not quite dead yet

Testing.  Testing.

This thing on?

How many times a year do I write that?  Ug, sucking at blogging lately.  I blame the adorable second baby.  The later bed times for my 1^st.  The Olympics.  The holidays.  The slow computer.  The stealing of my husbands macbook and how it doesn’t have pictures on it.  Laziness.  Prime time.  Too many events and too far behind to even start.  Laundry.  I blame laundry a little, too.  Oh, and working.  Traveling husbands. Bottles of wine.  Marathon training. 

Did I mention I ran a marathon?  That was a big (slowsky) one for me.  I started training in October with my 5 month old.  What?  Am I crazy?  Yes. 

It was great.  It was “me” time.  It was eaarrrrrrrrrrly mornings.  Technically, I was training for a half—how I always start.  Then, the people I’m running with are running the full so I figure, I really like chatting with them, might as well keep going.  The next thing you know you ran 20 miles and so you are like, “I definitely want to at least get my free t-shirt.”  You think this while your husband is in Japan or China for 1.5 weeks and you are single parenting during some crazy arse weather that has you stuck inside (aka drinking wine by yourself once those kids go to bed) and you think, “I have the best idea!  I’ll just run a full a few weeks after my real race.”  You think this if you are crazy.  Or buzzed and crazy without another voice of reason in the house. 

I love it though.  I love the challenge.  I love chatting with my friends for a few hours on Saturday mornings.  I love completing a workout before anyone else wakes up for the day.  (unless you count that baby who still wakes up in the night to eat.)

I’m never going to win the race, y’all.  But I show up.  I walked with a teammate for a good few miles in the beginning because she was SICK.  Then I kept on my way… listening in on other people’s stories, seeing people I knew, wishing I lived on a race course so I could cocktail and cheer, wondering when I’d see my fam next.  Because, I had a cheering team.  A great three person team.  A traveling circus that includes a three year old who WANTS TO RUN WITH MOMMY!  Who is so so so excited.  Who loves to cheer GO RUNNERS.  Who picked me a flower.  Who looked at me at the end with my medal on and said in awe, “Mommy!  You won the race!!”  And I told him I did.  Because I believe in white lies and sub par parenting. 

So I did it.  Two races.  Back to back.  I am calling it quits on marathoning.  For now.  For at least 2 years.  Because I say that every time.  I’m such a sucker.

And the shirt is ugly.  And why didn't anyone tell me to pull up my shirt?