Pete the Cat says, "I love my NEW shoes!"

Little known fact about me: I have been running in the same kind of shoes since middle school.  Yep, that's right...with the approximately 6 billion different kinds of running shoes out there, I have stayed faithful to my Asics Gel Kayanos for 15 years.  That shows commitment.  Dedication.  Devotion.  Laziness.

I mean, I really do love these shoes.  They fit my feet just right and are specifically made for a "heavier" runner (which I qualify for, since I am significantly taller than the average female runner).  And since I know exactly what I want - Asics Gel Kayanos, size 9.5, in whatever color strikes me at the moment - I can sit in my PJs, and just go online and order my shoes and poof! they arrive at my doorstep.  Where I can pick them up while still wearing my PJs.  No salespeople, no waiting in line, and (most importantly) no schlepping my kid in and out of the store and hoping he behaves for 10 minutes so I can buy my shoes.  I mean, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? 

Except as you can clearly see, my last pair of shoes was actually broken.  Holes in the toes, holes in the inside lining, zero arch support remaining.  Perhaps I got a tad too comfortable in these shoes.  And perhaps I put off buying a new pair because at the end of that $145 purchase was going to be the exact same pair of shoes that I have worn for the last 15 years straight.  Where's the excitement in that?  Heck, would it really be so hard to get a babysitter so that I can go out to the store and pick out a pair of shoes for goodness sakes?!?!  I'm a woman with (shoe-related) needs after all!!!!  

So I was dragging my feet about getting a new pair of shoes.  Should I stick with the familiar, or be a little naughty and go for the newer model?  The Kayanos and I have been through so much...but are there better shoes out there?  Maybe prettier shoes that would appreciate me more?

And then Patrick did the un-thinkable.  He told me he was getting Vibram FiveFinger shoes.  WHAT??  Those aren't even traditional running shoes!!!  They have zero support, no laces, and they just look funny!!!  You're just going to chuck your traditional shoes out the window to get some fancy fad shoe???  WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??? 

My husband's decision to be a running shoe hussy made me realize that maybe the 15 year history with my shoes was something worth fighting for.  So I did my runner's duty in this committed relationship: I remained faithful and ordered my 20th-something pair of Asics Gel Kayanos.  And you know what?  When I opened that box and took a whiff of that new-shoe smell, all the passion and excitement came rushing right back.  I carefully laced them just the right (ie: my) way and they looked perfect.  And when I took them out on our first run together, I remembered all the awesomeness and why I fell in love with these shoes in the first place.  So next time that I need to buy a pair, I won't even question my dedication to my Kayanos.  No, not a single second thought from me.  Although Patrick would probably like me to be having second thoughts about that $145 price-tag...

T - 30

The marathon is officially one month away!  Yep, on Sunday October 21, I will be tackling my 6th marathon head-on.  And trust me, I am not above begging asking for help with this! (segue please!)

I would love your support during the marathon!  It hopefully will be a nice, fall day in Columbus; and there is clearly no better way to spend it then coming out to cheer me on, right?  Come on...pleeeeease??  I'll be your best friend!!  How about I give you 5 bucks?  I bet your mom would want you to come support your friend!  Pretty please with a cherry on top??

Really??  Well, thanks...I'm honored that you would come to cheer for me!  Just so you know what to expect, here is a personalized Kelsey course map.  Please see below for the thoughts / feelings / ponderings that accompany each number:

1.  I see the leaders passing me going the opposite direction...I realize just how slow I am.  But not as slow as those people getting water at the first aid station, hahaha...what, are you dehydrated already?!?!

2.  I wave at Governor Kasich, who is cheering on the runners in front of the Governor's Mansion.  Or, at least I will if he decides to show up this year.

3.  I pass the Columbus School for Girls (with the students wo-manning the aid station) and wonder who they go to prom with.

4.  I reflect on my high school days of running a cross country race at Franklin Park Conservatory.  Didn't I place here once?   I wonder what place I'm in right now?  Answer: too high to count.

5.  I feel so good!  This is easy!  Wait, did that mile marker just say 9??  I'm only ~1/3rd finished??  WTH??

6.  I wonder if the Thurman Cafe has a wait right now?  I bet I could just run over, eat a Thurmanator, and run right back and no one would be the wiser!  At least, until that Thurmanator hit the pavement...

7.  Yeah!  There are TONS of people cheering right here!  This is awesome!!  *passes the half-marathon finish*  Wait, now it's silent and there are no fans...??  Annnnnnd I have 13 more miles to go.  Super.

8.  Since when has High Street been uphill???

9.  What is this doubling back nonsense?  I mean really people.....Oooo, the Shoe!!!!!!!!

10.  I am beginning to re-think laughing at those people who decided to begin hydrating early in the race.  Maybe it's not too late...I'll just chug a bunch of water at this aid station.

11.  Chugging water = bad choice.  Legs.feeling.like.jelly.  Only four more miles.  Which means at the rate I'm going, I have another two hours left on this forsaken wasteland of a course.  

12.  There's Battelle.  I wonder if they have some sort of cart-like device that could get me the rest of the way to the finish.  Of course, it's probably weaponized.  And Patrick would probably lose his job if I broke in there.  But that just might be a chance I'm willing to take at this point.

13.  I'm at least 50% sure I can do this!!

14.  I don't care about that medal, volunteer woman!  And get that stupid lens out of my face camera-man!!!  Now get me a Krispie Kreme stat before I collaspe!!!  Num num num...Krispie Kremes...num num num...

So it's really up to you just where along this journey you would like to join me.  I know, I know, I made each marker look so appealing that you are having difficulty choosing just one.  Which is great because what would be even better than you cheering me on at one spot would be you cheering me on at two spots!  Hey, a girl can always dream...

Hot Mess

Now, I know that the first year is supposed to be the roughest as far as illness goes...but silly me thought that was supposed to be for the child, not the parents.  My husband likes to call our son 'plague baby'...but since this latest illness, I'm thinking that perhaps we should stop blaming the baby and just paint a big red 'X' above our front door. 
 
On Sunday I ran an 18 miler and everything was good.  During my runs, I often use something fairly silly to motivate me...like "I'm going to drink a big glass of lemonade / Coke / whatever I have in my fridge that is NOT milk when I get home."  Now, the irony of this is that I would drink (or eat) whatever I am focusing on anyway, but that's not the point.  So for this particular run, it was "I am going to order Chinese food for dinner tonight."  And trust me, it tasted good.

Until about 2 in the morning.  And then, Patrick and I both got hit with what we thought at the time was food poisoning.  Come sun-up, Patrick somehow got himself to work, and I continued to fever chill and muscle ache all over.  Except this was fevery muscle aching on steroids.  This was I ran 18 mile soreness, cannot keep food or water down to recover from said run, and the typical fevery muscle aching you typically get when sick...all combined to make me unable to even pick my son up.  I literally felt like the worst mother in America as I piled him and all of his toys into his crib, and laid there on the ground shivering under a blanket.

If you are reading this blog, I probably thought about calling you for help.  Heck, I thought about calling my 92 year old grandmother for help (who, I am sure: A. is not reading this blog; and B. would have no problem telling me that I actually am the worst mother in America.  But I was desperate and probably having fever hallucinations.)  Lucky for me, I have a wonderful husband who despite being sick himself, came home and took over child-duty until my mom got off school.  His exact quote: "I knew you must be really sick when I came home and the little Mister was in disposables (diapers)."  If you know my love / obsession with my cloth diapers, you are now beginning to understand just how bad I felt.

I slept fitfully.  I sweated through shirts.  I took various clothing and blankets on and off my body without realizing it.  I dreamt that my body was a storage unit full of weird items that I was selling off (too much Storage Wars??  Yuuup!)  My arms were clocks.  My left leg was a bicycle.  And why didn't anyone want to buy that console table / my right foot?  It's worth at least $2 grand!

I soon found out that it was not just our household that needed that 'X' above the door...it was also a select few that we attended a function with on Saturday night.  And although I am most definitely not glad that my friends got sick too...somewhere, deep inside my twisted soul, I was a *little* relieved to find out that it wasn't the Chinese food making us sick.  Because clearly that would have precluded me from ever ordering from that restaurant again.  And I love Dragon House.  So, so much love for Dragon House.

The next morning, I was feeling much better.  And by today, when I got yet another initiation into motherhood by having to clean up kid-in-the-bed vomit, I almost felt empowered.  And I probably would have gotten all the way there too, if it hadn't been ground bison I was rinsing out of my kid's sheets...

Man's Best Friend, Woman's Worst Running Partner

Approximately 9 years ago I got the bright idea that as a 20 year old college student who didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, I was clearly responsible and settled enough to get a dog.  (I would like to take a moment to note that if you are catching on to a theme that I was a stupid 20 year old, then once again feel free to congratulate yourself that you are, in fact, smarter than I was 9 years ago.)  Anyway, I asked our family vet for a recommendation for a breed of dog that would be good for an apartment and also good to run with.  She recommended a Vizsla.  So, several months later when a breeder in the area had a litter of puppies, I finally got a little red dog of my very own!

Enter Dr. Vezer, DDS (doctor of doggie stuff).  Vezer is too smart for his own good.  So much so, that he could very fairly be called arrogant.  He knows whether we turn right (to the park) or left (to the vet) at a certain stoplight.  He stares at you until you do his bidding.  He sits in a chair during dinner.  He sleeps under the covers and has no problem awakening you with a punch to the shoulder if you steal said covers.  In short, he's sexy and he knows it. 

Vezer, before he needed Just for Vizslas haircolor...

And it quickly became obvious to anyone who had ever spent more than 5 seconds in the company of a Vizsla (which the vet apparently hadn't) that this breed is possibly the WORST possible dog to have in an apartment.  Good thing he was living at my parents house...and destroying their stuff.  I mean, after all, I did have a deposit on that apartment...

So that left the running.  I eagerly awaited the day that he became old enough to run with me.  Picture it, a girl and her faithful canine companion.  Running side-by-side into the sunset.  Beautiful, right?

The problem here is that The Good Doctor does not participate in activities just because his person likes them.  Nor does he lower himself to behaving while on a leash.  No, no...he would much rather be sitting pompously on your his spot on the couch.  Looking at you as if to say, "Your ignorance isn't contagious, is it?  If so, please remove yourself from my sight immediately." 

Vezer shows you what he thinks of the little person

Needless to say, runs with Vezer fell into this pattern: 1 mile of him stopping to sniff / urinate on everything in sight; 1 mile of him refusing to go ANY farther; then 2 miles of him pulling hard on the leash to get back to the couch ASAP.  It was so ridiculous that I used to count to see how many times he stopped to 'claim' things along the way.  His record was 23.  Really?  Don't even try to tell me you have that much urine.  I don't care if you are a doctor, that's just impossible.

We continued in this pattern for several years, until a torn ACL (that was not acquired during running with me) retired Vezer from any 'structured' exercise.  All this means is that he is welcome to run around and act like a crazy person with his doggie friends, but I am not allowed to run with him at a leisurely pace.  I'm pretty sure he paid the vet to tell me that.

Quixx agrees.

Being the good, responsible dog owner that I am, about two years ago I decided that it was time to get Vezer a brother.  Enter The Distinguished Mr. Quixx.  Quixx is everything that Vezer is not.  He is happy-go-lucky.  He is super clingy.  He likes to sleep belly up with his private parts in my husband's face.  He starts his day at 4 am by happily chewing on the only toy that still has its squeaker.  He runs around kicking you with your own shoe that he is carrying in his mouth.  In short, he's got the world on a string.

So I began to wonder, will things be different with Quixx?  Will he love to run beside me, soaking in every last minute of being with his person?  Will I finally get my fairy-tale ending of a perfect run with my faithful companion?  He is just getting old enough to go on those aforementioned 'structured' runs, but all early signs point to no, no, and no.  I'm starting to think that if I expect to ever get that fairy-tale fulfilled, I'm going to have to start pushing them in a wagon.  Into the sunset, of course...