Two Weeks Until the Boston Marathon

I like big butts, and I cannot lie.  You other brothers can't deny.  That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get spRUNg!   *begin interval* ...

Yep, just added this little 90's gem to my new iPod shuffle before my Sunday workout.  Thank you Sir Mix-a-Lot.  And thank you Apple for not laughing when I brought in two broken nanos...one that drowned while running in an unexpected rainstorm, and one that died while flying unexpectedly through Mike's bike spokes.  Oops.

Note the word "unexpected"  ...both totally weren't our fault.  Obviously.

Whelp, 13 days until I toe the line in Hopkinton.  Seeing this, I feel like I should wait and continue this post tomorrow since "13" is such an unlucky number, but I'm stronger than that.  I don't need luck (my training has overruled that); I not buying into superstitions (my twitching eye does not mean I will fail); and I don't need to wash my hands 682 times a day (although I've had my moments).  Oh, and perhaps most importantly, I do not need to neglect my wine.  I am a lucky gal that Mr. Cab and Mr. Malbec forgave me after that whole two-week stint before Houston...whew!

The taper has begun...I think.  Despite an hour-long trail run today, the volume comes way down this week.  I finished my main training with a strong, confidence-boosting workout on Sunday:  a 21-mile run with 4x 2-miles included (two intervals at the beginning, and two at the end).  The 2-mile intervals averaged under 6:30 pace, and I was therefore tired thrilled with myself.  Mentally, that workout was an awesome segue into my taper...

The phone rings in the middle of the night.  My father yells what you gonna do with your life.  Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one.  But girls they want to have fun.  OH GIRLS JUST WANNA ... um ... RUN!

It seems I am stuck in the 80's and 90's, which is fine with me.  This IS when my passion for running began, and I ran my first-ever race in 1990, while in fourth grade.  It was a 1-mile cross-country race, and I ran a "blistering" 7:24 to beat all the other fourth graders.  Just so you can set the scene, I did this while wearing knee-length, black compression shorts with neon-pink and turquoise flamingos (yes, I said flamingos) down the sides with a matching neon-pink cotton tee and matching neon-pink socks.  ...Oh, and stark white reeboks.  One word:  HOT.  Okay, two words:  DORK.  I could never understand why I wasn't very popular by the time middle school rolled around...hmm.

These past 12 weeks since Houston have been, well, full of ups, downs, highs, and lows.  There were times in the middle where I wanted to give up because I could not hit the prescribed track workout splits, but then I would crush an endurance workout, and everything would be okay.  It's funny; I definitely caught myself at times thinking how hard this was, that I couldn't do it, and how I therefore couldn't wait for it to be over...running scared and defensively I guess; however, now, with only two weeks to go, I am sad that it is almost here, because soon, it will all be over.  I love training.  There is just no other feeling in the world to me like that of crushing a long run.  This is why, one day, I will do an ultra-marathon.  Yes, I did just say that.  I will do an ultra.

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary.  Out by the gas fires of the refinery.  I'm ten years burning down the road.  Nowhere to RUN ain't got nowhere to go (except Boston, duh).  ...Born in the U.S.A., I was born in the U.S.A...

Gotta love the boss.  Speaking of the boss, I have been amazed and very appreciative for my coach, Tom, since I started working with him in early February.  I've only met him in person twice, and yet, he knows me.  He tells me things about myself that I am too afraid to admit to, um, myself (i.e. I am afraid of higher mileage because I might get injured; I can run forever and ever at a solid pace but put up a defensive "this-is-too-hard" wall when asked to run shorter and faster...even if only by ten seconds a mile).  Hearing these things makes me want to confront my personal limitations and break down those walls.  It also gives me confidence that I may lack otherwise; I may not have hit some of these 10K-type workouts, but hell, I've nailed every single marathon-type workout.  

The callouses are shaved (you so wanted to know that), and the toes are officially Boston-certified. 

On April 21, 1980, Rosie Ruiz emerged out of the Boston Marathon spectating crowd on Commonwealth Avenue about a half-mile from the finish and began surging her way towards the line.  Without all the technology and security we have today, Rosie was declared the winner, which left Jacqueline Gareau stunned to learn that she was NOT the winner, as she had lead the race from very early on.  Later that week, after suspicions continued to mount, Rosie was disqualified from the race. Furthermore, race officials learned that in the New York City Marathon, Rosie had taken a subway to the finish line, which is where she "earned" her Boston qualifying time in the first place... 

Exactly one day before this historic event in women's marathoning, I was born.  My mother's name is also Rosie.  You see?  Me and Boston?  Yep, we were meant to be...

...and no, this does not mean that I am planning on pulling a Rosie.  K, thanks.

The whole Boston weekend is shaping up to be very fun.  I get to see my college roommate, who lives in Boston, and my high school teammate, who is also running.  Mike's parents are coming to watch, and I already have post-race drinking celebratory plans with some former Greensboro friends.  I am looking forward to soaking up the whole experience, from Athlete's Village, to Wellesley College, to seeing old friends, all the way to the finish line.  I feel extremely relaxed, and I am looking forward to this marathon more than any of my previous three.  It is on par with running my very first marathon.  I always tell my runners, "You'll never have another first marathon."  Well, the same is true for Boston...you'll never have another first Boston.  My corral placement is perhaps less than ideal:  Wave 1, Corral 7.  This means I will be starting behind 6,000 other anxious runners.  Hello, congestion?  However, this is good practice for me in letting go of things I cannot control (but really mother nature, pleeeeeeeeeease bring good weather!) and focusing on the positives.  Perhaps this will save me from going out too fast?  Patience, young Jen, patience.

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world.  She took the midnight train goin' anywhere (is this song about Rosie Ruiz?!  bahaha).  Don't stop believin'.  Hold on to the feelin'...

I believe in myself that a PR is within my grabs, even if it is Boston, and I hope the experience is so awesome that I hold onto the feeling for a lifetime.  I've "worked" hard for this.  People will say to me, "you work so hard", to which I smile and thank, but then I smile harder within myself to know how fortunate I am to not perceive my running as work.  I am simply doing what I love.  It's who I am.  I cannot wait for Boston.

She said I think I'll go to Boston...I think I'll start a new life.  I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name.  Boston... where no one knows my name... yeah...

Get 'er done!