Finished.

Done. No hospitalization, no vomiting on course.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's begin at the beginning of the day of the half-marathon (aka day I now actually have to run for many hours because people gave me money for charity because they are wonderful and would not be impressed if I ditched because my bed was warm and running for 3 hours just seems so much crazier at 5:30 in the morning).

I wrenched myself out of bed at 5:30 am on a Sunday. Andrea and I motored around, shoving ourselves full of carby breakfast and pinning on our numbers. We arrived by bike at the course, where thousands upon thousands of other racers were waiting. After a last-minute visit to the port-o-potty (which even before the race was a thing conjured only in nightmares), we excitedly waited in our corral to start. And waited. I guess having thousands of runners all start at once isn't logistically possible, so we actually didn't start for about 45 minutes.

The first half of the race was surprisingly smooth. The weather was stunningly beautiful and warm, and I barely noticed the first three miles. Along the course were live bands (13 in total), lots of people encouraging the runners, and three different groups of cheerleaders (god love america!). By mile five, I was hurting a bit, but still felt pretty strong.

By mile 8, still running, I'd hit and overcome several walls. My problematic ankle was astoundingly not hurting. Unfortunately, everything else was. My legs were increasingly leaden, I had severe foot pain which had not occurred previously and my morale was starting to sink. At one point, I had thought I might make it through the race running, but at that point, I realized I would not. So for the rest of the race, I had to take several walking breaks. And there came a point at which I literally had to dig my nails into my palms to distract myself from the pain raging in my feet and legs and had to mentally battle myself to lift each muscle. I've rarely faced such physical trials and it was surprisingly demoralizing.

But then my hero, my training buddy, and the one who got me into this mess was there - Andrea. She could have kept running, and I told her to go on, but she was there, every time I flagged and had to walk, she walked with me. She set small goals for running so we'd run and then walk a bit and run some more. And in the last 50 meters, when I said I could do no more, she said "yes you can" (in an inspiring, Obama-like voice) and we ran across the finish line together. I was so happy to stop that I pretty much stopped in one place. Andrea, still heroic, pulled me out of the path of several other joyous finishing runners.

If Andrea had not been there, I might have made it to the end, but I can practically guarantee that I would have walked the last five miles. She pushed me and I'm glad she did, even though it was a painful trial, a horrid torture, and I'd rather pull each of my hairs out with tweezers than do it again, but I'm so, so grateful she was there. She was an inspiration, and an incredible friend. She also led me to the banana table afterwards, which, if it hadn't already convinced me of her loyalty, certainly affirmed it then.

End result? I had hoped to finish running and didn't. I had hoped to finish in under 2:45 and didn't. But I did finish. And I didn't finish last (actually, I ended at 2:57:34, in 7738th place, out of a total of 9300). Oh, and I didn't die. And in the process, did something I never thought I'd do (namely go for runs in blizzards and wear ridiculous running belts), and convinced lots of wonderful people to give a worthy organization money. Not a bad way to spend a few months, I think.

My legs are starting to move again and the giant blisters on my feet are just about to fade. But my gratitude to all my wonderful friends, especially Andrea, and my sense of accomplishment will only continue to grow.

Peace out homies. And remember: never sign up for one of these if you'd like to keep your body in working order.

The eve of and here we go!

Well, after a highly uneventful, but extremely long and carbon footprint-heavy trip involving a 3:00am bus from Ottawa, a bus from Montreal to Vermont, a flight from Vermont to Houston, a flight from Houston to New Orleans, with good conversation and mediocre airplane food, I made it to my destination - New Orleans! The city is beautiful and sunny and we've had an awesome day. I picked up my race kit which includes (but is not limited to): gummy energy drops which have absolutely no real food in them, a sample of body glide products to reduce chafing (sexy!) and dog treats.

In the spirit of being a beginner at this running thang, I've been doing a lot of reading on what kinds of things you should and shouldn't do before a race. For example, you are not supposed to wear anything you haven't worn out running. However, since the last time I ran it was -15 degrees, and I wore: 2 pairs of pants, a fleece shirt and fleece vest, gloves and a headband, I'm going to disregard the rule and wear things that a bit lighter. I'm sure it will be fine. That or I'll develop bleeding, painful blisters and chafing.

You also aren't supposed to eat anything you normally wouldn't eat before the race. I usually eat pretty healthy (I'm a greens and whole grains and cake kinda girl), so in the spirit of prepping for the race, today we ate white bread and cheese, a tamale, an avocado ice pop, chocolate milk, a fried catfish po-boy sandwich and several bites of nuts, caramel and chocolate tortues. Oh, and some spicy salsa and natchos. I'm sure this will result in great energy and absolutely no difficulties when I run tomorrow. I know my body will thank me.

Speaking of, thank you all for your support and kind words and financial giving. You are all an inspiration to me and I will think of you when I'm sweaty and tired and moving at the pace of a beached whale.

The final countdown...

And it was here that I found myself, a quarter to midnight, desperately throwing together assorted items (pants, toothpaste, books, french horn) for my trip. Due to some other lapse in sanity, I've decided to take a 2:30am bus to Montreal and then another bus to Vermont. All this running has shaken my brain, I'm afraid.

But now, on to what's really interesting - my run! Whew! Okay, maybe not so interesting, but it is coming up. Like in two days. That's right folks, this Sunday morning at 7:00am, you'll find me shivering and once again questioning what happened to my sense of propriety and logic as I prepare to run my first (and good god, I hope it's my last) half-marathon. But before we get there....

I had originally intended to attach some sort of fundraising to my efforts so it would count for something beyond just self-aggrandizement and looking kinda nice in jeans. But time went quickly, and with a week before the race, I thought "okay, I should probably get on this fundraising if I want to end up with more than a few quarters and an old shoelace." So I put a call out on email and a few days later on Facebook, with the ambitious goal of raising $500 for the New Orleans Musicians' Clinic in six days. Four days later, thanks to the incredible, unerring generosity of my beautiful friends and associates, I had surpassed my goal. So, not satisfied, I pushed for even more and my friends delivered. I will now be bringing a cheque for $1048.10 to the New Orleans Musicians' clinic.

I can't really put into words how this makes me feel. I'll try anyhow: I feel melting and tender like a cheesecurd sandwiched between a fry and hot gravy in a large dish of poutine. I feel warm and fuzzy like a bearskin loincloth. I feel glowing like nuclear waste.

I will be thinking of all of you as my ankle breaks down and my shins give up the shin thing they do. But you will keep me motivated. Also, the beer at the end of the marathon will keep me motivated. But you guys are really the motivation, or at least, like, 58%.

Love you and see you in NOLA!

Stress fractures and pain? That won't stop me! Sort of.

So two weeks ago, I went to a sports clinic to check out my ankle. Now, ever since I was little, I wasn't what you'd call "sporty." Sure, I was somewhat active, and liked to go for walks and bike rides, but I was never interested in organized sports, even the casual pick-up game. I didn't even know what that meant. Still don't.

In fact, my only involvement in organized sports of a sort was in high school on the swim team, where my greatest moment of glory came when I was congratulated by my teammates for being ahead of my competitors for about 1 second before they all left me desperately paddling in their watery, frothy wake.

But here I was in my 3rd month of training with a real, genuine sports injury! My ankle was hurting! No, not because I turned it while walking or just standing in one place, and not because I danced too hard, over-extending it during a vivacious performance of the running man and not because I dropped something on it. No, I had sportily run a lot and sportily started feeling pain and sportily that pain turned into a stabbing, jackhammering shin agony which resulted in a not so sporty inability to walk properly.

So off to the sports doctor I went, feeling all hardcore because I was going to a sports clinic. However, the hardcore feeling didn't last when the doctor took about three seconds to feel my shin and tell me that I should probably take 4-6 weeks off before starting my training again. "But my race is in 4 weeks! Can't you inject my ankle with drugs or give me a cast? I can run in a cast!" But the doctor was adamant in crushing my spirit.

Despite threats of multiple stress fractures, I have decided to keep training but I'm not being a total idiot - I'm training without running - using biking and strength-training instead (although the idea of sitting on an indoor bike for two hours is brain-meltingly boring). I've decide that I'll run the half regardless, even if it means that I have to run-walk or finish walking. That's okay, I think. It really is. From the start, all I wanted was to finish, and if I do it running, walking, hopping on one foot, doing a handstand, or skipping across the finish line, that will be good enough.

Stop the presses! It's not totally hopeless!

Um, so, I ran for like, over 2 hours. Twice. In eight days. I'm awesome. Seriously. I mean 2 hours? On a Saturday morning? That deserves a high-five, right?

I'm telling you - I was a graceful gazelle, sprinting across the Sahara, a falcon sweeping through the sky, a Stephen Harper proroguing parliament in the blink of an eye. I'm telling you - it was beautiful! And, I did it again the next week!

It's not that this happened without pain. I wasn't able to walk. I mean literally. I couldn't walk more than five blocks. In fact, "walking" is putting it kindly. What I was doing was more along the lines of attempting to keep myself upright long enough so my extremely sore, swollen ankle didn't collapse underneath me. In fact, I'm seriously thinking of getting hooked up with one of these.

But I have to say it was a bit of a breakthrough. I now know that even if it takes me 3 hours, I will be able to do this. I may not make it running through the whole thing, but I'm going to try. Even if it totally breaks my body in the process.

Oh also, when you run for 2 hours, you can eat anything you want. So after my next one, I think I'll eat a whole cake, 12 litres of ice cream, three cartons of cream, 7.5 tubs of lard (not eight - I don't want to be ridiculous). and a carrot (for good measure).

Thanks for all the encouragement all. If anyone wants to join me for my next 2 hour run, you are more than welcome. Now now, don't all volunteer at once!

XOXO.

Sabrina