Letting Go...

Have you heard? We sold our house last week. In less than a month. For far more than we ever thought we'd get. It's all so exciting and moving so quickly. We close in 5 weeks even though our new house won't be ready for 3 more months. Awesome. This means we're going to move twice. We even signed an apartment lease last week. So it's pretty safe to say our summer will be quite the whirlwind.

About 3 months ago Mikey and I made the crazy decision to build a new house. Which has been fun and exciting planning out our new floor plan and where our furniture would go. I could envision where my Nana & Grandfather's hundred-year-old church pew resting in our new entry. We had everything mapped out. From the placement of can lights to the measurements of our new deck. Plans were made, down payments were paid and we are excited. The "big dig" started a few weeks ago and we're the proud new owners of a basement and a whole lot of dirt. Ha!

Then reality set in that we'd have to sell our current house. Let go. Move on from the place we have called home for nearly 8 years. Whoa.

Reality set in. Big time.

I'd have to leave this house. The very first house I've ever owned. Heck, the very first house I've ever really lived in (I grew up in a townhouse). I thought we'd live here forever and I was tickled to own our very own home. Grow roots.

Spring and Winter on Hawthorne Drive

I remember the day we moved from our 1910's duplex in Bro.adripple to this much newer (1970's) house in Carmel. Our best friends, Sam & Bridget Tynan, met us at our new house when the movers arrived...they got there a bit before we did. I walked into our new house excited to see our possessions inside, only to be greeted by our confused friends. I asked what was wrong and they just smiled. Apparently a new neighbor of ours with Down Syndrome was directing the movers as to where our belongings should go. "Put the mattress right there, in front of the fireplace. Perfect!" I will never, ever forget that day. Gaining keys to our first house together and watching a new neighbor and friend direct traffic in our home. Priceless.

May 2004

We bought the house the same year we married, in 2004, just in time to host my family's annual Thanksgiving gathering. Our prerequisite? Enough space for all my family to sleep under one roof. Pretty sure Mike told me about this house one day, we visited the next day, and put an offer on it the day after that. Looks like that's how we work around here. We set our minds to something and we just plow forward, full steam ahead.

This house has seen a lot from the McCullochs over the past 8 years.

Baxter the Bully

Bubby endured a lot being a McCulloch

We came into our house with Baxter the Bully, only to say goodbye to him years later. I can still hear Baxter's heavy, snorting breathing, sprawled out on the tile floor after a long walk to cool off. Drool spilling everywhere. Or see him humping Ricky's leg as soon as he walked into our door. Baxter was my main man throughout my (short-lived) first marriage, my divorce and my years of infertility. That little bulldog received more hugs from me and listened to me cry more than anyone else at the time. And these walls contain those memories.

This house was the last place I saw my Nana in before she passed a few years ago.

We've hosted many pre-kid dinner parties, Thanksgiving meals, Indy 500 pre-parties, family reunions and baby showers here. We used to pack every room on our first floor with tables for fancy dinner parties with name cards, place settings and games. And formal invitations to boot.

 One of these little embryos is Izzy

We became pregnant within months of moving in, only to tragically lose the pregnancy months later. We underwent years of fertility treatments...many nights of crying myself to sleep, taking pregnancy tests, taking my temperatures, giving myself hormone injections, many failed attempts at artificial insemination and a second attempt at in vitro fertilization (which was our final attempt and fortunately it was successful), which brought us Izzy. Flash forward 2 years and these walls saw my crinkled up face when I peed on a stick and learned I was pregnant with Laney. When doctors told me it would never happen on our own. And it did. Oh, how I wept.

Bringing home Izzy 2007

Bringing home Laney 2009

We have brought home two beautiful, healthy daughters to this home. Complete with Mike's large signs in the front yard, "It's a girl!" While the dogs sniffed the car seats filled with newborn smells and my mom readied the house for what was to come. Sleepless nights and hazy days.

Nursery...and Izzy's big girl room

We finally were able to convert one of our three guest bedrooms into a nursery (we bought this house knowing we wanted to fill it with kids). After years of dreaming of one. I nursed two little girls in that nursery, in my glider, reading a book in the middle of the night with my headlamp on (which I now use for nighttime running!). I learned how to nurse, how to change a diaper, how to rock my babies to sleep, how to have dance parties, how to snuggle and bond with my girls in that nursery. I text Jaime more times than I can count from that nursery ("What do I do when there is projectile vomit in the crib but she is still sleeping?" or "Will she ever sleep more than 2 hours in a row?!?!"). That little room has so many memories in it that make my heart burst from my chest.

Izzy's first birthday...Laney's first birthday

 We've celebrated the girls' birthdays right here in our backyard. Friends and family celebrating life.

Nanny Elissa and Laney Bug tucked into her swing to nap

We had a nanny here that basically raised my newborn Laney while I went back to work for everyone's sanity. Elissa taught Laney how to take a bottle (after a week of a nursing/hunger strike), she was able to get her to nap in her swing in our living room while she played in the play room with her son and Izzy. Mind you the swing was on super, duper high speed and we feared she may either be flung from the swing or apt for some damage to her brain from the shear speed it required for her to fall asleep. Swaddled as if straight-jacketed. Man, the amount of batteries we went through with that swing.

 Playroom fun

We converted our formal living room into a full-on play room in anticipation of Laney staying home for her first year. I had guilt of putting a 12 week old into daycare. And even more guilt about keeping a 2 year old home full time away from the friends and fun that daycare provided. What's our resolution? Turn an unused room into a very lived-in, fun and playful room for our girls. I'm sure our friends thought we were crazy. And maybe we were. But the Littles had fun in there. For years.

Speaking of conversions, Mike has done his fair share of shaking things up around here. There was the time when I went away for 2 weeks for pharmaceutical sales training and returned to our half bathroom fully changed from the Po.ttery Barn-esque decor to a rock-n-roll themed bathroom. Complete with a velvet Elvis about the throne, band posters and every one of his concert ticket stubs lining the walls. Our friends (mostly the husbands) thought it was awesome. Their wives (and myself)? Not so much. It was fun and new and kitchy for a few months. Until that U2 (or was it Bob Marley?) poster would fall slowly on my head whilst using the facilities. It's since been converted back to a good old fashioned PB-esque bathroom. I wish I had a picture of this...but you can only imagine why I never took one!

Looks so much better now

There was also the time when I was gone for a weekend when Mike converted what was once a large, square area of landscaping (smack dab in the middle of our large backyard) into a (wait for it...) putting green. Makes sense, right? Because my husband is such a golf aficionado. That lasted a year or so until I got pregnant and transitioned that perfect square into a resting place for our hammock. Where I spent 9 months napping, tanning my pregnant belly and negotiating real estate deals. Never has a putting green seen so much action. Until it was dug up and grass seed planted to cover up any remains of such travesties as middle-of-the-yard landscaping and putting greens. Our backyard has never looked better.

Proud new owners of a play set

Installing new back door

Installing wood floors

Other projects Mike has done here include (but not limited to): finishing half of our basement, tiling our back splash not once but twice, replacing toilets, tiling our back entry, replacing our kitchen sink and faucet, laying wood floors in our living room, constructing a play set in our backyard and taking out french doors that lead to our backyard and replacing them with a sliding glass door. Let me just add that his father, Bob, had a hand in every one of these projects. I'm sure Bob is thrilled that we're building a new house so there won't be any fixer-upper projects in his (near) future.

Favorite room in the house

Lots of memories in this room

 Bug at the back door

 Iz at the back door

Laney loves to rest on the step down into the family room

Countless hours spent with this view out the back

Love

Our great room is my favorite room in the house. This is where we have spent the majority of our time in our house. Movies, late night girl talk and dance parties to name a few. Looking out our back door while sitting in this room can still stir up so many vivid memories.

Sisters in Sammy's backyard

Boardwalk

Adventurous neighbor and friend, Jill

One of my favorite walks to take

Backyard lazyiness

Cool Creek hiking

And I will surely miss our neighbors and our many walks down on the boardwalk and in Cool Creek. We live so close to such beautifully preserved nature and our short walk to get there felt like we weren't in Carmel anymore. Like it was our own secret garden.

Snow much fun

Playing hoops

Izzy's first day of pre-school

The girls and their birthday shirts

Riding bikes down the cul de sac

One of many runs with the girls

I'll miss hanging out in our driveway and our long walks around our huge block. I'll always remember laboring with Izzy and walking in the middle of the night down the cul-de-sac in front of our house. My best friend even labored there just a few weeks after I did. We walked. We paused for contractions. We laughed and cried.

When we told friends that we were selling our home and building a new one, the reaction wasn't as positive as we anticipated. I can count on both hands the number of people that said, "But we loooove your house, I can't believe you're selling it!" Dude, we love our house, too. You're not making this any easier on us. But we're simply outgrowing it. We've fixed or repaired or replaced about everything we could short of remodeling. Remodeling would consist of blowing out walls and cost us a fortune. We figured why not spend that money on something that we really wanted. Something that we could create from the ground up. That would fit our every need. And all the while move into a smaller school district and onto a less busy street (I can't tell you how many times Mike has gotten into an altercation with a car that has blown through the stop sign...embarrassing, but necessary with kids around). 

I love this house so much...and I love the memories we've created here. Mike has to keep reminding me that when we move our memories won't be left here, among these four walls. But rather, the memories will come with us and always be with us. Memories don't live in a physical space. They live in our hearts.

So you can only imagine how hard it was for me to begin the process of de-cluttering the closets and cabinets and drawers. Almost 8 years of memories were crammed into these spaces. And I had to make them (the spaces, not the memories) look nearly empty so buyers could see all the space we had and envision all of their belongings in said space. I'm ok with purging. I'm even great with organizing. But what got me was when I had to start making our home look impeccable, almost unlived in as a model home looks. It was if I had to erase our presence almost. Take down personal pictures (I'll admit, I left ones up that were nailed to the wall). Convert the toy room back into a formal living room (this confused the girls and quite honestly changed the energy of our house completely). Bring back upstairs and reassemble the dining room table Mike made me for a wedding present. And make the entire house shine (mind you, Mike made the exterior of our home shine as he painted the house, painted the deck, re-landscaped, planted flowers, organized the garage et al).

My most painful part of this process was when it was time to clean windows and mirrors. Easy task, right? Until I got to my master closet's full length mirror. I knelt down in front of it, spray bottle in hand, ready to clean, when I looked at the mirror close up (I'm usually standing feet away from it checking myself out). That's when I saw them. The fingerprints. The slobber marks. The kisses. And then I remembered. I haven't cleaned that mirror since we moved in. On purpose. Those hand prints and mouth prints were made by my two little babies learning to discover themselves in my mirror, crawling towards their reflection and entertaining themselves while I would shower or get ready or fold laundry. I wasn't ready to clean those memories away. So I wept. Full body shaking and weeping. And willed myself to clean the mirror. I believe I cleaned it very angrily. Then stripped off my clothes and took the hottest shower in memory. Sobbing to myself because I just rid my entire house of any trace of my girls' fingerprints.

The next morning I woke with a fresh mind and a fresh perspective. We had made the decision to move weeks before. My heart was just trailing a little behind.

I needed that grieving to gain perspective.

In the weeks that have passed, each day I get more and more excited about our new house. And I am able to let go of this house a little more. If you know me, you know that I have a hard time with letting things go. I hang on something fierce. Letting go is not easy for me. But I know that with closing the door to 139 Hawthorne Drive another door will open. And even though we won't physically live here any more, my heart will carry with it all the memories we've made inside these four walls.

A friend of mine suggested getting a watercolor of our house as a memory. I hired an artist and she came up with this in 2 days. Can't wait to mat and frame this gem and display it somewhere special in our new home.

Carmel Marathon 2012: Race Recap

{This is a guest post, written by my best friend, and rock, Jaime. This is a lengthy post but it's a doozy; Jaim left no detail out and paints a beautiful picture of her 3rd marathon. Enjoy!}

There are a lot of different moments in time from which I could start this post.

I could write about the day I decided to run the Carmel Marathon. Or the day I convinced Bri to run alongside me. Or the low point in training when I literally fell in a heap of tears to Meggie and Christi and told them that I just couldn't do it. My runs were awful. I had negative thoughts. I had aches and pains. And I only had 12 weeks to get in prime shape for this race. I'll never forget Christi hugging me, and telling me that we were talking about three months of training, not three weeks. With three weeks to go and all of that happening, she'd be worried. With three months? Well, she pretty much guaranteed that I could make this my best race yet. I had no idea at the time just how right she would be...

And as if on cue, my training did turn around. I made some adjustments, and I threw out the plan that I had printed out and pinned on my wall at work. I hit reset and started again. And surprisingly, it worked. I felt better on my runs leading up to the race than I had ever felt before. I was ready.

Unfortunately, my nerves kicked into high gear a lot earlier than I was prepared for. Typically I wake up on Monday of race week and the butterflies are starting to lightly flutter. But these nerves were in full effect a good 10 days pre-race. I was flat out panicked. And those race demons weren't just talking to me, they were screaming.

I did everything I could think of to calm down, and nothing seemed to work. I physically worried myself sick. And when the heartbreaking email came through from Bri, explaining that due to her injury she felt it was best to pull out of the race, I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and make it all go away. Bri, Meghan and I were supposed to be running this race together. Bri and I had spent countless hours over the last few months texting back and forth about our running, cross training, etc. Taking her out of the equation was almost too much for me to handle.

I pride myself on being the kind of person who drops everything to help a close friend. I overheard a friend years ago in a conversation saying that if you asked her to fly to the moon and back she'd tell you she needed to get her nails done first. She then said if you asked me the same thing, I'd ask you what time we were leaving.

But I couldn't fix this. Bri was out. Plain and simple. I needed to be there for her. I needed to do anything I could to support her, and ensure her that this was nothing more than a blip in her running journey that would force her to take a step back, re-evaluate and come back stronger than ever.

But inside? Oh nelly. Inside I was falling apart. I did everything I could to convince myself that this slight change of plans wouldn't get me down. But it did. Fast and furiously I started to unravel and question everything.

So when I received an email from Christi stating that she couldn't let the race demons get me down and that she was willing to upgrade from the half to the full, just to ensure I had someone with me the entire time while I crushed my goal, I sat at my computer and I shook. Tears started streaming. My hands couldn't type. I literally sat, and I stared at the computer screen and just kept asking myself how in the world I became so blessed to have met these women. These people who don't bat an eye and pick up for each other in times of need.

Fast forward a few days and I found myself standing at the start line with my girls. I will never forget seeing Kel standing on the curb waving me on, telling me it was time to head to the corrals. I took off in a slow trot heading toward her and briefly looked to my right. And there she was…our Boppy Fairy, Bri. Yelling at us that she’d be out there, to go on for it, and that she loved us. I stopped in my tracks, turned and ran back. I grabbed her in a hug, kissed her cheek and told her I loved her. I don’t care that she wasn’t physically there every step of the way with me for the race. She was there in one way or another. She was there in spirit. And sometimes that is all you need to keep you going.

The nervous chatter started as soon as we got to our starting point, and Kel asked someone to take our picture. Not going to lie…it’s pretty damn cute.

Right after we took the picture, Kel decided she was heading up toward the front of the pack. Girl was going on for it. I was so proud of her. It isn’t easy to run any distance by yourself. Believe me. Try sitting in your own head with very few distractions for anywhere from 2-4 hours. Yeah, good luck with that.

And then, before I knew it, Christi, Meghan and I were off and running. And I remember thinking, just like I do in literally every race I run, that I couldn’t believe I was there. I couldn’t believe it was finally the day to do this. I couldn’t believe I still had 26 miles to go…

We used the first couple of miles to get accustomed to our race plans. We’d strategized earlier in the week about where we would stop for fluid and fuel, which helped us break the race into multiple segments rather than one long stretch. We knew that all we needed to focus on at this moment in time was getting to the water stop somewhere near mile 4.

Just as we settled into our pace, and our nerves started to dissipate and our focus set in, I looked up and saw her coming. I’d recognize that little thing running anywhere. The half marathon runners had a turning point just up the road from where we were that brought them back toward us before they turned off again. I started to tear up (races are an emotional time for me, get over it) and then thought “No, don’t cry. You can’t cry. Cheer for her like your life depends on it.” And with that I yelled out as loudly as possible “KELLY MCCULLOCH!” Game on. Christi is screaming “Go on for it!” and Meghan is hooping and hollering all while Kel is pumping her arm in the air right up until she gets right in front of me, and then she throws out her hand for a high five. Sure, we looked a little crazy. Some may feel as though we caused a scene. Ask me if I care. These are my girls, and I will do anything to pump them up.

We finally saw that coveted first water stop up ahead and I looked down at my watch to make sure we were still on pace to walk through it. I started to ask Christi and Meghan what their Garmin’s showed for pace, but just as I looked up I saw it and I stopped talking. My car. Parked on a side street not 20 yards in front of me. And there was a man standing outside, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. And I lost it.

My dad. My boys. My babies were watching me run. And they were proud.

I yelled to the girls that the boys were up ahead and we all started waving frantically, and blowing kisses. And those sweet little smiles looked out at me from behind the windshield in the front seat of my car and they waved and blew kisses right back. I live for moments like that.

And to be honest, those moments just kept coming, one right after another throughout the entire race.

Right after we saw my dad and the boys, we looked up ahead and saw our sweet little Boppy Fairy coming toward us. I wanted to yell “Bri! No! Do not run!” But then I heard Christi say “Is she skipping?” and looked closer. Yep, no need to tell girl not to run. She was a-skippin’ down the street! Aaannnddd…she’s back J

There was a flurry of activity as she asked us how we felt, where our heads were at, and if we needed anything. She shot a few pictures and just as we started to say goodbye as we turned a corner we were hit with another surprise. Meghan’s parents.

I have never met Mr. and Mrs. Freeman but I can tell you this…I love them. Any parents who will come out to cheer on their child, AND make a sign that says “It’s Meghan Freeman Time” to boot, are pretty good people in my book.

Next up was Meghan’s boyfriend, Jake. Oh Jake, how we love you so. In fact, I’d like to petition that he win an award for best Perfect Stranger cheerleader. EVER. That man has met us on the Monon Trail to deliver fuel belts. He’s sat with us at carb loading dinners to pre-race strategize. He wears compression socks while he stands on the side of the road just so we know that he is with us 100%. I’m pretty sure if we asked him to don a Perfect Strangers running tank he’d do that, too. And his voice? Oh, his voice. No joke you can hear it booming from miles away. Most times when you think you see a familiar face on the side of the road, you squint your eyes and look ahead and ask “Is that so and so?” Not with Jake. The minute you think you see him he yells. And then you know it couldn’t be anyone else.

Somewhere around mile 8 we saw my sweet husband Jeremy with his friend, John (who also happens to be a good friend of Christi’s). Right after seeing them the race route headed into River Road Park. It was actually really nice to head off the beaten path for a bit, but it wasn’t long before we dumped right back out onto the main roads again. The good news is that Jeremy and John were there to greet us again, and as we passed John made sure to let us know that the Kenyans were not far ahead. He claimed to have seen them just seconds ago and if we tried really hard we could more than likely catch up with them.

Ahhh…laughter truly is the best medicine. Even for pain.

Here’s the thing…when you run a race in your hometown, people can come out in droves to cheer you on. And it is fan-freaking-tastic. I swear every time we looked up there was someone there rooting for us. Right after we saw John and Jeremy the second time, we saw my sweet little boys and dad again. And this time I ran ahead of the girls so I could deliver proper snuggles of thanks.

And it was finally almost time for that second fuel stop. Whew! Mile 9. We needed it. We were starting to feel the pace we’d been keeping because it was a pretty fast clip. And we were cold. And the wind was darn near unbearable. It was definitely time for a reset. (I am pretty sure we saw Jake and his friend, Chris, at this point, too. But my memory of this portion of the race is a bit fuzzy.)

I warned the girls that our biggest hill was quickly approaching. We needed to take in our gels and water, and some deep breaths, and then get ready to conquer. I’d told them that just at the crest of the hill my girlfriend, Annie, had posted signs that she’d made for me. I knew if I got to the point where I could see the signs that it would give me the spring in my step that I needed to make it all the way to the top. So off I went. And of course I asked Christi to run ahead and snap a picture for me J

 

It was around this time that I realized just how many military personnel had been positioned on the course. I don’t think I had taken proper account of them before, and as we ran toward the man standing in the center of the street at attention it hit me. We can do this. It’s nothing in comparison to what he or his friends and comrades may have been through. We can handle 26.2 miles. We said thank you as we passed and all shared a moment of silence as we realized our aches and pains were nothing in comparison to what so many others have had to experience.

And then (as if on cue because we definitely needed a laugh) we saw Jake again. But this time was different. He wasn’t just standing and cheering. Jake was actually stretching. And as we passed he yelled out something about how he was starting to feel the effects of all this chasing. And the three of us lost it. I busted out in laughter and yelled “Oh, I’m sorry. Have YOU had a rough go of it, today? You’ve had a lot going on there, buddy?”

The next few miles were nothing but pure will and determination. We all knew we wanted to see the 13.1 mile marker at no more than 2:00. We each had our own goals for the race, but we knew if we picked up the pace in the first half then we would be able to recover and take a bit longer in the second half. We saw Meghan’s parents again, and then my girlfriend, Sam, and her family.

And before I knew it we were there. We were at Hawthorne Drive, looking at Kel’s house with Mike and the girls in the driveway. And that beautiful sign that read 13.1.

Mike had promised the night before at dinner that he would be blaring music from the house and he did not disappoint. Sadly, I have no idea what he was playing. I just remember seeing them all snuggled up in their lawn chairs. The girls were waving so proudly and blew us kisses as we ran past. And then, just when I thought we were out of ear shot I hear “Bye Gigi”.

Ugh.

I couldn’t love those two little girls more if I tried.

Thank God for the Larabar that Annie had attached to the sign she made me. I’d saved it in case of emergency and right around this point we hit an emergency. I was starving. Luckily we saw Jake again (I’m telling you…best cheerleader ever) and he was able to open our gel packets and the Larabar as our hands were literally frozen. I ripped that bad boy in half and gave one half to Christi and threw the other half down the hatch. We had another 13.1 to go and we needed as much fuel as we could get.

Game. On.

Meghan started to hang back a bit at this point so as to save as much energy as possible for her second half, so I knew it was just Christi and I against the world (aka my goal). My public goal for this race was to run it in 4:30 or less. My super secret goal that only Christi knew was that I wanted to run it in 4:25 or less. Unfortunately the wind was picking up, and the hills were getting worse. The pains were starting to creep up on me. I honestly didn’t know if I could do it.

Right around mile 15 we saw my friend Christina and I collapsed into her arms in a heap of tears. I thought I had missed her, and I needed to see her. She was fantastic. She told me how proud she was of me. She told me that I looked great. She told me to keep going. So I did…

We turned onto the Hagan Burke Trail and somehow ended up behind the boy who Christi endearingly named “Shake Rattle and Roll”. I swear to you this guy must have had an entire can of jelly beans in his pocket. And they shook as loudly as they could with every step he took. Want to know what the world’s most annoying sound is when you are halfway through a marathon and in pain?

Jelly beans in a can being shaken over, and over, and over.

One woman standing on the side of the trail watched him run past and the look on her face was priceless. And then she turned to Christi and I as we passed. “I bet you just love him.” Oh let me count the ways…

Thankfully we knew we had an upcoming cheerleading section of Kelly and Bri. Christi had received word via text that Kelly was done with her race and they were on their bikes and ready to meet us at mile 17. We were so incredibly happy to see them. We needed a distraction and for people to just talk to us for a few minutes. I don’t know that we would have made it through that hill without them peddling alongside of us. We talked to Kel about her race and she’d killed it at 2:00. That is a fantastic time for a half marathon in Carmel on this route. Folks, there are some serious hills to contend with in this race. Sister rocked it.

Bri and Kel left us (just as I told them their chipper attitude was annoying me – love you ladies!) and we were off again. Headed to the next reset spot. Mile 18. And that’s when it started to get really tough.

We did and said everything we could to keep each other going. And surprisingly our watches still showed us running a consistent 9:30-9:50 pace. We kept saying we needed to slow down and conserve but we just kept pushing ourselves. I honestly don’t remember miles 18-21. I don’t remember one thing about them, except for the fact that they hurt. It was somewhere around the end of that fog that I recall heading into the trails at the Monon Center.

Mile 21. I remember seeing the sign and thinking “5.2 miles. You can do that in your sleep. Go.”

Unfortunately mile 21-22 was a bit of a mind trick for both Christi and me. The trails loop around the land at the Monon Center, so there were runners ahead of us and behind us going in every which direction. Any distance runner will tell you that there is almost nothing worse than heading into a difficult portion of a race and being able to see other runner’s right next to you who have already finished that portion and are heading out of the loop. Prime example? The Indianapolis Motor Speedway portion of the Mini Marathon. As you enter the track, there are people right next to you running out of it. Mind games.

We finally made it through the maze with a few choice words for the race route, and I could faintly see the sign for mile 22 up ahead. Just as I start to turn to Christi to pump her up again, she squints ahead and says “Is that my Mom?”

Nothing like an unexpected Mama sighting to bring a girl to tears. Hell I barely know Christi’s mom and I cried.

We ran up on her and she cheered and yelled for Christi with all her might. She also kept crying out “I can’t get my camera to work!” We both needed that laugh :) I told her that Christi was amazing, and that she was doing a phenomenal job and on we went. And just before we were out of earshot she yelled “Go, Christi, go! Disney 2013!”

Huh?

“My mom wants to go to Disney in January. She wants me to go, too, and run the marathon.”

I won’t lie. It sounds enticing.

And then we were finally upon that coveted water stop at mile 22. Finally time to stop and walk so we could down our last gels and some water, and hit that beloved reset button.

Finally time to see our girls again.

Bri and Kel were up ahead, screaming and yelling and using those plastic hand clappers that I hate at home when my boys make too much noise with them but L.O.V.E during a race. They gave us that much needed motivation to put some spring back in our step and just go on for it. For the love of all things holy, we just needed to get this race over with.

Just as we headed out of the trails, I remember feeling strong again. I remember thinking “You are doing it. You are going to finish your 3^rd marathon. Be proud.” It was at that point that I said aloud “I would like to thank the fine folks at CrossFit for the help they’ve provided me in making my legs stronger to get through this race!”

And with that, Christi caught the giggles.

“Jaime! We’ve got 3 miles to go and you’re giving your acceptance speech?!”

Oh we laughed and laughed over that one… There is something to be said about gut wrenching laughter on a run. It’s HARD to laugh (or cry) and run at the same time. For reals. Try it and get back to me. It knocks the wind out of you, and you cannot breathe. But for whatever reason that makes you laugh harder. Kind of like when you are growing up and something strikes you as funny in elementary school class. You get that glare from the teacher and you pray she doesn’t call you out in front of everyone. But you are doing everything in your power to stop laughing and you just can’t do it. But as much as it hurts sometimes, I love to have a good laugh on a run. It reminds me that what we’re all really children at heart, out there playing around and having a good time. It reminds me that we should never take ourselves too seriously.

We decided to take one more reset somewhere between miles 23 and 24. They were handing out water and oranges, so I grabbed one of each and kept walking. Christi was right next to me, and then she wasn’t. I heard her say “Wait? What’s in there?” as she turned back and grabbed a small cup off of a table. I’m trying to drink my water and shove this orange down my throat, and I look over to see Christi smiling and waving a small chocolate wafer at me.

“Want some?” she said, with a newfound sparkle in her eyes. Like that chocolate wafer was the ticket to eternal happiness. I stuck with the orange, she downed the wafer and off we went.

My head was once again starting to play games with me, and I kept checking my Garmin to make sure we were on pace. But I honestly couldn’t even do the simplest of math any longer. I saw the mile marker for 24, and I read the clock, but it didn’t resonate right away. And then Christi said it…

“Jaime, do you see that clock?”

“Yes.”

“Are you reading what it says?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it means?”

Tears.

“That we’re going to beat my goal?”

“Girl, you are going to crush your goal.”

My dad and the boys were at their final cheering place just before we hit mile 25. I needed them. I needed to see those sweet faces one last time before we turned the corner and picked it up.

Christi talked me through every last bit of that race. We turned onto Main Street, and she explained that we had two more right turns until the finish line. We had two more hills. We had a lot of life left in us. We didn’t need to start sprinting, so as to conserve that very last bit for the very end. But we were going to do it. I was going to PR. And being the angel that she is, Christi just kept repeating over and over “Jaime, I am so proud of you. Do you know that? I am so, so proud of you.”

We made that first turn, and I heard someone yell my name. I looked up and saw my friend, Annie, hanging out of her car window screaming as loud as she could. I smiled and waved and kept on going.

And then we were there. That final turn. We’d crested our final hill. Just as we started to turn Christi pointed out two runners ahead of us and mentioned that we were definitely going to beat the two of them today. And we did. We passed them with ease.

And then I heard them.

I swear to you it was as if the entire volume was turned down on the earth except for Kelly’s and Bri’s voices. I looked ahead to try and find them, and I finally saw them standing on the side of the road jumping up and down and screaming.

I burst into tears and just kept telling myself to pick up the pace. Just keep running. And just as I passed her, I remember Kelly looking me right in the eye, locking right into my soul and yelling “You nailed it!” over and over and over.

And it hit me. I nailed it. I did it. WE did it.

We crossed the finish line in 4:22:57.

Running a marathon is by far one of the toughest, yet most gratifying, experiences of your entire life. I don’t care if you can do it in 2 hours or 6 hours. You are doing it. And that, my friends, is what matters. You are out there, pushing yourself beyond all comprehension, proving to yourself that you are strong and confident and ABLE. You have trained for months on end. You have subjected yourself to tip toeing around the house at 4:45AM so as not to wake your family before you head out for a quick 2+ hour training run. You have run in extreme heat, or extreme cold. You’ve taken ice baths. You’ve drank sports drink after sports drink, and consumed gel after gel.

You are an athlete. And you are able.

Oh, and speaking of athletes? Yeah, Meghan pulled out a nice PR by 20 minutes. Did you read that right? TWENTY MINUTES. You go on for it, girl. You came up here and put the own on Carmel that day.

There are a million people that I could thank right now, but this isn’t an acceptance speech. It’s simply a story about a couple of girls who ran a race. But the thing is these aren’t just any girls. These are my Perfect Strangers. It wasn’t our first race together and it won’t be our last.

So if you see any of us out there training, go ahead…give us a high five. Yell out our coined phrase of “Go on for it!”

And know that no matter what, we are trying our best. There are bad days, and there are good days, but we are out there and we are trying. It’s what we do.

There simply isn’t any other option.

xo~

J

{I'd be remiss if I didn't add how proud I was of all the girls on Saturday. But when Jaime passed me coming down the finishing chute, I lost it. I screamed at the top of my lungs "You effing nailed it!" over and over, as Jaime said. But what she didn't know is that even though there was a smile on my face, there were tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I was just so dang proud of her. Something about witnessing my best friend accomplish her goal that just made my heart want to leap out of my chest. I beamed for her. With her. So proud.}