Another state meet weekend

After this past weekend, I have attended nearly twenty Indiana track and field state championship meets (including both boys and girls meets). While my role at the meet has changed drastically since I am now a spectator instead of an athlete, without fail, just being at the meet gives me goosebumps. I do not believe in my entire college career that I was ever quite as nervous as I was for some of my high school state meet races.

In high school, the track state meet was the end-all, be-all of life for me. As a high school freshman I saw the attractive brown ribbons with the Indiana-shaped medals my teammates had earned for their ninth place finish the previous year in the 4x8 relay, and I wanted one. The regional meet had been neck and neck between us and Carmel, and I knew the state meet would be similar. There I was, a 5-foot tall braces-clad freshman with my dorky crew length socks pulled as high as they would go, and I was anchoring a relay with a bunch of upperclassmen. I wanted to puke so badly, but while I was looking around for a good spot to do so, all of a sudden my teammate was charging into the exchange zone and it was time to race. I ran a personal best split of 2:20, but it was not enough to overtake traditional powerhouse Carmel. I ran so hard, though, that I tore a costal muscle in my ribs, but it was worth it for my own Indiana-shaped medal. That medal, though, made the 3200m run later in the meet not quite as fun, and no Indiana-shaped medal as a souvenir for that one.

I didn't think it was possible to be more nervous than I was my freshman year, but my sophomore year proved me wrong. That year we won regionals in the 4x8 and we were favored to do the same at state. There was less of the underdog mentality and more of that heavy "we need to win this because we may never again have such a good shot," feeling. This time, though, I was the third leg and not anchor. The plan was to build a gap so that Carmel's strong anchor leg (who would later be a teammate at IU) could not catch up, or would wear herself out trying to close the gap too soon. It worked to perfection and this time we had the blue medal. I was so giddy I almost forgot to warm-up for the 3200m run later that evening, but the fact that I had used up all my nervousness on that first race allowed me a care-free second race. This time I kept all my rib muscles intact and managed to place third individually.

My junior year was just a delayed sophomore slump. Severe allergies and a deviated septum derailed my grand plans for two more medals, yet we gave it our all in the 4x8 and got the much-adored orange-ribboned medal for sixth place. I didn't even qualify for the 3200m run individually, which would motivate me tremendously during summer training after recovering from surgery to correct the crooked septum in my nose.

By the end of my senior year the roller coaster of a career was back on the upswing. As proof that life comes full circle, I closed my high school career with the same medals I had earned my sophomore year, a blue and a white, but this time reversed in the events. Before the 3200m run, my last high school race, the nervousness demons encircled me. As one of the race officials walked us to the start line I panicked. I had forgotten my BreathRight strip! How could I run without it? My breathing will be off! Oh well, the gun's up now, just go! The first mile I was cautious, afraid to go into oxygen debt without the coveted nasal strip to keep all airways as open as possible. My patience paid off as the leader slowly came back to me and I quickly reeled her in, passing her with 200m to go and never looking back.

Back to the future... and even after finishing college, I still get butterflies in my stomach watching the state meet. I can see in the eyes of the high schoolers that same nauseating feeling, that anxiety, the desire to just know how it will end up, be it good or bad. It's the not knowing that is so hard to handle. I see in some of the high schoolers the joy of everything coming together, and in others, the tears of everything falling apart, and I feel for them both. The joy is so fleeting, yet the disappointments will linger so long.

The biggest lesson I have learned from observing instead of competing in these meets is that high school state track meets are not, in fact, the end of the world. The sun will still rise the next day no matter what happened on the oval or in the field. As logical as that sounds, it is harder to grasp than it seems! It has only taken me ten years to do so...

Bolder in Boulder

I had been to Boulder once before, but only for a day, and I was hungry for a second helping of this gorgeous mountainside town where my cousin Sallie lives. Thanks to a few extra frequent flier miles from my uncle, I was off to Colorado for an extended Memorial Day weekend.

I was a very bad patient and violated the doctor's recommendation that I not run at all for six weeks. It was a clear beautiful day in Boulder and my running shoes were the little devil on my shoulder, screaming into my ear all day to give into temptation. I only gave in for a 4-miler, and my lungs burned from the altitude and lack of an inhaler, but I was thrilled nonetheless.

Boulder is without a doubt an athlete's town. You cannot walk down any street without seeing bikers, joggers, runners, and occasionally the elite or international star athlete. Organic food seems more common than the normal grub, and I cannot recall seeing one chubby kid while I was there. I kept bugging my cousin to "go to the mountains," and she obliged my request as we went off-roading up Flagstaff Mountain one day. Despite all the dust, it was very cool, it felt like the Dinosaur Ride in Animal Kingdom at Disney World, expect it wasn't dark and nothing popped out at us besides a few wayward tree branches.

On Saturday I was walking down the Boulder Creek Path on my way to check out the Boulder Creek Festival, a condensed and hippie-infested version of a county 4-H fair. Instead of fried Snickers Bars like we have in Indiana, they had a Kashi Cereal stand with soy milk; I was in heaven. They even had a Gravitron, my favorite fair ride, but the urge to ride it now is much less than when I was 10 years-old. Back on the path, two of the Japanese elite athletes who would be running in the Bolder Boulder on Monday jogged slowly by me and I managed to whip out my camera in time to get a quick shot. I kept my eyes peeled for any other elite runners, but no luck.

After wandering around the festival for awhile, I needed to take a shower as the mix of sweat and the incense that many at the festival were burning was too much for my nose to handle. On my walk back on the path to meet up with my cousin and her friends I noticed a slim runner speeding towards me. Oh my goodness, it's Deena Kastor! I thought to myself as I fumbled for my camera, or perhaps a pen to get an autograph. No luck, I had foolishly removed those items from my person when I had stopped at my cousin's condo to take the shower. Lesson learned: showering is bad, save water instead.

Oh well. I ran by her for three whole miles in the Olympic Trials, I don't need an autograph. Then I remembered the time she lapped me last summer at the USATF National Championship 10k. She said "good job," as she glided by effortlessly. She even lapped me again, the second time without enough breath to utter any encouragement. The thought of getting lapped twice in a track race made me simultaneously cringe and laugh. I would give anything to get lapped twice at this year's National Championship - the Olympic Trials. But alas, I will have to wait until 2012 and at that point, I will definitely not be lapped once, let alone twice!

On Monday I again violated doctor's orders by jogging the Bolder Boulder 10k, the second-largest 10k in the country (behind the Peachtree race in Atlanta on July 4). Sallie, her roommate Megan, their friend Michael and myself lined up at 7a.m. in wave HC, set to go off at 7:59:10a.m., a full 59 minutes after the first heat. It was a long and chilly wait, but finally it was our turn to go. I waved wildly at the cameras trying to actually enjoy the experience. It was only the second time I had ever run a road race just for fun and not to place as highly as possible (the first being the 2006 Turkey Trot with my dad).

I thought the Indoor Big Ten 5k was a crowded race, but that pales in comparison to running with 55,000 of your closest friends. The course wound through town, and the light rain and cool temperature was perfect for a morning stroll. There were off-key singers and bands and lots of cheering people for the entire six miles. The belly dancers were probably my least favorite part as they were quite unattractive and just plain bizarre, but they still provided a distraction. The race finished inside the University of Colorado football stadium where a huge screen shows all the runners finishing. After collecting our goodies (including a free lunch box, tote-bag, and many snacks - they better have had good post-race stuff since we had to pay $48 just to enter), we walked back in the rain, which by this point was cold and coming down harder. The nice part was that I got to see the CU campus. I got a cup of coffee at the little coffee shop a block from my cousin's condo, which helped warmed me up too.

The next day it was time to return to reality in Indiana, but the short visit was refreshing and has me hoping that sometime soon I return to Boulder. I don't think my cousin will ever move back to Indiana after spending the last six years in Boulder, and I don't blame her, it's hard not to fall in love with the place! I don't know if I will live there in the future or not, but many visits are definitely in my plans.

On your marks, get set, cook!

My Grandma Fran was a great cook. Her parents were German, but she grew up in southern California next door to a Mexican woman who taught her some of the basics of tamales and tacos. As a Navy nurse during World War II, she met a striking Italian-American midshipmen, Nicolas DeFrancesco. After the War they got married and returned to his hometown of Elkhart, Indiana.

The pair started the first pizzeria in Elkhart, Nicky D's. Grandpa could make a great pizza, but he also missed a great opportunity to expand the business. A local grocer tried to convince him to freeze his handmade works and sell them in the grocery to the masses so they could take them home and eat Nicky D's whenever they wanted. Who would ever do that? he thought. Despite the missed opportunity for expansion, Nicky D's remained one of the most popular restaurants in the growing northern Indiana city, a labor of love for both of my grandparents.

My grandpa died of brain cancer when I was 11 months old and Grandma Fran never did completely stop grieving. The restaurant, or "resternt" as Grandma always called it, folded after a few years under my uncle's management, but Grandma never stopped cooking.

She would make fresh bread in the bread machine and when my sister and I came home from soccer, basketball, track or softball practice we would practically inhale it. If we were lucky, she would make a huge pot of spaghetti sauce from scratch, checking in on the Italian recipe between her TV shows to patiently stir it. The best was Saturday nights when she would make pizza dough and pizza sauce, and we each could make our own pizzas with our toppings. Mine was normally doused in cheese, so much so that I now have a slight aversion to cheese since I ate so much of it for so many Saturdays. Saturday homemade pizza was one of the few stable traditions our family had. We may have been (and still are) dysfunctional, but at least we picked a tasty tradition to follow!

Grandma occasionally drove my dad nuts in the kitchen, watching over his shoulder whenever he tried to cook something of his own, normally some large chunk of meat. I ran into the same annoyance whenever I had tried to make desserts for any school or sporting event. I barely got to bake the "just add water" brownies on my own. She was the master chef, and we all knew it.

When I left for college Grandma Fran wrote down most of her recipes on index cards in her beautiful cursive writing. Without her to cook dinner I started experimenting on my own while in college and have come to love cooking. One of the best parts of running is that I burn a lot of calories, so I can cook a lot of food for myself. I occasionally use some of her recipes, but have not had the guts to try her signature tomato sauces or pizza because I know I won't come close to what she would have made.

Grandma passed away last summer and it really hit me hard. I was glad she was no longer in pain, but who would I call when I didn't know how to cook a porkchop or why the the banana bread didn't rise. A few months ago I decided to try a new pasta sauce that was on sale at the grocery store. Not thinking much of it, I poured it on my noodles and took a bite. Tears came to my eyes, it was the first thing I had tasted since Grandma died that came anywhere close to what her sauce tasted like. To be clear, it is not as good as her sauce, but it could definitely be a cousin in taste.

Cooking can nurture in more ways than the physical. I marveled at Deena Kastor cooking her enchiladas at the end of the Spirit of the Marathon movie as it reminded me of the simple pleasures of good food. Often when I cook I think of Grandma, although my "style" differs greatly from hers. Someday I will make that sauce from scratch and again have homemade pizza on Saturday, but until then, I'll nourish my body and soul with my own concoctions, then go run some more so I can have more ice cream.

I ran across this cookbook on http://eliterunning.com/, it's called The Runners Cookbook and was compiled by Allison Wade. It has tons of recipes from elite American distance runners, from Shalane Flanagan and her mom to the Gouchers and Alan Webb. I ordered it and to my amazement, the cover is a picture from the Tufts 10k I ran last October, and on the very right-hand edge you can see my eye, part of my arm and part of my leg! Go to http://www.runnerscookbook.com/ for more information or to order it. All proceeds are split evenly between the Jenny Crain "Make it Happen" Fund and the Ryan Shay Memorial Fund.

Another in the better-late-than-never catagory: Indy Mini '08

Ever since I started running I've wanted to run the Indianapolis Mini Marathon. What could be cooler than running the largest half marathon in the country right in my own backyard? And getting to run on the Speedway, oh how I want to do it! Alas, the dream will have to wait another year (or more, who knows what 2009 will bring), but I got a good taste of the event watching friends and family run on May 3.

Friday before the race I went to the Expo to pick up Jane's number for her and to listen to the legend, Frank Shorter, speak. As soon as I had positioned myself in a fantastic spot to hear the '72 Olympic marathon gold medalist espouse his wisdom, my cell phone rang with a request from my aunt. I ended up going with her to the airport to pick up my cousin and her roommate who were flying in from Denver to run. Good thing I went to navigate because if I hadn't, my aunt likely would have been in Lebanon before she realized that I-65 N does NOT go to the Indianapolis Airport.

Even without listening to Frank, it was a lovely evening. My aunt, cousin, her roommate, my dad, his girlfriend and I had dinner at Harry & Izzy's, an offshoot of the famous St. Elmo's. We had some of their famous shrimp cocktail with the horseradish sauce that will light your nose hair on fire if you're not careful. After dinner we walked back to our respective hotel rooms and called it a night.

Even though I was not running I still had the fluttering-stomach excited feeling. I couldn't wait to watch my Team Indiana Elite teammate Dani race in the elite field as I knew she was in good shape and would easily PR, especially since her first half marathon was the hilly IU Mini last September. I was also anxious for my cousin and a whole posse of her friends to run because I had written them a training plan for this, their first half marathon. I wouldn't call myself a coach, but I do know a fair amount about the sport and this was the first time I would see if I could transfer any of that knowledge onto others who had very little experience with the longer distances.

Additionally, I was hopeful that my dad would have a good run. I was guilty of talking him into it and signing him up for it, so if it went poorly I would probably be hearing about it for a while. He had actually trained for this race more than any of his previous half marathons, so I was hopeful. He started running a full two months prior to the race, which was quite an improvement on when he ran the Flying Pig half in Cincinnati a few years ago off of two weeks of training.

I set my alarm so I would make it to watch the start, but when it went off my dad came into my room and told me to just sleep in and catch later parts of the race. Sounded good to me, and it also let me get in a good breakfast while watching the start of the race on TV. I get grumpy without a good breakfast, and also can be grumpy when I'm not running, so I at least needed the food in this recovery phase of my training!

After grabbing some grub Nancy and I piled into my Prius and we headed toward the Speedway. We rushed down 16th St. to get as close to the race track as we could and got dizzy watching the throngs of people running, jogging and slogging past us back towards downtown. I clutched my digital camera waiting for a glimps of Pops and my cousin and her friends. We eventually saw Sallie in her "eighties-tastic" pink capris and got a few good shots of her, but never did see Dad. He must not be feeling well, we thought, so we decided to head to the finish to catch him there. Again, we stood staring at the sea of humanity running the last .1 of their 13.1 mile adventure

Hundreds after hundreds ran into the checkered finish area and no sight of a Mr. Tom Gall. One of the extremely rare times that my dad did not have his cell phone on him we had no idea how we would locate the man. We eventually found the "G" station at the family reunion area and there he was proudly wearing his race car-shaped medal and drenched in sweat, even a little blood (he forgot to use the Body Glide I had given him, huge mistake for a male). Ends up he had run so much faster (2:09) than his goal pace (2:15) that he had finished before we even got there. Way to go Pops!

After that I found out that Dani got fourth and my cousin and all her friends finished well under their sub-2:20 goals (they were all around 2:15). The sun was shining and I was grateful to be able to watch such a wonderful spectacle of the human race. Athletes do not always get the chance to see what they are doing as they are right in the thick of it, so it was a glorious day to be a spectator. I was beaming with pride for my fast friends and family and just happy to be the supporter instead of the supported for once.

Long overdue: My Olympic Trials Marathon experience

Over a month removed from the big show I think I finally have enough perspective on my Olympic Trials Marathon experience last April in Boston to put the weekend into words.

It all began Friday, April 18th, the day that Indiana shook. With a 5.2 magnitude earthquake in the wee hours of the morning awaking residents in states more known for tornadoes than tremors, I should have taken that as an omen that the weekend and following weeks would be a little shaky.

When Ben and I arrived at Indianapolis we found a few runner friends on our flight to Boston's Logan Airport. Once we arrived, we showed Camille how to navigate the Boston subway. After we got off of the subway and emerged above ground, we managed to roll ourselves and our luggage to the Boston Sheraton. I couldn't get to the official Trials check-in room fast enough to see what goodies awaited. I was not disappointed. All participants received a technical t-shirt with logo, Nalgene bottle with logo, oversized cotton gloves with logo, poster with logo, Camelback bookbag (without the water bladder) with logo, and stuffed lobster (no logo on the lobster). The good people at Brooks contributed to the goodies galore with another book bag, gloves, ear band and very nice jacket.

Friday night brought with it the first official Trials weekend activity: the Welcoming Reception. There were some nice cheese and crackers and clam chowder for hors d'oeuvres, but I was mistaken in thinking this event was a dinner, oops. The best part of the reception, though, was reuniting with my old training partner and friend Heather May. It was so nice to see her again. Second best part was the slides show they had on two large screens with "playing cards" shown for every single runner. I missed my own photo the first go-round, so stared intently at the screen for the next five minutes so I could see it again. It flashed quickly then was gone, but I was pretty excited nonetheless. After the reception we met up with my good West Lafayette friend Mary and had some scrumptious cheesecake at, where else, the Cheesecake Factory.

Saturday morning Ben and I went for an easy run along the Charles River. Apparently everyone else in town had the same idea. We passed a gaggle of Hanson's Runners on our way out. After a couple miles I stopped to stretch my hip a bit. As I looked up I saw a yellow blob approaching? Could it be? No, surely not... but wait, it was! Lance Armstrong just ran by me and looked me in the eye! I started running after him, Ben rolling his eyes at me, but then the Livestrong clan went a different direction so we went back to running our own route. On the way back to the hotel we passed the Team USA Mammoth Lakes clan, then saw a few Ethopian elite athletes before watching both of the Hanson brothers run down to the river as well. It was like flipping through a real-life Runners' World magazine with all the famous runners we saw, my excitement level increasing with every run-by.

Saturday afternoon we toured historic Boston with my cousin Ann and had a great meal in the Italian section of town. Afterwards we went to the Boston Marathon Expo, the granddaddy of all race expos. We visited with Blake at the USATF stand in the corner and I loaded up on a few free Lara Bar and Power Bar samples, got a Livestrong poster, bought my dad a t-shirt and then was satisfied. Saturday evening was the pre-race dinner from 4-6p.m. at the Sheraton. Not to be an ungrateful snob, but the food was pretty bad. Dried out chicken and bland pasta sauce, topped off with melted ice cream was what the Boston Trials committee served us. Nonetheless, it was free!

It was only 6pm and we were already done with dinner, which only meant there was way too much time for mischief. Since my hip was hurting I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the whole race, so there was really no need to rest up and stay off my feet. Ben, Blake and I headed down to Fenway Park to see if we could find some cheap tickets to the Red Sox game. We ended up getting leftover handicap seats that had a fantastic unobstructed view, right at the first baseline. The game was great fun, even though I'm not a huge baseball fan, but by about five innings in I was absolutely freezing and wanted to leave. My compadres weren't about to leave, though, so I toughed it out and we got to see Manny Ramirez hit an eighth-inning come-from-behind homer to secure the victory for the BoSox.

While waiting for the subway to go back to the hotel we ran into two guys running Boston on Monday. One of the guys was so excited to find out that I was running in the Trials that he had his friend take a picture of the two of us. That pretty much made my day!

Unfortunately I got to bed much later than I had hoped, and 5:30a.m rolled around much sooner than I had hoped. With bags under my eyes I made my way down to the elite athlete breakfast and ate the crumbs left over from all the other runners . Note to self: bring breakfast or eat earlier in 2008.

At 7a.m. all the athletes were waiting in the designated hallway to be paraded out onto Boylston Street and our designated staging area. I wanted to talk a paparazzi picture of Joan Benoit Samuelson, but restrained myself. The temptation proved too much, though, as I did take a few of her with my camera phone once we made it outside. Even though I was not really racing, I still got chills walking outside arm to arm with all these amazing athletes and seeing so many fans out to watch us compete.

I did a one mile warm-up back and forth along Boylston and could tell from it that it was going to be a rough run. I managed to get the leg heated up enough to not limp, and the adrenaline from being in close proximity to Joan Benoit Samuelson, Deena Kastor and so many others also helped alleviate the pain. Before the final run-outs I found Heather and told her I'd love to pace her for as long as I could. She would be running 6:15s to 6:20s and that sounded like a good pace for me since I could barely run mile repeats much faster the week before.

After the national anthem I weaseled my way toward the front of the line and found a spot conveniently just behind Deena. While we were waiting for the start, two women pointed to the huge bruise on my leg and told me it looked pretty cool. Then all of a sudden the gun went off and I felt like we were crawling, although the pace quickly became more respectable. I decided to go for my fifteen minutes of fame and stay up front for at least the first 2.2-mile loop. I could hardly believe that I was running right next to Deena, and in my euphoria I forgot about the pacing-Heather plan. I managed to stay upfront long enough that I knew I would be clearly visible on the live Web-cast, which also contributed to my amnesia about the original pacing plan.

After three miles I let the chase pack (Magdalena Lewy Boulet had charged to the lead at the start and built an early gap on the rest of the field). As I settled in to a more comfortable 6-6:15/mile pace I tried to soak up the entire experience, watching all the cheering bystanders, enjoying the view, imagining myself still in the lead and feeling comfortable. I even saw Ryan Hall cheering at one spot on the crowd, and heard a friend yell "RDP!" from the sidewalk (RDP is my high school's motto - Red Devil Pride). At the 180-degree I could see the runners behind me, and saw Heather. I remembered my promise to pace her and felt guilty for not following through on it, but was still so hyped up that I could not bring myself to slow down. Ah, the vigor of inexperience.

After the first loop, bringing me to 8.2 miles, the adrenaline began wearing off and the tightness took its place. Both my left shoulder and neck and my right hip were aching and my form was deteriorating more with each passing mile. Around 10 miles an awful stench made its way to my nasal cavity and I quickly became nauseous. As a lady in a dark blue top but brown shorts and brown legs passed me, I realized what the smell was and felt both sorry for her and increasingly sick to my own stomach. Before I could stop it, I leaned over to the side of the road and puked up all the Gatorade I had drank that day. Ever since I was little and had to clean the litter box I've had a really hard time with that smell.

The last half of that second loop was rough, and once I passed the medical tent at 14.2 miles I decided it would be stupid to put my body through any more pounding. A very nice volunteer walked me back to the tent where a very nice lady sat me down on a massage table. An athletic trainer came by and saw the huge bruise on my leg from the Graston therapy and freaked out, told me I had developed a huge hematoma and needed ice immediately. I told him I'd had the bruise from Graston and it had been there for a week. He shook his head and just walked away. Evenutally a sports massage therapist, Helen, came over and I had a new best friend. She knew exactly what she was doing and my tight muscles could not have been more grateful. After she was done rubbing me out she put my participant's medal around my neck and told me best of luck in 2012, which made me tear up a little.

I changed quickly and rushed back outside to catch the end of the race. It was quite inspirational to see Deena gliding in to easily win her first Olympic Trials Marathon. I felt re-energized watching everyone finish, knowing that with a few more years I too could be up there competing with them. I also got to see Coach again and made plans to meet up with her after she finished her own marathon the next day.

After the race was over Ben and I made our way to the Hansons-Brooks Post-Race Party. I was most excited about getting another very nice free Brooks bag, and the free pizza and Diet Coke were big winners in my book as well. Ben schmoozed with some Brooks big-wig while I talked with friends and fellow participants Ann and Johanna. After party number one it was time for the official Trials Awards Banquet. We sat with Camille and her husband, Purdue cross country coach Connor Holt. They were a riot and I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with some fellow West Lafayetters (even if they are transplants, they still count).

The banquet was another serving of inspiration for me. There were many people in the top 15 that I have at one point or another competed with, and nearly all of them were older than me. This helped me not feel as badly for not finishing (one of my absolute least favorite things in the world) and reassured me in the need for patience in this masochistic sport of distance running. My time is yet to come.

The next morning, Patriots Day, Ben and I went for one more easy run along the river. This time we did not see nearly as many famous people. My hip still ached, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that it might be my last run for a while. After cleaning up and again eating the leftover scraps at the athlete hospitality room we headed out to watch the finish of the Boston Marathon. We saw Ethiopian Dire Tune and Russian Alevtina Biktimirova sprint to the finish in the elite women's race. Not long after, Robert Cheruiyot passed by us. He completely dominated the men's field; it looked like it was a playground foot race and he wasn't even breathing hard.

We walked further up Commonwealth Avenue to find a good spot to look for Coach (a.k.a. Judy). Ben hoisted me up onto the ledge of a light pole and right before she passed me I finally saw her. I screamed "Go Coach!" at the top of my lungs and she turned her head and gave me the thumbs up. I also managed to get a picture of her - mission accomplished. It took a while to wander through the massive crowds of weary finishers and anxious family members, but I eventually found Coach in the family reunion area. She and her old college teammate and I waddled back to the Prudential Center food court to get some grub. I enjoyed catching up with her and she very kindly listened to me vent about all my current frustrations. When it was time to leave to catch my flight and I had to say good bye to her, I once again got teary-eyed. You don't know what you've got till it's gone, that's for sure.

After a long flight and solo drive home I finally got back to good ol' Bloomington. I dumped my bags on the floor and passed out on the couch, didn't even bother to walk to my bed. I was physically and emotionally drained. Alas, I have many things to take from this experience: lots of free junk with the cool '08 Trials logo on it, and a truck-load of inspiration, enough to last me a good four more years at least.

Coach Hep Cancer Challenge

Okay, I know I've been woefully bad at posting on this lately. I have a lot to write about (Marathon Olympic Trials, watching the Indy Mini last weekend, and more), but just have not had much free time, or mental energy. All these events and everything in between have been slightly traumatic and I'm still sorting through it all and recovering. Nonetheless, I promise there will be updates soon.

For now I just want to make a quick plea to support the Coach Hep Cancer Challenge in Bloomington this weekend. If you are in town you should sign up to participate at www.CoachHepCancerChallenge.org. There is an event for everyone - 5k walk or run, 40k bike ride, 100k bike ride and 40k ride/5k run combo.

If you can't come, or don't want to, consider making a donation. Here's my Active.com fund raising site: http://www.active.com/donate/DontQuit/JGall1

I don't care if you donate to me or to anyone else participating because it is all going to a great cause. Donations go to the IU Simon Cancer Center (where Lance Armstrong was treated) and the Olcott Center for Cancer Education.

As Coach Hep used to say, Don't quit.

Almost to Boston!

Yikes, I really can't believe it is almost April 20th and in less then two days I'll be on a plane to Boston. The idea of running in the Olympic Trials Marathon still seems abstract to me since I never imagined even trying to qualify for it until only a few months before I did. This is in stark contrast to my normally tireless mind that spins every night pondering the possibilities of my future for tomorrow, next week, next year, and the next ten years. I'm continuing to learn that trying to plan out life is almost futile as it never quite ends up like we expect, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse!

I've packed a few essential items - my jersey, shorts, racing flats - but as is my tradition, have yet to completely pack and I know that's what I'll be spending the majority of tomorrow night doing. Unfortunately there are many other things I have to do as well, so I'll likely forget a few essential items with the last minute rush. I was excited to find out, though, that I'll be getting a fat tax refund check, which will likely lead to me purchasing way too many souvenirs, which will then cover any clothing item I may forget to bring.

I'm excited for not only the race and getting to watch the Boston Marathon on Monday, but also for the chance to stalk two of my biggest running idols, Deena Kastor and Joan Benoit Samuelson. I will be able to put my obsessive compulsive journalism skills to use with my new digital camera and my old video camera that I have hardly used since I bought it.

Boston will also be a place of many reunions for me. I'll get to meet up with a former training partner, a former coach, a cousin I haven't seen in years, and one of my best friends from grade school and high school. It's been nice to get random Facebook messages from people I haven't talked to in a while wishing me good luck. Oh the perks of advanced communication technology!

I have no idea how the race itself will go. I've had difficulty training over the last couple months due to this mystery hip/thigh ailment. Thanks to one of the best athletic trainers I've ever worked with, Matt Donahue, it was feeling much better, so I tried to do a workout last night. That has unfortunately caused my right leg to revolt, so I had Matt do one last round of Graston treatment today. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of Graston, I will explain. It involves taking hard metal tools and scraping them along the soft tissue until scar tissue and restrictions in the muscles, tendons and ligaments are broken up. It often involves biting towels to stop thinking about the pain, and in my case it also involves a bruise the size of Montana.

No matter what, I know this weekend will be one of those experiences that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Off to Bean Town!