"TiK ToK, on the clock. But the party don't stop, no. Whoa-oh oh oh" - Kesha Rose Sebert

*Knock Knock*

Kelly: Who's there?

D2: Heeeey! It's Day Two Of Your Period! I'm here to TEAR. CRAP. UP. and PARTY!

Kelly: Day Two? Didn't we just hang out?

D2: Naw, son. That was probably my cousin PMS. People tell us we could be twins.

Kelly: Awesome. And it looks like you've brought a friend. Who is this?

D2: This is Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness From Your Squat Workout! He'll be hanging around for the next day or so.

Kelly: Wow. Together you guys kind of remind me of  ... hmmm, I can't quite put my finger on it ...

D2: Back Labor?

Kelly: YES! Together you remind me exactly of Back Labor! I haven't hung out with Back Labor in over 11 years and I totally haven't missed her at all.

D2: Me and DOMS are just going to come in and have a ball here for awhile. I called Bumpy Cake Ice Cream. He'll be here in about fifteen minutes.

Kelly: Just in time for me to hook up with Yoga Pants and Twilight On DVD. This is going to be such a wild party.

D2: Totally. I call dibs on the heating pad!

If there was ever a moment I knew the Internet would never let me down, this is it. Because Friends, *that* is a Uterus* Pinata.
*Story for Free because Day Two is visiting and I have poor decision making abilities as of this moment* I have a picture of my own uterus. Like, an actual photograph. This is because I've had four c-sections and am a control freak really wanted to be involved in every aspect of my childbirth experience so when I had an emergency c-section the first time around I asked Brian to take pictures of everything. Including my uterus. It is lovely, thank you. (I'm still a bit pissed he didn't take a picture of my Fallopian tube when he got the chance during Ezra's delivery.)(But that's another story for free for another day.)

One Fiddy Five

This week:

I.

Lost.

Three.

Pounds.

I was really nervous for my weigh in last night for a few reasons. One is that I am always a bit anemic. (Remember my post about iron supplements called Vitamin B is a Jerk? You should really check out my super scientific view of supplements. Totally worth your time to click over. I'll wait here.) Since I am so faithful with my iron supplement, the week after my period I'm a bit more anemic. This makes me tired, cranky, and also crazy hangry. Hangry like, "Nobody talk to me until I shovel some food in my yapper and can calm the heck down a little." I didn't want this little blip in my schedule (which, let's be honest, will probably happen every month) to set me back on the scale, so I tweaked my diet a little bit. 

for added iron

This was initially hard to do because I usually only bother the heck out of Kemper ask Kemper questions on Monday night and I didn't feel the first hanger pangs until Tuesday afternoon. So I had to fall back on previous conversations and chose to - are you ready? - add more fat to my diet. Homegirl ate avocado and homemade guacamole every.single.day this week. She also snacked on bacon while cooking dinner one night. It was like a fat girl dream. But lived out in real life. Someone pinch me. 

The other thing that happened this week is that my exercise changed a bit. Some of this was out of my control (Brian got home late last Monday so I missed Core Blast) (*minor tangent* Kemper asked me once if that class was a good workout. I was all, "Um, I guess?" because Kemper and I had slightly different ideas about what constitutes a good workout. But I've since reevaluated and Core Blast kicks my TUUUUUSSSSHHH - so yeah, it's totally a good workout.) (Plus, the instructor's name is Kevin and he totally has one of the funniest laugh in the history of laughs but doesn't know it which makes it even funnier) (and last night he told me I could do the Running Man for one of the athletic drills) (I chose to refrain but let it be known that I am an award winning Running Man Champion) (award winning because maybe I beat my six year old nephew in a dance off with the Running Man) (by "beat" I mean really he won but it was totally nepotism because his mom was the judge)(#rigged #unfair #doover). 

at least we MOVED in the Chat Lane

So I missed Cardio Blast last week. I also changed up my runs - my Wednesday run was more of a run one mile/walk half a mile for three cycles (plus a warm up and cool down) because I ran it after lifting and didn't want to burn out. My Saturday run was speed work for two miles. It was crazy hard but super short. So my weekly mileage really took a hit. Also, my Thursday swim was a joke. I got in the water and kicked with Sarah for about a half an hour because we had a lot of Important Happenings to discuss. I ended up leaving the pool without even getting my hair wet. It was so old lady workout.

My lifting increased however. I raised my weight for lat pull down, shoulder press, leg press, and dead lift. I also started doing drop sets within my super set. (Thank you, Elliott Hulse, for proper terminology that makes me seem way smarter than I am.) It made me sore again, which I love.

So adding fat to my diet, decreasing my cardio, and upping my weights netted me a loss of three pounds. I've gone from 168.9 down to 155 in about six weeks. Kemper is a genius. I wish I could bottle him and make him stay with me forever.

In related news - guess who showed up to my blog? Yep. Kemper himself. This is probably because I've dropped the URL about a million times in casual conversation he internet stalked me and of course this little corner of the world turned up. The best part of this has been that I got to internet stalk him back and found this: BOOTKEMP,* his website. This dude has a whole 'nother life outside of Lifetime Fitness. (It kinda feels like when you are a kid and you see your teacher at the grocery store.) (Like, Kemper doesn't live at Lifetime Fitness?!) This discovery made me crazy proud of him and intensely jealous happy that other people can take the opportunity to CHANGE THEIR FREAKING LIVES, because Kemper has given me tools that are getting me so.stinking.excited about my body and what things are possible. And? I'm getting smaller to boot. 

If you are in the southeastern Michigan area, check him out. (Dude, check him out even if you just want to Internet stalk because I won't judge you.) I really can't believe the changes in my body that are taking place in such a short amount of time. (And? It hasn't been a crazy hard battle. WHAAA?)

(*totally not an affiliate link, y'all.) (Below is a video of one of Kemper's workouts that I stole borrowed from his website.) (As an endurance athlete, wrapping my brain around a complete 15 minute workout is ridiculous. But here's how it's done.)

Today is a full rest day so I'm going to celebrate with an afternoon nap. And also guacamole. Don't get too jealous.

Kummerspeck: Because Cupcakes Always Love Me

Losing weight has taught me when to recognize when I am eating my feelings. And if you are wondering how I've been feeling lately, what with it being the last week before home school starts, I've been feeling = cupcakes. Specifically, carrot cake cupcakes. Oh, and chocolate cupcakes from Kroger with fluffy white frosting and yellow sprinkles. Because my feelings are both delicious and beautiful.

I've been justifying this because *guess who ran nine miles?!* and also because I've been so stressed out with doing lesson plans that I gave myself my period two weeks early. I'm pretty sure a doctor on Wikipedia would suggest consuming copious amounts of miniature cake to negate the stress of any situation so taxing it affects the natural rhythms of my reproductive cycle. But don't worry too much, I took note of my sweet weekend noshing and reined that mess back in.

How is lesson planning going? Fantastic. A few months ago I won a night's stay at the Hilton Garden Inn and I redeemed it Friday night. I locked myself up in my room with nothing but my school supplies, coffee from my friend Stacy, and Twister on cable television (starring Helen Hunt)(which I have almost memorized)(because I appreciate good cinema*) and knocked out a month of lesson plans. September is looking pretty rad, my friend.

(*Warrior has recently replaced Pump Up the Volume as my favorite movie of all time. This has less to do with my love of all things MMA (which doesn't exist) and more to do with my intense love for the Conlon brothers as they reconcile their relationship. Also: Tom Hardy and Joel Edgerton. You're welcome.)

In other news, did you hear the one about the girl who ran nine miles for the first time ever Sunday morning? 

It was totally me. 

I've decided my favorite part of half marathon training is that I have to remember mid-run to eat jelly beans. Or "sport beans" as true athletes call them. (I think I finally found my running fuel of choice. I can not handle the consistency of Gu, and protein bars are a bit too heavy for my tummy. Eating nothing made me light-headed and grumpy, and dried fruit combatted my iron supplement a bit too aggressively if you know what I'm sayin'.)

The weather has been hot, humid, and threatening thunderstorms, so I woke up really early and ran three miles to the gym (just beating the rain, score!) where I hopped on the treadmill and ran four more miles, and finished with two more on the indoor track. I "fueled" while I was walking in between running destinations. I only feel mildly ridiculous eating jelly beans while slightly out of breath and covered in sweat at the gym. I also still kind of feel like I should be able to run that long without any kind of fuel, but both Sarah and my friend Stephanie have talked with me about the importance of fueling for these longer runs, so I get it. However, that doesn't stop me from trying to shove what looks like candy into my yammer both quickly and discreetly so no one sees me and assumes I'm a complete junkie (which honestly only perpetuates the fat girl sneaking food mentality that already messes with my brain).

Today's agenda includes organizing the homeschool prep desk (be still my heart - I looooooove to organize), laminating (don't get too jealous), and a happy little three mile run. Also, we are having blt's for dinner, but I promise I'll keep myself from suffering Kummerspeck. Happy Labor Day!

Whisper Sweet Nothings

Brian took this picture of me before a 5k.  True love is = taking a picture like this and keeping it on the
camera so it accidently gets uploaded to the computer and randomly used as a desktop photo. Thank you, honey.

Scene:  I have just gotten out of the shower and am drying off in front of the mirror.  I'm flipping back and forth between being super proud of my shoulders (thank you, swimming) and horrified at my former baby condo.  I am also simultaneously thinking about watching Sixteen Candles and eating Lay's Dill Pickle potato chips.  Brian walks in and I blurt out:

"Honey, I love you so much.  You are such a good dad.  You are a great husband.  I am sooooooo lucky to have you."

Brian assesses me and takes note of my verge-of-tears tone of voice.  He responds,

"I can't wait for you to start your period."

"There.is.poop.in.my.hand." - Kelly

Ten years old, y'all.  Where does time go?

It has been, in the words of Mrs. Nested herself, bananas around here.

I had all week long to prepare for Eve's 10th birthday party (which involved hosting a gaggle of little girls on a Saturday afternoon).  The plan was to shop after my workouts throughout the week so I could spend Friday evening prepping games, wrapping prizes, and assembling goody bags.  This was to take place after I had leisurely done the grocery shopping, purchasing our weekly food and all the goods to make the requested homemade mac-n-cheese and the super fun Sundae-Bar-in-lieu-of-cake.  It was a fantastic plan that I looked forward to implementing.  Then our garage door was all, "Haha.  Wouldn't this just be the perfect time for me to require $211 worth of attention?"  And I was all, "WHY THE HECK DID I EVER WANT TO BE A GROWNUP?!?!" and had to scratch all those plans and wait to shop until pay day, which was, of course, the day before the party.

Thankfully I had four helpers with strong opinions on sprinkles to help me shop for ice cream toppings.  It really made the job fly by.

Brian playing Hangman with the girlies during lunch.
Not the best pic, but I didn't want anyone's kid's
face on the internets without permission. Also,
Hosanna decorated all by herself.

The party on Saturday was so.much.fun.  I seriously love my little girlie's friends.  Thirteen little girls played together for almost three hours and there was no drama.  At all.  We played two Minute to Win It games, ate gobs of mac-n-cheese, made bracelets (thank you, Pinterest), and ate our ice cream sundaes.  My Sister Wife Rachel stayed for the party and we got to hang out a bit and plan a PIG OUT AT WHOLE FOODS Trip to Whole Foods to Eat Responsibly Take Two*. (*Because remember my Summer Bucket List?  The one where I really wanted to eat at the Whole Foods buffet because the vegetarian lasagna seriously speaks to me? Like, I pass it in the store and it's all, "Duuuuuude ... I'm delicious."  And sometimes it visits me in my head at home and whipsers (don't ask why, but apprently vegetarian lasagna is quiet and gentle) "Kelly, absence does make the heart grow fonder." After I wrote out that Bucket List I ended up going to the WF's by Lauren's house and it totally sucked so I was *forced* to eat a giant peanut butter brownie instead of lasagna.  So Rachel and I are going to visit the WF on my side of town and try again.)(And again, if necessary.)(Perseverance is an admirable quality.)

On Saturday night Brian ended up doing our weekly grocery shopping while I played Sudoku on the iPad tackled household chores that had been neglected due to the party.  Sunday was Brian's birthday.  I celebrated this by waking up at 5:30 and running at the gym.  I came home in time to kiss the Birthday Boy, jump in the shower, and pile in the van for church.  I did make him an awesome dinner that included homemade pita bread and a strawberry jello/cream cheese/pretzel dessert thing he really likes.  So, I didn't totally fail in the Wife Department. (Right, honey?)

Monday was destined to be a train wreck of party let down and residual weekend sugar rush. I decided I'd better start to potty train Ezra.

(If you've read this blog long enough you know that I am nailing this parenting thing.)

(Since I'm fully ten years on the job, I think I've achieved Expert Level Parent at this point.  I mean, I've only kicked one hole in the wall, which we can all agree is a pretty good average. One hole in ten years?  Mother of the DECADE, that's what that is.)

So with all that experience under my belt, and impeccable timing, Monday was the day to teach the boy to pee in the potty. (Also on Monday? Aunt Flo arrived, sore throat flared, and official Day One of triathlon training.)

I'd already shame-bought Lightning McQueen underpants at Target because Ezra's speech therapist pulled me aside like a drug dealer and mentioned Ezra was hiding when he needed to poop, which was a sure sign the kid was ready to potty train.  I am of the parenting camp where if *I'm* not ready, neither is my kid.  (I'm sure this parenting philosophy will stand up flawlessly during puberty as well.)  So I bought the underpants and they had been living happily in the dresser drawer with all the pajamas and socks ... until Ezra discovered them and put them on every day over his diaper.  Baby steps, right?

"But Mo-om, they look so much better
over my diapers."  Also? He totally got
dressed all by himself, which explains
why is shirt is on upside down.  Take
that, Fine Motor Apraxia.

But on Monday he was going to wear them the right way.  We put on his underpants, ate breakfast, and sat on the potty for twenty minutes and not a darn thing happened.  I read books and sang songs and did squats.  Ezra told me, "All done" about fifty times before I let him off.  (A watched pot never boils, amIright?)

He ran straight from the half bathroom where we were hanging out to another bathroom across the house, slammed the door, and locked it.  This is his favorite bathroom because it's where the toothpaste lives.  In Ezra's world, toothpaste is a variety of things. It is hair gel.  It is finger paint.  It is toilet seat cleanser.  It is a food group.  It is a weapon.  I stood outside the door trying to not sound mad so I could coerce him into unlocking the door. Thankfully Mama sounded sweet and fun to be around so he unlocked the door. Well, mostly he unlocked the door because he just wanted privacy to do his business and he was done now thankyouverymuch.  I sighed and headed to the living room to change him from his urine soaked socks, pants, and underpants.

This is when I realized that all those years I spent thinking I was useless in baseball because I was scared of the ball was just wasted time, because when his underpants were stripped quickly from his body and his unexpected turd went flying, I didn't hesitate to dive for it and caught it in my hand. To save the carpet.  Because that would've been really gross.  You know, grosser than holding it myself.

So, I think it's safe to say that potty training day one was a success.

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Um, YEAH, I totally meant my ovaries.

It turns out that me feeling so much better on Saturday was a total fake out.  It was merely a reprieve as my body unknowingly prepared for experiencing why some people use "violently" as an adverb with "ill".  I have never felt so sick in my entire life.

That's how I ended up at Urgent Care Sunday evening crying into my Throw Up Bowl (run to the bathroom?  Ain't nobody got time for that) fully convinced I was going to be the first case in history of some crazy hybrid flu that made even the hardest of doctors sympathetic to my misery.  I would be the woman the staff gather around to garner bragging rights that they were the first to see "Sublurban Mama Close to Death Flu" in southeastern Michigan, 2013.

I had the best nurse.  Her name was Rebekah, and she is the youngest of five, and a triplet. The first thing she did after my hour and a half wait yielded me a trip back into the coveted land where there are Actual Nurses and Doctors was transfer me to a room with a gurney so I could lie down.  Rebekah, because she is an awesome nurse, knew being in a room with just an exam table was not going to do the job.  (Although, in the interest of full disclosure: I totally crashed on the floor in the waiting room because I have no shame I'm not that picky.)(And the waiting room was full of chairs and love seats that were deceptive in the way they looked like they could handle a curled up 5'3" woman.)(But they couldn't.)(Handle me.)(Don't worry, the floor stepped up.)(Or rather, I stepped down.)(Okay, I slid.)(Pouty faced and pathetic.)(The important part is that I rested and did not throw up in public.)

Rebekah was 100% supportive in all the right ways, even though I was probably the fiftieth case of the flu she had dealt with that day, and each case knew theirs was the worst case Rebekah had ever seen in her career. (Sorry guys, mine was the worst.  True story.)  She got me water and warm blankets and didn't make me feel like an idiot that I came to Urgent Care even though I knew no one could do anything but Dear God, make it stop I was desperate.  She even suggested I get an official pregnancy test since Aunt Flo is running a little behind schedule this month. (Negative on the bun in the oven.) She also totally made up for Dr. P, who was a (Holy Ghost edit).

Dr. P was not 100% supportive.  This is the story of our relationship.

Scene:  Kelly is on a gurney, probably dying of a weird flu that will be named after her. There is a sharp knock at the door, and as Kelly is registering sound (although not processing the source) the door sweeps open and in storms a young, tall, attractive man.

Man: How are you? I'm Dr P. (Keeps talking.)(Dude is like a freight train of talking.)
Kelly:  (still on first question, interrupts)  I've been better.
Dr. P: (looks confused - is she talking to me?)
(this man has no sense of humor)
Dr. P: So what's wrong?
Kelly:  I have the flu and it hurts everywhere.
Dr. P: Well, you have the flu.  It can hurt.  Sit up.
Kelly: (tries to sit up and gets tangled in the blanket.)(Is also still wearing her coat zipped and hood on.)
Dr. P: Where does it hurt?
Kelly: Everywhere. But mostly... (pantomimes rubbing her abdomen.)
Dr. P: Show me exactly.
Kelly: (unzips her coat at the speed of molasses.)(Thinks she is being the fastest coat unzipper-er ever.)(Jabs at a specific spot in her stomach.  But since she's a mom who has lost 100 pounds and is hunched over on a gurney, it's not nearly specific enough for Dr. P.)
Dr. P: Lay down and show me.
Kelly: (Has enough brain power to register that maybe she should be embarrassed that she is not wearing a bra that could have been some kind of veiled reference to the Mama Gut she is still rocking.)(Gets offended that she is really sick and this doctor just barely by the craziest interpretation possible kind of called her fat.)(Also, maybe when Kelly feels picked on she starts verbally spewing any excuse of justification that comes to mind.)

(I'm explaining the motivation of the character here.)(That was totally a character note, Dude.)(This is like, a professional level screenplay dialogue.)

(Back to Kelly feeling the need to seem smarter and more altogether ... together than current situation would suggest.)

Kelly: I'm a triathlete.  I mean, I know what it means to persevere.  You know, when you're in pain. I'm not a wuss.  So I don't really know anatomy, but I'm pretty sure it's my kidneys. Can we just rip those out?
Dr. P: Show me.
Kelly: (Juts her hips in the air and digs her fingers in to the spot of torture.)

This is a picture of my reenactment once I felt better the next day (because if I were President the first thing I would do is give every household Zofran.  And complimentary fiber.  Holy Side Effects, Batman.)  If you know anatomy this picture is already hilarious.  If not, don't worry, I'll explain soon.

Dr. P: (Steps back.)(NO EXPRESSION WHATSOEVER.)
Dr. P: Anywhere else?
Kelly:  Just my whole stomach hurts.
Dr. P: (Steps closer and begins to probe.) Tell me if it hurts.
Kelly:  (Is in full panic because now she is worried that 1. it's going to hurt and 2. she might throw up.  This realization brings that panic that 3. she has never throw up without pooping at the same time, and now she has to try to accurately assess a pain level and not throw up and poop on this doctor who already thinks she is a hypochondriac retard.) (Finally answers) It's all ... sensitive.
Dr. P: Okay, we'll put you on an IV for dehydration and give you Zofran for nausea.
Kelly: My mouth tastes like metal. (What she means is, "Hey Dr. House, here's a weird symptom that you can add to your puzzle in order to correctly diagnose and treat me. Because I am too sick to have the normal flu.)
Dr. P: Yes. You're dehydrated.
Kelly: (Desperate) And my hips and knees are killing me. (C'mon, House, work your magic.)
Dr. P : Dehydration. (Leaves the room.)

End scene.  Well, not exactly.

The next day, having received my IV and Zofran from Rebekah the Angel Nurse and feeling almost close to normal (just a lot worn out) I also was able to fully distinguish a flu-like stomach ache from period cramps.  And then when Aunt Flo visited around noon I finally put together that when I asked Dr. P to rip out my kidneys?  You know, these kidneys?

The kidneys all the way in my lower abdomen that were trying to kill me?  The kidneys that I asked Dr. P to rip out were really my ovaries.

So yeah, I *did* have some weird hybrid flu.  Pee Em Ess Flu, Dude.  Don't hate.

Awesome.

"Remind me to tell you the thong story."

This is totally what it was like.  If I played tennis.

This weekend reminded me that my friends are amazing and that I am spoiled rotten to have them in my life.

When I mentioned to Sarah (who finished her 70.3 IRONMAN in 5:43:30 BTW) I was thinking about running my first 10K because I was feeling horrible that I quit Jillian and needed to prove something to myself she was all, "I'll find a great race and run it with you!"  Score.

Sarah found a cheap great race close to home and we decided to go for it.  I was excited but not terribly nervous; any kind of new distance is a guarantee for a personal record, and I wanted to aim for a 1:06:00 finish.  This seemed fairly attainable and all was good.

Then I got a visitor.

I've never been one of those girls who bemoaned her monthly; sure, it's not the most pleasant of events, but it's just a part of life, you know?  But something happened to my body after I had Ezra.  I went from being a girl that had a normal uncomfortable time during her period to a girl who dreamed of mainlining Aleve and that arranged her schedule around the dreaded Day Two.  Why did my body change so drastically?

Of course I have a theory about that. Remember how I'm pretty sure that Ezra is my Siamese twin? I think that after carrying him in my womb for nine months my body is staging an ongoing rebellion that he had to leave.  And so every month my uterus organizes a full scale battle on my mind, body, and emotions.  It will punish me until menopause or until I have another baby.  (Which I think about all the freaking time.)(Because all my friends are having babies.)(And they are adorable.)(The babies, not my friends.)(Although my friends are adorable, too.)(But then I remember that  babies don't sleep.)(And I do.)(And that is awesome.)

So basically a civil war is being fought every 28 days inside me and my uterus is the battleground.

Someone was all like, "Do you know what I should knit?  An angry uterus."  And they did it.

Thursday night was menstruation's golden time of arrival.  Which made the dreaded Day Two fall on Saturday.  The same Saturday of my first 10K.  Thankfully the wicked diarrhea I had from my delicious Friday night Applebee's dinner woke me up at four a.m. and totally distracted me from the awfulness that is a direct result of Day Two.

But I'm a "Game ON" kind of girl.  Sarah picked me up and we arrived at the race early enough to get parking, register, and use the porta potty.  It was about 45 degrees.  I wore pants and my ALABAMA sweatshirt (which only becomes a point of contention when they play Michigan or Michigan State)(Roll Tide) and was chilly enough to wish I'd worn more.  This worked out well as I was looking forward to the start of the race just so I could get moving.

Sarah wore her fancy running watch, so she was going to keep track of our splits (privately) and tell me if I needed to pick up the pace to reach my goal.  This way I wouldn't obsess over the numbers and could run according to what my body (in it's current rebellious state) could handle.  (Have I mentioned yet how great she is/spoiled I am?)

The run was both fantastic and horrid.  It just depends on when you asked me.

I told Sarah I wasn't going to be much for talking this run.  Since my stellar commentary is primarily what makes me so fun to be around, you will be saddened to know I said about three things during the six (point two) miles we ran. The first was, "Lowe's" as a shorthand response to Sarah asking what we ended up getting my Dad-in-law for his birthday.  I meant we got him a Lowe's gift card, not that we actually bought him the whole store, but since Sarah has common sense and college degrees, she totally understood what I meant.

I also said, "Remind me to tell you the thong story."  I don't remember what made this relevant to whatever she was sharing at the time, but I had a thong story to share, and good golly I did not want to miss the chance to tell it.  The Thong Story sadly was more my opinion and personal experiences with thongs, but did include the words and phrases, "don't want anything in my crack", "I'm bringing free ballin' back", "but then she told me, "free ballin' never went away."  Don't worry, I was able to eventually communicate all these things boisterously to Sarah while we were stretching amid 1500 people who were meandering about the post-race area.

I finished with, "I think I'm gonna die (huff, pant, huff) or puke."  I was not being dramatic.  Mile 5 to the end was painful.  At one point I thought about crying.  I heard someone call my name during this time, and when I turned around and saw someone I knew walking the 5K portion the information barely registered.  All I could think was, "Don't freaking trip because you will not get back up."  My split for the last mile was a lot faster than the first 5 because pleaseGodletitend.

I finished in 1:04:08.  Hoorah!  I was 251 out of the 344 that ran the 10K.  Apparently there is a medal for 251st place; it's called "Participation."  (But my family was so cute; when I came home with my medal, they got all wide-eyed and said, "Did you win?")

In conclusion, take that, Aunt Flo.  You might try to knock me down, but you will not keep me there. Because Eminem sang "Won't Back Down" in a continuous 20 second loop in my head the entire race I am a Navy Seal at heart, and we don't let a little internal insurgency stop us from getting the job done.

It truly was a Red October Run.  (*giggle snort*)
And I was surfing the Crimson Tide. (OMLawd, someone stop me.)