"RED VINES!" (LA Marathon)

My alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. so I jumped out of bed and threw my running clothes on. There's only one day I willingly "jump" out of bed at 4:45, RACE DAY.


Memorial Day was finally here, which meant I would get to join two of my friends, and over 15,000 others as we ran 26.2 miles through the streets of Los Angeles. Even though this would be my third marathon, the feelings of anxiousness and excitement were still incredibly strong. My two biggest fears were warm weather and my legs refusing to run a second 26.2 in a one-month span. I had never attempted anything like this, so I had no clue what to expect.



We arrived at the start line with about an hour to spare. I could tell that Phillip and Edgar were nervous. They were nervous because they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. I was nervous because I knew EXACTLY what I was getting myself into. I envied their ignorance.



Before we knew it, the race had begun and the huge crowd of 15,000+ shuffled towards the starting line. With "I love LA" blaring over the loud speaker and a nice downhill at the start, everyone was in good spirits.


I seperated from the guys pretty early on. I kicked into a comfortable pace and was feeling great, better weather than I could have ever asked for and nice gradual downhills to speed things up. The miles started to add up and I found myself feeling very comfortable at the halfway point, which is where the race turned from downhill to uphill. Around mile 14, we started our 'ascent'. My pace had slowed, which I very much expected, but I was still running strong when I passed the 20-mile marker. I could slowly feel my body begging me to put a stop to the madness, but I didn't care to listen.


With the 23-mile marker in sight, my hamstrings tightened up. Both hamstrings, cramping at the same time, so I had to stop to stretch. I had 3 more miles to go and I knew there was no way they were going to start feeling better. Time to dig deep. The four-hour milestone was on the line and I wasnt going to let my hamstrings keep me from reaching it.


In the last three miles I grabbed just about every water, gatorade, orange and pretzel I could find, trying to fuel myself to 26.2. I ran as fast as my hamstrings would let me, trying to find something to lift my spirits...then I heard it. "RED VINES!" Music to my ears. I saw a man handing out red vines, my favorite, on the side of the road. It's funny the little things that excite you when your body is pushed to its limits.

The last couple miles were tough, they always are. I turned the corner with about 3/4 of a mile left, and could see the finish line. Mobs of people crowded the sidewalks as I ran down the homestretch. My hamstrings were screaming, but I focused on the voices of the spectators, cheering me towards the finish line. I broke into a sprint and crossed the finish line at 3:56. My body was beaten up, my ipod broken and my feet blistered, but I did it.


I love L.A.

Deja vu all over again

Here I go again. My third marathon and my second in the last month. I feel ready, a bit anxious, but mostly excited. I should clarify, though, i'm not all that excited for me.

I am excited because two of my friends, Phillip and Edgar, will be running their first marathon and I get to experience that with them. It was just a few short months ago that I was in their shoes, with butterflies in my stomach and doubt in my head. I'm pumped to experience this with them and can't wait to see them succeed.

I'm looking forward to a great run through LA with a couple of incredible guys. Good luck Phillip and Edgar, i'll see you guys at the FINISH LINE!

Black toenails

I've always heard stories about the myriad of running injuries, ranging from blisters to stress fractures and everywhere in between.

Of all the injuries, though, the one I hoped to never encounter was black toenails. A 'Black toenail' is when blood builds up underneath the toenail, causing a lot of pressure on the toe and eventually causing the nail to fall off.

After finishing a half-marathon on May 3, one week after the USMC Hard Corps Marathon, I removed my shoe to find two lovely black toenails. They don't hurt at all, but they are just downright ugly to look at.

Strangely enough, I have gotten use to looking down at my rainbow-sandal-wearing feet and seeing my ugly toes. In a wierd way i'm proud of my ugly feet.

It's difficult to tell just by looking at someone that they are a runner unless they are extremely athletic or Ethiopian. If someone were to look at me, "RUNNER" would not be the first thing that comes to mind...that is, until I show them my feet.