Anyone up for a drink?

I know competitive distance running is not “normal.” I get it, no further explanation needed. Yet, when I went last week to an anesthesiologist, recommended by the physical therapist, to see if he could help fix the nerve problem in my neck, I was not expecting his visceral reaction to my uncommon obsession.

“You know, people drink a twelve pack a day and destroy their livers through cirrhosis. You’re basically destroying your bones and joints with this running just like if you were drinking a twelve pack a day. You might as well be drinking a twelve pack!”

His bluntness combined with my shock and frustration to form some H20 in the corner of my eyes. “Are you okay?” the doctor said. “Yeah, bad allergies today,” I lied. Unfortunately, that allowed him to continue his lecture. “You know this is not normal, you know that right? If you keep running twelve miles a day, you’ll have double knee replacements and a hip replacement by the time you’re 46.”

Clearly he wasn’t listening as I had actually said that I run five to twelve miles a day, not twelve miles every day. Even that was a slight fib, as my long runs are normally longer than twelve, but thank goodness I didn’t go there. I can’t imagine what he would’ve said if he had known I had run a marathon.

He kept repeating, “This is not normal, you have to acknowledge that.” For good measure he threw in a few, “I can give you some shots, but those are just band-aids. You’re choosing to tear apart your body, kind of like people who drink twelve packs every day.”

Lost in his ramblings was my protest that I had run just fine before a weight lifting injury, but clearly it was my addiction to running that had caused the disc between my fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae to bulge, clearly…

Eventually he suggested I try physical therapy. Ask my bank account, I’ve tried physical therapy! He finally relented to actually examining my neck – novel idea, for a doctor to examine a patient instead of just looking at the chart – and acknowledged the trigger points. He gave me a trigger point injection, but kept emphasizing it was only a “band-aid” and would keep coming back unless I ran three miles or less per day, preferably on a treadmill.

I finally got out of his office and went about the rest of my day, but couldn’t stop contemplating the fact that a medical professional had actually equated running with alcoholism! Ok, if running is so abnormal, why do I do it?

Well, there are a million reasons, from the obvious (cardiovascular health, bone density, weight control, etc.) to the corny (skills like discipline, focus, teamwork, etc. and lifelong friendships). But there has to be something deeper that gets me out of bed to run when it is 30 degrees, dark and the covers are so darn warm.

Perhaps it’s just that running has become habitual and I don’t want to change. Perhaps I’ve formed so much of my identity through being a runner that I don’t want anyone to see me as anything else, don’t want to let anyone down. Perhaps it’s my faith in medical technology that those knee replacements will be so advanced by the time I’m 46 that I won’t even feel a thing. Alas, I know that none of these reasons gets me to do mile repeats or a tempo run.

I run… because it’s hard. Call me a masochist, but there is something about pushing your body and mind farther than you thought you could that can’t be replicated with any drug or sedentary activity. That’s the idea behind those team t-shirts you see at high school meets that say “Our sport is your sport’s punishment.” The beauty of the sport is in its difficulty, the fact that no matter how hard we try we will never be able to convince every single person to become a runner. It’s just too hard. Running is also beautiful in its simplicity. It’s the sport that we were born to do; yet, also the sport that’s hardest to consistently do, the sport that is so easy to not do.

In the heat of an intense run you confront your own demons, the voices telling you to stop. But, you don’t stop, because stopping would be too easy, and running, running is hard.

I’ve always liked quotes. I like the idea of plucking the most profound wisdoms that people have uttered out of their universe and into my own mental library, hopefully learning something vicariously. This movie quote, with a one word substitution, explains the reason why I run, instead of drinking a twelve pack every day. It’s from A League of Their Own, which was filmed right here in Indiana (Bosse Field in Evansville). Replace the word “baseball” with “running” and my point is made. To set the scene, Dottie has just told her manager, Jimmy, that’s she’s quitting to move home with her husband Bob, who has recently returned from the war.

Dottie: Yeah. It is only a game, Jimmy. It's only a game, and, and, I don't need this. I have Bob; I don't need this. At all.
Jimmy: I, I gave away five years at the end my career to drink. Five years. And now there isn't anything I wouldn't give to get back any one day of it.
Dottie: Well, we're different.
Jimmy: Shit, Dottie, if you want to go back to Oregon and make a hundred babies, great, I'm in no position to tell anyone how to live. But sneaking out like this, quitting, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Baseball is what gets inside you. It's what lights you up, you can't deny that.
Dottie: It just got too hard.
Jimmy: It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great.

Ay ay ay

I have not written in awhile because the last two weeks have been rather bizarre and I doubt I can accurately capture it all in words, but I'll try...

Three weeks ago today I did a decent cut-down run then 4x400m on the track with Ben, with the last three 400's at 72 seconds, not bad for a long distance girl. Nothing hurt, nothing felt too bad. A few hours later I got up from my chair at lunch and all of a sudden my right hip was very tight, but I could not tell exactly what was wrong. It bugged me for the next week, getting slightly worse every day until that Friday when I could only squeeze out four of my planned eight miles. Luckily, Ben talked me out of doing the twenty-miler that was scheduled the day before I left for Chile (yes, as in South America, my job is kind of crazy sometimes!) so I went to the meat market (a.k.a. campus rec. center) and pretended my music was too loud to hear the sorority girl who who threw a fit that I was on the elliptical machine she had signed up for even though there were free ones on either side of me. Got to love it.

I kept my chin up, plowing away at the hotel elliptical in Santiago early in the morning before
walking for hours all across the city every day. I dragged my right leg behind me in a gimpy gallop trying to get across the street before being hit by the speeding cars ignoring the green walking man symbol! Brad and Bonnie (my bosses/professors/travel partners) were pretty proud of themselves for being able to "keep up with me," so I decided not to burst their bubble and kept my injury status to myself. At one point where I almost didn't make it across before the speeding out of control Chilean taxis, Brad finally noticed but I just shrugged it off as no big deal, although in my head I was going nuts over it. What was wrong, and why didn't it clear up already? In desperation I took Wednesday and Thursday completely off, no cross training! The sunshine and red wine helped take the edge off my worries, but they still stabbed at my sharply whenever my thoughts wondered off topic.

At one point in Chile I was laying in my hotel bed and suddenly sat straight up in a cold sweat thinking, "Oh my gosh, what if this is a stress fracture?" So I pushed on the top of my thigh and nothing hurt, and then was satisfied that I was just being a paranoid hypochondriac. When we arrived back in Indiana I made my way over to Rebound to see the physical therapists. Shannon looked at my hip then pushed down on my leg and said, "Uh, let me go get Scott," which I knew was a bad sign. Then Scott came in and pushed down on my leg, twisted it into various positions and then told me that it was likely a femoral neck stress fracture. I managed to save face in that they both quickly left the room to go schedule me an appointment with the pool therapist, so neither saw the tears dripping down onto my t-shirt, my t-shirt from a running event. Running, the lone inner friend of mine that has not left my side since third grade, was now threatening to pack up and go hang out with with the popular kids.

A stress fracture - no wonder it hurt despite taking time off, and walking all over South America probably made it even worse! No wonder I couldn't pinpoint the pain in one spot; the achiness enveloped my thigh in a way no one strained muscle could emulate. I didn't know what to do, so I went to work to take care of a few loose ends from being gone all week. The bad news and the lack of sleep from flying all night (I'm an insomniac and have a terrible time falling asleep while traveling) were all catching up with me and I was walking around Ernie Pyle Hall in an unproductive trance, I need to get out of there.

Still in my trance of self pity, I wandered over to the store knowing that it would be harder for me to be depressed when in the presence of someone who was recently sidelined for four months with a stress fracture of his own. That helped a bit, but not for long. The sense of urgency that helps one get through tough workouts can also be a hinder when trying to be patient with injuries. Jane, Dani and I had such a good thing going with our once-a-week track workouts, long runs and other occasional side-splitting bouts of laughter, things were just starting to get better, now this? Just my luck.

I was supposed to get an MRI the following day, Friday; however, the phone at the doctor's office was malfunctioning and some miscommunication lead to no MRI and an entire weekend of angst. I kept telling myself this was silly - I didn't have cancer, I hadn't been hit by a bus, nobody had died. People are permanently maimed in war every day so I had no right to be upset about a little sports injury. Rationally, that argument makes sense to me, but I'm figuring out that sometimes rationality doesn't factor into the equation the way we think it should. I was still pretty upset about the situation. It is nearly impossibly to use logic to change your emotions, or the emotions of anyone else. That is why elections aren't about policy positions as much as public opinion, public relations, favorables and unfavorables, but I'll spare y'all a political science lesson...

In my anxiety I did what any member of the millennium generation would do, I Googled "femoral neck stress fracture." Bad news bears. Phrases like "crutches," "career-ending," "surgery," and "metal pins" swung right off of the Web pages to punch me in the gut. It didn't help that I had taken even more days completely off and my right hip was aching worse then ever, also contributing to my lack of sleep. I spent the weekend in the nursing home with my dad helping my grandma who had a stroke right before I left for Chile, and I honestly contemplated borrowing her walker, it was pathetic.

All sorts of thoughts floated through my head over the days of uncertainty. I thought about how I might be able to become a cyclist if I couldn't run well again. I thought about getting into coaching and volunteering at road races to at least stay involved in the sport. I even thought about the possibility of becoming a track official so I could get the best seat in the house at all the big meets, not to mention the free food in the officials' tent and those snazzy looking polo shirt and straw hats! I was grasping for anything I could, trying in vain to "always look on the bright side of life."

In the middle of all of this, my college coach was packing up and leaving for Tennessee. It was hard for me to see the woman who was the only reason I came to Bloomington now leaving herself. It brought back a flood of memories from my five years of collegiate running and that made it even harder to imagine that it could possibly be all over. As much as she was a coach, she also was a good friend who probably knows more about me than anyone else, and her departure definitely added to my state of melancholy.

Slowly but surely the weekend came to an end, then finally Monday was over too, then Tuesday morning took it's sweet time until eventually I was getting an MRI. Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning were equally lethargic as I counted down the minutes until my appointment with Dr. Steiner at 11:15AM on Wednesday to find out the results of the MRI. He asked me a few questions, then went back out to look at the MRI. I strained to hear what he was saying as I recognized his voice through the wall, both talking to his nurse and calling someone else. Eventually he came back in and asked if I would like to look at the MRI. After three different physical therapists had told me they were pretty sure I had this stress fracture, I was not expecting the good news - the MRI was negative!

I was so excited that I didn't even care that there was no concrete diagnosis for my pain. No matter what the cause, surely I would recover from it better than I would recover from a femoral neck stress fracture! I called and texted a number of people before returning to work in a significantly better mood, despite having to listen to my dad's response that this should be a lesson to not go so hard and that I should be more careful and blah blah blah... non-runners, and specifically non-running parents, just don't understand sometimes...

I felt silly for shedding so many tears over something that turned out to be nonexistent, but oh well! The next day I went to aquatic physical therapy at Rebound East with Amanda and she said that my right side is very tight and that my "pelvic girdle" is unstable. After putting in so many miles, my body is now revolting against the muscle imbalances likely caused by a few years of incorrect strength training (thanks a lot IU).

Yesterday I ran for the first time in two weeks, 15 minutes on a treadmill in Chicago while escorting some journalism students on a media networking trip. It was short and my right side still feels quite different than the left, but I have never been so happy to be injured because at least I'm not as injured as I thought I was! This little fiasco will clearly alter my training and racing strategy for the rest of the track season; yet, the fact that I even have a track season to worry about now is quite uplifting. The last few months have really been an emotional roller coaster, so I'm hoping this latest loop-de-loop is signaling the end of a descent and the beginning of another upward swing. Click clack, click clack... slowly climbing back up to the top!

Hurts so good

I hate cleaning. Despise it. After I sign a shoe deal with Nike and have money to throw away I'll definitely be hiring a maid. But in the meantime, I need to tidy up my place a bit, and while I do dislike cleaning I am also not a fan of living in a pit. Some of my former roommates can attest to that...

I did make some decent progress cleaning and organizing this weekend; took a big bag to Goodwill and a few to the dumpster. While I was sorting through the last box I still hadn't unpacked since moving in late July (pathetic, yes, I'm well aware), I found a piece of paper upon which I had written down some of my favorite quotes from Lance Armstrong's first book It's Not About the Bike. The one at the very top of the page was amazingly appropriate for how I've been feeling lately, and also appropriate for all athletes in general. Due to some mystical confluence of the gloomy weather and other unpleasant events, I haven't been the most chipper lately. Don't get me wrong, I am so grateful to be healthy (well, minus the bulging disk...) and employed and to have family and friends nearby, but everyone hits rough patches from time to time. If you ever find yourself suffering mentally or physically, read this quote for a little comfort:

"Suffering, I was beginning to think, was essential to a good life, and as inextricable from such a life as bliss. It's a great enhancer. It might last a minute, or a month, but eventually it subsides, and when it does, something else takes its place, and maybe that thing is a greater space. For happiness. Each time I encountered suffering, I believed that I grew, and further defined my capacities - not just physical ones, but my interior ones as well, for contentment, friendship, or any other human experience." ~Lance Armstrong in It's Not About the Bike

*The above picture is from the 2006 RAGBRAI bike ride across Iowa when Lance and his Livestrong team passed my dad in the middle of nowhere, pretty cool! I was super-excited to read that Lance will be running the Boston Marathon this April so perhaps I'll get the chance to take my own paparazzi Lance picture then! I'm a big Lance fan, and someday when my knees give out and running is not quite as enjoyable I'm looking forward to riding my bike a lot, all around the country, maybe in a few foreign locations too, wherever the wheels take me!

Last week in review

The secret of life is gettin up early
The secret of life is stayin up late
The secret of life is try not to hurry
But dont wait
Don't wait.
~Faith Hill, The Secret of Life

After two weeks of watching track meets I just couldn't take it any more, so I entered last Saturday's 3k at the Indiana Relays. I knew I probably wouldn't PR, but I was hoping to at least compete for a win despite putting in my highest week of mileage ever. As the week soldiered on I slowly realized that the miles in my legs would provide plenty of trials for my confidence. Here's a little recap of the highlights and lowlights:

Tuesday was the second installment of our T.I.E.W.B. evening training series (Team Indiana Elite Women in Bloomington). After a lot of indecision we settled on 4x3x400m, with each of us leading one 400 per set, and each set getting progressively faster. The first two sets went by in a snap, but the last two took their sweet time. I was pleased to be able to get down to 72s for the last set, but wish I could've been able to do a few more intervals after that. Ben wanted me to do an extra 1k, but my legs just wouldn't allow it and I knew it was time to cool down and go home. Perhaps it was a sign when halfway through our last set Rick Rumple turned most of the lights off on us in the Fieldhouse!

Thursday I tried to sneak in another workout. Ben had suggested two-to-three 800s at race pace, although he never told me what race pace should be. So, I assumed it should be at least 2:37, hopefully more like 2:35. My first, and subsequently last, 800 on Thursday was 2:40. I threw in some 200s to get some leg turnover in, if nothing else from the workout, then slogged through a two mile cool down upstairs around Assembly.

Friday, the day before the big 3k, I did not want to do a workout at all, I barely even wanted to run! When my alarm went off at 7:18a.m. that morning I looked out the window, saw rain morphing into sleet and just couldn't bring myself to get out the door. I stood in my living room starring blankly at the weatherman on the TV screen trying to decide what to do. I eventually shoved a ton of running clothes into my book bag and headed to work, bitter that if I didn't run in the morning that I had gotten up that early for nothing.

All morning I sat at my boring desk debating if I should try and run at lunch or after work. I decided lunch would be best (more recovery time before the race the next day), borrowed a friend's student ID and ice skated over to the HPER building, all ready to use a treadmill for the first time this winter. I should've guessed that at lunch time the one singular treadmill at the HPER would be occupied, but I didn't and was disappointed. With the ground covered in ice I wasn't about to go outside and bruise my tail bone, so I turned on the iPod and resigned myself to run my 8 miles on the 6-laps-and-138-feet-to-a-mile indoor track there.

The flatness proved glorious, despite the nearly 90 degree turns, and the new downloads on my iPod made the first 30 minutes go by quite quickly. I didn't even mind dodging the frat boys, sorority girls or old men in short shorts lap after lap. Out of curiousity I decided to clock the next mile, then let out a small grunt of disbelief when I saw the time, so I clocked another one. Shockingly, I saw the exact same thing, 6:36! Besides the intervals on the indoor track, this week I had been slogging through a lot of 7:30 (or slower, I try not to think about it) miles, so it was thrilling for a pace so much faster to feel easy! It was also awesome to watch Jordan go for a sub-4 mile, and although he didn't quite get it this time it was amazing to hear the whole Fieldhouse cheering and clapping those last four laps!

Alas, the glory of easy fluid movement for me was short lived. Saturday on my shakeout run in the morning with Georganne and Jane I had to stop twice on my way back to my apartment to loosen up my left knee and left upper calf. I was pumped up after watching Dani run to a huge PR in the mile and thanks to the mercy of my old trainer at IU the leg felt better while warming up, although not 100 percent. Just being in a race was fun (I hadn't worn buns since June!), but not being able to respond when others pushed the pace was disheartening. I finished fourth in 9:55, a full 26 seconds slower than when I ran the 3k in the exact same race last year. My excuse for this is all the miles in my legs, but I still don't like even having an excuse. That is why this sport is so difficult to master. I takes this bizarre combination of patience and impatience. The patience to know that the current pain will pay off later, yet the impatience to train and race as though there's no tomorrow.

Sunday proved to be another interesting run. I had the bright idea to run the three miles from my apartment to meet Jane, Dani and Allison at Bryan Park. It was downhill, it didn't feel too bad. Even with company, the next 12 miles hurt. My lower legs wanted to amputate themselves at a few points. During the Rail Trail portion of the run we saw a National Guard guy puking his guts out and later saw a man with a large dog and shotgun, it was very odd. When I finally stumbled into my apartment a little over 2 hours and 15 minutes later, I made a quick batch of Endurox then pretty much collapsed onto the floor. I remained there as a blob for I don't know how long, and the rest of the day felt like a zombie. Probably was a bad idea to run that far at the end of a long week with no water or Gatorade along the way. I was only supposed to do 16 miles, but I was feeling ornery.

At the T.I.E. Super Bowl get-together at Coach Chapman's that night, I couldn't stop yawning. Luckily I managed to stay awake to witness the best game of the season! If the Giants can beat the Patriots, maybe there's hope for some of us T.I.E. underdogs to make it to the Trials :) I know logically those two things have nothing to do with each other, but when you run races 26 seconds slower than the year before you'll take any small dash of hope you can get!

The secret of life is a good cup of coffee
The secret of life is keep your eye on the ball
The secret of life is to find the right woman
The secret of life is nothin at all
Oh, its nothin at all
The secret of life

Texas Tumble

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't... Much like Almond Joys and Mounds, with distance running sometimes you feel good, sometimes you don't. Yesterday at the Houston Half Marathon I was a total Mound, sure didn't feel good! (If you haven't seen those old commercials and don't know what I'm talking about, then obviously you didn't watch enough Price is Right as a child).

I ran just barely faster than what I came through the first half of the Columbus Marathon, and that first half of Columbus felt a heck of a lot better! I'm not going to make excuses, but there were definitely extenuating circumstances (some back, spine and neck issues left over from a bad weight coach last year) that contributed to my poor finish time, and based on how my legs felt I probably didn't recover very well from my little high mileage experiment. I was right where I needed to be at four miles, but the last nine were u-g-l-y.

It's very frustrating to travel far away for a big race and then bomb, but this is not the first time I've done it, so I know from experience that I'll survive. However, I'm not satisfied with survival, I want to prosper! I am extra motivated after observing all of the other elite athletes during the weekend.

I don't consider myself greedy or overly materialistic, but for some reason I've always been obsessed with free stuff! It started at the Expo the day before the race where I came away with two Lara Bars, some Power Bars, an entire box of brown rice, two handkerchiefs with the course map on them and a really cool stress ball with legs and arms and a cowboy hat. The freebies continued with all the benefits of being considered an "elite athlete."

The elite hospitality suite had amazing food for breakfast (Einstein's bagels and schmear, my favorite!), lunch, dinner and tasty snacks in between. We all got over-the-shoulder bags and t-shirts with the race logo on them, and the super-nice Brooks rep from Houston gave me a free technical tee (unfortunately, since everything really is bigger in Texas, even though it was a small it fit me like an X-large). Best of of all there were free massages, and boy did I need them!

Before the race the race officials escorted us across the legions of dedicated joggers lined up for blocks, past Minute Maid Park and to our own port-o-poties - the ultimate pre-race perk! Afterwards I thought to myself "only in Texas" when I saw that in addition to the typical bagels and bananas they were serving "recovery tacos" in the elite athlete area. They actually weren't bad, but right after I ate one my stomach really regretted it. Like I said, I have a hard time turning away free stuff!

Despite my terrible race, it was hard to be upset for long when the sun was shining and it was warm in January! Afterwards we went back to Nancy's town house and after lying on the floor trying to get my back to chill out for a while, I showered and pulled on my Peyton Manning jersey before we went to a local bar to watch the Colts game. It was depressing to watch them loose, but I was proud of myself for winning a verbal scuffle with a random guy in the bar who was trying to tell me that Eli is the better Manning quarterback, give me a break...

On my way home I ran into a good friend from high school and she ended up being on my flight back! It was great to catch up and before I knew it we had landed. It was even greater that I didn't have to drive home thanks to my ride, but I'll admit that going from sunshine to snow was a bit of a shock to the system. Going back to work this morning was also quite a shock to the system...

So, what's next? Time to regroup, refocus and re-energize for the next ten weeks until the Stanford 10k. With the Olympic Trials - Marathon being in late April, the early April Stanford meet is my best shot to qualify for the Olympic Trials - Track and Field. I am right on the bubble of being able to go, and since the meet and all hotels within a 30 mile radius are sold out, there's only one way I get to go to that meet, and that's by running fast! I know it's in there somewhere. I know with some hard work, help from friends and some faith I'll be back to Almond Joy shape in no time.

"Adaptability Day"

Running for Judy Wilson in college meant that every day was "adaptability day," the argument being that since you never know what may happen in a race, daily you must be ready for anything and be able to adapt. At times, this concept served as justification for lack of structure, but at other times I have to admit it made things more interesting (especially when we were about to miss our flights, which happened frequently). After a particularly poor showing one year at the Penn Relays, she even turned this concept into a workout. We went to the track to do a hard workout, but she wouldn't tell us what the distances or times we were to run until right before she said, "go!" Although I know the distance I'll be running this Sunday (13.1 miles) at the USA Half Marathon Championship in Houston, I find myself again headed for another one of those adaptability days.

Give me a 5k any day. I can (and sometimes in my dreams do) run those in my sleep. I know exactly when it will start hurting, exactly where I need to start pushing the pace, exactly when I can't let the pack get away and exactly when it's time to kick it in despite the burn. But half marathons and marathons feel far from natural right now. Used to be Coach wouldn't let me run long runs farther than 12 miles, now my race is even more than that!

I had a similar feeling earlier this week when I went to get my hair cut at Great Clips, spurred on by the coupon I had found earlier in the day and my old college ritual of getting my hair cut before every Big Ten race (it makes you lighter and therefore you'll run faster, duh). I was the only female customer there and I listened as each male went to the chair and listed off how they wanted their hair cut. "One and three," "Two for the sides and the top," "Two and four." Simple - a few easy instructions and they knew exactly what they would get. Myself on the other hand told the hair dresser that I was trying to grow out my hair. I ended up with so much cut off that I now have trouble putting it up in a pony tail without clips, the female runners ultimate annoyance.

I was momentarily jealous of the guys who had it so easy, so predictable. Going into this race, I've found myself yearning for the comfort of a familiar 5k or 10k on the track. Yet, when I went home and looked in the mirror, I actually did like my hair cut and it was fun to have something new and fresher. As the half marathon draws closer I'm finding myself more and more excited to get another crack at the distance and learn those things I already know about the shorter races.

No matter what challenges this race brings, I'm well prepared to adapt to them. Now, if I was only as well prepared for the actual trip... once again it is the night before I'm leaving and I haven't even started packing! Wish me luck (with the packing that is; with the race, a good trainer once told me you have to make your own luck and I prescribe to that theory whole-heartedly). Off to the Lone Star State for one more Adaptability Day!

For Auld Lang Syne

Ah, another new year, I am starting to feel old! It seems like only yesterday that everyone was making a big deal about Y2K! Nonetheless, we rung in the New Year in style and I hope 2008 will be just grrrrreat!

2007 in review, a year of "firsts"
Ran a lot, made my television anchor/reporter debut, went to Disney World to visit Em, finished my master's in journalism, won my first Big Ten title in the 10k, fought with IU athletic administrators, got All-American in the 10k, worked for InRunCo, got my first full time job, ran a lot more, lived by myself for the first time, went to Boston for the first time and for my first professional race, ran my first marathon and qualified for my first Olympic Trials, made my first trip to London, got my first freelance journalism gig (it's in RunMidwest, check out the Jan/Feb issue!), ran my first week of mileage over 80 (and then my second), had my first Christmas since 1986 without my little sister, and lots of other events (plus some other "firsts" that I will spare you the details, and spare myself the embarrassment).

Bring on 2008!
I resolve to:
*Stretch more after I run
*Get more sleep, but not while at work
*Not skip out on drills and strides
*Eat slightly less ice cream
*Complain less, dance more
*Sing loudly in the car when a good song comes on
*Put my laundry away instead of letting it sit in the basket for weeks
*Run PR's on the track in the 5k and 10k
*Leave it all on the track
*Catch up on all the books I own but haven't read yet
*And, most importantly, have fun while doing it! Stride on friends, stride on.