagne at all. I was pretty determined to make it through this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EZvdGma9Rx8kflXik2x6SR7Hc9DFTxnzI7vXUk3OJm9UDqxX_PFd_C4vhCgNwmMMStLorKvR-jxSeBOTCrK4hucHyFPp22iNwApI6AHqZlJS7nzk4NtaALabr1X1nEzEoRIQ6fiD9qje/s1600/IMG_2592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="828" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EZvdGma9Rx8kflXik2x6SR7Hc9DFTxnzI7vXUk3OJm9UDqxX_PFd_C4vhCgNwmMMStLorKvR-jxSeBOTCrK4hucHyFPp22iNwApI6AHqZlJS7nzk4NtaALabr1X1nEzEoRIQ6fiD9qje/s400/IMG_2592.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemon zest tilapia, steamed broccoli, and quinoa topped with pico de gallo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmgoq13FDmZQM-Kk_LVyvue1B7ESkr8Hix039APdPpgi-XCvVEkdRoiWpvZnkcjkLex3CBZk0_4PcuXOPczZ0C7v4vy-Cd5W4ymwuYxmNX4ye9tdJDZ8D1VSnx2KPrrTpO-EmGJYHwQjw/s1600/IMG_2589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicmgoq13FDmZQM-Kk_LVyvue1B7ESkr8Hix039APdPpgi-XCvVEkdRoiWpvZnkcjkLex3CBZk0_4PcuXOPczZ0C7v4vy-Cd5W4ymwuYxmNX4ye9tdJDZ8D1VSnx2KPrrTpO-EmGJYHwQjw/s400/IMG_2589.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrambled eggs with all the veggies, sweet potato with butter, and almond milk</td></tr>
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As you can see, I ate pretty damn well during this 6 day stint. And had some great ideas and recipes to follow in the days to come. But, my health comes first. And most importantly, I've got some big goals this year. And I'm not about to compromise them for anything.<br />
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Until next time, friends. Cheers.<br />
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Meg http://www.blogger.com/profile/00415862153797773274noreply@blogger.com1