” I realize that my participation in this event entails the risk of injury or even death.”

Perhaps, just perhaps, I should have paid closer attention to the Dances with Dirt waiver.

“I realize that the course for the (DWD) presents a number of potential dangers to me and I hereby assume the risk arising from all of them. I realize that I will be running on a variety of surfaces, some of them far less than perfect, including but not limited to roads, unimproved trails, mud, swamps, cliffs, lumpy fields covered with waist high grass and river crossings. The roads are open to motor vehicle traffic that has the right of way. I know that broken bones, reactions to poison ivy, insect bites and bruising are common occurrences in this extreme event and that I will be far into the wilderness away from medical support. I realize that the danger of injury and even death exists as well and I hereby assume all the risks that may be present on the (DWD) course.”

Let’s move on to the race info that was emailed out to participants the week before the race:

• DWD is an adventurous trail run with difficult and stupid sections. Crying is acceptable.
• IF YOU’VE RUN FOR 3 MINUTES WITHOUT SEEING A RIBBON OR FLAG, YOUR DECISION TO CONTINUE FORWARD IS MORONIC.
• 10K Virgin voyage 2011 (first year)

What in the HELL did I get myself into? Read on.

It all started Friday night when Rochelle, Annie, Tracey, Matt, Marty and I drove up to meet Krista and Evan at Devil’s Head Resort in Merrimac. Rochelle, Annie and Tracey headed to the resort to check in and the rest of us set up camp.

Me and Krista, representing Dailymile while beering and camping

We headed into Baraboo for some good ol’ fashioned spaghetti and meatballs. The Mama Mia’s staff were so sweet and stayed open late just for us!

Then it was back to camp for more beer and this awesome campfire:

Why yes, that IS two citronella candles chillin’ on a smokey joe. Don’t judge. You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.

I woke up early enough to see my friends off to their races. Annie, Rochelle, Tracey, Krista and Marty all did the marathon. Evan and Matt did the half marathon… then there was me. The lone 10k-er.

I wasn’t really worried or all that nervous before the race. This was just a fun run on the trails while my friends ran a marathon. I’d finish and head back to camp for beer.

I headed to the start line just before 8 a.m. Then I heard the announcer say, “Oh hey 10k-ers. By the way, you’re going to wish you signed up for the half marathon. This is the most difficult 10k I’ve ever seen.”

Um. No.

What?

Then the race started. So I ran. Then we got to the ski hill. You know, the one we had to RUN UP.

I know. Who in the hell runs up a ski hill?

The race bottle-necked at the base of the hill, which was fine with me. “I’m good with this pace. Carry on,” I proclaimed to much laughter.

After the initial incline, the pack began to thin out. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had gotten myself into. It was HOT.

It doesn’t look steep, but trust me, it’s not fun.

When I reached the top of the hill, I was pretty excited. I was only a little slower than I had planned and it was uphill. Winning! Just do a 5k up here then I get to head back down! Wheeee!

I picked up speed and ran through the woods. I passed two or three people. Hells yeah. I’m doing this. I’m rocking this.

Oh fuck.

Yep. I fell. Hard. Forward.

I cut up my legs, arms and even got a hole in my summer running tights. Oh, and I landed right on my left thumb. But more on that later.

I shook it off and kept going.

Then, I came to what can only be described as a steep steep hill (yes, double steep) with shoulder-high grass where race organizers  probably sent someone the day before to stomp a path down the hill. So there was this tiny itty bitty path on this double steep hill and the only path was slippery grass mixed with fresh mud. You see where this is going, right?

I basically fell down this hill. For more than half a mile. Every few steps I would slip and slide down further on my ass. It got pretty comical. Step step step step BOOM slide. Repeat. I counted seven falls down the hill. I grabbed anything and everything to maintain my balance, including thorny bushes. I even got my hair stuck in a small tree while the rest of my body tried to fall down the hill. I took baby steps, sideways down the hill to maintain balance. I went so slow. Then I reached the bottom. Yay! Water stop! Yay! Catching up with the other slow people.

Confession: I don’t know these ladies or their names. But we commiserated at 3.5 miles into the 10k. Notice the smiles? Those were gone in about 60 seconds.

Why? The colored flags denoting the race path started sneaking…. up. Yes, UP. UP ANOTHER DAMN SKI HILL. This one was so much worse than the first.

The heat and humidity were starting to hit me and my asthma… hard. Every 5-10 steps I had to stop to catch my breath and pray I didn’t die. I sent the ladies pictured above along with a nice man named Mark on ahead. I was overly dramatic and told them to “Save yourselves. Leave me be. I’m gonna puke. It’s not going to be pretty. I’ll catch up later.”

And now we come to the part of the day where I completely lost about 30 minutes of my life. Seriously. Somehow it took me 30  minutes to go half a mile up a hill. And I don’t really remember any of it. I was dizzy. I was hallucinating. I’m pretty sure it was heat exhaustion. I drank some of my water. Took a couple sport beans. I dreamed of laying down and passing out. I know that I never let myself sit down or lay down, but I really don’t know what happened. But then I got to (what I thought was) the top of the ski hill! WINNING! Here’s what the look down was like.

I entered a wooded area. Yay! Shade! Less than a quarter mile later, this is what I saw:

I was only half way up the damn ski hill. I started sobbing. I couldn’t believe what a tease the course was. I thought I was at the top of the hill. I wasn’t even close. Luckily, it wasn’t nearly as steep, but it was still UP.

I struggled to the top and then started to feel a bit better. I did some jogging as I headed back in and out of the wooded areas and down the “easy” ski hill. I didn’t push my speed because I really didn’t want to pass out. I knew I was going to be the last person to finish the 10k so there really wasn’t any type of time goal. Just finish. And, #dontdie.

Eventually, I heard some music. I heard cheering. I knew I was getting close to the finish line. I stumbled through the finish line and was given my medal. No one cheered. I don’t think anyone even knew I was running the race because I looked like a stumbling drunk.

How badass is this? EXTREME 10k indeed!

One of the volunteers gave me an ice cold bottle of water. That water was heaven. She asked how I was doing. I think she could tell something was off. I told her I didn’t know if I was ok. She offered to walk me to the med tent but I said I could do it. I didn’t know if I needed it though. So I kind of wandered like a crazy person at the finish, drinking gatorade, water, whatever I could get my hands on.

I saw Matt. He said he and Evan were worried about me because they thought I was going to finish an hour earlier. Yeah, me too. He offered to get me things. I just sort of mumbled and started throwing down my ipod, garmin, spibelt and kicked off my shoes. I walked straight to the make-shift shower near the finish line and stood under the cool stream of water for 5-10 minutes. That was the most amazing ghetto shower I’ve ever taken. It cooled me off enough I didn’t need to go to the med tent. I washed off all my cuts and scrapes and scrubbed off the mud. Then I stumbled to the food table and sloppily ate half a chocolate muffin. omg. chocolate. muffin.

I changed, grabbed my chair and the beer and chilled at the finish line with Evan and Matt to await our friends’ arrival. Mmmm beer.

No amount of training could have adequately prepared me for this race. Based on previous trail runs, I expected to finish in about 2:05 with an ultimate goal of 1:50. My official time: 2:41:26.

Injuries: countless bruises, cuts, scrapes, thorns, sunburn, a bunch of busted blood vessels and a sprained thumb.

SPLITS: 21:55, 22:03, 19:33, 48:31, 32:10, 17:15*

*NOTE: these are incorrect, as when I practically crawled up the ski hill (2nd) my garmin kept jacking up with the satellites, so it said I did 5.85 mi when it was really 6.2. I’m sure the trees didn’t help, either.

Due to some poor decision making on my part, I was feeling much less than 100% today.

Blame it on a wedding. Blame it on the free alcohol.  Blame it on the high heels. Blame it on the dancing. Blame it on the cowbell. Blame it on the singing and dancing on stage with The Love Monkeys.

Regardless of what to blame, I was kind of miserable today.

Then I tried to work out. I had to go so slowly because my toes/balls of my feet were so sore from last night. Remarkably my plantar fascia on my left foot held up beautifully. But the rest of my foot is in a lot of pain. Sooooo I decided I would try an ice soak. I started crying it hurt so bad.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we make bad decisions? Why do we push ourselves so far?

“The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.”
- John Bingham

It started out like any normal Sunday. Well, any normal Sunday where you get up at 4 a.m. to get ready and catch a bus at 5 a.m. to your first half marathon. You know, the usual. My first half marathon experience was nothing short of amazing. God spoke to me through Freddy Mercury, I never stopped to use the bathroom, I ran about 3 miles, I kept smiling and joking throughout and got to see almost every single teammate along the way. I am so grateful for this experience.

Me and Coach Anne – the cool kids in the back of the bus.

Team Challenge Wisconsin met for one last team cheer before the walkers nervously boarded our fancy bus to Napa. I was a ball of nerves. Yes, I’m smiling in the photos above, but my stomach was in knots. What had I done? Did I really sign up for this? What the hell was I thinking? Who in their right mind – at 249 lbs – would do a half marathon? I mean, really…

Well, I guess I’m that crazy fool.

Shortly after we boarded the bus, Dave, one of my teammates, said to me, “You look nervous.” Duh. Of course I was nervous. I had been dealing with an upset stomach all week leading up to this moment.

In an effort to calm myself on the bus (something that was much needed), I read through the list of encouragement and inspirational quotes I received from family and friends. Here are some highlights:

• “Always do what you are afraid to do.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
• I know you are thinking about Napa as a milestone, but I have already seen enough to know that you can do it. I hope you feel the same confidence in where you are in your training.
• “As an athlete, when you least expect it, you may find yourself standing on the threshold of an accomplishment so monumental that it strikes fear into your soul. You must stand ready, at any moment, to face the unknown. You must be ready to walk boldly thru the wall of uncertainty.” – John Bingham
• As you cross that starting line in Napa, do so knowing that all of us back home are cheering for you and sending all the positive vibes we can muster. And, as you cross the finish line … soak it all in. Because you’ll never forget that feeling of accomplishment.
• “What distinguishes those of us at the starting line from those of us on the couch is that we learn through running to take what the days gives us, what our body will allow us, and what our will can tolerate.” - John Bingham
• “I can do everything through HIM who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13
• All I can say is, “Thank you!” from the bottom of my COLON!

When we got to the beautiful vineyard for the start of the race, my nerves started to subside. I had business to take care of. I had to write names on my arm in sharpie, hit the port-a-potty for a pre-race pee, turn in my stuff at the gear check table, apply my Team Challenge temporary tattoos, apply sunscreen, make sure my race bib, honored hero ribbons, SPI Belt, iPod and water bottle were all situated properly. Oh, and let’s not forget about the most important piece of gear – my inhaler.

The Team Challenge walkers got to start the race about 30 minutes ahead of the runners. Race organizers gave us the option, to make sure there was still race support when we were all out there longer than the runners. At first, I was very much against the idea of starting early, but race organizers still gave us the feeling of starting with the rest of the pack. There was the countdown, the excitement and the camaraderie I hoped to experience in my first big race (it also gave me the chance to line up in the 6-7 minute mile corral… something I will never see again ever in my life).

I also got to line up with the rest of my Team Challenge Wisconsin walkers. I spent the past 16 weeks training with these people. We became a family. We got into this together. We pushed each other. We were going to start this thing together too. We’re not necessarily what conventional thought would describe as athletes, but I can assure you, each one of these people shown below is an athlete. We trained hard. It wouldn’t have happened without Team Challenge. Without the support and encouragement from Coach Anne and Coach Tim, I’m pretty sure some of us wouldn’t have finished the race.

The first couple of miles were congested, as is in most races. We took them slow, and walked as a team. We joked, we laughed, we goofed around.

Mostly, we enjoyed the landscape. Traveling through wine country on foot was amazing. Vineyard after vineyard after vineyard. By about mile 2 or 3, we started to spread out. Most of my running happened between miles 2-7 of the race.

4.5 miles done!

I was amazed at how GOOD I felt throughout the race. I never really felt exhausted. My body was prepared for those 13.1 miles, despite all my worry. I mean, look at me! I was more than a third of the way through the race and I was still a-smilin’! I wasn’t sweaty, either. Ahh, the joys of starting a race in the 50s and overcast! I couldn’t have asked for better weather.

Yes, I am a goof ball. If you don’t believe me, see the race photos below. I am absolutely ridunkulous. Sidenote: my singlet kept rolling up my gut. I’m so happy I brought my black Under Armor tank. Otherwise, there would have been WAY too many photos of my blindingly white gut.

As I creeped up on the 6 mile mark, I looked at my Garmin and knew that I was on track to finish the race in less than 4 hours, even if my pace slipped by 60-90 seconds for the back half. In fact, I finished the first 6 miles in 1:40, 5 minutes faster than my previous 6 mile run/walks during training!

Ok, so remember when I said God spoke to me through Freddy Mercury? Oh the irony, right? Well, here’s what happened. I was so freaking nervous the night before the race, and even though I tried to sleep well, I kept waking up throughout the night. At one point, I began to pray. I asked God to hold my hand through the race. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it without his guidance. So, I was a little selfish and asked him to give me a sign that he was there with me. I prayed, “God, when you think I need it the most, please play ‘We Are the Champions’ by Queen on my iPod.” You see, I have an iPod shuffle and don’t really have any control over what song plays when. It was my sort of test for God. I know, it was a weird test. And I shouldn’t have doubted him. But I was so scared I needed a reminder.

Well, the song came on my iPod. I looked at my Garmin. According to this GPS watch, I had just hit 6.55 miles into the race. AKA: the halfway point.

God spoke to me through Freddy Mercury at EXACTLY the halfway point of the race. When I realized this, I completely lost it. It’s a good thing I wasn’t with any of my teammates at this point. I was bawling like a baby. I’m pretty sure I shouted a few, “Thank you Jesus!” “Praise the Lord!” and, oh… one of these, “We really are the champions!” Imagine me shouting this while crying and running. Pretty awesome.

Luckily, not long after this mess, Coach Anne came running back to me. I told her what happened and may or may not have teared up again. I am so glad I got to see her at this point. I needed it (and her)!

Mile 8ish

Of course, we were both tweeting. What else would you expect from us?

Somewhere around this point, we ran into Mary and Patty. I ran with them for a li’l bit. It was so fun to see them during the race! Of course, I could only stay at their pace for a short bit, but I ran with them, mmmkay?

Miles 7-9 went pretty well for me. I still felt great. Hell, if I could run for a bit at this point of the race, I must have been doing something right.

Mile 9ish

Mile 9.5ish

Here’s about where I started to hurt. The first 9.5 miles were awesome. Sure, I was definitely feeling the effects of 9.5 miles on my body, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with. Somewhere between 9.5 and 10 miles into the race, I hurt. A lot. My foot ached. I tried to focus on the race. I was able to keep a positive attitude, despite the pain. I kept my head held high. I kept hydrating. I kept taking my Honey Stingers and Powerbar chews every mile or so. I kept on trucking, smiling and enjoying the experience. As my Garmin chirped for the 10 mile mark, I wrote one more tweet, “Well the 10mi warmuup is done. Time to own this 5k bitches #napaorbust.” I put my phone away for the rest of the race. I knew if I hit the 10 mile mark, I could finish the race. I’ve done more than my share of 3 mile runs. I knew this was it. I wanted to focus on the road. I wanted to soak in the scenery. I wanted to keep the last three miles for me, at least until the race was over.

I’ve shared this whole experience with everyone. I tweeted and texted and facebook’d throughout training… and throughout the first 10 miles of the race. I knew that unplugging for the finale 3.1 miles would help me stay focused. I didn’t need any distractions. It was just me, the road and my iPod. Oh, and an alpaca farm.

I kept on smiling. I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I saw Team Challenge friends at mile 11. I was almost there. The sun was shining. My heart was exploding with pride and perseverance. I cried. I walked with the coach from the South Florida team for about a mile. He said it was too cold for him, which made me laugh. I told him he was crazy and this weather was awesome. He told me he started the race with 4 layers of clothing. He was now at 2 layers and a bit chilly.

He asked how I was doing. I admitted to him that my foot hurt a lot, and briefly explained to him the problems I’ve had during training. He stepped aside and watched my stride for awhile. “Well you’re certainly not favoring either foot, so I think you’re good to finish.” Not that I needed that bit of encouragement – there was no way I wasn’t finishing the race. But, it was good to hear my form hadn’t been altered by the pain I was experiencing.

He was off to walk with some of his racers and I was once again left to my own devices. I didn’t mind. With the exception of the brief moments when I saw runners from Team Wisconsin go past me, and the time spent with Coach Anne, I spent the majority of the race on my own. I’m sure it would have been great to have someone to talk to throughout the race, but I had my tweeps, along with my parents and sister and best friend who texted me the entire way. Honestly, I kind of liked it. It was good to know I didn’t need anyone else to finish this race.

As I reached mile 12, I started tearing up. Again. I realized I had already gone further than I ever had in my life. My body could do this. My body was doing this. I walked 12 miles. 12 miles people! This is nothing for you marathoners, but this is huge – huge – for someone like me. Six months ago, I was sick, depressed and on the fast track to an early death. But Sunday, before most people woke up, I had walked 12 miles. Cue the tears. Again. I knew I was getting close to the city square in Sonoma. I wasn’t in the country anymore.

I was rocking it down a residential street, with people cheering along the way. I got to the park (about 12.5 miles in) and saw exactly what I needed – my friends Rochelle and Sarah walking back along the course to find me and help me through the last mile. I knew they were going to come back and find me, I just didn’t know when I would see them. As soon as I saw their smiling faces, I began to sob. I did one of those ohmigod-you-guys-I-friggin-love-you-I-can’t-believe-I’m-almost-there-I-did-it-and-you’re-here-and-ohmigosh-I-can’t-breathe girlie moments where you fan your hands in front of your face and lunge at your friends for a huge hug.

They told me I was almost there and they were right. I was less than a mile from accomplishing my goal – completing a half marathon. I could see the finish line – it wasn’t a mirage. I saw the crowds lining the streets in Sonoma. I saw orange. I saw smiles. I saw people cheering for me. ME! People don’t cheer for me. But these people were. I couldn’t help but smile… I was grinning from ear to ear.

Rochelle and Sarah kept saying words of encouragement. They asked me what my plan was for the finish line – I didn’t know what to say – I wanted to cross it. I hadn’t thought about anything else except crossing that finish line.

Coach Tim came back on the course to finish with me. I had a freaking entourage people! They were cheering for me and I know they were so proud of what I was doing.

When I saw the 13 mile marker, I started sprinting. I don’t really know what Sarah, Rochelle or Tim said at this point. My body took over my mind and went into sprint mode. I was going to finish this race. I was going to cross the finish line. I saw Tracey and Jason cheering near the finish. Other than that it was a blur until I had that medal hanging around my neck. It was pure bliss. How else do you describe something like this? It was magical. It was amazing. It was quite possibly the best moment of my life so far.

I did it. I walked (and ran) 13.1 (ok, actually 13.25) miles in 3 hours, 49 minutes and 39 seconds. Sure, this time is about 5 minutes shy of a BQ… for a marathon. It took me almost 4 hours to complete a half marathon… but I did it. I never gave up. I never stopped. I never lost sight of the goal – crossing that finish line. My good friends finished the race in less than 2 hours. They could have lapped me. For some reason, I haven’t let this bring me down… why? Because I walked (and ran) non-stop for 3 hours and 49 minutes. How many people can say that? How many people can walk at this brisk of a pace for this length of time? In case you’ve never walked this far, let me tell you – it’s a lot of work. I have runner friends who have told me they could never in a million years do what I did Sunday. They couldn’t walk 13.1 miles. They couldn’t walk for almost 4 hours. Sure, they can run that far or for that long, but walking is a whole different ball game. It’s my game. And I won.

Splits: 17:20, 16:31, 15:38, 17:00, 16:33, 17:09, 16:11, 16:55, 18:06, 18:35, 18:55, 18:25, 18:31, 16:36 (.25mi)

For more photos from the weekend, check out my set on Flickr.

This is what happens when your Garmin is upset you can’t run for 2 weeks.

One week ago, I did a half marathon. All week long, I’ve been a lazy bum. I need to kick my butt in gear but I’ve been in so much pain with my left foot.

Went to the doc Friday afternoon and she said that since my foot felt better before the race, it probably wasn’t a stress fracture. Dr. H. thinks it’s one of the following – bad sprain, torn tendon or tendonitis. Lovely, eh? If it still hurts in 2 weeks, she’s sending me to an orthopedic specialist who’ll likely do a bone scan or ct scan. yay.

So, I can’t run or walk (everyday kind of walking is ok. Walking to work out is not) for 2 weeks. No elliptical either (not that I mind). Basically, anything that means I’m putting all my weight on my feet is out.

This basically leaves me with biking and swimming. I love biking and I love swimming. I just don’t have access to a pool. Sure, there’s a lake but with all the rain we’ve had lately, I’m pretty sure that’s the last place I want to be right now. If anyone has a pool I could swim laps in for free, lemme know. Or, if you know of a place I could use for a nominal fee, I’m all ears. I need to do cardio and I don’t want to only bike. Besides, the trail I usually use is all effed up because of the rain. (UPDATE: My friend Jane may have solved the pool access dilemma. Stay tuned).

Yes, I’m making excuses, but I’m just trying to air out my options. I’ll probably hit up yoga this week, even though that requires weight on my feet. I don’t know what else to do! At least with yoga, it’s not constant moving and pounding on my feet.

Also: I got a good foot/ankle brace now. Icing a few times a day and sucking down the ibuprofen.

My parents said they would drive down to the eastside so we could take the three dogs for a walk at Lake Shore State Park (one of my absolute FAVORITE places to run/walk). We drove down to the parking by the lighthouse and headed out along the water to the park. Not even a quarter mile in I lost my footing on the sidewalk/grass (sort of missed the sidewalk) and rolled my BAD ankle, scraped up my arm a bit, got grass stains on my pants, and bruised my ego.

My parents gasped. I sat there in shock, not knowing if I should cry, scream, swear or crawl back to the car.

I was so scared that I completely messed up my left foot/ankle. I’m pretty sure I rolled it. Which, you know, is really awesome 7 days before you’re traveling to wine country to complete your first half marathon ever.

I sat on the ground for a while. My dad and another guy who saw me fall offered to help me up but I turned them down. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to know if I had just taken myself out of training for the final week. I didn’t want to know if I would still be able to do this race.

Honestly, I think there was a part of me that wouldn’t have minded being side-lined from the race. I’m already at the point where I am not going to be anywhere near my initial time goal, due to knee problems early in training and then this whole sprained foot business.

I moved my ankle and it hurt, but wasn’t excruciating. It was important I pick myself up and keep going. I knew that if I retreated back to the car, I would have a huge psychological barrier next weekend at the race.

I stood up and took a step. I’ll be honest. It hurt. A lot.

But I kept going. As I walked, it hurt but I was able to do it without too much pain. My ankle/foot is definitely weakened now. Although, maybe whatever I did will have knocked things back into place. Who knows.

All I know is I am in a lot of pain right now, so I wrapped it up and iced it for 20 minutes. I’m going to do that every hour til bed and hopefully things will be better in the morning.

Otherwise, I might really be sidelined for Napa. And I don’t think I can handle another blow. Please say a li’l prayer for my left foot/ankle. I can’t not do this race.