tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11001406663658981322024-03-12T20:07:09.761-05:00Adventures of a Middle-Aged Drama QueenKCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.comBlogger1066125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-61039336656212929962023-12-30T11:43:00.001-06:002023-12-30T11:43:17.717-06:00Is Anybody Still Out There?<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uOoM91_yLdeYT-8EkCAysIjKr66rOxU0_g_DpOM4Os7dfaIuYZr8_vFUzYVDIy6icRJWWpqAR3E1FuDmgc2nz028jmh3pnE4azJUPPQb95CNckENmhV2ORVbBZSvYTLfm_k7u9kS6mTPB6KdP3mUzd5YkADFepj8QWmr8LPPfaygS2c_Hq3sKYpJpI4g/s297/IMG_5772.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uOoM91_yLdeYT-8EkCAysIjKr66rOxU0_g_DpOM4Os7dfaIuYZr8_vFUzYVDIy6icRJWWpqAR3E1FuDmgc2nz028jmh3pnE4azJUPPQb95CNckENmhV2ORVbBZSvYTLfm_k7u9kS6mTPB6KdP3mUzd5YkADFepj8QWmr8LPPfaygS2c_Hq3sKYpJpI4g/s320/IMG_5772.png"/></a></div>
I'm still here.
Is anybody still out there?
Does anybody still blog anymore?
And does anyone still READ blogs, anymore?
Just wondering....KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-13582717102094797432019-04-05T09:44:00.001-05:002019-04-05T09:44:48.429-05:00My Doctor Is Gaslighting Me<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDw9CNSdT9u9uCLCF8hc9BONynzFZoGxpPL7i03DnZJgtrBhsf9PjoV_SXlEnXojD-CBvtEol8x_cDj5Ux5TwUacvlPIu73-2YGI9Vqb1A_wHp2NZbnP7xqgmDcbg1NMJ-tz9nf4Od3117/s1600/FC40DAC6-B75B-4386-B012-0576C59AEF06.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDw9CNSdT9u9uCLCF8hc9BONynzFZoGxpPL7i03DnZJgtrBhsf9PjoV_SXlEnXojD-CBvtEol8x_cDj5Ux5TwUacvlPIu73-2YGI9Vqb1A_wHp2NZbnP7xqgmDcbg1NMJ-tz9nf4Od3117/s400/FC40DAC6-B75B-4386-B012-0576C59AEF06.jpeg" width="400" height="290" data-original-width="602" data-original-height="437" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Two days ago, my sinuses were SOOOO bad, that I pretty much just wanted to die. <br />
<br />
Rather than doing that, though, I headed to the nearest Walk-In Clinic, to see if the trained professionals could fix what I couldn’t seem to fix with over-the-counter remedies and good old-fashioned whining. None of that was working.<br />
<br />
Walking out an hour later with 20mg of Prednisone - EEP - but no antibiotics (“No infection for YOU!!”, the doctor barked!), I thought that a visit to an even MORE trained professional - as in ENT (Ear, Nose & Throat) - was in order.<br />
<br />
So, I went yesterday to see “Doctor Smith.” <br />
<br />
Walking into the lobby of Doctor Smith and his fellow ENT’s building, I had a bit of deja vu - but couldn’t quite put my finger on why this lobby looked so familiar. I felt like I had been here before - but knowing this was my first time seeing Dr. Smith, I shrugged it off.<br />
<br />
When Dr. Smith walked into the exam room, he’s peeking at my chart - and says, “Ahhhh...I see you that you saw “Dr. Jones” here six years ago for your sinus surgery.”<br />
<br />
I looked at him like he was nuts, and said, “Uh...no. I had my sinus surgery in Florida.” <br />
<br />
Dr. Smith looked at me like I was nuts, and said, “Huh. Sure. Because it says here you saw Dr. Jones.”<br />
<br />
And I gave him the side-eye, and said, “Uh, I’m pretty sure I know where I had my surgery. And it was in Florida. Yes, I might be a bit crazy - especially on 20mg of Prednisone right now - but I KNOW where I was.”<br />
<br />
Dr. Smith gave me one last look - to see if I really WAS crazy - and then shrugged and got down to business. <br />
<br />
Weird.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, after determining that I do, indeed, have an infection - and deciding to boost the Prednisone up “to a larger dose” to help with the inflammation of the sinuses, he’s having me come back next week for a cat scan - and possibly inserting tubes in my ears so I can fly. Wheeeeeee. I set my next appointment, and head out to go pick up the drugs.<br />
<br />
<br />
Imagine my alarm when I was given this for the Prednisone:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAV2hAIDu6jvSdMhITL4i2ONXsEYbBlZlVKD_3l7_FDZdZEDhusFzizpD-riSmUAIeicIMrsXDDtWW6a72_58farAkj0rfDDPiEU_ozr8XPBBg7oCJkyBMHMhCX0m-fJHtU0qIfKPJyw3K/s1600/A17D83DD-04E0-45E5-95A0-D01AB0900D05.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAV2hAIDu6jvSdMhITL4i2ONXsEYbBlZlVKD_3l7_FDZdZEDhusFzizpD-riSmUAIeicIMrsXDDtWW6a72_58farAkj0rfDDPiEU_ozr8XPBBg7oCJkyBMHMhCX0m-fJHtU0qIfKPJyw3K/s400/A17D83DD-04E0-45E5-95A0-D01AB0900D05.jpeg" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div><br />
Holy CRAZINESS, Batman - that prescription is calling for THREE pills - at 10mg apiece - THREE times a day!!! That’s 90mg of Prednisone, folks! <br />
<br />
I am NOT a trained professional, by any means - but I DO know that the MOST Prednisone usually prescribed a day is 60mg. There is something wrong with this prescription.<br />
<br />
I called the pharmacy back, and asked, “Um...can this be right? Don’t you think it should be ONE pill - THREE times a day?”<br />
<br />
The pharmacist pulled the written prescription up, and said, “Well...this is how the doctor wrote it...but you’re right. That doesn’t seem correct.”<br />
<br />
Ya’ think???!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
So yes, the prescription is wrong. Whew. I go slightly nuts at 20mg a day - I can’t even imagine what 90mg would have done!<br />
<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I’m lying in bed last night - dealing the side effects of insomnia - when I replay that conversation with Dr. Smith regarding Dr. Jones...and it dawns on me.<br />
<br />
I did indeed have my sinus surgery in Florida. That is correct. BUT - I was so anxious to come home for recovery - before I was released by my Florida surgeon - that my Florida surgeon said he would only allow me to come back to Kansas City IF I had an ENT that would do my follow-up care.<br />
<br />
And Dr. Jones was my follow-up care for the surgery.<br />
<br />
Voila. <br />
<br />
THAT is why I was having deja vu in that lobby. And THAT is why Dr. Jones is listed in my chart as seeing me for sinus surgery.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t crazy. And neither was Dr. Smith.<br />
<br />
All is well in my world. <br />
<br />
I would say, “I can rest easy now” - but on 30mg of Prednisone now, I am not resting at all - but that’s a whole nother story!<br />
<br />
Peace. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-54411155488553070432019-04-03T14:46:00.001-05:002019-04-03T14:48:40.510-05:00Whiner Wednesday: April 3rd Edition<br />
<br />
I started working out a gym about a year ago...I go five days a week, Monday through Friday, and spend 45 minutes huffing and puffing and sweating and grunting, all in an effort to fight gravity and fight aging, with every bit of effort I can give. My trainer is an ex-Marine, and he likes to pretend that we’re all brand-new recruits going through boot camp, rather than a bunch of middle-aged women who haven’t seen their twenties in...well...over twenty years.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when he tells us to “Drop and give him twenty” - or something along the lines of - I will protest, half-heartedly, with groans, sighs, and curse words said under my breath. He and I finally came to an arrangement where I am allowed to whine only on Wednesdays - “Whiner Wednesday” - as I call it - and it works out well. He doesn’t have to listen to me protest the other four days of the week, but I can let him have it on that one, glorious day that comes mid-week. It’s a win-win.<br />
<br />
So, in that spirit - I’m going to do a Whiner Wednesday post today...talk about what is going on my life this past week...and perhaps groan, sigh or cuss under my breath - but also post when I think things are positive....<br />
<br />
So, without further ado, here we go...here’s how the past week has gone:<br />
<br />
<b>What I’ve Been Doing</b><br />
<br />
Whew. A busy week. <br />
<br />
Hubby and I celebrated our 20th anniversary by heading to the place where it all began, the Grand Street Cafe, where we had our first date. We had a delicious dinner with a yummy appetizer of potato skins, that didn’t look like any potato skins I’VE ever had before. But they were Nom Nom Nom DELICIOUS!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyO5fnqYF-wVnFBnCh2_Uj1fcy1mAqmrrYhNHzUcw4eqQyOOJMJfAq_kYGdhr9TrtyFomlsPScNVBiZUw9XDlJLyILEbC2M-Ncch_JPO6mcjdlSGC88UdDibFEMBOnWhCAobdPHDbxjVw/s1600/E5D79E51-52AE-462E-AD8D-37149D33F5AD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyO5fnqYF-wVnFBnCh2_Uj1fcy1mAqmrrYhNHzUcw4eqQyOOJMJfAq_kYGdhr9TrtyFomlsPScNVBiZUw9XDlJLyILEbC2M-Ncch_JPO6mcjdlSGC88UdDibFEMBOnWhCAobdPHDbxjVw/s400/E5D79E51-52AE-462E-AD8D-37149D33F5AD.jpeg" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div><br />
Seriously - does that even LOOK like potato skins??!! But Oh. My. God. They were sooooo good. I think I licked the plate.<br />
<br />
<br />
That evening, Hubby presented me with 20 gorgeous coral roses - one for each year we’ve been married. Awwww. He so sweet.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Pfj0bgVy38UZiCIElMfWHxdTNaOxaMaEsZpEpYC9PdKBZYgdWlig3vKW8ozAKdfri4wNghIkRns5UYDJ_4kn63UUAviMO4G2mlhaAC1Q8cSwXuY7qcxvlXh_3oSb-tgYkGp-FwNECE1V/s1600/342FB828-339D-4118-9E59-3BEA0EED92C6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Pfj0bgVy38UZiCIElMfWHxdTNaOxaMaEsZpEpYC9PdKBZYgdWlig3vKW8ozAKdfri4wNghIkRns5UYDJ_4kn63UUAviMO4G2mlhaAC1Q8cSwXuY7qcxvlXh_3oSb-tgYkGp-FwNECE1V/s400/342FB828-339D-4118-9E59-3BEA0EED92C6.jpeg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Over the weekend, besides watching some of the March Madness of NCAA Tournament Basketball (and here I MUST insert, “Go War Eagle!!” Yes, my beloved Auburn Tigers have made it to the Final Four - squeeeeeee!!!), I spent some time with girlfriends. Sunday morning was brunch with unlimited mimosas at a local restaurant:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfL0R0_kuFKxW-GuszKWuQoix-PI4Q8Nvzl3pQPu2s0Cdwl6NmbEVsHAbTvcBQOTTgVmtkKgu2zZozf7sbyZrrqmZdY9MN_P4GYE4OfMfrrfQk4MYNnv_ZDkf0HhRs3RuJGgSRSTfiKi7/s1600/F75C0D84-9006-4242-A2D2-708EBCD51CE5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfL0R0_kuFKxW-GuszKWuQoix-PI4Q8Nvzl3pQPu2s0Cdwl6NmbEVsHAbTvcBQOTTgVmtkKgu2zZozf7sbyZrrqmZdY9MN_P4GYE4OfMfrrfQk4MYNnv_ZDkf0HhRs3RuJGgSRSTfiKi7/s400/F75C0D84-9006-4242-A2D2-708EBCD51CE5.jpeg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
That evening, I spent some time with a good friend, Robin, who I see on a regular basis to discuss our passions: running, Disney and our family. Robin lives not too far from me, but I met her in an online Facebook group dedicated to running and Disney. It was bizarre to find out she lives within five miles - and is about my age - and so we make it a point to get together once a month and discuss our next races, or our next Disney trip - or just life. Girlfriends are the best. <br />
<br />
Today, I had lunch with another girlfriend, who I met 15 years ago, and who I try to see as much as possible - but because of life, sickness, appointments, work, etc - I haven’t seen in six months. We were LONG overdue - so we had a lot to catch up on. Sorry, waiter - I left you a good tip since we took up the table. Hee hee.<br />
<br />
<b>What Book I Am Reading</b><br />
<br />
The book I’m currently reading is called, “The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man’s Quest to Get Smaller in a Growing America”. The author is Tommy Tomlinson...and I am seriously hooked. This guy can REALLY write a sentence - and I find myself chuckling out loud as he paints pictures with his words. A good read, so far - I recommend it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7lDoMn1NH3m0RhfuOHXwePKOeVeRbh1XKHEeAxPF1mZL36RtbeDdKl8DUM22eQwxyzfvwImz8XY_xdj3hTXjBvwKtQf8B-5c8LXjUZejKFL-ponVXcvQVIcI-xKaVoaAsfntsTKgAPtF/s1600/7034D4A4-9490-458D-8C98-A32D557CFCCA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc7lDoMn1NH3m0RhfuOHXwePKOeVeRbh1XKHEeAxPF1mZL36RtbeDdKl8DUM22eQwxyzfvwImz8XY_xdj3hTXjBvwKtQf8B-5c8LXjUZejKFL-ponVXcvQVIcI-xKaVoaAsfntsTKgAPtF/s400/7034D4A4-9490-458D-8C98-A32D557CFCCA.jpeg" width="400" height="372" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1486" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>What I Am Watching</b><br />
<br />
My guilty pleasure has been binging on “Santa Clarita Diet”, which can be found on Netflix. It stars Drew Barrymore and the always-gorgeous Timothy Olyphant - and is the sick-but-funny chronicles of a suburban mom who turns into a zombie. It’s hysterically funny in a sick, twisted way, and I can’t stop watching. I recommend it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBH13WDOWBthZu7uj9jZGPb3I7_WvLgk6J1geWQzXlGbBngxxTPB27WXIfF8I5oPi7M5u2CXjCTkf-3UDzoJ12wnxSh1yWCDmJvt07BcGwro6gadssKEBV4P7t16zqyWcM8_nnma8Y5KR/s1600/A44E41D9-BAB9-4DB4-915F-76A033B835B0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpBH13WDOWBthZu7uj9jZGPb3I7_WvLgk6J1geWQzXlGbBngxxTPB27WXIfF8I5oPi7M5u2CXjCTkf-3UDzoJ12wnxSh1yWCDmJvt07BcGwro6gadssKEBV4P7t16zqyWcM8_nnma8Y5KR/s400/A44E41D9-BAB9-4DB4-915F-76A033B835B0.jpeg" width="400" height="230" data-original-width="1008" data-original-height="580" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>What I Am Listening To</b><br />
<br />
Old school. My favorite jam lately has been rocking out to The Steve Miller Band. I saw them in concert many, many years ago, and they’ll always be a favorite. Yes - I recommend. Obviously...hee hee!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosBs0pCzhThro_nwhrt6ZL8oc9J0Gto_0wDctWjB2SXsk0x6-O5D2XUp4ueqGIauZ7SM3UZCiXnqptZzVTCL6qyVSBuhBTVYWOTF2Ac3anVIB9EB2shlxuVxp7J27yVYGePK75X8llCQR/s1600/B600A2FF-4681-40E5-80B5-B6EEF2D634D8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosBs0pCzhThro_nwhrt6ZL8oc9J0Gto_0wDctWjB2SXsk0x6-O5D2XUp4ueqGIauZ7SM3UZCiXnqptZzVTCL6qyVSBuhBTVYWOTF2Ac3anVIB9EB2shlxuVxp7J27yVYGePK75X8llCQR/s400/B600A2FF-4681-40E5-80B5-B6EEF2D634D8.jpeg" width="400" height="400" data-original-width="488" data-original-height="488" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>How I Am Feeling</b><br />
<br />
Well...if you were wondering when the whining was going to start, HERE WE GO!! Woot woot! Are you excited??!!<br />
<br />
First, my allergies. Or sinuses. Or whatever it is. I DON’T KNOW AND IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY. I. Am. Miserable. I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. Headaches, drainage, sinus pressure - medicine, humidifiers, Kleenex - an endless carousel of dealing with some unnamed beast, and I am frankly tired. So, tomorrow I am heading to an ENT for some answers. I am hoping, praying and praying some more that I am not looking at sinus surgery FOR THE SECOND TIME. Gah.<br />
<br />
Second, my elbow. I hurt it. It hurts. It doesn’t stop hurting. It has hurt for months. So - I broke down and saw an orthopedic doctor last week, who said, “Physical therapy for YOU!” And so that is what I’ve been doing. And that hurts. Gah. But I am hoping, praying and praying some more that it will make it better. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgEokaXaSGYr6tjzOx-Ewor32OFvGUz1UL7ZhNMP4zQK2KN4zXJ0Xtt78sNAvUn2JQadd15dr5mYecd172TNkc9gTC7JSW6JkD4s7uK1KkKRN_w0gBu_lEdVXN_FMrv1jJ6whBRoINmvQ/s1600/1FAC29AF-43EA-4E26-B269-729CC77B1976.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgEokaXaSGYr6tjzOx-Ewor32OFvGUz1UL7ZhNMP4zQK2KN4zXJ0Xtt78sNAvUn2JQadd15dr5mYecd172TNkc9gTC7JSW6JkD4s7uK1KkKRN_w0gBu_lEdVXN_FMrv1jJ6whBRoINmvQ/s400/1FAC29AF-43EA-4E26-B269-729CC77B1976.jpeg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
I thought that physical therapy for an elbow would be a piece of cake. I thought wrong. It kicks my butt every time I go in. Today, I got a nice steroid patch on my arm, so we’ll see if that brings some relief.<br />
<br />
<br />
So - that’s my week. No more whining. Really, other than my nose and my elbow, there’s not much to whine about...and I’m hoping to get those fixed, right??!!<br />
<br />
Here’s to another week, and here’s to doctors, medicines, drugs, and spring. Whee!<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-27776941663053716052019-03-26T11:22:00.000-05:002019-03-26T11:22:46.882-05:00Twenty Years Married <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81C7lSeupL1FaoJWUoIv18j4bkQRscYBHcHSOOu1IX-s-cWFtTD0ZsChbgGEqSoVOuv71p977U6feTDfjRG4nad-nwpGTObHIpgrj8zSK49U-zWZY5jGoGMFShDfWc-3w17-kHch00_Cz/s1600/CB6431B7-FC19-45C2-8BF0-4D172BE50F60.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81C7lSeupL1FaoJWUoIv18j4bkQRscYBHcHSOOu1IX-s-cWFtTD0ZsChbgGEqSoVOuv71p977U6feTDfjRG4nad-nwpGTObHIpgrj8zSK49U-zWZY5jGoGMFShDfWc-3w17-kHch00_Cz/s400/CB6431B7-FC19-45C2-8BF0-4D172BE50F60.jpeg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
Twenty years.<br />
<br />
Twenty-freakin’-years.<br />
<br />
Twenty years since I said, “I do” to this man...and he said, “I do, too” to me. <br />
<br />
Wowza.<br />
<br />
<br />
We started dating in November...were engaged by December...and married by March. March 26, 1999.<br />
<br />
It was a second marriage for both of us, and not wanting the big, fancy wedding (been there, done that), we both opted for something smaller - more intimate - and so we tied the knot in a small wedding chapel in Las Vegas.<br />
<br />
I think we had both learned at this point that “marriage” isn’t about the wedding ceremony - or all of the trappings - but it’s the day—to-day...the nitty-gritty...the tiny, microscopic things that arise each day that must be dealt with. <br />
<br />
<br />
We had six kids between us at this point, with another one on the way...and we privately vowed to each other that we would always put each other first, and NOT let the kids come between us (we’d seen the scary statistics of second marriages that end in divorce - especially those with children - gah.) We stuck to this vow, as hard as it was sometimes - keeping the parental unit strong above everything else - and it’s worked.<br />
<br />
Twenty years.<br />
<br />
<br />
He gets me. He makes me laugh. He spoils me. He gives me the freedom to spread my wings and soar, and he’s there when I sometimes crash and burn from trying to soar to high. He gives me the independence that I so desperately needed when I met him, and yet he is there when I need that companionship, that support, that love, that quiet voice that keeps me calm in crazy storms. <br />
<br />
<br />
He brings me chocolate milk and cookies every night before bed. He runs my bathwater. He warms my towel in the dryer so it’s nice and toasty on a cold, winter morning. He indulges my passion for Disney and handbags. He pushes me to eat better, exercise better, just DO better, period. <br />
<br />
<br />
Twenty years.<br />
<br />
Happy anniversary to the love of my life, my husband. <br />
<br />
Looks like we made it. <br />
<br />
And here’s to twenty more, and then twenty more after that.<br />
<br />
Peace. <br />
<br />
<div align="right"><img alt="Signature" class="center" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px;" /></div>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-81293093416688916982019-03-25T09:17:00.001-05:002019-03-25T09:28:31.187-05:00I’ve Got the Groundhog Day Blues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9563B_QrRk25wyt3FdTnjvUvIRzXk07dse1TDP-e7AysjaRozMjtRMS3LeLeGDlpD_yxN_0CgZdvtZ1f7Mfn4rvG_oeHrwwsIGupNQH-bCXXz8Gz08GfRymWEBKL9vhnEzVz8yItRkhO/s1600/60DA4B2C-C3E3-4B2C-B172-DDFC4CCE0621.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="800" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl9563B_QrRk25wyt3FdTnjvUvIRzXk07dse1TDP-e7AysjaRozMjtRMS3LeLeGDlpD_yxN_0CgZdvtZ1f7Mfn4rvG_oeHrwwsIGupNQH-bCXXz8Gz08GfRymWEBKL9vhnEzVz8yItRkhO/s400/60DA4B2C-C3E3-4B2C-B172-DDFC4CCE0621.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Do you remember that classic movie with Bill Murray, “Groundhog Day”, where he wakes up every single day, only to discover that he’s repeating the same day - over and over again?<br />
<br />
I kinda’ feel that way - that I’m living in my own Drama Queen version of “Groundhog Day.”<br />
<br />
Six years ago, I had sinus surgery - which was HORRENDOUS. Remember <a href="https://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2013/04/sinus-surgery-scoop.html" target="_blank">THIS</a> post? <a href="http://https//sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2013/04/sinus-surgery-scoop.html"></a>All I remember is I felt like I had just run into a concrete wall with my FACE at 100 mph. For days. After the brutal surgery and recovery, I actually felt that the surgery was a huge success...as in, no more constant sinus infections and sinus pressure and chronic sinus pain.<br />
<br />
Life was good, and I was SOOOOO relieved to not be living through THAT nightmare any more.<br />
<br />
But. <br />
<br />
I may have spoke too soon.<br />
<br />
In the last year, I have had not one, not two, but THREE confirmed sinus infections.<br />
<br />
THREE!!! <br />
<br />
IN ONE YEAR!!!<br />
<br />
Gah.<br />
<br />
After the third infection, I wailed to the doctor, “But...but...but...!!! I CAN’T be having sinus infections! I had sinus surgery!!”<br />
<br />
And my doctor looked at me in pity, and said very slowly, like she was speaking to a three-year old child, “Honey...sinus surgery isn’t permanent. It isn’t forever. Whatever it was that caused you to need the surgery in the first place is most likely returned.”<br />
<br />
I looked at her in horror.<br />
<br />
“WHAT??!!”<br />
<br />
She said, “You’re most likely going to have to have the surgery again. It’s not that unusual.”<br />
<br />
I seriously burst into tears at that moment. I’m not kidding. I did. I really did.<br />
<br />
The thought of going through that torture - AGAIN - is more than I can bear...and yet...I don’t know if I can keep having sinus infections and sinus issues, especially when they crop up when I’m supposed to be getting onto a plane, and God knows you can’t fly with a sinus infection, so now I have to either cancel a trip, or drive, which sucks - and so on, and so on.<br />
<br />
Last week, I flew back from Florida.<br />
<br />
And then promptly was felled with a sinus infection. <br />
<br />
WHY IS THIS MY LIFE??!! <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
So...I now have to seriously ponder the benefits (and negatives) of sinus surgery - AGAIN. <br />
<br />
The positive: it definitely helped me breathe much easier the last few years...and no sinus headaches or pain. No earaches. Flying was amazing. I could sleep through the night without waking up, feeling like I was suffocating.<br />
<br />
But the negatives? Intense, intense pain for about a month. And loss of taste buds. I lost most of my taste & smell after the first surgery - about 100% right after the surgery, but about 25% of that has returned. I don’t smell things - or taste food - like I used to. My palate is a joke. Cinnamon? Can’t smell it. Flowers? Can’t smell them. Skunk? Can’t smell it. Farts? Fart away - I can’t smell them. (See - I always try to find the bright side.)<br />
<br />
What if I have the surgery - again - and lose permanently the 25% I still have?<br />
<br />
It’s not any fun when most food & drink tastes like cardboard. Or you can’t smell a newborn baby. (Weird. I know. But it’s a mom thing.) <br />
<br />
What do I do??!! What do I do??!!<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<div align="right">
<img alt="Signature" class="center" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px;" /></div>
KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-23600006076462441642019-03-20T07:18:00.000-05:002019-03-20T07:18:06.215-05:00Goodbye, Florida<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcNco7s3oKkUjJt3Q6xc4xHJ8fyJN4qoqH7yyrHxtp-y8x7JjWONullSZQNQijXgGFcip6pij_DKtFxbqRYvd_XWaRo3DmF71OwymqibZWY5V8RsWAyItOBUVTOQfYJSahFtKCWdEH7UF/s1600/IMG_5795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcNco7s3oKkUjJt3Q6xc4xHJ8fyJN4qoqH7yyrHxtp-y8x7JjWONullSZQNQijXgGFcip6pij_DKtFxbqRYvd_XWaRo3DmF71OwymqibZWY5V8RsWAyItOBUVTOQfYJSahFtKCWdEH7UF/s400/IMG_5795.JPG" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a></div>Today, my three-week retreat in southwest Florida is coming to an end....<br />
<br />
I leave with mixed feelings...on one hand, I am sad to leave. I love my house here in Fort Myers. I love the layout; I love the view out my back window; and I love, love, love the feeling I have while I’m here...a feeling of zen and peaceful serenity that is hard to say goodbye to.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I’ve been alone (for the most part) - and I miss my family back home in Kansas City. I miss my hubby; I miss my kids; and I especially miss my kitty cats, as much as they drive me crazy sometimes. <br />
<br />
My life in each of these two houses is as different as it can be...my life in Florida: quiet. Not busy. Peaceful. My life in Kansas City: busy. Busy. Busy. Errands. Chores. Appointments. <br />
<br />
In some ways, my life reflects the Zodiac sign that I was born under: Gemini. Sign of the twins. Dual existence. And in my case, so, so true - two separate lives, with different agendas, different friends, different everything....<br />
<br />
I’m fortunate that I can balance these two sides of my life, and I’m not complaining...just reflecting.<br />
<br />
So...goodbye, SWFL...and hello, KCMO.<br />
<br />
I’ll be back.<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-43173904260267919442019-03-19T11:46:00.001-05:002019-03-20T07:18:30.902-05:00Rude, Much??!! <br />
Sometimes, the things in life that are “supposed” to make our lives easier, actually lead to more frustration.<br />
<br />
Such as autocorrect. <br />
<br />
Today, I was texting with one of my sons...I’m trying to set up a photo shoot with my kids, and I was attempting to tell my son the location of where I wanted the photo shoot. There’s a beautiful park close to our home, with an enchanting waterfall...the park is located at the corner of two streets, Pryor and Chipman Road.<br />
<br />
Which is what I was trying to type.<br />
<br />
Autocorrect wasn’t having any of that, though - “Chipman” doesn’t exist in Autocorrect World, as I found the hard way:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75hp_T6UwJ2bVxslaCyeSP-W9mkl6gWBNjLH1SDCQQmMYaR6hkdxDpluI-wCFxJKAIfUkusSbGjYr6291b5YOjG8OFQK6MswBXxCj6MldRVB-86N-sXta69HqS2fmgdeePyZ7nBAyM9aH/s1600/F44C7097-CCC5-499B-8E26-5CF0A63E7A0C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75hp_T6UwJ2bVxslaCyeSP-W9mkl6gWBNjLH1SDCQQmMYaR6hkdxDpluI-wCFxJKAIfUkusSbGjYr6291b5YOjG8OFQK6MswBXxCj6MldRVB-86N-sXta69HqS2fmgdeePyZ7nBAyM9aH/s400/F44C7097-CCC5-499B-8E26-5CF0A63E7A0C.jpeg" width="400" height="158" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="633" /></a></div><br />
How rude! <br />
<br />
I really DO hate autocorrect sometimes. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-43044132406019650052019-03-15T14:23:00.001-05:002019-03-15T14:25:29.755-05:00FanGirling at the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWfVGs55FXFBT0w50icahOh2-ArlfC8ZL2dE0T62Oo7HMN8VSD_E7K8rRleFfUVmNw7ADJ71lwcoFJyCnx8mIdRxMBa9dm-oz3GcFlF4GoDrKr9oiuDrZWQSI7vD-GlBmdUXwpW890na2/s1600/B224EBAF-D816-4CB6-8E1D-669BBFACEE56.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWfVGs55FXFBT0w50icahOh2-ArlfC8ZL2dE0T62Oo7HMN8VSD_E7K8rRleFfUVmNw7ADJ71lwcoFJyCnx8mIdRxMBa9dm-oz3GcFlF4GoDrKr9oiuDrZWQSI7vD-GlBmdUXwpW890na2/s320/B224EBAF-D816-4CB6-8E1D-669BBFACEE56.png" width="320" height="307" data-original-width="229" data-original-height="220" /></a></div><br />
Last week, I spent some time at Walt Disney World, along with about 999,999 other people. Seriously - it was CROWDED. And I speak from experience, as I visit WDW about once every three months, and this is the most crowded I’ve seen it in awhile. Maybe it was because of Mardi Gras? Spring break? Or just people trying to escape the frozen polar temperatures from up north? Whatever the reason, it led to some serious changes in how I “do” Disney....<br />
<br />
I normally can hop in relatively short lines, and enjoy the likes of my favorite roller coasters on property, such as Rock ‘n Roller Coaster at Hollywood Studios, or Expedition Everest at Animal Kingdom. And although I WAS able to get “some” rides done on these, it wasn’t as much as I am used to. So - that led to Plan B - which was focusing on doing some character meets.<br />
<br />
Meeting characters at Walt Disney World is always fun - although some interactions/characters are more fun than others.<br />
<br />
For instance, meeting Baymax at Epcot was an absolute delight:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTal5jhMkP7zh9mxov17JQZSLq3wX6DfXw7B_mjSxYlCFwy6LZnxrx7UTqNAAb199TRX_DNBfOye2yBrlQom3NTwLg56d0XbWtz5ikJ2Ek9Er_dwiw2ey3t-3CH3sBEDZK8EIIUkXFxe3V/s1600/C04250C6-E505-4827-9BA9-4101FE9629B3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTal5jhMkP7zh9mxov17JQZSLq3wX6DfXw7B_mjSxYlCFwy6LZnxrx7UTqNAAb199TRX_DNBfOye2yBrlQom3NTwLg56d0XbWtz5ikJ2Ek9Er_dwiw2ey3t-3CH3sBEDZK8EIIUkXFxe3V/s320/C04250C6-E505-4827-9BA9-4101FE9629B3.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div><br />
He’s all soft and squishy and huggable - like a giant Pillsbury Dough Boy - and although he doesn’t speak, he definitely communicates with his eyes, and leaves you feeling very, very loved.<br />
<br />
Along that same line is meeting Olaf, from “Frozen”:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GB4agoA0n0J1i9KTk6b2xVQkZPtHxYDoBlLComCvhukjvWzBPd3YFaVU00smuGJhmsPCMV0EwZbaNOzMfYVJ588QmaPnMkeaNPQ4AwdXSVV2bg3AF19SHyBIpc2bVKQruMCmpfD-PK1O/s1600/541AA28E-0173-420C-95BE-3597DDE651A1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GB4agoA0n0J1i9KTk6b2xVQkZPtHxYDoBlLComCvhukjvWzBPd3YFaVU00smuGJhmsPCMV0EwZbaNOzMfYVJ588QmaPnMkeaNPQ4AwdXSVV2bg3AF19SHyBIpc2bVKQruMCmpfD-PK1O/s320/541AA28E-0173-420C-95BE-3597DDE651A1.jpeg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
Olaf gives good warm hugs, and he always makes sure you’re using sunscreen. Wouldn’t want those snowflake arms to burn, right??!!<br />
<br />
Meeting the Princess at Walt Disney World takes a bit more effort - some Princesses can only be found at restaurants, while others have a dedicated meeting spot. Here are some of the Princesses I met last week:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSahRCQNTNs5FtWnfA3Sb0ymEKp-eORIo0sRcHrtu_Vo3id8XtS3Jfpoyrl5kobuOnn16tXQp-I-d9h03lAD4crhX3kffjgMcIQrTCUGsC7pQV7US448ruodECbdIRkzoLmTQ4MTSpuGpq/s1600/B29838B3-BFC6-493B-8D73-5F4FBC5AC74F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSahRCQNTNs5FtWnfA3Sb0ymEKp-eORIo0sRcHrtu_Vo3id8XtS3Jfpoyrl5kobuOnn16tXQp-I-d9h03lAD4crhX3kffjgMcIQrTCUGsC7pQV7US448ruodECbdIRkzoLmTQ4MTSpuGpq/s320/B29838B3-BFC6-493B-8D73-5F4FBC5AC74F.jpeg" width="213" height="320" data-original-width="853" data-original-height="1280" /></a></div>...because meeting Cinderella is a MUST at Walt Disney World, duh!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevAZogm4W5PSgpVU9uz2jQFwy911Mu-fbJd8BNJzBOFVmAi2K0sEUg6J2znDEBETIPSnNPFZ1Ax-9Wx3mTGFegxyt9FowVSzoU5rQFjSY-ZyWhd7NCJ3IHavywEvhEeNnLdjlMIyG8mLz/s1600/39D154FA-B0FC-46C3-8BF6-8B8A2DD62471.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevAZogm4W5PSgpVU9uz2jQFwy911Mu-fbJd8BNJzBOFVmAi2K0sEUg6J2znDEBETIPSnNPFZ1Ax-9Wx3mTGFegxyt9FowVSzoU5rQFjSY-ZyWhd7NCJ3IHavywEvhEeNnLdjlMIyG8mLz/s320/39D154FA-B0FC-46C3-8BF6-8B8A2DD62471.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div>Belle from “Beauty and the Beast” - she didn’t talk much, but looked very pretty in her yellow ball gown....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YHAQ2oSyP9nQ_PPbdhQiQ2iokxCVLcwNAbDX-_PXZ4DoyeoT5-vRjc5moLJe5zAu6p8hU1ARadSeyuZzHQdJ2UT7_40kRz8Ym4s5ix3w6khYIiU0zwQv9FpmjpkM9ZWPEoMNJQid_BF0/s1600/CB42E28F-B4D4-46F7-ABC1-FA6B149B452F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YHAQ2oSyP9nQ_PPbdhQiQ2iokxCVLcwNAbDX-_PXZ4DoyeoT5-vRjc5moLJe5zAu6p8hU1ARadSeyuZzHQdJ2UT7_40kRz8Ym4s5ix3w6khYIiU0zwQv9FpmjpkM9ZWPEoMNJQid_BF0/s320/CB42E28F-B4D4-46F7-ABC1-FA6B149B452F.jpeg" width="288" height="320" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>Snow White sounds EXACTLY like she does in the movie...go figure!! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHcKb51zdVSKJ7xvk_C6NWNG7eodZhzKZAFDUXcrIU9ILjGtRMYGjhZdCLjLaP1l6deT-fz96M-mD3cpJf3ri7O16wUy3QIoNLmkZ8Dz61aBdGJUkyLqYDWD7OvjQI4UeO8fBLcoK1RTm/s1600/465C183C-0313-4985-BABB-9C877BE14099.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHcKb51zdVSKJ7xvk_C6NWNG7eodZhzKZAFDUXcrIU9ILjGtRMYGjhZdCLjLaP1l6deT-fz96M-mD3cpJf3ri7O16wUy3QIoNLmkZ8Dz61aBdGJUkyLqYDWD7OvjQI4UeO8fBLcoK1RTm/s320/465C183C-0313-4985-BABB-9C877BE14099.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div>Elsa is explaining how Olaf’s nose will fall off if he gets to sneezing too much in the flowers....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjt01d390A96WOReysZjcCRXrkK6K-S0Pua9ND4C3Z3CjTPY4yMfaR-crOwsgRWSTsunc9XYW50gUkdDuFVyBorr3ZPPN0BB4oau6VDz8EBPW7UoBHyjbhnpZi6GGPOHIwThBihTHuuGW/s1600/59EFC557-3F2C-432A-AE64-4B00597BDF70.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjt01d390A96WOReysZjcCRXrkK6K-S0Pua9ND4C3Z3CjTPY4yMfaR-crOwsgRWSTsunc9XYW50gUkdDuFVyBorr3ZPPN0BB4oau6VDz8EBPW7UoBHyjbhnpZi6GGPOHIwThBihTHuuGW/s320/59EFC557-3F2C-432A-AE64-4B00597BDF70.jpeg" width="213" height="320" data-original-width="853" data-original-height="1280" /></a></div>Anna actually told me the same thing about Olaf - and his carrot nose - so I guess it must be true....<br />
<br />
<br />
Of course, there’s more to meet than Princesses...I also spent some time in a galaxy far, far away:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfSTmDERzbO2SQSfmuuMPO78bDLpiB5YF0WbJAzXbiO0fUleX2k62HLPyvviQBApLX32HMv2nFM7CPpHxVVRRYG0M57dfyeI9tZUoyuZaIN2G34oq3F4u-PglxppGA9NmTHJidnLwp2N0/s1600/DC929E45-57A6-45C0-AF02-F29886E9327A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfSTmDERzbO2SQSfmuuMPO78bDLpiB5YF0WbJAzXbiO0fUleX2k62HLPyvviQBApLX32HMv2nFM7CPpHxVVRRYG0M57dfyeI9tZUoyuZaIN2G34oq3F4u-PglxppGA9NmTHJidnLwp2N0/s320/DC929E45-57A6-45C0-AF02-F29886E9327A.jpeg" width="177" height="320" data-original-width="885" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>On my last visit with Chewbacca, in September, I did NOT have Chewie represented on my skirt. He was not happy. Well, I found different material this time, and made SURE I had Chewie on my skirt - and he was now a very happy Wookie.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_WsbDBUMf42gyTeGfQFSmU4tu3QSctxTCY2cXyDmYwtOOYGcsNp2qUL28WnbJ5irXu0aP96gv88-uUr-PeNo7l3woho8WDR5VV9tFOUwrQUuX5Ikg76y4hyphenhyphennoV_yFzJWmS19lB1Kr-Jw/s1600/B3F21605-AD5E-4318-9C09-93EE3DC78FB8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_WsbDBUMf42gyTeGfQFSmU4tu3QSctxTCY2cXyDmYwtOOYGcsNp2qUL28WnbJ5irXu0aP96gv88-uUr-PeNo7l3woho8WDR5VV9tFOUwrQUuX5Ikg76y4hyphenhyphennoV_yFzJWmS19lB1Kr-Jw/s320/B3F21605-AD5E-4318-9C09-93EE3DC78FB8.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div>And here I am, pointing out to a DROID, that he, too, is represented on my skirt. Sigh.<br />
<br />
And then there’s the awkward character greeting:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOobcW8d5micM-vWvaMHyHHc5A_MC0N7_P_ES91_bFa-xULrPu5MR8i01VBBQmxIt1G-jVBPsAnkDQzgGjH_rJ1vtVU8zD1wTbaYbc8EKEJE28oaUwy9Qgl-fcH_2Y8jpvjULpkfkif2l/s1600/703FE3DB-4D98-42A0-8074-DC8F868EF202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOobcW8d5micM-vWvaMHyHHc5A_MC0N7_P_ES91_bFa-xULrPu5MR8i01VBBQmxIt1G-jVBPsAnkDQzgGjH_rJ1vtVU8zD1wTbaYbc8EKEJE28oaUwy9Qgl-fcH_2Y8jpvjULpkfkif2l/s320/703FE3DB-4D98-42A0-8074-DC8F868EF202.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div>Kylo Ren. Who will not let you tough him, hug him, high-5 him, or basically, be nice to him. He paces. And he paces some more. And he says weird things...leaving me always wondering that the heck to say and/or do. Most of the time, I just skip meeting him, but for some reason, I thought maybe he’d changed this trip. He hadn’t. #AWKWARD<br />
<br />
<br />
One of my favorite interactions this trip was with Edna Mode, from “The Incredibles.” She’s new, and I had worn a button with her picture on it specifically for her. She was THRILLED!!! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVLNPzdwCsbTAdPJnnKEQ-gJaKu75lpYJx7bj9cD8XjpJGcvdmUeDiT7z4QhVtNerKo7mgZ8ycEiSbQMtTj4pet6JZKhaFECoMxuzw6vrgsjH8O1UwL5SvLx96eHbS0RAdNwiaO0MPKMt/s1600/DD7D1287-9CEA-4334-B20A-4F7E1C374942.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVLNPzdwCsbTAdPJnnKEQ-gJaKu75lpYJx7bj9cD8XjpJGcvdmUeDiT7z4QhVtNerKo7mgZ8ycEiSbQMtTj4pet6JZKhaFECoMxuzw6vrgsjH8O1UwL5SvLx96eHbS0RAdNwiaO0MPKMt/s320/DD7D1287-9CEA-4334-B20A-4F7E1C374942.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div><br />
Seriously, she was jumping up and down with joy when she saw the button - which is really out of character for the always suave, always cool Edna - but hey...I loved it!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes, people ask me why I go to Disney so much, and I guess these character meetings are a big part of it. A part of me reverts back to being a 6-year old girl when I’m actually hugging Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with feeling like a kid again!!!<br />
<br />
Let me know if you ever need any tips and/or advice on the best way to meet anyone at WDW; I think I’m pretty much an expert at this point, and would be glad to help!!!<br />
<br />
Magical greetings,<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-23259120540005462952019-03-10T20:01:00.001-05:002019-03-10T20:06:20.706-05:00That Time the Fire Department Called Me to See If I Was Alive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KGuLwo4uajJVmKXcGzMoKuPqG8EImF3ehoO5H1tlZ0AGTrIsMh_qEkZZT8GvXhloYDYgrjUrC7izNzePpoxOaqVAkqLNGxmbwnSLvWSxymvO4B2a7AosLIiDUiP79YZpJLmRC-Pclofc/s1600/16FEDAB1-7185-4442-879C-28D0DC479B0F.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KGuLwo4uajJVmKXcGzMoKuPqG8EImF3ehoO5H1tlZ0AGTrIsMh_qEkZZT8GvXhloYDYgrjUrC7izNzePpoxOaqVAkqLNGxmbwnSLvWSxymvO4B2a7AosLIiDUiP79YZpJLmRC-Pclofc/s320/16FEDAB1-7185-4442-879C-28D0DC479B0F.gif" width="320" height="276" data-original-width="446" data-original-height="384" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
I’m still currently at Disney World, on a fabulous solo trip...which is usually a ton of fun, but today - led to a bit of trouble.<br />
<br />
See, last night I went to Hollywood Studios for an event called “Disney After Hours.” For extra $$$, Disney will sell you a ticket that lets you stay in the park for 3 hours after the park has officially “closed” to other guests. Estimates are that they only allow about 2,500 - 3,000 guests do this, which makes for a near-empty park - and some great riding ability on the best rides with little to no lines. Last night’s event ran from 8:30 pm until 11:30 pm, and I was there for every fun-filled minute - and slowly staggering back to the bus near 11:45 pm to take me back to my hotel.<br />
<br />
After getting to my room, I collapsed into bed - sometime around 12:30 a.m.<br />
<br />
However - it was Daylight Savings Time.<br />
<br />
Clocks moved forward.<br />
<br />
So, it was kinda’ 1:30 a.m. before I fell asleep.<br />
<br />
I was EXHAUSTED. <br />
<br />
So...I turned off my phone before I went to bed, and made the executive decision that I would sleep in today - which was a great plan, in theory - but unfortunately, that was not to be.<br />
<br />
<br />
At 9:00 a.m. or so - while I was in a deep, deep sleep - the telephone in my room rang. LOUDLY. Nearly scared me to death, as that phone hasn’t rang all week.<br />
<br />
I sleepily fumbled for the phone, and groggily mumbled, “Hello?”<br />
<br />
A very-official sounding man on the other end said, “Is this Sherri?”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” (I’m so tired, I’m not even asking who it is on the other end.)<br />
<br />
The man than said, “This is the Reedy County Fire Department - and we’re doing a welfare check on you. Is everything okay?”<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
He’s got my attention now.<br />
<br />
“Um, yeah - I’m okay. I mean, I had a late night, and I was sleeping in, but I’m okay.”<br />
<br />
The man then asked, “Do you know a Mike?”<br />
<br />
“Yes - he’s my husband.” Oh NO! Is something wrong with MIKE??!! (My brain is still a bit groggy.)<br />
<br />
“Well, he contacted us, ma’am, because he’s been unable to contact you. You might want to give him a call.”’<br />
<br />
OH. MY. GOD.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, I called Hubby, who said that my phone tracker (yes, we all track each other on our phones) had me at the Fire Department near Walt Disney World since 10:30 p.m. the night before - and he was frantic. Was I sick? Was I injured? Had I been kidnapped by a fireman? And when I didn’t answer my phone, Hubby was certain that I had fallen to nefarious shenanigans and needed help. <br />
<br />
Here’s the photo of where the tracker said I was:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztbFt_OynREEwW6Mscc04-jct4XDDt_IoMiAO4Xo63jFJPn-hlxF9qNNd22zZLovCGabOQq8FSmpEvRqcHte-fcQkkYE3IMV-Qu9rhACwg3MblXU6i3LTfTDMedeZBSbMH5pnm4EBx04D/s1600/6FED4578-CC5A-48D1-A27F-E92A16240868.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhztbFt_OynREEwW6Mscc04-jct4XDDt_IoMiAO4Xo63jFJPn-hlxF9qNNd22zZLovCGabOQq8FSmpEvRqcHte-fcQkkYE3IMV-Qu9rhACwg3MblXU6i3LTfTDMedeZBSbMH5pnm4EBx04D/s320/6FED4578-CC5A-48D1-A27F-E92A16240868.png" width="180" height="320" data-original-width="750" data-original-height="1334" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I have NO idea why the tracker was so wrong in where I was - but how strange!!! <br />
<br />
Needless to say, I was fully awake by now - and thought that perhaps a solo trip wasn’t in my best interests, and maybe next time I should take Hubby WITH me so he doesn’t freak out when I don’t answer my phone!!! <br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-43437315110633930272019-03-09T14:35:00.001-06:002019-03-09T14:35:22.479-06:00Mr(s) Cellophane<br />
One of the best Broadway musicals EVER is “Chicago.”<br />
<br />
Between the plot, the choreography, and the music - the entire show is nothing short of perfection.<br />
<br />
There’s one particular song that really doesn’t get the love that it deserves, and I have an entire new appreciation for it after some recent experiences while visiting Disney World.<br />
<br />
The song, “Mr. Cellophane”, basically is a lament by one of the male characters in the show, about not really being “seen” or appreciated by...well...just about everyone. <br />
<br />
The chorus goes something like this:<br />
<br />
“Cellophane, Mister Cellophane<br />
Should have been my name, Mister Cellophane<br />
'Cause you can look right through me<br />
Walk right by me and never know I'm there.”<br />
<br />
<br />
So, I’m down at Disney World this week for another solo adventure, and I’ve been having a great time, riding rides, noshing on delicious food, and sipping some enticing drinks. The other morning, I rode the highlight ride at Magic Kingdom, the Seven Dwarves Mine Train roller coaster, and I had to laugh when I saw my ride photos:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-8rfZ9jYASjfq8fPjBfpWRY6TuTrvK5yZuI8pMKEbltdyNnU5Vz7pi1rcnMrW05BWGWmFQfUZ09AYyWHuVJKFc11-79HlrhcZBooU-xakW8JOafZNk7A4NfheSqKp1NplDvvVesghDNN/s1600/7F2F21D6-7E55-4813-9D60-AC34CBBA1955.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-8rfZ9jYASjfq8fPjBfpWRY6TuTrvK5yZuI8pMKEbltdyNnU5Vz7pi1rcnMrW05BWGWmFQfUZ09AYyWHuVJKFc11-79HlrhcZBooU-xakW8JOafZNk7A4NfheSqKp1NplDvvVesghDNN/s320/7F2F21D6-7E55-4813-9D60-AC34CBBA1955.jpeg" width="320" height="214" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="854" /></a></div><br />
That’s me. In the “cellophane”. Which is really a giant poncho, that was flying in the wind and rain that was hitting us at the moment. There’s another funny photo:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZmzE6GNIZnl-syhd_0tPDfz50S-lUr6HOnhuUu88Tukv5Umy3MFtBtDDtTJzrIiESp-hOSTz4U8poZysn_21F4JHAY1xiQdv37pl2jgZQ9SnTqttyO47ot7AQcHiV5SPkdExDwynybKp/s1600/29371E03-CB9D-408A-8207-25F599D92195.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZmzE6GNIZnl-syhd_0tPDfz50S-lUr6HOnhuUu88Tukv5Umy3MFtBtDDtTJzrIiESp-hOSTz4U8poZysn_21F4JHAY1xiQdv37pl2jgZQ9SnTqttyO47ot7AQcHiV5SPkdExDwynybKp/s320/29371E03-CB9D-408A-8207-25F599D92195.jpeg" width="214" height="320" data-original-width="854" data-original-height="1280" /></a></div><br />
But my FAVORITE photo of me this week was captured after I rode the Buzz Lightyear ride in Magic Kingdom:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f9NKdjnlkmOviEHzCezNOdE0R0Sh_0WPurE7K4VHT20o6wnR8vUArvyi8jOxzDbU8d2yZo2X12sEUiu9we37BpyilmGVaKZNsWDsOOdnGJIi1L2U_i1ess5dHgVOJAj2YIpcbP5OpCdL/s1600/448F802B-1B52-4A5B-A6CA-E3391552BE3E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f9NKdjnlkmOviEHzCezNOdE0R0Sh_0WPurE7K4VHT20o6wnR8vUArvyi8jOxzDbU8d2yZo2X12sEUiu9we37BpyilmGVaKZNsWDsOOdnGJIi1L2U_i1ess5dHgVOJAj2YIpcbP5OpCdL/s320/448F802B-1B52-4A5B-A6CA-E3391552BE3E.jpeg" width="320" height="213" data-original-width="1280" data-original-height="853" /></a></div><br />
Going back to the lyrics of the song, “You can look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I’m there.”<br />
<br />
I died when I saw this photo. I died. <br />
<br />
So, I’m feeling very Mr. Cellophane-y while here, but I can promise that I really AM here, and having a great time! More photos, stories and reviews to follow!<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-19937467699514121472019-03-07T10:01:00.001-06:002019-03-07T10:01:44.987-06:00Resurrection of the Zombie Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0x3lhEcun4R_uRYRY_Eb-cEg27p4IJosCPKkStKEYfbakA6ejcq0WTBYiZhRfJjBW3auOsrvh3PSm_NHhUyjtgIl0_sVRKFvCyqhsP_Hi3xeIwqaeqtPQeb_6IYaT5sg60JwW8Hx7P8h/s1600/CAA62145-C1E0-402B-B254-FF0CB872AD71.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin0x3lhEcun4R_uRYRY_Eb-cEg27p4IJosCPKkStKEYfbakA6ejcq0WTBYiZhRfJjBW3auOsrvh3PSm_NHhUyjtgIl0_sVRKFvCyqhsP_Hi3xeIwqaeqtPQeb_6IYaT5sg60JwW8Hx7P8h/s320/CAA62145-C1E0-402B-B254-FF0CB872AD71.jpeg" width="320" height="320" data-original-width="425" data-original-height="425" /></a></div><br />
Out of the blue last week, my youngest daughter - who is now a freshman in college, which totally freaks me out, because it seems like just yesterday I was blogging about her elementary school exploits - but I digress - asked me if I still blogged.<br />
<br />
And how to find my blog, if I still blogged.<br />
<br />
And I was stumped.<br />
<br />
I haven’t blogged in three years...which is crazy, because I certainly haven’t ran out of things to say (I’m pretty certain I have an opinion on EVERYTHING!!)...but I guess I just ran out of time.<br />
<br />
Time. Running out of it, as it speeds along faster than ever, it seems.<br />
<br />
<br />
So...back to daughter. When she asked me, I seriously had to sit and think for a minute...and then honestly replied, “I’m not sure I would even know how to sign in to write anything anymore.”<br />
<br />
Today, I was remembering that conversation, and out of curiosity, decided to sign on and see if it would take me “in.”<br />
<br />
AND IT DID!!!<br />
<br />
HERE I AM!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
So, question asked, and question answered. <br />
<br />
But it begs a new question...can I keep this up? Can I commit to writing in my blog again? Even knowing that I probably don’t have any readers any more, and that’s okay, because really, my blog was for myself and for my own thoughts and memories....??<br />
<br />
And I think I can do this.<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
I KNOW I can do this.<br />
<br />
Although my kids are now all older, and I don’t have all of that cute, kids-related stuff to write about any more, I have lots of things that I am going through that can be written about...growing older...dealing with retirement, menopause, changes with myself and changes in the world...<br />
<br />
I can do this.<br />
<br />
Now. Let’s just hit the post button, and see if this really DOES work!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-16031537700550641762016-06-27T16:35:00.000-05:002016-06-27T16:35:27.285-05:00Marathon Training Week 1: Why, Again, Did I Sign Up For This?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZadXI0ULe9iPL9UR46ZHfwb0BxBD0GEa8jzftsXQqFIk8HDUXBpHqbjCt7PQ6CHrLVowrdD3X4vCjBR-nIQeRoSyWzKNYsn3D6xQaeN0ODkd98nXAxQOhyzAWoa-rmgoScD9ceULsUgk/s1600/Week1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZadXI0ULe9iPL9UR46ZHfwb0BxBD0GEa8jzftsXQqFIk8HDUXBpHqbjCt7PQ6CHrLVowrdD3X4vCjBR-nIQeRoSyWzKNYsn3D6xQaeN0ODkd98nXAxQOhyzAWoa-rmgoScD9ceULsUgk/s400/Week1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
The good news is that I survived Week 1 of Marathon Training!!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
The bad news is that I have, like, 19 more weeks to go. <br />
<br />
<br />
And why did I sign up for this again??<br />
<br />
Oh yeah.<br />
<br />
I didn't sign up for just ONE marathon - which would be my first, actually.<br />
<br />
Oh, no. I NEVER do things easy. It's either go big or go home, I always say.<br />
<br />
So, if I'm going to put in the training required to run 26.2 miles, I'm going to do not one, not two, but THREE marathons in a 3-month period…all so I can join the Marathon Maniacs group. <br />
<br />
So, official fall marathon training began June 20th - and here's a recap on how it went:<br />
<br />
<b><br />
Monday, June 20th</b><br />
<br />
My first day of training called for an easy 4-5 mile run. Because temperatures were going to be brutal, I managed to get my a$$ out of bed and on the road by 6:15 a.m. This was probably due more to adrenaline & excitement about Day #1, than anything else, because I am normally SO not a morning person.<br />
<br />
The run felt great - I felt great - and again, this was probably attributed more to Day 1 adrenaline. Let's see how long THAT lasts.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0rL0cueBv12LgvEba6HoizBWPacgx4xMByg8E5x7w6Kk7uxh3BbK7hN00jmo4JMYck0wi-ackowwCZOh1lK3xDBn4Kfpi78Bf5q0UlrdBXQw8gP8cK402RueGUNJoVYGIMXL2RqqOZ5O/s1600/1Plan.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0rL0cueBv12LgvEba6HoizBWPacgx4xMByg8E5x7w6Kk7uxh3BbK7hN00jmo4JMYck0wi-ackowwCZOh1lK3xDBn4Kfpi78Bf5q0UlrdBXQw8gP8cK402RueGUNJoVYGIMXL2RqqOZ5O/s400/1Plan.png" /></a><br />
<i>The Plan!! Welcome to Day #1!!<br />
</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fIFRZTNv3TffcPGKrir_1ycSoVNWUDvXo9TWloisFoseWFWEtYoX1Ckl_X6n9AiY8WXI89V0EbROOPSPBoR7UyCp4UcTtuY4id94fTAtLaESkWLzfuAugfFcaCUz8UHZevZwiM-f36m1/s1600/1Selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1fIFRZTNv3TffcPGKrir_1ycSoVNWUDvXo9TWloisFoseWFWEtYoX1Ckl_X6n9AiY8WXI89V0EbROOPSPBoR7UyCp4UcTtuY4id94fTAtLaESkWLzfuAugfFcaCUz8UHZevZwiM-f36m1/s400/1Selfie.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Oh yeah…I'm smiling NOW…but let's see who's smiling in a few months??!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MucOgb7mEgGCeiuOmAw-qgT5wuS0v0C_-Z36MZJDyl6yGloD3PrKVXPwVLVn43ch38OjYyYHyFNE6MeuF3RInSr6GZUg_eIHQJsR4MpzZTWDbvYklI-KWTDc0E_q2i9SFakq1AnaMl8f/s1600/1Miles.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MucOgb7mEgGCeiuOmAw-qgT5wuS0v0C_-Z36MZJDyl6yGloD3PrKVXPwVLVn43ch38OjYyYHyFNE6MeuF3RInSr6GZUg_eIHQJsR4MpzZTWDbvYklI-KWTDc0E_q2i9SFakq1AnaMl8f/s400/1Miles.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Proof. <br />
</i><br />
<b>Tuesday, June 21st<br />
</b><br />
Rest Day! So important to rest those legs, and I did JUST that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Wednesday, June 22nd<br />
</b><br />
Today's plan was to run 2 easy miles for a warm-up; then run 6 hill repeats at a quick pace for at least 25 seconds each, and then run another 2 miles easy for a cool down.<br />
<br />
I was actually out on the road by 6:11 a.m., which is a small miracle. Was it the excitement of running hills? If that's the case, then I am truly one sick puppy - and should be receiving major psychiatric treatment. <br />
<br />
Here's how the hills went, according to my log:<br />
<br />
1st Hill: "I've got this."<br />
2nd Hill: "Okay, maybe not."<br />
3rd Hill: "Hmmmm….."<br />
4th Hill: "Gah."<br />
5th Hill: "Ugh."<br />
6th Hill: "Okay, that sucked balls."<br />
<br />
So, my legs were a bit mushy at the end, but a nice stretch when I got back home did the trick. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0WiVrfgE1knGtpYd731OZi1gSVXQg4ZOS0uYI6rNMPR7v7heIGOT8Dp5uCDbcm9BN2tVEMijf1JJLusE1O04EubdsSa6rWFoc3D9cbFP9dkmGmWw7Psv0dmx5qfuYPqGI_V7FaKmlZAf/s1600/2HillShadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0WiVrfgE1knGtpYd731OZi1gSVXQg4ZOS0uYI6rNMPR7v7heIGOT8Dp5uCDbcm9BN2tVEMijf1JJLusE1O04EubdsSa6rWFoc3D9cbFP9dkmGmWw7Psv0dmx5qfuYPqGI_V7FaKmlZAf/s400/2HillShadow.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>I've got this…I think...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LFxTVvOm2FyRqnySxa0rtUrgvJrn36UNPOUkPHx5wMEdTcSipK3_M8ZdroKxXbcEb8wzcey7cCsPc8Y0-qMGB4KBCf9XGadGAb5vjvnzWjxMPfg_j9ecb0_i5qp-UP41peUnfQJMOkg_/s1600/2Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LFxTVvOm2FyRqnySxa0rtUrgvJrn36UNPOUkPHx5wMEdTcSipK3_M8ZdroKxXbcEb8wzcey7cCsPc8Y0-qMGB4KBCf9XGadGAb5vjvnzWjxMPfg_j9ecb0_i5qp-UP41peUnfQJMOkg_/s400/2Lake.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>A beautiful sunrise...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Thursday, June 23rd<br />
</b><br />
Rest Day! My trainer's taking pity on my right now because she knows my legs aren't quite up for this torture. Trust me - I know I won't get as many rest days in the future.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Friday, June 24th <br />
</b><br />
Today, I was scheduled to run 3-4 miles easy, and I did exactly that. Nothing super special or crazy about today's run, other than the neighbors are looking at me crazy, as I'm sweating and running along. The humidity is absolutely BRUTAL, but the weatherman says that next week looks to be cooler…thank GOD. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2yYBjFjIbGDeHaOvlbncbjNJNELhHwzdZ4nmK78of6o-UTz79XX_HSpuawINcV00V960B4D3c4X-74Kdh7OqnOcSEtnIxaKyigG3USO_A-sKvWOSetkuvdBCf_QihUC7AwnbJMHAfjjo/s1600/4Selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2yYBjFjIbGDeHaOvlbncbjNJNELhHwzdZ4nmK78of6o-UTz79XX_HSpuawINcV00V960B4D3c4X-74Kdh7OqnOcSEtnIxaKyigG3USO_A-sKvWOSetkuvdBCf_QihUC7AwnbJMHAfjjo/s400/4Selfie.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday, June 25th<br />
</b><br />
LONG RUN DAY! Yup, for distance runners, the long run day, normally on the weekend, is the day to be anticipated with joy or dread. Today, it was a mixture for me…on one hand, I was excited to keep up my distance running, but on the other hand, I knew the heat and humidity would take a toll.<br />
<br />
Six miles…along the neighborhood roads…with two stops for water and for some nutrition/fuel. <br />
<br />
Hubby was getting HIS long run in, as well, and we would pass each other and shout out, "I love you!" to keep up each other's spirits. Wait. Who am I kidding??!! Hubby NEVER needs his spirits kept up while running; he's like Forrest Gump and would just run, run, run the entire day and smile the entire time. It's ME who needs encouragement and morale boosters. :) <br />
<br />
Speaking of morale boosters, one of my neighbors was washing down his garage with a hose…so as I ran by, I stopped briefly, threw out my arms, and pleaded, "Please, kind Sir! Have some mercy, and hose down this hot, miserable beast."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzc1o_clxIqtQBJAIkFTGagUjmO9Kyvb7UNIu68Qgbw6gKub7r_RSoYV0kQlO25Ephck8T83dzlqV1GWOWKEIqsYqZCSEop2zBHJ5t3wWBlJBW3-fjP4Gn8CMAc2gwXDorawr88Mp7dlO7/s1600/5Selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzc1o_clxIqtQBJAIkFTGagUjmO9Kyvb7UNIu68Qgbw6gKub7r_RSoYV0kQlO25Ephck8T83dzlqV1GWOWKEIqsYqZCSEop2zBHJ5t3wWBlJBW3-fjP4Gn8CMAc2gwXDorawr88Mp7dlO7/s400/5Selfie.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
(Don't worry. My neighbors already think I'm nuts, so he didn't even blink twice at this request.)<br />
<br />
And oh my goodness - that cool water of the hose, as it showered over my head, was delicious and refreshing and energizing…it felt SOOOOOOOOOOOO good. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQQiRwe83-IPL1g9u3CjyGam2StBLBFjXCFJV3Y9S01mV866Kw-F_QA5RhFpnxSh2w3xzS9zV4AR34r5e5DZFtJ8M5kWyB7NLN10e0eSqo-bfv4X4N2npeyCein5IGvqMPft1k3K-wfRd/s1600/5Miles.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQQiRwe83-IPL1g9u3CjyGam2StBLBFjXCFJV3Y9S01mV866Kw-F_QA5RhFpnxSh2w3xzS9zV4AR34r5e5DZFtJ8M5kWyB7NLN10e0eSqo-bfv4X4N2npeyCein5IGvqMPft1k3K-wfRd/s400/5Miles.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGnv0X5zovUPxGZoX3IZLaoq2uV6t9gtHBn5eKUVvYzq31nwavH_5Wby9W3RJ4bo1Y-E3__yNCIC9xuBzwckYXmyofLnnGXnlNhjB_lqPpC0sMjzewjd6yn04Gvq-AfQEYid4Tsgqegnn/s1600/5Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGnv0X5zovUPxGZoX3IZLaoq2uV6t9gtHBn5eKUVvYzq31nwavH_5Wby9W3RJ4bo1Y-E3__yNCIC9xuBzwckYXmyofLnnGXnlNhjB_lqPpC0sMjzewjd6yn04Gvq-AfQEYid4Tsgqegnn/s400/5Lake.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I did manage to see two deer, 8 rabbits, 1 turtle, 12 cows, 2,320 squirrels, and 1 fox today along the route. That's a pretty good wildlife haul, if I do say so myself - and so I ALWAYS had someone to talk to…even if they didn't talk back. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Sunday, June 26th<br />
</b><br />
The plan called for an easy 3-4 mile recovery run, so I put in four miles…but I'm not sure I "recovered." Even starting early didn't spare me from the heat and the humidity; not to mention, there was not ONE bit of breeze in the air. My only running companions this day were the horse flies, who teased and tortured me mercilessly. I think I expended more energy shoo-ing them away than I did actually running - gah. <br />
<br />
When is fall, again?<br />
<br />
I. Can't. Wait. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5Rb8-AwnnlitEcnnt5A1ktEPaBQnS1Lv0w6g55K47HOdWx7oqIXscwOvIabC_HYFNtn_OoyWp2qvmmT845EI4rFi-JlPF2_SCWu8tO8WY8cQTtLathopqDdcvxszO2kXVC1PZZXiD4Hm/s1600/7Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5Rb8-AwnnlitEcnnt5A1ktEPaBQnS1Lv0w6g55K47HOdWx7oqIXscwOvIabC_HYFNtn_OoyWp2qvmmT845EI4rFi-JlPF2_SCWu8tO8WY8cQTtLathopqDdcvxszO2kXVC1PZZXiD4Hm/s400/7Lake.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>A beautiful sky this morning…it never gets old.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I leave for Florida in another week, and I'm thinking it's probably cooler in southern Florida than it is in Kansas City right now. That's rather scary.<br />
<br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-20145217861160397092016-06-20T20:19:00.002-05:002016-06-20T20:19:52.411-05:00My Big Fat Fabulous Birthday<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCbQEiimAmyDy3dJu4zI8RpLKVvb2ItSbN7Rz9ByickNOS0KJBhj3OR_6XJ8vl8wrppudq43BQ83mOlrXTazvEEFXv2VHyRoMMOthmfX6SLARShzz8fGccpaga0RA3VPF_U9l_WTX4BlF/s1600/Best.Birthday.Ever_.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCbQEiimAmyDy3dJu4zI8RpLKVvb2ItSbN7Rz9ByickNOS0KJBhj3OR_6XJ8vl8wrppudq43BQ83mOlrXTazvEEFXv2VHyRoMMOthmfX6SLARShzz8fGccpaga0RA3VPF_U9l_WTX4BlF/s400/Best.Birthday.Ever_.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
I love birthdays.<br />
<br />
Birthdays are my favorite.<br />
<br />
<br />
I celebrated my 54th birthday last Saturday, and YES, by golly, I'm telling you how old I am, because I'm DAMN proud of EACH and EVERY year that I've lived on this earth, and I'm not about to hide my age - or my wrinkles - that I have EARNED, thank you very much. <br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
<br />
And although I've enjoyed EACH and EVERY one of those birthdays, I have to say that THIS birthday celebration, spent at home with my family, was extra special. Which is a pretty bold statement to make, considering that I have spent my birthdays past in such fabulous places as Rome (2009) and Paris (2015). <br />
<br />
Perhaps this birthday was the Best. Birthday. Ever. because of the FABULOUS birthday present that Hubby presented me with…more on that later…but if you pay attention, I'll sprinkle some one or two clues throughout this and perhaps you can guess what he got me.<br />
<br />
Or perhaps not.<br />
<br />
We'll see. Hee.<br />
<br />
<br />
Since celebrating a birthday is too FABULOUS to condense into a mere 24 hours, I decided to celebrate an entire birthday WEEKEND - because 72 hours is what is needed to pack in all the fun and fabulousness.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, Friday night was spent at a Kansas City Royals game - because as I've said before, it's pretty much tradition from when I was 7 years old - spending my birthday at the ballpark. Although you'll be pleased to know that I no longer don my baseball glove when I head to the ballpark, in hopes of catching a fly ball. I always sorta' looked like a dork when I did that before, so those days are gone. And as I've said before, I have been a huge, HUGE, baseball fan as far back as I can remember (Hey look!! There's a clue!!).<br />
<br />
<br />
It wasn't just ANY baseball game, though…it was the annual celebrity <a href="http://bigslickkc.org">Big Slick weekend</a>, where a bunch of big celebrities head to town to raise money for a local children's hospital here in town. We're talking <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0748620/">Paul Rudd</a>, <a href="http://www.ericstonestreet.com">Eric Stonestreet</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001629/">Kevin Pollak</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0837177/">Jason Sudeikis</a>, and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0021672/">Jeffrey Dean Morgan, among others</a> (What a hunk - and why did they have to kill Denny off on "Grey's Anatomy"??!! Gah. My heart died a little that day and the show was never the same. But I digress.)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4yD8tSlvlwtIIJ04KkqyVcXiRZUF9W3UHZCtjFGIkNk1MIE4VWvMTIl8V7XRuEabrG7wDkThJQoXyvtroTdWXfjskBsj1uie0iBKa4kgxsBC1bO4DGh-B5PmTfDnvTMsCLRJPdIlVECN/s1600/PaulRudd.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4yD8tSlvlwtIIJ04KkqyVcXiRZUF9W3UHZCtjFGIkNk1MIE4VWvMTIl8V7XRuEabrG7wDkThJQoXyvtroTdWXfjskBsj1uie0iBKa4kgxsBC1bO4DGh-B5PmTfDnvTMsCLRJPdIlVECN/s400/PaulRudd.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Here's Paul Rudd (a Kansas City native, by the way) sporting a Kansas City Royals World Series ring…which brings us to Clue #2. </i><br />
<br />
So, we watched a FABULOUS softball game with the celebs, and then afterwards, watched a FABULOUS game with the Royals, who trounced the Detroit Tigers, 10-3. Squee!<br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday, the day of my ACTUAL birthday, I woke up and got in an early 7-mile training run. I wore a new bright and colorful running skirt for the occasion, as it was important to appear FABULOUS while drowning in sweat.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YHnzwY07wlWL7htGqx5fzLadlFLpizwvhRMwkWCTr0IIoNv0lMJb4iazMuWJ80L0i4RyHLOBCasOjhcmWa-rmnNqSEcS8aVY-0AdCITzOkNjZtUU-_oQFwci0Qr6mKIbYxiJvVPeTG0_/s1600/6208.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YHnzwY07wlWL7htGqx5fzLadlFLpizwvhRMwkWCTr0IIoNv0lMJb4iazMuWJ80L0i4RyHLOBCasOjhcmWa-rmnNqSEcS8aVY-0AdCITzOkNjZtUU-_oQFwci0Qr6mKIbYxiJvVPeTG0_/s400/6208.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Can you see me now??!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
However, it became quickly evident that although I may have LOOKED fabulous, I must have smelled like rotting fruit, as every horse fly in five counties quickly surrounded and swarmed me while running. That might be okay if not for the fact that I run with my mouth open - which meant that I almost, ALMOST swallowed a few of those flies. Gah.<br />
<br />
<br />
Thankfully, no flies were harmed during the run, and my youngest Daughter then treated me to a FABULOUS brunch at a little restaurant here in town. Gluten-free eggs benedict were on the menu, and I pretty much licked my plate clean. Hey - 7 miles will do that. And when the waitress heard it was my birthday, she presented me with a complimentary gluten-free chocolate cupcake, because EVERYONE should have a chocolate cupcake for brunch!!! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqzg6Mjp4hHtc8kqVcAm94pAw7ymOrQIm-_oa4KUBOzWwW7ktFnCCCg1uIJe6CH-cIX9TCEygDcRDGO8sWMoFPuftlg_6GFBxkLNg-EJgAyTt8YCFe81TgqQTP-bTbbaR9zzfzjMyuwyq/s1600/Cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqzg6Mjp4hHtc8kqVcAm94pAw7ymOrQIm-_oa4KUBOzWwW7ktFnCCCg1uIJe6CH-cIX9TCEygDcRDGO8sWMoFPuftlg_6GFBxkLNg-EJgAyTt8YCFe81TgqQTP-bTbbaR9zzfzjMyuwyq/s400/Cupcake.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Um, YUM! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday afternoon was spent chillaxin' at the house, acknowledging birthday wishes on Facebook, chatting with my Mom on the phone (she's in Florida), chatting with one of my sons on the phone (he's in St. Louis), and chatting with another son on the phone (he's at work). <br />
<br />
That evening, Hubby and I headed down to the Westport area of Kansas City, to dine at a very small, but very delicious, restaurant, called <a href="http://www.rm39.com/about/">Room 39</a>. We did the tasting menu, which was TO DIE FOR. Seriously, four courses of FABULOUSNESS and deliciousness that was fresh, tasty and absolutely stunning in the presentation. And to finish, I indulged in an Expresso Martini, a concoction of 360 vodka, expresso, Bailey's, Kahlua - but mostly vodka. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmD9EBm18-RJkZiHVv-6NHJuoX5Wrky50I2U9xRK4TKrHzfzleIRXdWqSRZclsIMrfM6nKQ_T_c37rRLwq8E5sjjFQ_Ueq86iBzlpXiWrbauSbGE_fVSPgtDpJri7rD98nhvT7OeRUnLJk/s1600/Martini.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmD9EBm18-RJkZiHVv-6NHJuoX5Wrky50I2U9xRK4TKrHzfzleIRXdWqSRZclsIMrfM6nKQ_T_c37rRLwq8E5sjjFQ_Ueq86iBzlpXiWrbauSbGE_fVSPgtDpJri7rD98nhvT7OeRUnLJk/s400/Martini.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Cheers!!! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
I'm not sure what happened after dinner…I'm blaming it on the 360…but I'm sure it was all good. ;) <br />
<br />
<br />
Sunday was Father's Day, and we were having a big party at the house to celebrate both holidays - because I've always been generous like that, sharing my birthday with Father's Day. I spent the first part of the day getting everything set up to PARTY - and by 3:00 pm, the kids, grandkids, nieces, and other family had arrived. <br />
<br />
Being a FABULOUSLY hot day, Hubby took everyone out for a boat ride on the lake, while others kayaked or swam. We had the Royals game on the boob tube, and in true Royals fashion, they eked out a win, 2-1, in 13 innings. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3hMYdHpFvbH3dpLlz13XXGSqFllC8sibnvBeRu0mNHec5on-RUkX22xrttcudeIOQtig-2HUn9CNWdss1W-CZyDt5Orz8NU5PAVZZfcAHc3JcEHud5qM30bLLh4vCVHpmJjASX0aScZ4/s1600/OnBoat.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3hMYdHpFvbH3dpLlz13XXGSqFllC8sibnvBeRu0mNHec5on-RUkX22xrttcudeIOQtig-2HUn9CNWdss1W-CZyDt5Orz8NU5PAVZZfcAHc3JcEHud5qM30bLLh4vCVHpmJjASX0aScZ4/s400/OnBoat.jpg" /></a> <br />
<i>Captain, my Captain <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, it was time for cake and presents - the BEST part!!! Boy, my family knows me well, as I received some really cool stuff:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAxeSfS4ahkksiBHIVebgdb-uvCpS77iCaTrxDmOpnQnjM2RFY0JWmmDHyS49BehJbLDHmoAfPdu3RMfwB6BJFcGwJeFg9GLnN1i9P91SeGj1hv0mVE4chzIx-pt_f5S8JtborQAgVusB/s1600/Coasters.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAxeSfS4ahkksiBHIVebgdb-uvCpS77iCaTrxDmOpnQnjM2RFY0JWmmDHyS49BehJbLDHmoAfPdu3RMfwB6BJFcGwJeFg9GLnN1i9P91SeGj1hv0mVE4chzIx-pt_f5S8JtborQAgVusB/s400/Coasters.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>FABULOUSLY cool coasters, portraying my love of Kansas City and baseball!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVWNGQ-r-jr4iyjjz0AzYZoaMX8aDS4ZSvBlTYmjqacy6qvAf0IKy-CV17NNnmCgWsb-TH1GExugYhaOWmgBhMcXXURH4ks_0ab53J857DqdCpPn2NSvzdhX1glKPo7eGyYZNR9Sx5Xmo/s1600/Scarf.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVWNGQ-r-jr4iyjjz0AzYZoaMX8aDS4ZSvBlTYmjqacy6qvAf0IKy-CV17NNnmCgWsb-TH1GExugYhaOWmgBhMcXXURH4ks_0ab53J857DqdCpPn2NSvzdhX1glKPo7eGyYZNR9Sx5Xmo/s400/Scarf.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>a FABULOUSLY stylish Kansas City Royals scarf, so I will be FABULOUSLY dressed at my next game!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJds-MJCwsEgAxSdE3yRwfEC7ilsod8cEMsYl8K7A4jD38CiwkYXrcLPaodWQ6Nl3xIws1O-0azY2gPO1qE8zHsMpuwuP1HkRHiETo3Hu7bYW7cBuwUXNVzr3nBpQ83B-iM1RCbqAz1eA/s1600/Pandora.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJds-MJCwsEgAxSdE3yRwfEC7ilsod8cEMsYl8K7A4jD38CiwkYXrcLPaodWQ6Nl3xIws1O-0azY2gPO1qE8zHsMpuwuP1HkRHiETo3Hu7bYW7cBuwUXNVzr3nBpQ83B-iM1RCbqAz1eA/s400/Pandora.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>a FABULOUS exquisite Pandora bracelet, complete with a Mickey Mouse charm and wings, to represent my running!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, boo, everyone had left, and Hubby then presented me with his gift…and here is when I pretty much died, DIED, I'm telling you.<br />
<br />
Inside a card is a piece of paper, folded up, with this poem on one side:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dKH4QQdyz3DEv9Tw97qqZukgdtdwNfVxWK4zx3YE_IQkbS9DH6zHeopNd2VkY53DQJ0PlZmyUeX8K2SLxrxh8Oit21bf-1VZ7O_FEcGFlkLY1PGyV0gtRf__fJNmfRGy92eUNB8eBe0e/s1600/Poem.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3dKH4QQdyz3DEv9Tw97qqZukgdtdwNfVxWK4zx3YE_IQkbS9DH6zHeopNd2VkY53DQJ0PlZmyUeX8K2SLxrxh8Oit21bf-1VZ7O_FEcGFlkLY1PGyV0gtRf__fJNmfRGy92eUNB8eBe0e/s400/Poem.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
And on the other side of the paper, there was this:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfz2gmdEz1BeXZGAVK3EqD2i8yZtALtK-YoD4X1nt-c2swTKcPcvSIaiGo9FQGPXVgGZrm1WblvGBWgWFiO2NNl3P9li4JH3oluCeuIgo48XWffYOcqoUQ5OOv9YMyh7CMGx9MepRu9K6/s1600/Ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfz2gmdEz1BeXZGAVK3EqD2i8yZtALtK-YoD4X1nt-c2swTKcPcvSIaiGo9FQGPXVgGZrm1WblvGBWgWFiO2NNl3P9li4JH3oluCeuIgo48XWffYOcqoUQ5OOv9YMyh7CMGx9MepRu9K6/s400/Ring.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
You guys.<br />
<br />
That's a World Series ring. <br />
<br />
THAT'S A WORLD SERIES RING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
I was stunned. I was shocked. I was speechless.<br />
<br />
For a second.<br />
<br />
After I processed it, I was pretty much like someone who just won the lottery, but can't quite believe it.<br />
<br />
"ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!" I squealed.<br />
<br />
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!" I squealed again.<br />
<br />
"IS THIS A JOKE??!! PLEASE DON'T TELL ME THIS IS A JOKE!!!" I begged…as I literally broke out in goosebumps.<br />
<br />
It's not a joke. My ring is on order, and I will receive it sometime this summer. No, it's not this exact ring, as that's the big honkin' men's version, and I would never be able to wear something that big. My ring will be the more dainty, but still FABULOUS, women's version.<br />
<br />
<br />
And this is why this birthday was so amazing.<br />
<br />
I loved spending time with the family. I loved the Facebook wishes. I loved the party and picnic on Father's Day. I love the fact that I have an amazing Hubby who totally gets it; totally gets that I am the biggest Kansas City Royals geek out there, and this gift was truly winning the lottery for me. I've stuck with my team for 40+ years, through the bad years (of which there were many), and the good years (of which there were few)…and my loyalty has never wavered. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Life is fabulous. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-3331714102053362722016-06-17T11:36:00.000-05:002016-06-17T11:43:30.777-05:00Driving My Dad Crazy: Three Things<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZXrPMCVXlpH9m5rddQTOFyhgodBQ24NmAaeyLxsHjsvnc7R4GkrDIxL3ESMp9jadOzlMS6avmIX_HX75AOFLY4knBq79iEa63NpgTwWTc3u5y7A1cXzMfJMXyNzQlURaHjYo04OUqFjj/s1600/Homer.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZXrPMCVXlpH9m5rddQTOFyhgodBQ24NmAaeyLxsHjsvnc7R4GkrDIxL3ESMp9jadOzlMS6avmIX_HX75AOFLY4knBq79iEa63NpgTwWTc3u5y7A1cXzMfJMXyNzQlURaHjYo04OUqFjj/s320/Homer.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
It still hurts…but it's not quite the punch in the gut that it was a year ago.<br />
<br />
I'm talking about Father's Day…to be celebrated this Sunday, June 19th.<br />
<br />
<br />
Losing my father in October 2014 meant that last year, Father's Day was going to be GUT-wrenching. The first year of grief is such a bitch, with all of the "firsts" - "first" Christmas without him, "first" birthday without him - and yes, "first" Father's Day without the man whom I loved more than anything.<br />
<br />
Gah.<br />
<br />
<br />
When we were presented with an opportunity to be in Europe last year during this time, I jumped on it - as I knew that the whirlwind of sightseeing and traveling would temporarily soften the blow of dealing with my first Father's Day without my father.<br />
<br />
And it DID help, somewhat. I wasn't on Social Media that day, so I wasn't blitzed with thousands of "Happy Father's Day" posts from well-meaning friends and family, who were sending good-intentioned well wishes to their OWN dads on Facebook. <br />
<br />
<br />
This year, though, we're here at home, and I've steeled myself to be strong on Sunday. It IS easier the second year of grief, for sure.<br />
<br />
<br />
But all of these thoughts of the upcoming holiday had me thinking of my own father, and the other day, a picture I posted on Facebook reminded me of one of the things that my dad absolutely hated.<br />
<br />
It was this picture, innocent enough at first glance, that brought all of the memories crashing through my soul.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9N8qoyMEDDuV0w9DfEes-UO1wou9KoVhCpJ1fqkAI9AV8uYPYqRU3dD-q6xKk-5IkBsPsPxP47WCrwPCzEy4XcOcdCbEorMDBIza3mzcLiZ9_8aJoEY20JJUb1IUvu0WVvJ4Psu7A5uVF/s1600/Biceps.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9N8qoyMEDDuV0w9DfEes-UO1wou9KoVhCpJ1fqkAI9AV8uYPYqRU3dD-q6xKk-5IkBsPsPxP47WCrwPCzEy4XcOcdCbEorMDBIza3mzcLiZ9_8aJoEY20JJUb1IUvu0WVvJ4Psu7A5uVF/s320/Biceps.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Innocent, yes? Just me at a local 5k that I ran last Sunday…<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Dad was, for the most part, pretty easy going…but there were three things that he absolutely hated, HATED, with a passion.<br />
<br />
The first thing he hated was white pantyhose. <br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79eHoOwMVvck-I_6OEFljIKbDhkZ_V1HkxbEZS6BOFtt_BvZKx-blYMcG2kO71fRe6_ZSVPq3KnC855ULX5iP0kNAxel9mH-I3id8USiN378APmQxG2ykRbKjYLIGLDMxPpzQ4zU1oOde/s1600/WhitePantyHose.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg79eHoOwMVvck-I_6OEFljIKbDhkZ_V1HkxbEZS6BOFtt_BvZKx-blYMcG2kO71fRe6_ZSVPq3KnC855ULX5iP0kNAxel9mH-I3id8USiN378APmQxG2ykRbKjYLIGLDMxPpzQ4zU1oOde/s320/WhitePantyHose.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
White pantyhose. <br />
<br />
I have NO idea why white pantyhose sent him over the edge, but they did….I absolutely loved wearing lots and lots of colorful outfits (still do, actually!), and I absolutely loved wearing different colors of pantyhose - including white. (Hey - it was the 80's - don't judge.)<br />
<br />
Every. Single. Time. that I would don a pair of white pantyhose, Dad would wrinkle his nose in disgust and say, "Only nurses should be wearing those." <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaLq3VbuJQMfR1V6_xgZh69BFG69UtPOYm28FZB15b2IQdG5xoUz_p1VcI-RxyFrJCCY0DMYdbA68f15CBbjzs6jM8QcQiBgodBpbdhyHuMji9c4A-1hhf_a9CS1Ci64k3AGubiyFsL7f9/s1600/Face.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaLq3VbuJQMfR1V6_xgZh69BFG69UtPOYm28FZB15b2IQdG5xoUz_p1VcI-RxyFrJCCY0DMYdbA68f15CBbjzs6jM8QcQiBgodBpbdhyHuMji9c4A-1hhf_a9CS1Ci64k3AGubiyFsL7f9/s320/Face.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
So of course I would wear them as much as possible just to drive him crazy. (Because I was a loving daughter like that, you know.)<br />
<br />
<br />
The second thing he hated was the word, "gross."<br />
<br />
I know, crazy, right??!! <br />
<br />
And of course, in the late 70's and early 80's, the word "gross" was embedded in our culture and language, and almost every sentence I spoke was punctuated with the word, "gross." As in, "That's SO gross." Or, directed at my little brother,"You're gross, you know that, right?"<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLavlbSFX7O0v7iXDf_yYrgKKNnL06JL8eNxEHW1k0SaiQ9Wyr9Ec5emDEVnUtfWExJs0Fu8o4LIjmukeoe4FixPYi9nq_Rn3HsnR2KlNfYj4dz77Ufwqhs20nLE5U9yVq_h8abOhaOQtL/s1600/Gross.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLavlbSFX7O0v7iXDf_yYrgKKNnL06JL8eNxEHW1k0SaiQ9Wyr9Ec5emDEVnUtfWExJs0Fu8o4LIjmukeoe4FixPYi9nq_Rn3HsnR2KlNfYj4dz77Ufwqhs20nLE5U9yVq_h8abOhaOQtL/s320/Gross.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Dad would wrinkle that nose again, and say, "That word is absolutely disgusting. Knock it off."<br />
<br />
And I would laugh and tease him and get the word in twice by replying, "Oh silly Father, 'gross' is NOT gross!!", because again, I was a loving daughter like that. <br />
<br />
<br />
And the third thing he hated is shown in that picture above…he hated biceps. On women. <br />
<br />
I began weight lifting in high school, and have continued to this day, so yes, of course, I developed biceps over the years. And Dad hated them - HATED them. He would look at my arms, shake his head, and mutter, "Only men should have biceps…NOT women." And I would fiercely disagree with him, saying that it was perfectly fine for women to not only BE strong, but to LOOK strong as well - and I would head off to the gym to develop my biceps even more. Because I was a loving daughter like that. And I wanted to look like Linda Hamilton in "Terminator." Heh. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzpzYEh_FSPn7_kP8f0rilX7KLD1i88s9URGsB_wQ9pHRy7IWg21qXKi0g4uB-Ak6QFKpstqjXHPolzqCd7FVhCanE1I5UFXCOaBrRnuPR_wZf0Mg_429K3nAMdUcTVfVBGocBlH8yQhe/s1600/Linda.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzpzYEh_FSPn7_kP8f0rilX7KLD1i88s9URGsB_wQ9pHRy7IWg21qXKi0g4uB-Ak6QFKpstqjXHPolzqCd7FVhCanE1I5UFXCOaBrRnuPR_wZf0Mg_429K3nAMdUcTVfVBGocBlH8yQhe/s320/Linda.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
So yes, that picture I posted of me brought back memories, as I saw those biceps…and knew that Dad would have had a conniption fit. <br />
<br />
<br />
Everyone has their own idiosyncrasies…I look at some of the things that I hate, and I have to laugh, because in the scope of things, they're rather stupid. Like I hate the texture of fresh fruit in my mouth…gah. I can seriously gag on a piece of melon. Or, how I hate the sound of toenail clippers…I will have a nervous breakdown at the sound - seriously. <br />
<br />
So, in the scope of things, white pantyhose, "gross", and biceps may sound silly, but they were what drove Dad over the edge, and I used that knowledge to tease him and drive him just a bit more crazy.<br />
<br />
And how I wish I could go back in time now and maybe, just maybe, go easier on him. <br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, it will be hard on Sunday…but I'll think of my Dad, and I'll think of his idiosyncrasies, and I'll chuckle. And I'll hold those memories tight so that I never, EVER, lose the essence of what was my funny, but lovable, Dad. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-75664719731947293132016-06-08T15:54:00.000-05:002016-06-08T15:54:14.902-05:00Hospital Hill 5k Recap - Captain America Battles the Crowds & Hills<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAdNwc_JKwy5tewSFpMNBtVf_Kd7BGGiu7r7lUO3gjJup_y0JKT1v_6rkcQ66g1i8vP52abDgFDCD8KLRQvQE7YDAmq9e0ZkZEWubLCYyvUDqTqrhsIbjjkNVma5UpsWqtmtbrtrtIWhL/s1600/Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAdNwc_JKwy5tewSFpMNBtVf_Kd7BGGiu7r7lUO3gjJup_y0JKT1v_6rkcQ66g1i8vP52abDgFDCD8KLRQvQE7YDAmq9e0ZkZEWubLCYyvUDqTqrhsIbjjkNVma5UpsWqtmtbrtrtIWhL/s320/Banner.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Last weekend, I participated in the Hospital Hill Re-Run event, which combined a 5k on Friday night with a half-marathon (or 10k, your choice) on Saturday morning.<br />
<br />
Hubby and I had done the 5k/10k combo in the past, but this year we <s>stupidly</s> decided to go all in and do the half-marathon. I mean, how hard could it be?? Sure, it says "Hill" in the title of the race, but come on…seriously? <br />
<br />
Ha. <br />
<br />
Let's recap, shall we?<br />
<br />
<br />
Friday afternoon, we headed to the downtown area of Kansas City, with the intention of hitting up the race expo and then checking into the official race hotel so we could spend Friday night. Our goal was to have eaten, donned our race outfits, and be warmed up so we'd be ready to race the 5k at 7:00 pm.<br />
<br />
Studies have shown that the worst time for road rage is on a Friday afternoon, and I now know that to be true. Rush hour traffic was HORRENDOUS, and I could feel my blood pressure boiling as we traversed through a maze of traffic jams, idiot drivers, and brainless motorists for the what-was-supposed-to-be a 45-minute trip that turned into almost-90 minutes. GAH. GET OFF THE ROAD, PEOPLE - WE'VE GOT A RACE TO RUN!!!!! <br />
<br />
Okay, now I feel better.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the expo was nice and empty, which was actually rather dangerous, as it then gave Hubby and I a very-clear view of all of the amazing booths and all of the MUST-HAVE merchandise that was for sale. Like kids in a candy store, we wandered the near-empty aisles, oohing and ah-ing over shiny, blingy objects that promised to make us BIGGER, BETTER AND FASTER runners. As if.<br />
<br />
After escaping the expo with minimal damage to our wallet, we then walked next door to check in to the Sheraton hotel, which offered runners an AH-MAZ-ING rate for Friday night. We live over 40 miles from the race site, and since we were doing a "double" - it would be easier on our gas tank and sanity if we just spent the night Friday night, before racing again Saturday. <br />
<br />
We were given a room up on the 25th floor that not only offered a thrilling complete-with-ears-popping ride up the super fast elevators, it also offered an amazing view of the Kansas City downtown skyline, as well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5z7xMVzYCDgezZicJSNON5PpNkhAedtWPm4bOThtDtHO2E3P1aMvIit-78ppj0EHdY6809SYLT8Hwl6Yb4QKdtvBjn9khux6Q1w6oH_i_hi-P1dAkoo5AYeLCDYzTxFgp0z9FrH24LhG/s1600/Skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5z7xMVzYCDgezZicJSNON5PpNkhAedtWPm4bOThtDtHO2E3P1aMvIit-78ppj0EHdY6809SYLT8Hwl6Yb4QKdtvBjn9khux6Q1w6oH_i_hi-P1dAkoo5AYeLCDYzTxFgp0z9FrH24LhG/s320/Skyline.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
We had enough time to don an energy bar and don our racing outfits. The theme for the weekend was Super Hero, so I had a rather blah and boring Captain America outfit to wear.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWH2iQICasPekIryFvLRyO1Sc6IU1tlG3r_NYVqqc-w_Ad5Tj3mgl4e922Mp-Htq77DpKYcu4bMWoU94TYEi4P0O2GfC6KFOXIQNQljQwlu2ktBhgI1SkyDt6jhEcsxy6PEmPf9GXLZpf/s1600/Socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWH2iQICasPekIryFvLRyO1Sc6IU1tlG3r_NYVqqc-w_Ad5Tj3mgl4e922Mp-Htq77DpKYcu4bMWoU94TYEi4P0O2GfC6KFOXIQNQljQwlu2ktBhgI1SkyDt6jhEcsxy6PEmPf9GXLZpf/s320/Socks.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Okay - so maybe it wasn't so blah and boring. But it was FUN, and I am all about the FUN!!! <br />
<br />
Actually, everything but the socks were fun. Those little wingie things that stuck out?? Those were a PITA to run in. They kept rubbing on my legs, and could have led to some serious chafing issues if I'd had to run any longer in them. So, they may have looked awesome, and they have received lots and lots of compliments - but they basically sucked, and I don't know if I would ever run in those darned things again. <br />
<br />
<br />
Meeting up with some friends in the lobby, we walked the short two blocks or so the Start Line, having some fun along the way. The music was blaring, the crowd was pumped, and the humidity was rising. Yay.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjHuBawtyVGbOsn0fJb6vgHV3l1T1qQa0cQCvYj8dEHlC9duPcmzrieAJljtOQU6rmcfu126yyQt2QVGUJlq9eiKhW6abVNHF44xBxCdGqQrUy1R0ZTlrOuwZLth7wZdwVKX68_WLQ09d/s1600/PreRace.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjHuBawtyVGbOsn0fJb6vgHV3l1T1qQa0cQCvYj8dEHlC9duPcmzrieAJljtOQU6rmcfu126yyQt2QVGUJlq9eiKhW6abVNHF44xBxCdGqQrUy1R0ZTlrOuwZLth7wZdwVKX68_WLQ09d/s320/PreRace.jpg" /></a> <br />
Friends. Yes. I have them. <br />
<br />
<br />
The race organizers asked everyone to sort themselves in the unofficial corrals before the start of the race - faster runners to the front, walkers to the back, and I mistakenly assumed that participants would know if they were fast - or slow. I'd realize the error of my assumption in a short bit. In the meantime, knowing that I was going to take this race a bit slow and easy myself, I headed towards the back with some friends, stationing ourselves about 3/4 of the way from the Start Line. <br />
<br />
The gun sounded, and off we went - tearing down the first of few downhills along the course at breakneck speeds, running as if we were Superman, faster than a speeding bullet. It was GLORIOUS!!!! <br />
<br />
Okay, not really. I WISH that's how it went. It actually went more like this:<br />
<br />
The gun sounded, and the first 1/3 of the pack went tearing down the first of the few downhills at a breakneck speed. <br />
<br />
The 2/3 of participants remaining began walking at a pace not much faster than a turtle using crutches - and I found myself trapped - TRAPPED - in a traffic jam that was worse than anything we'd encountered on our way down here in the car. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqra-npWqninGzplnUhRfJuWw08OYcQHcMRd2S6vUnUPSfZDLRp6qbj5LWRd-RrDlC76tiZeWOzQIVvJHp5ZrnM06TxGKDXokHZQirTWiiL6dOYfCXOIx57CeEUE6cyY1AXi8juxu2M0R/s1600/TrafficJam.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQqra-npWqninGzplnUhRfJuWw08OYcQHcMRd2S6vUnUPSfZDLRp6qbj5LWRd-RrDlC76tiZeWOzQIVvJHp5ZrnM06TxGKDXokHZQirTWiiL6dOYfCXOIx57CeEUE6cyY1AXi8juxu2M0R/s320/TrafficJam.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
It was HORRIBLE!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
I found myself dodging and weaving with skills better than Muhammad Ali in the boxing ring - trying desperately to find a hole - ANY hole - that would let me start running. Unfortunately, by the time I managed to break through of the hordes of the Walking Dead, I'd encountered the first of "The Hills" along the course - Hospital Hill.<br />
<br />
Um, yeah - you KNOW it's bad when the hills have NAMES. And I'm sure there are official maps out there with the elevation, but when I'm running, I'm not particularly paying attention to those numbers…all I'm paying attention to is my screaming calves as I'm grinding up that hill. <br />
<br />
<br />
I'd like to say that after making it to the top of the hill, that it would get better and you'd get some relief. But that's not the case. Because in an added bit of cruelty, the race organizers than add yet another, even STEEPER hill right after the first hill - as if they didn't think you suffered enough on Hospital Hill. <br />
<br />
Curses.<br />
<br />
<br />
Fortunately, though, those first two back-to-back hills are the WORST, and once they're over, the course relatively smooths out for the most part, with some amazing downhills thrown in so you can pick up some speed - if you're not already too spent from climbing the initial hills.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OK6E1B5VThylx3PoqQM960ZaOyiSCgwZQPpYInm0HB1mFvuoAi1bT92HBhkcyn8_UZ1wQ9iadYG_B2tAwTrTUmQsV0zv595OCeVQyN9eNXHkaj5W6rQqAdlXaNueJJKt3ubNXbWQfdPU/s1600/5kCourseMap.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2OK6E1B5VThylx3PoqQM960ZaOyiSCgwZQPpYInm0HB1mFvuoAi1bT92HBhkcyn8_UZ1wQ9iadYG_B2tAwTrTUmQsV0zv595OCeVQyN9eNXHkaj5W6rQqAdlXaNueJJKt3ubNXbWQfdPU/s320/5kCourseMap.png" /></a><br />
Note Hill #1. Followed immediately by Hill #2. <br />
<br />
About midway through the race, someone had set up a hose, which sprayed all of the runners with a refreshing shower - which was MUCH appreciated at this point, as I pretty much felt like my core temperature was 126-degrees at this point. <br />
<br />
I soon caught up with Paula along the way. Paula is a friend who helped me during last year's Hospital Hill 10k, getting me across the Finish Line with a halfway decent finish time, so it was only fitting that I finish the 5k with her. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwl-yUSpTDRAIVZooKPXPYww4vFWcX25L-_yVTqHgslWhHn-vTxb-yuogrMOq4GocfYdUk5-tz-r9XjfChpvM5feW2siNTxu2mS7FuErhCF3sLAlhyyq8QJi3YLgwsuf9Ru02fnFJFE9bB/s1600/PaulaI.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwl-yUSpTDRAIVZooKPXPYww4vFWcX25L-_yVTqHgslWhHn-vTxb-yuogrMOq4GocfYdUk5-tz-r9XjfChpvM5feW2siNTxu2mS7FuErhCF3sLAlhyyq8QJi3YLgwsuf9Ru02fnFJFE9bB/s320/PaulaI.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjTSQ-_ewfU-3bFVOC2RTvQ6v3F4oWAU_3OhNaW0TJyhFOqDnE8b1OJvJZG0RzSH7KzzncyGg6SHoPVaOgkNzEcjSHauBNK9YmWGKldrKvFfMttWXYqexdqu8fX-sCAm-PCNcGeTgLszk/s1600/PaulaFinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjTSQ-_ewfU-3bFVOC2RTvQ6v3F4oWAU_3OhNaW0TJyhFOqDnE8b1OJvJZG0RzSH7KzzncyGg6SHoPVaOgkNzEcjSHauBNK9YmWGKldrKvFfMttWXYqexdqu8fX-sCAm-PCNcGeTgLszk/s320/PaulaFinish.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
By now, the humidity was at an ungodly 167% (is that possible??), and my body was one giant sweaty mess. Crossing the Finish Line, I gladly accepted my medal and not one, but TWO chocolate milks, which are even better than medals, in my humble opinion, and gulped both of them down.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFYy76bOkMf8vWNastyevKWxI9xZoJJqzRTc1Cgr11wMmLJfFsniutwXE159I-02JGEMvnTHspi7uYq1dB3-WGpVxZwYB6y0r8nF1lR6TW96jPsBCEBhmEm7MijXtT3LCbawxivpNMM8L/s1600/Sherri.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFYy76bOkMf8vWNastyevKWxI9xZoJJqzRTc1Cgr11wMmLJfFsniutwXE159I-02JGEMvnTHspi7uYq1dB3-WGpVxZwYB6y0r8nF1lR6TW96jPsBCEBhmEm7MijXtT3LCbawxivpNMM8L/s320/Sherri.jpg" /></a><br />
Yeah. Pretty much. Just substitute "Sherri" for "Mary."<br />
<br />
Bliss. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WcwVw_5aayPaR4s3IX6aYZGz1v-E0jyeFPxX_iQo74dlINi6cmK0SdOP_GHWn19_SZc5PVTZjb7pUPkp819JucV7UOERK6b8RLrGzOMK6PFfmXSWHwn12kurCUaQrT1EnCORQFjP_3l_/s1600/5kMedal.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WcwVw_5aayPaR4s3IX6aYZGz1v-E0jyeFPxX_iQo74dlINi6cmK0SdOP_GHWn19_SZc5PVTZjb7pUPkp819JucV7UOERK6b8RLrGzOMK6PFfmXSWHwn12kurCUaQrT1EnCORQFjP_3l_/s320/5kMedal.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We hung out for awhile at the after-race party, but eventually knew it was time to grab some dinner (baked potato and grilled chicken from Wendy's - don't be jealous), and then get to bed. <br />
<br />
Saturday morning would be here before we knew it, and we had to conquer "The Hill." <br />
<br />
Or would it conquer us???<br />
<br />
<br />
Peace. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-4195952801478282072016-06-07T09:57:00.000-05:002016-06-07T09:57:40.471-05:00Dusting Off the Typewriter<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0oIEgkn4DO7QOw8mVme7OL0XuoqP_74KrVcCz1_lzP5pet_kEX-g0nLlvfBItBgSRIFvWa4fYhGoqfPst2XhpcNQNCd3v2TWvVsm2tIWXOMFbE0aFVHy7SwvETWgZxSdwBnCvvW3YnT2/s1600/Typewriter.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0oIEgkn4DO7QOw8mVme7OL0XuoqP_74KrVcCz1_lzP5pet_kEX-g0nLlvfBItBgSRIFvWa4fYhGoqfPst2XhpcNQNCd3v2TWvVsm2tIWXOMFbE0aFVHy7SwvETWgZxSdwBnCvvW3YnT2/s320/Typewriter.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Contrary to what you may believe, I did NOT drop off the face of the earth.<br />
<br />
(Which is a pretty strange expression, if you ask me…I mean, really? Can someone truly DROP OFF the face of the earth???!! Doesn't that defy the law of, I don't know, GRAVITY??!!)<br />
<br />
I am alive.<br />
<br />
Very much so.<br />
<br />
And I've been having lots and lots of adventures over the past year.<br />
<br />
Very much so.<br />
<br />
In fact, that's the problem. I've been so busy living life and having adventures that it has left very little time to sit down and write about them. <br />
<br />
Gah. <br />
<br />
Oh, I'll compose GREAT blogs in my head, particularly after an amazing adventure, coming up with all sorts of creative and clever descriptions that I just KNOW are so epic that we're talking Pulitzer Prize stuff - ha ha - but then life moves by so fast, and before I know it, time has passed and nothing was written down. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
I'm going to try to change that.<br />
<br />
I can't promise EPIC stuff, or even Pulitzer Prize-worthy stuff, but I promise to do my best in recounting some of the crazy stuff running through my head. (Which sounds scary when put like that, but it is what it is.)<br />
<br />
A lot of stuff is about running, because let's face it, that comprises a big part of my life at the moment. Some times it goes well, and some times, well…let's just say that all I can do is laugh about it later. It can be rather sad, at times. <br />
<br />
A lot of stuff is about travel, because that, too, comprises a big part of my life. Besides future trips planned, I need to go back and reminisce about previous trips in the past year that got NO MENTION or ATTENTION, which is sad, really, because there's some epic stories there. <br />
<br />
A lot of stuff is just about life in general…being a wife, a mom, a friend…someone who is still grieving the loss of her father, and all that that entails…and is dealing with growing older physically but refusing to grow up mentally and emotionally, no matter what the wrinkled face in the mirror may show.<br />
<br />
So yeah…we'll see how this goes. <br />
<br />
Bear with me…be patient…and we'll crank up the old typewriter and see if the creative writer juices start flowing, once again. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-51470317160956592822015-07-14T15:27:00.000-05:002015-07-14T15:27:10.426-05:00Don't Give Up On Me, Baby<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZdSdmAdwOnHDrqf1-7UYmdwm1yhFjYeb7igIA2UI5IX_D9zNCjN8kswbN_yowS6RkmfFm2042sBhsNqLoI8G39uZhFErWYpCFzwXGGRd0zZaqJ91BbuKvJOF7CFiifU2oaT-eqwN7yJW/s1600/Don%2527tGiveUp.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZdSdmAdwOnHDrqf1-7UYmdwm1yhFjYeb7igIA2UI5IX_D9zNCjN8kswbN_yowS6RkmfFm2042sBhsNqLoI8G39uZhFErWYpCFzwXGGRd0zZaqJ91BbuKvJOF7CFiifU2oaT-eqwN7yJW/s640/Don%2527tGiveUp.png" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Wowza.<br />
<br />
Here it is…the middle of summer…and life has been moving at BLAZING speed lately.<br />
<br />
<br />
We went to Europe.<br />
<br />
We came back from Europe.<br />
<br />
We went to Florida.<br />
<br />
We haven't come back from Florida - yet - but will one of these days.<br />
<br />
I've been running. Still.<br />
<br />
I've been going to baseball games. Still.<br />
<br />
And I have an upcoming 10-day adventure to Orlando.<br />
<br />
<br />
I REALLY want to write of our amazing adventures in Europe, but right now, I'm trying to go through the 5,936 photos that I took.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
I took THAT many.<br />
<br />
<br />
Because, really, just ONE photo of the Eiffel Tower, for instance, isn't enough. I MUST HAVE 436 PHOTOS OF THE EIFFEL TOWER.<br />
<br />
With a 'selfie' thrown in for good measure.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc14Tw5Vp9TUB26_XKdihusVJVAMaBNeiSYd-KKTbgQc34UKUM3sh0vPY1VUoa1cxXpxf_pKmL5Vu6pMFQBFh7ZIizGTag4M4oljE5rybMahVXe4N4DbM_qfs3dQcofwwVbuFDYWMZmEag/s1600/tower.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc14Tw5Vp9TUB26_XKdihusVJVAMaBNeiSYd-KKTbgQc34UKUM3sh0vPY1VUoa1cxXpxf_pKmL5Vu6pMFQBFh7ZIizGTag4M4oljE5rybMahVXe4N4DbM_qfs3dQcofwwVbuFDYWMZmEag/s640/tower.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Complete with a creepy photo bomber. <br />
<br />
<br />
I know some of you are anxious for the adventures to begin, and you're probably thinking, "Oh photos, schmotos…who needs pictures??!! Just get to the amazing, hilarious, educational and informative stories of all the places you visited, already."<br />
<br />
<br />
Um, I will. Get to it, that is.<br />
<br />
Pinky promise. <br />
<br />
Stay with me, and don't give up on me.<br />
<br />
It's coming.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-46879413625338020442015-05-31T23:01:00.000-05:002015-05-31T23:01:20.524-05:00The Color Run 5k: A Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIywK9VkhQghXWCDrmgkihLTGLrJjs_Fpu2awKVjWTNAC7fcSMMmtit9n6ZQmu-A2sv1WfFyCOZkQwXCWuM2YihZcsVPNZvE-9AsI4s30NPa6rZ92p8exSjYE_iD8FUz-_2JktZQcBtIq/s1600/Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIywK9VkhQghXWCDrmgkihLTGLrJjs_Fpu2awKVjWTNAC7fcSMMmtit9n6ZQmu-A2sv1WfFyCOZkQwXCWuM2YihZcsVPNZvE-9AsI4s30NPa6rZ92p8exSjYE_iD8FUz-_2JktZQcBtIq/s400/Logo.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
On a normal day, if my 15-year old daughter were to rub her psychedelic chalk-covered hands all over my face and neck, leaving me looking like a Salvador Dali painting on acid - I'd pretty much slap her upside the head, and then ground her for a week.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4NqhccOuOXYLJ7czKWbjfhTapQXDZNsh7buxOq04UzlfkekjT-dgyZVfhMEKZrFr8wSiFDyan3U-jqWKgosFbvkPiGHFtZIpNBd_oYZBxRjFIawEgoSwDylm4ZBAhmFFFhwlACqoLB8H/s1600/MadMommy.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4NqhccOuOXYLJ7czKWbjfhTapQXDZNsh7buxOq04UzlfkekjT-dgyZVfhMEKZrFr8wSiFDyan3U-jqWKgosFbvkPiGHFtZIpNBd_oYZBxRjFIawEgoSwDylm4ZBAhmFFFhwlACqoLB8H/s400/MadMommy.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Yeah…that is totally me.<br />
</i><br />
But…when one is running the psychedelic-infused Color Run 5k with said daughter - you just go with the flow, and then try to exact a bit of revenge with your OWN psychedelic chalk-covered hands.<br />
<br />
Mwahahahahahahahaha.<br />
<br />
All is fair in love and war…or in this case, at the Color Run. <br />
<br />
<br />
The "Happiest 5k on the Planet", aka "<a href="http://thecolorrun.com">The Color Run</a>", blew into Kansas City yesterday morning…and how could I NOT sign up for a race that promotes "healthiness, happiness and individuality"???!!! Several months ago, when I looked into signing Hubby, my regular running buddy, and I up to run this, the conversation in my house went like this:<br />
<br />
Me: "Hey - the Color Run is coming! Wanna' do it with me?"<br />
Him: "Color Run? Never heard of it."<br />
Me: "It's really fun. You run while people throw colored chalk dust on you."<br />
Him: Totally silent at this point, but he had this weird expression on his face that looked like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtURxXwVLHKNRDBilP80r1Q9fCTXrCMEKySTg0aLcqP04CKg236e69L5ynCL0sJqng865Cc0HyjeWIi1dWbavNpDEIUR0utS8NJXq4mP8C_6Xi6g5TNXNgJPDFWl_x6Id-ZHYiNn3j0v2/s1600/ShockedMan.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtURxXwVLHKNRDBilP80r1Q9fCTXrCMEKySTg0aLcqP04CKg236e69L5ynCL0sJqng865Cc0HyjeWIi1dWbavNpDEIUR0utS8NJXq4mP8C_6Xi6g5TNXNgJPDFWl_x6Id-ZHYiNn3j0v2/s400/ShockedMan.jpg" /></a> <br />
<br />
Needless to say, Hubby was NOT on board with doing The Color Run, so I had to find my next <s>victim</s> running parter. It didn't take me long to figure out that anything involving "individualism" is PERFECT for my opinionated, strong-willed Daughter - so here we were…signed up to participate in our very first 5k as a Mother/Daughter Duo. <br />
<br />
Of course, when she heard she'd be getting up early on a Saturday morning to run a race with her Mom, you can only IMAGINE the excitement. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vTCUG3iUnSL_SqmG4Kzf8AxLLKm0jruDNaPa-8tSO-Egn1Z1P1bSF4HR-1F1XEMrjhDh_9fxavhOMfWhmllyx_kY5Hz-3TxX2n1dCRCVDVHxm3wRzfmSNcVU9wN2yNKO56HIcaLW-NH_/s1600/TeenageDaughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vTCUG3iUnSL_SqmG4Kzf8AxLLKm0jruDNaPa-8tSO-Egn1Z1P1bSF4HR-1F1XEMrjhDh_9fxavhOMfWhmllyx_kY5Hz-3TxX2n1dCRCVDVHxm3wRzfmSNcVU9wN2yNKO56HIcaLW-NH_/s400/TeenageDaughter.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Yeah.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday morning dawned cool and cloudy…with a slight northerly breeze in the air. We wanted to leave the house at 6:30 a.m. (for an 8:00 a.m. race start), so I waited until the last possible second to wake up Daughter. She, uh, tends to be…um…a tad bit…grumpy…if woken too soon.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxiBEAd67o70NePLgV5vrIxjWUnclRu4zBziq4xVBOawGmcGXW38KZSWCepJZuMYvxwhPcEiDjazFypR40IvSeKh6HAq8yphTRXRuzgAERAU2SnZJisiKh4cWwyOrmT1STtHtyBTkuX5n/s1600/don_t_poke_the_bear_by_csys_279-d4ea47d.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxiBEAd67o70NePLgV5vrIxjWUnclRu4zBziq4xVBOawGmcGXW38KZSWCepJZuMYvxwhPcEiDjazFypR40IvSeKh6HAq8yphTRXRuzgAERAU2SnZJisiKh4cWwyOrmT1STtHtyBTkuX5n/s400/don_t_poke_the_bear_by_csys_279-d4ea47d.png" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Although Hubby wanted nothing to do with getting messy, he was more than willing to drive us to the race and cheer us on from the sidelines. While he drove us, I spent time going over the race strategy with Daughter, who, I'm SURE, was attentively listening to me behind her dark sunglasses from the back seat. I know that she wouldn't have been using this time to sleep, or anything….<br />
<br />
Ahem. <br />
<br />
We arrived at Arrowhead Stadium by 7:00 a.m., and HOLY TRAFFIC JAM, BATMAN…you would have thought that the Kansas City Chiefs were playing a Super Bowl game that morning…cars were stretched out for miles, attempting to get into the stadium for parking. It was crazy. I knew this was a popular race, but I was still taken aback by the number of participants….I never heard a final number, but I DO know that my race bib number was six digits. Yowza. <br />
<br />
<br />
The Race Gods were smiling down on us, as we managed to snag a second-row parking spot, which actually sounds pretty dumb to be all excited about when you're getting ready to RUN for 3 miles, but hey. <br />
<br />
This is a "wave" race - meaning they send out so many runners per wave - and I was determined to be in the first wave. Not sure why that was so important, as it's not a timed race or anything - but I wanted Daughter and I to be able to run without 20,000 other runners breathing down our necks…and if we were out first, we could quickly get up ahead and leave the other runners in our dust. (Hee hee…see what I did there? "Dust" - as in "colored dust"!!!)<br />
<br />
Fortunately, arriving an hour before the start pretty much guaranteed that we were literally at the starting tape:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0AGlQx4aoGzmIual8bmaaWNtDa05L_P-WEohxh-kCqNTnM3IR0jBxW2l2BZlS9OiSzX6KSgJ_OJfxFH1NPExoPvAzHs9jgSikwrWgSZs9FqSfIkOf4JRSjqmPnOjpggQIQLN30pVjFbT/s1600/StartLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0AGlQx4aoGzmIual8bmaaWNtDa05L_P-WEohxh-kCqNTnM3IR0jBxW2l2BZlS9OiSzX6KSgJ_OJfxFH1NPExoPvAzHs9jgSikwrWgSZs9FqSfIkOf4JRSjqmPnOjpggQIQLN30pVjFbT/s400/StartLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Yup - nothing but empty pavement before us…SWEEEEET!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
We killed time by dancing to the obnoxiously-loud music blaring from the speakers, as well as taking silly selfies:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70vIau3F5Eilkx9lwMRDSW83t3ueuDRdbzlOb-eDh-PXwry9is_hsopHZFNWTPPeJYMp9WBJ43ysURuSE22UHmXMcU6UU7DZ9XxVjaoJMtod5jlhmG2DJ29gyTdGMANXGJICUqyoZ7lmS/s1600/Selfies.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70vIau3F5Eilkx9lwMRDSW83t3ueuDRdbzlOb-eDh-PXwry9is_hsopHZFNWTPPeJYMp9WBJ43ysURuSE22UHmXMcU6UU7DZ9XxVjaoJMtod5jlhmG2DJ29gyTdGMANXGJICUqyoZ7lmS/s400/Selfies.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Before we knew it, it was 8:00 a.m. - we were OFF! <br />
<br />
<br />
The course basically wound around the parking lot at Arrowhead Stadium, and it didn't take us long to settle into a good, comfortable pace. Within the first quarter of a mile, we were greeted by a Drum Line, and because percussion along race courses is ALWAYS cool, I stopped to take a quick photo:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ofrFCoMkWKoFPR7_LDrbmHX3H7is8ffvMOod2IBmC9R2Ok-0ARx8VcphkrKcxtfO5W1VXhmQlNQeIg2PA6jjrWNQYhMFnlFdnnH0HoEe4vPwEvNAOvE1tMMTn6AQFjwu36Y4nG9u-PFv/s1600/DrumLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ofrFCoMkWKoFPR7_LDrbmHX3H7is8ffvMOod2IBmC9R2Ok-0ARx8VcphkrKcxtfO5W1VXhmQlNQeIg2PA6jjrWNQYhMFnlFdnnH0HoEe4vPwEvNAOvE1tMMTn6AQFjwu36Y4nG9u-PFv/s400/DrumLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Race directors take note…more drum, please. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
It was about here that I had a bit of a race snafu. <br />
<br />
I was wearing a neon orange hat - not so much to protect my hair from the colored dust - but to keep the rain off my sunglasses. There had been a bit of a 'spit' - or mist - that morning, and I hate nothing more than getting rain-soaked glasses. Gah. Well…remember that northerly breeze I mentioned earlier??? Every so often, that "breeze" turned into a major gust of wind (there was a cold front blowing in, apparently), and unfortunately, my hat became a victim. One minute it was there - and the next - it was gone.<br />
<br />
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! NOT MY HAT!!!!!! <br />
<br />
(I only have about a hundred hats, but still…)<br />
<br />
<br />
Daughter came to my rescue, and quickly retrieved my hat…she then even volunteered to wear it, tucking her pony tail through it so it wouldn't go sailing off in the distance again.<br />
<br />
My hero.<br />
<br />
And this will explain why you'll see the orange hat on MY head for some of the photos, and on DAUGHTER's head for others. Your eyes aren't playing tricks on you.<br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, we were approaching our first color station - ORANGE!!!! <br />
<br />
Daughter and I tentatively approached the line of volunteers on either side of us, and then screaming like banshees, we ran through, waving our arms in the air like fools, and laughed and giggled the entire way as we were getting bombarded with oodles and gazoodles of orange-colored cornstarch.<br />
<br />
Ahhh…good times. <br />
<br />
<br />
And I took NO pictures! Gah.<br />
<br />
Not to fear, though, because about a half-mile later, we were approaching our second color station, YELLOW!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7jdn-4m40AYk3A0KvkLwsmByyWKpRXzqyf_Uo2qoeMsWyv4RVDQVES_rEQU6bEy5-ZDS2Eoi2_cY-KA8hgLjovptjgWA1_6kC9NEKkN0rUwyc8yvwpuZB9AkfSiRT96DY5Yi3gi99LVq/s1600/Yellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7jdn-4m40AYk3A0KvkLwsmByyWKpRXzqyf_Uo2qoeMsWyv4RVDQVES_rEQU6bEy5-ZDS2Eoi2_cY-KA8hgLjovptjgWA1_6kC9NEKkN0rUwyc8yvwpuZB9AkfSiRT96DY5Yi3gi99LVq/s400/Yellow.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
We repeated the same process as before, running through and screaming, laughing and giggling like crazy, through a golden cloudy haze…<br />
<br />
<br />
And it was here that I realized something had to change. I was reluctant to take my phone out and take too many pictures - ESPECIALLY when we ran through the clouds - as I didn't want to potentially damage it. But…I was missing some good blog material here, darn it!!! Fortunately, it was about this time that Hubby appeared like magic on the sidelines, and he agreed to take over my phone and photography duty. From now on, Daughter and I had our own personal photographer to document our adventure.<br />
<br />
He got right to work in his new important role, taking a photo of us as we finished the Yellow station:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLfTzWzpvXvX5icE0igGQST181iXG9rGQUTwGJhZ1xu7ciEEgj5Zt9PcsDipJ9vTkcMJDugaPr_r2Bq8est6kbfyo7wCy_bNHa7cN7mDQ4DmnYgGcjUeb8RNn7oghAs8Dz8RnstUWcGH8/s1600/AfterTheYellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLfTzWzpvXvX5icE0igGQST181iXG9rGQUTwGJhZ1xu7ciEEgj5Zt9PcsDipJ9vTkcMJDugaPr_r2Bq8est6kbfyo7wCy_bNHa7cN7mDQ4DmnYgGcjUeb8RNn7oghAs8Dz8RnstUWcGH8/s400/AfterTheYellow.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
And another one:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAaZdZPhvurfiClwFtdUYgoybbZEqggdDUf50xLs_pJA3cpwC1gjZTy7nprYIVaOV50y90iUHrTOw9jWeqy8Zcm27IPVZCb9yjeRMx9V_Zq77oXUJ9y7-kjG65XbKinKpCG1skC8y1Kc0h/s1600/AnotherOne.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAaZdZPhvurfiClwFtdUYgoybbZEqggdDUf50xLs_pJA3cpwC1gjZTy7nprYIVaOV50y90iUHrTOw9jWeqy8Zcm27IPVZCb9yjeRMx9V_Zq77oXUJ9y7-kjG65XbKinKpCG1skC8y1Kc0h/s400/AnotherOne.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
After this brief break, Daughter and I hit it again, hurrying along until the next station, but not before grabbing some water at the (one) water station along the course. Soon, we were entering Smurf-land, aka BLUE!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNDuWb4OXC-PBxvyBb7GNkga-nnwsF-oyM3zWHBFOo8doIN6HlO8UhMtpdp0yWZqE6zJ8E8Uyal2E0-o_txioEbGj4oLV4rKQ7ImKsY6bkUCz8nvQUb_Pg2Aaf4FUSPi35Hb7AjOZOxeK/s1600/Blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNDuWb4OXC-PBxvyBb7GNkga-nnwsF-oyM3zWHBFOo8doIN6HlO8UhMtpdp0yWZqE6zJ8E8Uyal2E0-o_txioEbGj4oLV4rKQ7ImKsY6bkUCz8nvQUb_Pg2Aaf4FUSPi35Hb7AjOZOxeK/s400/Blue.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
By now, we'd perfected our strategy. I'd send Daughter a bit ahead, so we wouldn't "block" each other from the dust. And we would turn and spin our way through the dust cloud, so we'd get color both coming and going. We looked like drunken sailors, but it worked, as far as spreading the color to the front AND back of our shirts. We saw other folks start adopting this strategy as well, so we were knew we were on to something. <br />
<br />
<br />
Before we knew it, we were approaching the last color zone, PINK:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKuoX3zEuRDM5QI6vxuIOH5NwWVMOkV2K-_bGNu4Xj1wCWSes9-OCflkCgfZ8rsKzW0FCgkpPc3FmbxdQKjqOtwco4p7MxKhscFM_anTzpPFqlVwNpf9rq-SPjrgMbS62UahRlXzKq_W8/s1600/Pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKuoX3zEuRDM5QI6vxuIOH5NwWVMOkV2K-_bGNu4Xj1wCWSes9-OCflkCgfZ8rsKzW0FCgkpPc3FmbxdQKjqOtwco4p7MxKhscFM_anTzpPFqlVwNpf9rq-SPjrgMbS62UahRlXzKq_W8/s400/Pink.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I lost Daughter in this picture…she must have gotten a bit too far ahead.<br />
<br />
But that was short-lived, because before we knew it, we were approaching the Finish Line, and she insisted that we hold hands as we ran through it together:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjw039me44jJbN8LMDwMi-1bt6guaNy1PIOKAHh7U11ZEFaDNVYrllxnDI8JLs_mrWadw_TV3H7eUY3nlq768U5tHwWlBMoYIsKWzhwQgTDHzQ48QmKhDkrd0fsrtSnKUnLLLIqCMqnBb/s1600/FL1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKjw039me44jJbN8LMDwMi-1bt6guaNy1PIOKAHh7U11ZEFaDNVYrllxnDI8JLs_mrWadw_TV3H7eUY3nlq768U5tHwWlBMoYIsKWzhwQgTDHzQ48QmKhDkrd0fsrtSnKUnLLLIqCMqnBb/s400/FL1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRUHHPq-92rjXzMJyY3eH99lJ7NPbz6j1UXPe02n3fICA2Lt_JFQYDpZqgx19Y3iDCyoaBAAG9xOPODIaUKrDoIp0hadPVdKbVVp6ugpcvJ2VzFGNclQs3mLGSsNQ4DT_wuZ7Vi9m75_1/s1600/FL2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRUHHPq-92rjXzMJyY3eH99lJ7NPbz6j1UXPe02n3fICA2Lt_JFQYDpZqgx19Y3iDCyoaBAAG9xOPODIaUKrDoIp0hadPVdKbVVp6ugpcvJ2VzFGNclQs3mLGSsNQ4DT_wuZ7Vi9m75_1/s400/FL2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Did you catch that?<br />
<br />
I'll repeat it.<br />
<br />
She INSISTED THAT WE HOLD HANDS. <br />
<br />
Be still, my heart. <br />
<br />
<br />
After finishing, you get handed a cool medal and some color packets & glitter. We then made our way down to the stage area in the parking lot for the After Party, and here's where the REAL fun is.<br />
<br />
See, we were a bit "colored" up - but not too bad. <br />
<br />
That was about to change.<br />
<br />
After hundreds of runners gathered near the stage, the deejay did a countdown - and then everyone threw their colored dust, from their color packets, up in the air - and when the cloud cleared, we. were. covered.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaT8AeWNmaPwkaC6I8x2As3QRKrdIgoF9tLGND0PCye-CmA9d16TORzZNmpjht9oHqFwFROuzpc5mN3H4iTqAJOyCzVHtSzhN7vTOqK9inNzWCXkB2MnF-WUU2FAgNy6C_OKFYJcNbgp_/s1600/Cloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaT8AeWNmaPwkaC6I8x2As3QRKrdIgoF9tLGND0PCye-CmA9d16TORzZNmpjht9oHqFwFROuzpc5mN3H4iTqAJOyCzVHtSzhN7vTOqK9inNzWCXkB2MnF-WUU2FAgNy6C_OKFYJcNbgp_/s400/Cloud.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfms8b7Op8jfIryNDgSFBNp-wOZvIMWAX7GsEa_-7imXhW13RZw-0L1A0XoxyUVhQeVkMrokAydNT77NMd3x4Fh1rMTSEQjxcVx01m8yXX_RLnxuWzK9TDnMwUSukfKWy8HDjurSXeQBHD/s1600/Covered.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfms8b7Op8jfIryNDgSFBNp-wOZvIMWAX7GsEa_-7imXhW13RZw-0L1A0XoxyUVhQeVkMrokAydNT77NMd3x4Fh1rMTSEQjxcVx01m8yXX_RLnxuWzK9TDnMwUSukfKWy8HDjurSXeQBHD/s400/Covered.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Of course, Daughter decided to dip into her colored packet before the "official" drop, and decorate my face and neck a little with her pink powder. I looked like a clown.<br />
<br />
So, I retaliated with a bit of my yellow powder on HER face.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7FwU9JWw_grz-pdoWcov_eoAN8WJ6-a1ZoZSCWuToc9MZyUgnsM4SvWmef8t_6p3-HN6WYbXrD6mv298813pzR80s6-vAyHmTMAQ8YaajZW9CP4H6kc2ryZfjrlKamGNY_s_KK8Lj4z-L/s1600/Daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7FwU9JWw_grz-pdoWcov_eoAN8WJ6-a1ZoZSCWuToc9MZyUgnsM4SvWmef8t_6p3-HN6WYbXrD6mv298813pzR80s6-vAyHmTMAQ8YaajZW9CP4H6kc2ryZfjrlKamGNY_s_KK8Lj4z-L/s400/Daughter.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
We had powder EVERYWHERE. On the front of our legs. On the back of our legs. In our ears. In our mouths. And even up my nose, which made blowing my nose very interesting later that day.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR2mnlrBFhb2HPPRcDv5-te-b-FqC6nJ-nKrYiHoKxkTE75KgTORyOO7RbruHCPAGnRwr1NWPqpXBW0AMlOtxmXabH-tLDXlhqfPV0UsO2qBDpyfP7aW45C57Rg9DJuSxg0WzIf6qHDUi/s1600/Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR2mnlrBFhb2HPPRcDv5-te-b-FqC6nJ-nKrYiHoKxkTE75KgTORyOO7RbruHCPAGnRwr1NWPqpXBW0AMlOtxmXabH-tLDXlhqfPV0UsO2qBDpyfP7aW45C57Rg9DJuSxg0WzIf6qHDUi/s400/Back.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBv5dt6QiGmuyu66UbcpQJHbpBLJn9q2I4wxU43PPHdfUMCd1olo8gi5jBTopQZaFCCmRkiBCycFBn8hK3zxRdnXbzl8s0hRFEPXSbgt5Ydemr21rLgtj6kZyvnjZTzTxns8QUHPOIWRL/s1600/Front.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBv5dt6QiGmuyu66UbcpQJHbpBLJn9q2I4wxU43PPHdfUMCd1olo8gi5jBTopQZaFCCmRkiBCycFBn8hK3zxRdnXbzl8s0hRFEPXSbgt5Ydemr21rLgtj6kZyvnjZTzTxns8QUHPOIWRL/s400/Front.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, we decided to head home…fortunately, Hubby had spread some old beach towels on the seats in the car, so we didn't totally colorize the upholstery. <br />
<br />
When we got home, we spent a few minutes taking some more photos to document our experience:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxk8i72i3Q9Zh2ZvFIIPuBqSVxV-QAvHBOqP6oyDpkHRVdbS0DYeunVoTDpIJ2RqG2YMzN9kLJlhET0hSqH0lH27aUSbfxjiEVAcOVoIOKiq58V_Dk7rbI2GzIB1yzSZamUZDYfz06t4s/s1600/cr1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxk8i72i3Q9Zh2ZvFIIPuBqSVxV-QAvHBOqP6oyDpkHRVdbS0DYeunVoTDpIJ2RqG2YMzN9kLJlhET0hSqH0lH27aUSbfxjiEVAcOVoIOKiq58V_Dk7rbI2GzIB1yzSZamUZDYfz06t4s/s400/cr1.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJRSOxscvoVcDx0pHyX7E_TesrvDUOcsHYWo_xc_w4tzaTaJRYAZt0Xo-bRYEpUsaSdJuZDEI7nvFoO-QuW-Z2ZHki5SqcvhAbvFrIU6z8aKC1TkuHAGCeUoScHWFWmc0VnCVXRgroGwHN/s1600/cr2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJRSOxscvoVcDx0pHyX7E_TesrvDUOcsHYWo_xc_w4tzaTaJRYAZt0Xo-bRYEpUsaSdJuZDEI7nvFoO-QuW-Z2ZHki5SqcvhAbvFrIU6z8aKC1TkuHAGCeUoScHWFWmc0VnCVXRgroGwHN/s400/cr2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I'm thinking, that no matter how cool she tries to be, or nonchalant, that she had some fun today. Call it Mother's Intuition…but she definitely had fun.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, we turned the leaf blower on Daughter to blow off some of the dust. Seriously.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKCSmwYiRGx6TshRA3Tur6_XdJ-geD8DtegV2wSdVhHOwoJtogtDtnuxOPuy-AGFvg0X-TimxWMdKxblttLunrqHoHpDYAxlcCysOnODn23_WZKdAreCJ_2FINlVAh5xQTNuVqKDAH6PG/s1600/LeafBlower.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKCSmwYiRGx6TshRA3Tur6_XdJ-geD8DtegV2wSdVhHOwoJtogtDtnuxOPuy-AGFvg0X-TimxWMdKxblttLunrqHoHpDYAxlcCysOnODn23_WZKdAreCJ_2FINlVAh5xQTNuVqKDAH6PG/s320/LeafBlower.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Bring it on.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
I'm sure our neighbors thought we were crazy, but what else is new??<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>OUR TIPS FOR A HAPPY & HASSLE-FREE COLOR RUN:<br />
</b><br />
1. Wear sunglasses (to protect your eyes from the dust).<br />
2. Wear old tennis shoes.<br />
3. Everything washes out fine in the laundry - so don't worry about stains.<br />
4. Bring old towels to sit on in the car for the way home.<br />
5. Everything washed out fine as far as our hair goes, too. No issues.<br />
6. Try to get in one of the earlier waves if you can - less crowded!<br />
7. Go with an open mind and good attitude. <br />
8. HAVE FUN!!!! <br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, one last pic - check out the swag! Besides a t-shirt (which is amazingly soft, by the way), you get a headband, tattoos, and a medal!!! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoPhVndW5mPc674lYZSrBMHAHVz2FbUHSIFIIkvTjjIQa0uaDYzZVyRR00f1lF9rmVaaNI22bVbhiQ-72zxc_3SRgpgoQb_B1pFuOVMoAFPxhGOa3Usa5RsYfy3pLR0VRyD1zi2HFiZfx/s1600/2ColorRunSwag.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhoPhVndW5mPc674lYZSrBMHAHVz2FbUHSIFIIkvTjjIQa0uaDYzZVyRR00f1lF9rmVaaNI22bVbhiQ-72zxc_3SRgpgoQb_B1pFuOVMoAFPxhGOa3Usa5RsYfy3pLR0VRyD1zi2HFiZfx/s400/2ColorRunSwag.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
It's funny, because on the way to the race, I was telling Hubby that this would probably be a "one and done" race for me…but now, looking back, I would do this race again in a heartbeat!<br />
<br />
Besides the fun that the Color Run promises, I wouldn't trade the memories I made with my Daughter for ANYTHING. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-54460783159888126892015-05-23T20:44:00.000-05:002015-05-23T20:44:33.196-05:00Kansas City Chiefs Arrowhead 5k: Recap<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhubCKgoVYOKY3_RaXfZmY_BPIhYbegnwNsKTXcMvlc22nIwXoeTYn02mXmhI-93_0szrYn8NbPjS3Rvp-um_UgWBRuxYhxw8BBsYw1zEqDjv0_F054Z-lFMDukUJCZKLzcyfQX-klHw0/s1600/Arrowhead5K-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhubCKgoVYOKY3_RaXfZmY_BPIhYbegnwNsKTXcMvlc22nIwXoeTYn02mXmhI-93_0szrYn8NbPjS3Rvp-um_UgWBRuxYhxw8BBsYw1zEqDjv0_F054Z-lFMDukUJCZKLzcyfQX-klHw0/s400/Arrowhead5K-01.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
They what???<br />
<br />
<br />
They changed the course???!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt6RBQJPAJL6rLTbtHPAnuabnLKzdFQAqF8uiaSEl932DCQMuJnrBciR3-FmO6sWHCxlnyUtVJd3uOa2ylPc2HNWG4EzXiomcSAcT31q9SCAwEplCZbLWPonuDLQ_QBBH40srA3eamvN9V/s1600/Shocked.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt6RBQJPAJL6rLTbtHPAnuabnLKzdFQAqF8uiaSEl932DCQMuJnrBciR3-FmO6sWHCxlnyUtVJd3uOa2ylPc2HNWG4EzXiomcSAcT31q9SCAwEplCZbLWPonuDLQ_QBBH40srA3eamvN9V/s400/Shocked.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Say it ain't so!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
This would be my second year of running the 3rd Annual <a href="http://www.kcchiefs.com/community/Chiefs5K.html">Kansas City Chiefs Arrowhead 5k</a>, and I was NOT HAPPY when I heard they'd made a "slight" course change this year….<br />
<br />
As in, we'd no longer be able to run into and finish on the 50-yard line at Arrowhead Stadium, all the while seeing ourselves up on the giant Jumbotron screen.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZpn0gVlV9pHsHYrAb9fyRKivNW6mc8dlNTuKfXc3e3U-q2D34aDeQnZFwlBQFtE_Z1BNOrpLgD9wx25-EPF_Yp3Bde_29tDJcubJPWViZFCi_K0l0VtNNpnAERTCNrVNY1ZUOGohfptn/s1600/JumboTron.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZpn0gVlV9pHsHYrAb9fyRKivNW6mc8dlNTuKfXc3e3U-q2D34aDeQnZFwlBQFtE_Z1BNOrpLgD9wx25-EPF_Yp3Bde_29tDJcubJPWViZFCi_K0l0VtNNpnAERTCNrVNY1ZUOGohfptn/s400/JumboTron.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>What? I don't get to see me up on THAT?? <br />
</i><br />
<br />
Booooooooo.<br />
<br />
Bad form, Chiefs. <br />
<br />
<br />
Still, though, I was (somewhat) looking forward to this 5k on Saturday, May 23rd. Last year's medal was pretty freakin' awesome, and I figured I could run through a garbage dump for a medal as cool as last year's:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5fUf6SM0XCGSv4qdjd9ruP3nnrPSA3CA9lAw8fdyWn3SBpcKsTBE5-ekKD08EDpMhHOW_YCwF7BcqybmMWDhAsD5xyXj10Nb5ZPbxg3T9cGfW1QtURmwdYVuW128y2AnhHDj8C6nCnZh/s1600/2014Medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5fUf6SM0XCGSv4qdjd9ruP3nnrPSA3CA9lAw8fdyWn3SBpcKsTBE5-ekKD08EDpMhHOW_YCwF7BcqybmMWDhAsD5xyXj10Nb5ZPbxg3T9cGfW1QtURmwdYVuW128y2AnhHDj8C6nCnZh/s400/2014Medal.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>One of my favorite medals, like, EVAH! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Speaking of last year…at some point along last year's race, I hurt my foot…to the point that afterwards, I was wearing a boot for two weeks, as I was pretty much crippled. The funny thing is, I have NO IDEA to this day what I did to hurt it….Did I roll it? Did I sprain it? Did I twist it?<br />
<br />
I have no clue. Weird.<br />
<br />
But, as Hubby would be the first to tell you, it's not unusual that I can hurt myself and have NO IDEA later what I did to bring on said injury. Seriously, I could lose an arm one day, and someone could ask, "Hey - you lost your arm! What did you do?" And I'd be like, "Huh. You're right. Wow. I have NO IDEA how that happened. Weird."<br />
<br />
What can I say? It's a gift.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anywho, I was a little leery about running this again…what with the change of course, and mysterious foot injuries that could hamper all of my training efforts…but hey. It's a medal. <br />
<br />
I'm in.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaixEskMp8CnpFQlWgL2Vhlp6TS7ppghP-h4aeCbBKWEys7bxHL8n456NRzRBCjnePn_tpFLqkOHXsthNr7dh36EvXPiQ2QQGWKaKSihCmW6A0LTNHsAsvEVvfm6LJXtaPenyHymCCgIHO/s1600/Squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaixEskMp8CnpFQlWgL2Vhlp6TS7ppghP-h4aeCbBKWEys7bxHL8n456NRzRBCjnePn_tpFLqkOHXsthNr7dh36EvXPiQ2QQGWKaKSihCmW6A0LTNHsAsvEVvfm6LJXtaPenyHymCCgIHO/s400/Squirrel.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Normally, our "tradition" is to send Hubby out on a Hunting and Gathering mission before every race to pick up race packets on the Friday before…but because I was a bumbling idiot and didn't read the race instructions carefully, I didn't realize that packet pick-up was ONLY available on Thursday…and/or Saturday morning, race day. This is because packet pick-up was being held at Arrowhead Stadium, which is right next door to our major league baseball stadium, Kauffman Stadium. (Yeah, Kansas City's cool like that…we call it the Stadium COMPLEX because we have two side-by-side stadiums for our football and baseball teams.) Anyway, our MLB team, Kansas City Royals, were playing the St. Louis Cardinals on Friday night - to a sell-out crowd - so there's NO WAY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH that they were going to let anyone come in on Friday to pick up packets.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize this until I sent Hubby out there on Friday to pick up the packets.<br />
<br />
Oopsies.<br />
<br />
<br />
So…needless to say…we didn't get our bibs ahead of time. <br />
<br />
<br />
Our plan was to get up at 6:00 am, get dressed, leave the house at 6:30 a.m., and be at Arrowhead Stadium at 7:00 a.m. This would let us accomplish several things:<br />
<br />
1. Get a good parking spot.<br />
2. Pick up our bibs before the line started.<br />
3. Hit the port-a-potties before the line started.<br />
4. Run a 2-mile warm-up before the race. <br />
5. Socialize with friends. Duh.<br />
<br />
<br />
And, of course, because I have this amazing ability to NEVER, EVER sleep the night before a race, I dozed off after 12:30 a.m. and was wide awake a mere 5 hours later, at the God-awful hour of 5:30 a.m.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsVvpoIcDpVAq_fZfwayqjAzYGz-1gZIU_fOwGSwyZ2sYDlxxgnWFtZ3xkw7P7-MLjELshNMlnFcFA__5oVOsO1MqHYnOq1BHDyYheEFdkVX2osy16FZWpaDuPVsrso55emnzIL3JSwkC/s1600/Can%2527tSleep.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsVvpoIcDpVAq_fZfwayqjAzYGz-1gZIU_fOwGSwyZ2sYDlxxgnWFtZ3xkw7P7-MLjELshNMlnFcFA__5oVOsO1MqHYnOq1BHDyYheEFdkVX2osy16FZWpaDuPVsrso55emnzIL3JSwkC/s400/Can%2527tSleep.png" /></a><br />
<br />
Everything went according to plan…donning our bright red Chiefs running clothes, Hubby and I were on the road and enjoying the no-traffic, no-obstacles drive to Arrowhead. We got there early enough to have front-row parking, and walked up to the packet pick-up tent with nary a person in front of us. <br />
<br />
Cool. Cool. Cool.<br />
<br />
Heading back to the car, we sat inside for a few minutes, donning our bibs and waiting for a very brief and light shower to roll on overhead. Fortunately, the sprinkles moved on and out, and we were able to take advantage of the overcast skies to start our warm-up without dying of heat. So far, everything was going very well, according to our best laid plans. I was still leery of the course change, but I was willing to go in with an open mind. <br />
<br />
Besides…did I mention?? This "race" was not being timed.<br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
No chip.<br />
<br />
Nada.<br />
<br />
It was to be FOR FUN.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFfxAeV74WdQbKvQCYzUQP8zQgXmzvfVxgVARJUJ2iQdrUj21PK1DR9HwWozkYUId4fg90zsMT9R5P9FfZogpufnaInMoFowCjZ8kTNPE5wcskT-PuOBe2tcKquL79MsKOlh6TJ_Q3mRb/s1600/Huh.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFfxAeV74WdQbKvQCYzUQP8zQgXmzvfVxgVARJUJ2iQdrUj21PK1DR9HwWozkYUId4fg90zsMT9R5P9FfZogpufnaInMoFowCjZ8kTNPE5wcskT-PuOBe2tcKquL79MsKOlh6TJ_Q3mRb/s400/Huh.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>I know. I was confused, too. We aren't being TIMED??!! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
Hubby and I then ran two miles around the stadium BEFORE the race started, because we're weird like that. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz39ZJGGvvaWmvPTTsk0kPGfERYSWftz9jC77Og8_neVjv_Hg_tYR79FvYZ-T22gQUR0Z-MR_CKZQO5P6tzcGVF5wq_n2dfYRh_VM1W99igZdf-iaGMtA9_tepEE8uVB8wcgXhlcr-M7O1/s1600/PreRace.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz39ZJGGvvaWmvPTTsk0kPGfERYSWftz9jC77Og8_neVjv_Hg_tYR79FvYZ-T22gQUR0Z-MR_CKZQO5P6tzcGVF5wq_n2dfYRh_VM1W99igZdf-iaGMtA9_tepEE8uVB8wcgXhlcr-M7O1/s400/PreRace.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Pre-race warm-up…running around the stadium...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
After our warm-up run, it was time to start socializing…because, really, that's what running is all about. <br />
<br />
The friendships and the camaraderie.<br />
<br />
I needed to talk to someone, and I needed to talk to someone, NOW.<br />
<br />
<br />
I headed over to say hi to my friend, Philip. He wasn't running this one, but was proudly carrying the flag and supporting Team RWB. Philip works up at my local running store, and has been a huge help when I go in looking for various goodies to help me with my racing. He had sold me my black compression socks, which I was proudly wearing today, so I had to go show them off.<br />
<br />
Philip's going to think that I didn't get his photo, but actually, I did. Check this out:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcV_BI514zHu_D1RbG54zP0aVMKop-remhHsfPGNyhEO8Sd5NFuvna8PcjE5u5kxUwzV4QmIn61WI65jnXhP1fZFcGZrG_WCbal9EmlfNM3IdRQnaF_IYR9_QrWBfXsaF2Iudsq0FhHK8/s1600/Phil.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcV_BI514zHu_D1RbG54zP0aVMKop-remhHsfPGNyhEO8Sd5NFuvna8PcjE5u5kxUwzV4QmIn61WI65jnXhP1fZFcGZrG_WCbal9EmlfNM3IdRQnaF_IYR9_QrWBfXsaF2Iudsq0FhHK8/s400/Phil.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>There you go, Philip. Don't ever say that you haven't been featured in my blog. You're welcome.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Leaving Philip, I ran into Derek Mitchell…and if you don't know Derek's story, you need to check out his Facebook page, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/derekmitchellstory?fref=ts"><b>HERE</b></a>. Derek is a local Kansas City guy who is on a journey to lose weight…and he's doing it by running a 5k race every month…. His story is amazing, and has been picked up all over the world, as he's an incredible inspiration. Check out this article in People Magazine featuring <a href="http://www.people.com/article/577-lb-man-completes-5k-month">Derek</a>. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdZSwn5L2vo7ILJQfhpq73aKHZxAGTlDl6pUSnU-yeUqm1e6igOSIdMt5wAIGR9haOvdxSH_q3UmT7i9cCBkNXhpKzGrCvYSHTtMBOzPAEvjGgVDdL6kp6EROS_GLiW0U8mG_AOekDCVa/s1600/Derrick.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdZSwn5L2vo7ILJQfhpq73aKHZxAGTlDl6pUSnU-yeUqm1e6igOSIdMt5wAIGR9haOvdxSH_q3UmT7i9cCBkNXhpKzGrCvYSHTtMBOzPAEvjGgVDdL6kp6EROS_GLiW0U8mG_AOekDCVa/s400/Derrick.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
He's also an incredibly nice guy, and I wanted to say hi and give him some support. <br />
<br />
<br />
At this point, I was on a mission to find another friend, Janae…she's someone I will run into at various races, and I knew she was supposed to be here - somewhere - along with her entire family. I turned around to find her, and incredibly, bumped into her at that very moment:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEind_lWqAeEWhsoekcjQbMI-37i9ScGPX12Gl1cEvwJ0DuH6YM-wLSlR-yii3IeAKCbyoFW9l10wlZS_k3VMAwfvWBgkVLS0JtH7K-1dhrFWx9fzpJXZCnUeI0kz73d4oel74xtk4J-WtyN/s1600/Janae.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEind_lWqAeEWhsoekcjQbMI-37i9ScGPX12Gl1cEvwJ0DuH6YM-wLSlR-yii3IeAKCbyoFW9l10wlZS_k3VMAwfvWBgkVLS0JtH7K-1dhrFWx9fzpJXZCnUeI0kz73d4oel74xtk4J-WtyN/s400/Janae.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
That was oddly weird, and yet oddly convenient!<br />
<br />
<br />
And of course, I had one more "friend" to check in with…the Kansas City Chief's mascot, KC Wolf. "Wolfie" has been our mascot since 1989, and was named after the "Wolfpack", a boisterous group of fans who used to frequent Chiefs games.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96HpxilVcWIUc4zQvbPz21OXVblThmd6QsiXktjWXAvjm-KuS-RqeI6Pn7qnBfnkr9RCCRdxkd2vrQx9lmdr9fllIsv2Q-5mjcTE1KfoxH3IWmRRL1Sei7lbHPUmVKMn-DvNukFe7aT_3/s1600/KCWolf.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96HpxilVcWIUc4zQvbPz21OXVblThmd6QsiXktjWXAvjm-KuS-RqeI6Pn7qnBfnkr9RCCRdxkd2vrQx9lmdr9fllIsv2Q-5mjcTE1KfoxH3IWmRRL1Sei7lbHPUmVKMn-DvNukFe7aT_3/s400/KCWolf.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Is it just me…??? Or does Wolfie look more like a giant raccoon than a wolf???!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Soon, it was time to get into the corrals, and here's where Hubby and I separated, as he went up to run with the speedy Kenyans, while I headed to the back with the Turtles. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgadWZj4FkYn2BiFr0fKawqd6XZ9rBKBACQnsoxlP2aSmRqcYZLxUxcXe_2pHSRYYH92BM4Jw8v8X5KwS_VOVvkpzXi0Gy8U8SlOrOpHYnC83qcmnG8gJmmR9m2FO4QkcgQBzOGq32EWH/s1600/Corrals.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgadWZj4FkYn2BiFr0fKawqd6XZ9rBKBACQnsoxlP2aSmRqcYZLxUxcXe_2pHSRYYH92BM4Jw8v8X5KwS_VOVvkpzXi0Gy8U8SlOrOpHYnC83qcmnG8gJmmR9m2FO4QkcgQBzOGq32EWH/s400/Corrals.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>The corrals before the invasion of the masses...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Last year, Hubby insisted that I line up with him and his fellow Kenyans for this race, and so I found myself at the very FRONT of the Start Line as the gun sounded.<br />
<br />
Huge mistake. <br />
<br />
HUGE.<br />
<br />
This was the very last time that I ever, EVER, listened to Hubby and his hare-brained ideas while racing.<br />
<br />
Imagine being a turtle when 1,000 rabbits are breathing and running down your neck…it was awful. I seriously thought I was going to be trampled, TO DEATH, by men (and kids, for that matter), who were treating this "family-friendly" race like they were being chased by man-eating Zombies. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlN6H2BSkk6ySUEnKcAtLbsOY26ndtaIB9LA146eZzOT9YimV1g0e_OlvOeU56aOOA-JswWNYfxVBwPl6ae5X_cqKahiUYuzfySLTaVzOP0G2JhQ17VF4wM9lCuIt3C__OqvSbKJiNBt7/s1600/Turtle.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlN6H2BSkk6ySUEnKcAtLbsOY26ndtaIB9LA146eZzOT9YimV1g0e_OlvOeU56aOOA-JswWNYfxVBwPl6ae5X_cqKahiUYuzfySLTaVzOP0G2JhQ17VF4wM9lCuIt3C__OqvSbKJiNBt7/s400/Turtle.png" /></a><br />
Source <a href="http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/244/1/6/_run_for_your_life__by_yoshiman1118-d2xti9b.png">HERE</a><br />
<br />
I ran like my life depended on it (maybe it did…so that I wouldn't be SQUISHED!!!), and perhaps, just perhaps, that's when I hurt my foot.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lb1HNXXh03uLxcxbOo1NXU9jHj46ElODqzkClYj3V7dbRJ8Dgj0F7VY0LmICu6hVgIp3k6v12T89sRH2BDOXzhIOf8ysl3BGsvODSSFi3NBv6IedOfvElBqVVXRIHVbiWxtB6OuBfiis/s1600/Forgiveness.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lb1HNXXh03uLxcxbOo1NXU9jHj46ElODqzkClYj3V7dbRJ8Dgj0F7VY0LmICu6hVgIp3k6v12T89sRH2BDOXzhIOf8ysl3BGsvODSSFi3NBv6IedOfvElBqVVXRIHVbiWxtB6OuBfiis/s400/Forgiveness.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Yeah, no. I'll never forgive him for this.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
While waiting, I start chatting with the guy next to me, and as we're talking, he mentions that he'd been doing some hill workouts SPECIFICALLY for this race, as he's worried about running up the ramps.<br />
<br />
Wait, what?<br />
<br />
Ramps?<br />
<br />
There's ramps???<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtThLZqDi8mvmmnuBikn6cDXsl0Azv2VJgPFx-hNs-MlnD8IKmF_AQIAT_YkU-lxlzho6DlV_3S7GxM31yIj8engG4AFjZ-bczuNvMAOcGiqvgStszxdgSTpOypznIxT7i6DmEyDlrEXM/s1600/Ramps.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtThLZqDi8mvmmnuBikn6cDXsl0Azv2VJgPFx-hNs-MlnD8IKmF_AQIAT_YkU-lxlzho6DlV_3S7GxM31yIj8engG4AFjZ-bczuNvMAOcGiqvgStszxdgSTpOypznIxT7i6DmEyDlrEXM/s400/Ramps.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Dang, I KNEW I should have studied the course map before this morning. Too late now.<br />
<br />
Without any further ado, the National Anthem was played, and we were off.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIZu4SpcDjDzMSm2qdXmjXexGRPpPeFlMh1PrJo_begRJyh4Cj0OZIbqmSRilSq3elo8rVox6Etic3ZkAQIOlgJY7EUvY0KVK4fELqr5426HMvEBpivthGRGRDusK2bSuQNRiOoRMjpZX/s1600/CourseMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIZu4SpcDjDzMSm2qdXmjXexGRPpPeFlMh1PrJo_begRJyh4Cj0OZIbqmSRilSq3elo8rVox6Etic3ZkAQIOlgJY7EUvY0KVK4fELqr5426HMvEBpivthGRGRDusK2bSuQNRiOoRMjpZX/s400/CourseMap.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>2015 Course Map<br />
</i><br />
<br />
This year, they had walkers and strollers start the race behind all of the runners, which was AWESOME. I was able to get out pretty quickly, and not get hemmed in by folks who are even slower than me. Because we were running (initially) around the parking lot, the lanes were wide, and there was no danger of getting trapped in. Not to mention, the first 1.5-miles were pretty much downhill…which was giving me some pretty good speedage under my belt.<br />
<br />
And yes. I know that technically, "speedage" is not a word. But you get my drift. My blog. My rules. <br />
<br />
Last year, we pretty much ran the first 3 miles completely in the parking lot, with only the last tenth of a mile going into the stadium. This year, we'd ran about 1.5-miles in the parking lot, when suddenly…I saw THIS up ahead:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA748zCxXl4C_kC1CnZ4NmR-PY-zYOCm2hZghV0Y2KZTKXvffGeZEh9zM4eM07BgpUpv3iH_mrlrteJoW9GBSjxnlv9k_dD6crY9A5UR-xhyONVcxgQ5bFB7vWv4q5ii4mTtpAieztM-Zl/s1600/Tunnels.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA748zCxXl4C_kC1CnZ4NmR-PY-zYOCm2hZghV0Y2KZTKXvffGeZEh9zM4eM07BgpUpv3iH_mrlrteJoW9GBSjxnlv9k_dD6crY9A5UR-xhyONVcxgQ5bFB7vWv4q5ii4mTtpAieztM-Zl/s400/Tunnels.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
A tunnel???!!!!!<br />
<br />
AWESOMESAUCE!!!!<br />
<br />
It's the little things in life that make runners happy.<br />
<br />
A simple change of scenery…from a boring, asphalt parking lot…to a dark and spooky TUNNEL???!!! <br />
<br />
And seriously…I kid you not…this is a photo that I took inside the tunnel:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7sc9o-LcMBaXNRQG57yc2kzbzaYTJrd6Qy7rO8dRAVP6ou28MgYJiIz1YmG23WEAhhgP4_dvDywDHZ-Fo12owtiGD7ShBa2C25lwzPUmlJT7-fS2I62h3-NOSKjBbMJT17lN2kyG61vSu/s1600/DarkTunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7sc9o-LcMBaXNRQG57yc2kzbzaYTJrd6Qy7rO8dRAVP6ou28MgYJiIz1YmG23WEAhhgP4_dvDywDHZ-Fo12owtiGD7ShBa2C25lwzPUmlJT7-fS2I62h3-NOSKjBbMJT17lN2kyG61vSu/s400/DarkTunnel.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
And no, it wasn't that dark in there…but somehow my camera took a photo of how I PERCEIVED the tunnel to be.<br />
<br />
How cool is THAT??!!<br />
<br />
<br />
My giddiness over the tunnel, though, was short-lived. We exited the tunnel to find ourselves confronted with…<br />
<br />
…the ramps.<br />
<br />
Gah.<br />
<br />
Arrowhead Stadium has these unique, spiral ramps on each of the four corners, and we were now experiencing the "joy" of running up one of these…around and around and around, up and up and up, for four stories…<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHpltsjI2q46Tp511LRy2Tj47XpL6cOkVuDLmvzr0Ye66zvhNFT4ZMbubx_jH-ZcnjujG1r1DAZAisCVhnirbyVWBFu6w5Jy7lNPMps4Od0S6IeysgRVfyEwpGenBMH9aLOWRoj_4AM-U/s1600/UpRamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHpltsjI2q46Tp511LRy2Tj47XpL6cOkVuDLmvzr0Ye66zvhNFT4ZMbubx_jH-ZcnjujG1r1DAZAisCVhnirbyVWBFu6w5Jy7lNPMps4Od0S6IeysgRVfyEwpGenBMH9aLOWRoj_4AM-U/s400/UpRamp.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Nothing to do but go at it, as hard and as fast as I could, and just when I thought I was going to puke, we'd reached the top. Running through the interior of the stadium, we went through this one area that was bathed in red:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAa6IXjLu2PkuBno4kvH0cm_JQEDFemXc6viE4wJG4VdW7tmd4v7DBU84QK1TysKEbl4zbgoD5jlZHjkBUB98AKW7YfPtL6Pp3zJHcFiPYV_Vw4dKd3Mugt3ZPYkj9pIms_uJeoD9GIdTz/s1600/RedLight.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAa6IXjLu2PkuBno4kvH0cm_JQEDFemXc6viE4wJG4VdW7tmd4v7DBU84QK1TysKEbl4zbgoD5jlZHjkBUB98AKW7YfPtL6Pp3zJHcFiPYV_Vw4dKd3Mugt3ZPYkj9pIms_uJeoD9GIdTz/s400/RedLight.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Again…another burst of giddiness, as this was so different than the "normal" 5k experience…<br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, we were running DOWN the corkscrew ramp…which was REALLY awesome, as it was all I could do to not fall flat on my face, as I dizzily spun in circles to the bottom:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIF4aqLL9f95pYYwChQ3bFg_mBk9dNvEJZNN0Vdg5kqdTLCDgj5bVwbtvLoGVWg3aFUs7aDGaQ51M2uV7lmbsjo6jMoPsfURSExdrWb6VR1rt2OHqDZwrYGPrFZt-0taHE4Qg67omPniW/s1600/DownRamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIF4aqLL9f95pYYwChQ3bFg_mBk9dNvEJZNN0Vdg5kqdTLCDgj5bVwbtvLoGVWg3aFUs7aDGaQ51M2uV7lmbsjo6jMoPsfURSExdrWb6VR1rt2OHqDZwrYGPrFZt-0taHE4Qg67omPniW/s400/DownRamp.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
This took us back out to the parking lot, but a short bit later, we were running into the Chief's practice facility, and crossing the finish line. <br />
<br />
Remember my friend, Phil? He took this very impressionistic, very Monet-like photo of me crossing the finish line:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMOQ4IwR_QNbI4HBpPooQuqEBYim6WkifRS8Kg37lGfhyphenhyphenB0G0-kokPjVzKRcQQqKdG7Uaz8CKoxZJbJagu0hkpjAl-OjdLN_ScdPXCX4Qq-LfgkLLMkM1Fhu19BkwHHs-MaCJnz9SD0Aj/s1600/FinishLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMOQ4IwR_QNbI4HBpPooQuqEBYim6WkifRS8Kg37lGfhyphenhyphenB0G0-kokPjVzKRcQQqKdG7Uaz8CKoxZJbJagu0hkpjAl-OjdLN_ScdPXCX4Qq-LfgkLLMkM1Fhu19BkwHHs-MaCJnz9SD0Aj/s400/FinishLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I think it's blurry because I kicked it up, as fast as I could, as I ran through the finish line…and I think it's highly suspicious that my black compression sock…which just so happened to be sold to me by the guy taking this photo - is the ONLY thing clear and highlighted in this photo.<br />
<br />
Coincidence? <br />
<br />
Hmmm…<br />
<br />
<br />
I finished this race in my fastest time yet, an amazing 29 minutes…(I know, not official - but that's what Garmin watches are for!). After gathering my banana and my bling, Hubby and I headed to the car to head home.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXxwwPtP20T9q1eVsKNpVP_z3o_iWozy3gbtS-HGM3jVOquLc5pRC8PF-eXMmSzzCqRm-DpZVv9fvmqwPxJ8618trI6oClzJq6eD-AEbaqMS6I_JczeWDN4evHF8Hplt0xkRquIewisNh/s1600/Bling.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXxwwPtP20T9q1eVsKNpVP_z3o_iWozy3gbtS-HGM3jVOquLc5pRC8PF-eXMmSzzCqRm-DpZVv9fvmqwPxJ8618trI6oClzJq6eD-AEbaqMS6I_JczeWDN4evHF8Hplt0xkRquIewisNh/s400/Bling.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>What I Liked About This Race:</b><br />
<br />
1. The course. I was worried that by removing the "Finish on the 50" aspect of the race, that we'd be faced with a boring run of 3 miles around a parking lot. To my delight, I ended up LOVING this course. The ramps were pretty cool - both up AND down - and I enjoyed the training facility. I also enjoyed the freedom to run - it was never pinched or crowded.<br />
<br />
2. The swag. The t-shirt is a tech t-shirt, and although I wish it came in a Woman's Cut, I still like it. I love any tech tee I can get my hands on. The medal, although not as nice as last year's, is still pretty cool.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBleVIBhBdPaiFzaYI-skO0EZ7F1jezwo-ecvO0wEYo7nCy0uTd6F7djFFJWh_jb6ZLlkLTMcyQ5q8QOay6aiOb9kXg738mpsjFmVgeBwWCSlh3MWvvM1OTd1VV7eh9ZXNSMnoTlF_3KI/s1600/Medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBleVIBhBdPaiFzaYI-skO0EZ7F1jezwo-ecvO0wEYo7nCy0uTd6F7djFFJWh_jb6ZLlkLTMcyQ5q8QOay6aiOb9kXg738mpsjFmVgeBwWCSlh3MWvvM1OTd1VV7eh9ZXNSMnoTlF_3KI/s400/Medal.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
3. The size. There's not that many runners in this race…it's not very well advertised. I like the intimacy of it; I think more runners could lead to more logistical issues.<br />
<br />
4. Good volunteer support. Lot of volunteers along the course to direct us in the right direction. Chiefs Cheerleaders at the finish line, which was cool.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>What I Didn't Like About This Race:</b><br />
<br />
1. Hmmm…I don't know that I have any negatives. I would most definitely do this race again, especially if they keep those ramps in the equation!!!<br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-61513282978287742042015-05-17T21:33:00.000-05:002015-05-17T21:33:19.931-05:00Sunday Sippin' Wine Sort of Day<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYx2Fw_My16tVs2LaPkQG090ItII6uRyDomIFDUEhtjmRLOFIZueMpZ8PVJAT_NlkL2uglhHXT2GPI-WjNdXV-z7LkLifOhLP_g1yZIs5eHVcv8qRcLtXzk8cAQXHFY2ZxNkPIGpJqJOGy/s1600/Queen.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYx2Fw_My16tVs2LaPkQG090ItII6uRyDomIFDUEhtjmRLOFIZueMpZ8PVJAT_NlkL2uglhHXT2GPI-WjNdXV-z7LkLifOhLP_g1yZIs5eHVcv8qRcLtXzk8cAQXHFY2ZxNkPIGpJqJOGy/s400/Queen.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Pull up a chair.<br />
<br />
Here.<br />
<br />
On my porch.<br />
<br />
I've got a great bottle of wine for the two of us, so we can sip…and sip some more…and shoot the breeze.<br />
<br />
Catch up on things…this crazy life, that we're both living. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImxfUSt4bV4RZjSPwnYRO9POPsBmA-T1jiZp3VvGPfARGhZzV16Bt88kCmOjD2x8KdGicotkCApb_87PtmAM66orfDrtGJM2UBAEOUHmlU_GwTTlK2F_o24jx4IKhiYnW1G9NjHkP3-D9/s1600/Wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImxfUSt4bV4RZjSPwnYRO9POPsBmA-T1jiZp3VvGPfARGhZzV16Bt88kCmOjD2x8KdGicotkCApb_87PtmAM66orfDrtGJM2UBAEOUHmlU_GwTTlK2F_o24jx4IKhiYnW1G9NjHkP3-D9/s400/Wine.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
If you were here, sitting on my porch, sipping some wine…we'd talk about running. Because, really, if you read here at all, you know how all-consuming it's become in my life.<br />
<br />
And I'd tell you that it's a GOOD thing, this running…not that I'M any good at it - not at all - but I'm still learning, and I'm still pushing, and I'm still determined to get better at it - even if it kills me.<br />
<br />
Which. Seriously??<br />
<br />
It had better not.<br />
<br />
I'd tell you how much fun it's become, this setting of goals…this striving to meet and beat some challenges…just to see if I can.<br />
<br />
I like those words: "I can."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAYBGbASFv9MBEuUqPHQahF3zaOvT0MaD9w3UjAJ1WaMhM8S2pwFDhOZ1WgBNG4VJBK5n-nPAHU3eRpAjOorVil1h8Z2nbZqmXfgdk1vjol-yXmBUktgF-8SHUJexi_fNDzaWyyf7egWo/s1600/ICan.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAYBGbASFv9MBEuUqPHQahF3zaOvT0MaD9w3UjAJ1WaMhM8S2pwFDhOZ1WgBNG4VJBK5n-nPAHU3eRpAjOorVil1h8Z2nbZqmXfgdk1vjol-yXmBUktgF-8SHUJexi_fNDzaWyyf7egWo/s400/ICan.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
So much better than the alternative, "I can't."<br />
<br />
Because who wants to live life, saying, "I can't"?????<br />
<br />
Not me.<br />
<br />
**********<br />
<br />
If you were here, sitting on my porch, sipping some wine…I'd tell you about the fabulous plans we have coming up this summer…<br />
<br />
…including a two-week trip to Europe, where we'll be visiting some seven countries, including one I've hardly ever heard of (Liechtenstein, anyone??!!), and some that have been on my Bucket List foooooorrrrrreeeeevvvvvveeeeerrrrr.<br />
<br />
Like, Switzerland.<br />
<br />
And I'm hoping for some FABULOUS adventures which I can write about in my own unique way, which will have you, my Dear Reader, feeling as if you'd traveled right along beside me. <br />
<br />
London. Paris. Venice. Vienna. Switzerland. Germany. Liechtenstein.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCuuUF1JBEeiW29oKq7kgTyVEjACc_nw197TWDzJ0ZtoS45D9lyIBM9lfuB_wdZcqfK-zoOyvxALrHceygCp6T8kr4D0InCHSPRXAUFpQFKWybyJIEKneyZCLoLGoJKPNTN5Z-wP2zhvD/s1600/Liech.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCuuUF1JBEeiW29oKq7kgTyVEjACc_nw197TWDzJ0ZtoS45D9lyIBM9lfuB_wdZcqfK-zoOyvxALrHceygCp6T8kr4D0InCHSPRXAUFpQFKWybyJIEKneyZCLoLGoJKPNTN5Z-wP2zhvD/s400/Liech.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
What does one do in Liechtenstein?<br />
<br />
Please tell me if you have any suggestions, because really, I'm at a loss. <br />
<br />
I think I just like saying that word…"Liechtenstein"...it rolls off the tongue, it does…especially after a few (few??!!) sips of wine.<br />
<br />
<br />
**********<br />
<br />
<br />
If you were here, sitting on my porch, sipping a bit more wine…I'd tell you how I still struggle dealing with the death of my father. Oh, I realize it's been over seven months now…but there are some days when the grief and the pain and the tears are as fresh as that day in October, when I got the phone call that changed my life forever. Something so innocuous as a smell, or a song on the radio, can trigger a flood of emotions that almost cripple me sometimes. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzCTuxag-xof168eRM4wrtCoAVvzaHk7M_LvkRpQ56gVCaF7jddry_xm9aTN2u7sVaUzyK2HelMTfdFHIcs-Ohh1VGEZHgKDth8nB0bPv5TSsmwUmQaXMWbnFnFC9uWk05CogvtYste5C/s1600/Irving.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzCTuxag-xof168eRM4wrtCoAVvzaHk7M_LvkRpQ56gVCaF7jddry_xm9aTN2u7sVaUzyK2HelMTfdFHIcs-Ohh1VGEZHgKDth8nB0bPv5TSsmwUmQaXMWbnFnFC9uWk05CogvtYste5C/s400/Irving.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
This year of "firsts" sucks…the first Christmas without my dad, the first birthday without my Dad, etc, etc…even going to the first Royals game this season sucked, because it reminded me that the last day I had with my Dad before he passed away was at a Royals game. <br />
<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Death sucks, right?<br />
<br />
I know you'd agree with me, if you were here, sipping wine….<br />
<br />
<br />
**********<br />
<br />
<br />
If you were here, sitting on my porch, sipping some wine…I'd tell you how awesome my gluten-free diet has been going. <br />
<br />
You'd probably laugh, and then roll your eyes, but I'm totally serious. <br />
<br />
It didn't always go so well, after getting the diagnosis almost two years ago of Celiac…I can't tell you how many times I accidentally poisoned myself with wheat, and how debilitating those times were. Nowadays, I can go weeks - if not months - since my last "poisoning" - and that's a good thing, trust me.<br />
<br />
I'd kill, though, for a donut. I can't believe it's been almost TWO FREAKIN' YEARS since I've had a donut.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_knMbGMhKt1yHVjRxt1vyBTmlJXwmawBXDnAhMdrbxF_jNtb__yyyOHNouv7UsdjO-ZU3QhSrm3mvmiNHPNXmLMyMDW7jxLeEcqaak5LRWFWxB97gO-YlbJsUkTNHa9Whjyo7LvWEjQan/s1600/Donut.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_knMbGMhKt1yHVjRxt1vyBTmlJXwmawBXDnAhMdrbxF_jNtb__yyyOHNouv7UsdjO-ZU3QhSrm3mvmiNHPNXmLMyMDW7jxLeEcqaak5LRWFWxB97gO-YlbJsUkTNHa9Whjyo7LvWEjQan/s400/Donut.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
If I knew I had only one more day to live…I'd seriously stuff my face with a dozen of those beauties…gluten be damned.<br />
<br />
<br />
**********<br />
<br />
<br />
If you were here, sitting on my porch, sipping some wine…(or perhaps by this point, we'd be guzzling the wine, and really, would that be a bad thing? I think not.)…I'd tell you how crazy-busy our family has been…what with baseball games, and symphony tickets, and end-of-school-year activities, like Academic and Music award nights, etc, etc. <br />
<br />
I've learned, more so than ever, that life is short, and by golly, I'm going to cram as much living in to every. single. damn. day. that I can.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IrmU6bBHFckfOnN-ahtcrAmnrPUFnNMf1itQnjPkVFDjPZUjNBEcrNsYvDWE7rTtzty9Ma_Lqx5DIrDGIXQ_gD5BqmtBsuAcQl2mUe1hrPUfRITbrBbkdch0skHEZnnO1Ur7ZMXHf1mP/s1600/LifeIsShort.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IrmU6bBHFckfOnN-ahtcrAmnrPUFnNMf1itQnjPkVFDjPZUjNBEcrNsYvDWE7rTtzty9Ma_Lqx5DIrDGIXQ_gD5BqmtBsuAcQl2mUe1hrPUfRITbrBbkdch0skHEZnnO1Ur7ZMXHf1mP/s400/LifeIsShort.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Cuz you just never know. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-71943892084495913082015-05-11T17:09:00.000-05:002015-05-12T07:27:09.149-05:00Running With the Cows: A Review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDcWkTwExxEjjwl8jQGqc-vmhUEmXQ_7cNMtvTDn-OrX5L6LmpAirVQ1XepNMte0psycfTos1abRaduoNUSTcO0L67N9Syr0fIhUoPrMitCpYMTfIpHpqhl3YHouFgUEfY-WUuCn3VphsL/s1600/Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDcWkTwExxEjjwl8jQGqc-vmhUEmXQ_7cNMtvTDn-OrX5L6LmpAirVQ1XepNMte0psycfTos1abRaduoNUSTcO0L67N9Syr0fIhUoPrMitCpYMTfIpHpqhl3YHouFgUEfY-WUuCn3VphsL/s400/Logo.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
"The only thing we have to fear…is fear itself."<br />
<br />
A famous quote…perhaps you've heard it?<br />
<br />
<br />
This quote could sum up last weekend's race, the Running With the Cows Half-Marathon in <b>bucolic</b> Bucyrus, Kansas. <br />
<br />
-----<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghu32eQH-l9AqzvnSuTPVdLzkO-cbMU7nyJ3nxlxXCJH4ii-D22sog3oUkzXpehvMqEeW7Nn14mnLPLRRs2PunqYCbFgZvAlbzJu_vBNs_Gj8J6clg_h-jtrmrgoMf8Ao24h8hzS3xN-vp/s1600/Bucolic.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghu32eQH-l9AqzvnSuTPVdLzkO-cbMU7nyJ3nxlxXCJH4ii-D22sog3oUkzXpehvMqEeW7Nn14mnLPLRRs2PunqYCbFgZvAlbzJu_vBNs_Gj8J6clg_h-jtrmrgoMf8Ao24h8hzS3xN-vp/s400/Bucolic.png" /></a><br />
<i>I'd like to point out that this is probably the first time I've ever had an opportunity to use the word "bucolic" on this blog…it's a proud moment.</i><br />
------<br />
<br />
This was my 5th half-marathon overall, since I delved into this semi-long distance last October. You would think after running four previous halfs, that I would have some semblance of confidence.<br />
<br />
You would think wrong. <br />
<br />
<br />
After my somewhat disastrous half-marathon three weeks prior, at the <a href="http://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2015/04/garmin-half-marathon-review.html">Garmin Half Marathon</a> in Olathe, Kansas - I was a tad bit anxious for this latest race. <br />
<br />
Wait. "Tad bit" anxious??<br />
<br />
Yeah, right. <br />
<br />
I was scared to death.<br />
<br />
<br />
All week, negative thoughts consumed my every waking moment…and were often the last thoughts I had before drifting off to disrupted sleep each night. All of those anxious "What if??" questions racked my brain…"What if I can't finish?" "What if my back hurts?" "What if I do even MORE horribly??!!" <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GcAydCoLqITby0_aDhDXV88tAZPfFQxWLx-ilmZtaXhHgw3pPrnvgapQvreq1tp21WhumReYQ3J1s51WtOaKp7fSXmhm0HuVDK1T0EJtHNnedTMme6S_o4OHqkrVpfj8_Yc5xP8muFA2/s1600/Fear.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GcAydCoLqITby0_aDhDXV88tAZPfFQxWLx-ilmZtaXhHgw3pPrnvgapQvreq1tp21WhumReYQ3J1s51WtOaKp7fSXmhm0HuVDK1T0EJtHNnedTMme6S_o4OHqkrVpfj8_Yc5xP8muFA2/s320/Fear.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Yup. Pretty much. This was me all week.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
This is what's interesting about running for the non-elite runners - the good majority of us, actually - who strap on running shoes and head out each weekend to run in local races in our community.<br />
<br />
We're not out there to win. We're not out there for the glory. We're not competing against the thousands of other runners beside us at the Start Line.<br />
<br />
We're out there to compete against ourselves.<br />
<br />
We're out there to push ourselves…to go harder…faster…better than our last race.<br />
<br />
We're out there to test our limits…both mentally and physically…to see just how far we can go.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAdwlpOP3CL7OpeijxYxrtFhlOBhjILZwkib4-3ZSuf8Q5OBq6IGQsFh5qrlVTWsN2yZV4-ahYqqnzK04wopX-x-0-FmpEi31owLfp7_KM9nV4C-4QcQSaKn7TB3TtvZPd88lvShYTS_l/s1600/steve-young-quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAdwlpOP3CL7OpeijxYxrtFhlOBhjILZwkib4-3ZSuf8Q5OBq6IGQsFh5qrlVTWsN2yZV4-ahYqqnzK04wopX-x-0-FmpEi31owLfp7_KM9nV4C-4QcQSaKn7TB3TtvZPd88lvShYTS_l/s400/steve-young-quote.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Truth.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
And my negativity about this race had me firmly convinced that I had reached my zenith at a previous half-marathon, and I would NEVER improve…NEVER go faster…NEVER get better…and thoughts like that can defeat you before you ever line up at the Start Line. <br />
<br />
<br />
It had not helped that I'd had a somewhat disastrous training session the previous Tuesday with my personal trainer…she'd pushed me - HARD - and I'd crashed and burned…huffing, puffing, praying for death…one speed drill shy of throwing in my towel and retiring my tennis shoes forever.<br />
<br />
<br />
So…race day approached. The weather forecasts were ominous…calling for severe weather, hail, overall doom and gloom.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTtbbENsN1zBsTbiY8adlF5f893Kuegr9iGKcGC6r1jQHdZHszMCVKu5Y7FSzFSb407Vft_-or89gHuf3VBuj8mkvukxFW4vXTkGEHsvL-CP2Jd7J1HPFgWugzOJMpCiOMMS-XO58b3Q-/s1600/GoingToDie.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTtbbENsN1zBsTbiY8adlF5f893Kuegr9iGKcGC6r1jQHdZHszMCVKu5Y7FSzFSb407Vft_-or89gHuf3VBuj8mkvukxFW4vXTkGEHsvL-CP2Jd7J1HPFgWugzOJMpCiOMMS-XO58b3Q-/s400/GoingToDie.png" /></a><br />
<br />
That didn't help my anxiety, but I knew - short of a tornado - I could run in the rain, and I'd just run wet. Fortunately, the temperatures were projected in the 60's - so I wouldn't be super cold. I could do this.<br />
<br />
<br />
Packet pick-up was the day before the race, and I did get a kick from the bright and cheerful race shirts & bibs:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wSjAvwUYJvNKg4vW4oirw5kAlhMGOhXO9hgrsUkiDLHcrNe6mimiL7lzVrBbmyrqBPtbtQ0VxJZCBkMOwJF19oeCvIxEpK9rmXXAx4KE78HFV5IdavUz6sC4v4qFNVvgPgI5ABPek-eI/s1600/CowFront.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wSjAvwUYJvNKg4vW4oirw5kAlhMGOhXO9hgrsUkiDLHcrNe6mimiL7lzVrBbmyrqBPtbtQ0VxJZCBkMOwJF19oeCvIxEpK9rmXXAx4KE78HFV5IdavUz6sC4v4qFNVvgPgI5ABPek-eI/s400/CowFront.jpg" /></a><br />
The front<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4vJ5RHqTtrqKEFgxYC3rBcj1pzMkD7yR7yB3N5XUm4S9k7XAMbaYmLE5Zesuo9Q6VIgvckGqHCvZIJyxhZO5YclE5p9DmQwtbLqn-JFX2p7VwShwoxBxmZXj_Zq5Ay-Yq6fngyc1mEYq/s1600/Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4vJ5RHqTtrqKEFgxYC3rBcj1pzMkD7yR7yB3N5XUm4S9k7XAMbaYmLE5Zesuo9Q6VIgvckGqHCvZIJyxhZO5YclE5p9DmQwtbLqn-JFX2p7VwShwoxBxmZXj_Zq5Ay-Yq6fngyc1mEYq/s400/Back.jpg" /></a><br />
And the back.<br />
<br />
How cute is THAT??!!<br />
<br />
Maybe this race won't be so bad…??<br />
<br />
<br />
The night before the race, I set out Flat Me: <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52AOzAHoEDK_ceVR8_Mo88hTi89-wWjbcmlRNjw-8HlW8nEHk7RKPC9tzWW5i3DQozG-806etRjOQFu2mlorbAL51iXnMmA3n4yljLcs-oEZd6SYxTulGsMk7_3EX585WsApCrkaJ26-Z/s1600/CatholicSkirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52AOzAHoEDK_ceVR8_Mo88hTi89-wWjbcmlRNjw-8HlW8nEHk7RKPC9tzWW5i3DQozG-806etRjOQFu2mlorbAL51iXnMmA3n4yljLcs-oEZd6SYxTulGsMk7_3EX585WsApCrkaJ26-Z/s400/CatholicSkirt.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Another of my Sparkle Skirts…cool, comfy, and POCKETS to carry important stuff, like a phone! Hubby told me that I looked like a Catholic school girl, which somewhat fit the theme, because the race was benefiting a local Catholic school, Queen of the Holy Rosary School, in Bucyrus. Only because I was in black, I felt more like Britney Spears, in a "naughty" Catholic school girl uniform. <br />
<br />
<br />
Our alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., as we needed to be on the road by 5:00 a.m. It was going to take a good hour of driving to reach the race location, and because of heavy rains all week, the race organizers were going to park us in odd locations along the sides of rural roads and then bus us to the Start Line. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSI9QThl9cfPYzAjF1iq7nsRLzTRn7N_oumAhtF-EmJShA8WQQcIOuABHpYg5JZ9Ju73BCnHupxOLJd-PadwwPrKIX_wtiQ3nxrl0-cpw3TUbaNHV105-FN0j_-Tm-TuLS_z9CgZpf8XZp/s1600/RoadsideParking.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSI9QThl9cfPYzAjF1iq7nsRLzTRn7N_oumAhtF-EmJShA8WQQcIOuABHpYg5JZ9Ju73BCnHupxOLJd-PadwwPrKIX_wtiQ3nxrl0-cpw3TUbaNHV105-FN0j_-Tm-TuLS_z9CgZpf8XZp/s400/RoadsideParking.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>This poor town. Thousands of cars parked all along the rural roads…it was surreal. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
Because I had been so anxious about this race, I'd literally typed out a checklist the night before - and noted everything that I had done WRONG at the Garmin race…so I would NOT make the same mistakes again. Everything went smoothly as we were getting ready…but then…I began to feel sick.<br />
<br />
As in, I'm going to puke, sick.<br />
<br />
Gah.<br />
<br />
Was this real? Or was it anxiety? I tried to do some deep, focused breathing on the drive to the race, but I was still just…sick. Bleh. Just what I need. <br />
<br />
<br />
After parking on some road out in the middle of nowhere, we hopped on the school bus and rode a short 2 miles or so to the staging area. Dawn was breaking, and there was a bit of a chill in the air…but they'd opened the doors to the school, which provided a welcomed respite while we waited for race time. The kids at the school had done some awesome decorations in preparation for the race:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0uP3dsuCwNCU7-3Wokw0tuySbtRJ52bTjsnuwA2Pg-0RCJfcg_xmwmTjVPzHYZLs_pCnNtWkxcR2_iCJ-KJruWgKyJZW3MqgOqrOKUJCy_HN46D5ayzNyyabD9tJLouFYDH0f16V8Vdp/s1600/Artwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0uP3dsuCwNCU7-3Wokw0tuySbtRJ52bTjsnuwA2Pg-0RCJfcg_xmwmTjVPzHYZLs_pCnNtWkxcR2_iCJ-KJruWgKyJZW3MqgOqrOKUJCy_HN46D5ayzNyyabD9tJLouFYDH0f16V8Vdp/s400/Artwork.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
My personal favorite, though, was this guy - who seemed to sum up my mood all week:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1c2lcIgDpJl1II9LUR3wXKoCM9rmQjqXT1Byu5ukNPNwsS4utAIGRjHVlaE71iMBXbeX6tGHLrukqCC23J7Q73JCwi2DJOsyZGT_Eqfs3kS3o3xFbdpy6geQ2uWQpLJMiQWQEtTKaGQe/s1600/AngryCow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1c2lcIgDpJl1II9LUR3wXKoCM9rmQjqXT1Byu5ukNPNwsS4utAIGRjHVlaE71iMBXbeX6tGHLrukqCC23J7Q73JCwi2DJOsyZGT_Eqfs3kS3o3xFbdpy6geQ2uWQpLJMiQWQEtTKaGQe/s400/AngryCow.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
The school had a bag check, snacks, coffee, and tons of amazing volunteers. It was practically a party BEFORE the race even began.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJci0GPAtfPCfI86F7p9RQ-2TxNgBdHnZcBf9O9FgK2FMkC7OO3VZI7s_4Me4d2tCcSfDmvqdMavq0ZUCWpRsIGCneeby-kvOJctYkDqR44pn6pfJRXqF6T33YTrVMnDyk5Sy6IYnXhLy3/s1600/KristinPreRace.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJci0GPAtfPCfI86F7p9RQ-2TxNgBdHnZcBf9O9FgK2FMkC7OO3VZI7s_4Me4d2tCcSfDmvqdMavq0ZUCWpRsIGCneeby-kvOJctYkDqR44pn6pfJRXqF6T33YTrVMnDyk5Sy6IYnXhLy3/s400/KristinPreRace.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Kristin and I before the race... <br />
</i><br />
<br />
I was walking through the cafeteria, when I saw someone sitting on the floor, stretching out, who looked familiar. I gave her one of those, "I know you from somewhere…" looks…and realized she was giving me the same look. Recognition suddenly dawned; it was Heather, a fellow blogger here in Kansas City who writes at "<a href="http://whattheheckwhynot2011.blogspot.com">What the Heck, Why Not</a>?" I'd discovered her blog quite awhile ago, and had been wanting to meet her "in real life." It was great to FINALLY meet in person!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLdxHe1Ox9zkJuDC593JHzjQwbFxfo9SgflLpuGFl0bAS-0zWFHh1XWgE3JbpQfZErToC0qTIh7AzaUDvRNdvolkAAhDDPagRo5LF7m7zmEcXKZAm_DZwMZtRzXLVATqfKqa4eTGWQmD4/s1600/Heather.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLdxHe1Ox9zkJuDC593JHzjQwbFxfo9SgflLpuGFl0bAS-0zWFHh1XWgE3JbpQfZErToC0qTIh7AzaUDvRNdvolkAAhDDPagRo5LF7m7zmEcXKZAm_DZwMZtRzXLVATqfKqa4eTGWQmD4/s400/Heather.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Me, Kristin and Heather<br />
</i><br />
<br />
You can't tell from this picture, but Heather is Kenyan. She's one of those super-fast runners who basically finishes races an entire time zone ahead of me. But this is what's cool about the running community - everyone is so stinkin' NICE, no matter how fast or slow you run. Everyone is there to support everyone else. <br />
<br />
It's pretty cool. <br />
<br />
And speaking of bloggers, I also FINALLY got to meet ANOTHER local blogger/runner, Allison. I didn't get a photo with her, but she writes at <a href="http://daileyruns.blogspot.com">Dailey Runs</a>…and she's ALSO Kenyan. Sigh. If you want to know how the other half lives…i.e., fast runners…check out Heather's and Allison's blogs. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFnFIoMiWB_qc_ZQZfZ0xZOd_Ra2W8u4cvFR5t-gAZywDZoHyj2r6kpmSA3E2v0PxnLn6ltv5Po-wiTHoLdEMRpicziqY81V1Tvy1P3_c6dtgMTpm_2ZvtMK7QqzG7S65YlYmKSbusXQ-/s1600/Roadrunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFnFIoMiWB_qc_ZQZfZ0xZOd_Ra2W8u4cvFR5t-gAZywDZoHyj2r6kpmSA3E2v0PxnLn6ltv5Po-wiTHoLdEMRpicziqY81V1Tvy1P3_c6dtgMTpm_2ZvtMK7QqzG7S65YlYmKSbusXQ-/s400/Roadrunner.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Beep Beep!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
At this point, I needed to get outside and do some running to warm up. This is one of the mistakes I'd made at Garmin - socializing too much before the race and NOT warming up - and I wasn't going to repeat this. In fact, I think my unofficial mantra for the morning was, "Don't do a Garmin. Don't do a Garmin." <br />
<br />
So…heading outside…I ran for about 5-10 minutes…enough to loosen everything up…and it was then time for more socializing.<br />
<br />
Because that's what racing's all about, right??!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Actually, it was time for a group photo of the Half Fanatics…which I'd qualified for after the Garmin. I'd somewhat organized this photo op the night before on Facebook, determined to get a picture of all the Half Fanatics running, because, by golly - I'm now IN this darned club, and there'd better be a darned PHOTO:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVV7GZAnJfH1QcTwxFIkV20_JnjuRzpN5BRVbY3964AyzIrlkjKZWtXyQQO6h9YWh477aI1O3P3UruPdnwWZICiUPjmZ2uQ6EtAM5cyV-tQFtxCOmgQJlE-w-e3Z98dqeU7E1KvWCtkmt/s1600/Halfs.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVV7GZAnJfH1QcTwxFIkV20_JnjuRzpN5BRVbY3964AyzIrlkjKZWtXyQQO6h9YWh477aI1O3P3UruPdnwWZICiUPjmZ2uQ6EtAM5cyV-tQFtxCOmgQJlE-w-e3Z98dqeU7E1KvWCtkmt/s400/Halfs.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>A HUGE group of Half Fanatics were represented!!! Awesomesauce!!! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
It was now time for me to say goodbye to everyone - including Phillip, Bill, Sandy, Paula, Kristin, Hubby - and sadly, even THIS guy, the Cow:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3ihyphenhyphenSpLX5Ld9e8CnU4sKWzNphziWh2ISLqyMDTdGK7AnkmdLEaOY-AmljlEK8w2M6-XKD0JnYfNhHq3tntA3Hf8nSL3CQ0iHpQuXNHHrJ45nZawcoOhsC-HUbyt1CvoYWamkCDrn2Klq/s1600/Cow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl3ihyphenhyphenSpLX5Ld9e8CnU4sKWzNphziWh2ISLqyMDTdGK7AnkmdLEaOY-AmljlEK8w2M6-XKD0JnYfNhHq3tntA3Hf8nSL3CQ0iHpQuXNHHrJ45nZawcoOhsC-HUbyt1CvoYWamkCDrn2Klq/s400/Cow.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I needed to get into the corrals and start focusing on what was ahead. Time to get the electronics all turned on (Garmin watch, headphones, music, etc) and make sure everything was working. Time to breathe. And I was STILL feeling pukey. Bleh.<br />
<br />
<br />
My trainer had set a goal for me to finish this race in 2:38…which would give me a 2-minute PR (personal record). So, I lined up by the 2:40 pace group, thinking I could hang with them most of the race and then push out a little ahead at the tail end, giving me that 2:38. <br />
<br />
Speaking of goals…the night before, I'd read a bit of "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Meb-Mortals-Think-Champion-Marathoner-ebook/dp/B00N24PAL0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1431376259&sr=1-1&keywords=meb+for+mortals">Meb for Mortals: How to Run, Think and Eat Like a Champion Marathoner</a>", and I'd specifically focused on the chapter dealing with goals. <br />
<br />
Meb suggests that you set not just one goal, but several goals, for a race: an A Goal, B Goal, C Goal, etc. His A Goal is obviously to WIN the marathon, but if he can't win, then what's his runner-up goal? If he doesn't make his runner-up goal, then what's the NEXT runner-up goal? And so on, and so on.<br />
<br />
Taking this into account, I'd set up the following goals:<br />
<br />
A Goal: Beat 2:38 (which would be a PR)<br />
B Goal: Meet 2:38 (which would be a PR)<br />
C Goal: Run 2:38 - 2:40 (which would beat or tie my previous PR)<br />
D Goal: Beat 2:47 (which is my worst time so far - Garmin - gah)<br />
E Goal: Beat 3:00<br />
F Goal: Just Finish<br />
<br />
<br />
My ultimate goal was the A Goal…but I'd settle for any of those.<br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, the gun went off, and we were off. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindhG3zXauVQT_ouXDH4AJ3n96S6RDfdSIHffivc3R1WXhqtwYLAzck5ZnP_NFYIfRmhG316YR1AxZzADKLeY5lQDsESqCvTk6_eDbhRHI-TWYAVPp2IoC2ULpckV4iHLh8-K_K5W5ELJR/s1600/Above.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindhG3zXauVQT_ouXDH4AJ3n96S6RDfdSIHffivc3R1WXhqtwYLAzck5ZnP_NFYIfRmhG316YR1AxZzADKLeY5lQDsESqCvTk6_eDbhRHI-TWYAVPp2IoC2ULpckV4iHLh8-K_K5W5ELJR/s400/Above.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>The Start Line from above... <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
In my attempt to "Don't do a Garmin" for this race, I was determined to be caught smiling and having fun at ALL photo ops. In this first one, I did not disappoint:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCj5eHP2ol3kxG8FQWc1zS3U5nfy_LGFuGWx3THcbvHRyyNvfQl-BTleCymwgsqtfNVv0qLrKdY779z-Q4OTFQL-8C4d0pmi7sdtHCcno8IC0dfACQ8wCUZVG5y_b62QQhLiFme-CLlQAs/s1600/StartLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCj5eHP2ol3kxG8FQWc1zS3U5nfy_LGFuGWx3THcbvHRyyNvfQl-BTleCymwgsqtfNVv0qLrKdY779z-Q4OTFQL-8C4d0pmi7sdtHCcno8IC0dfACQ8wCUZVG5y_b62QQhLiFme-CLlQAs/s400/StartLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
The course consisted of mainly straight, long, hilly passages…with a few sharp turns thrown in. The race advertises itself as "gently rolling hills" - and they weren't kidding…about the hills, anyway. I'm not so sure about the "gently" part. Some of those hills were long…and I was determined, though, to take them slow and easy and not get wiped out too fast, too soon.<br />
<br />
Don't do a Garmin.<br />
<br />
The school children had done some awesome chalk art on the roads the days before the race, which somewhat broke up the monotony:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdsR98qjJmcR9ZQwapQJnlmhbCH41Bhtkri_nP2QZ_TbK1qEpZm-r_zXje-AoRz3wJUa5vhV5CvdpXMKP7Rdcg9eeL7P3-oQOQTjnq0EeyCi06pbgASfGTVAtieEF-q3Y2jIGj0zmm2UR/s1600/ChalkArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdsR98qjJmcR9ZQwapQJnlmhbCH41Bhtkri_nP2QZ_TbK1qEpZm-r_zXje-AoRz3wJUa5vhV5CvdpXMKP7Rdcg9eeL7P3-oQOQTjnq0EeyCi06pbgASfGTVAtieEF-q3Y2jIGj0zmm2UR/s400/ChalkArt.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Running with the 2:40 pace group, though, was presenting a problem…they were going just a tad bit TOO slow for me. Without realizing it, I found myself slowly creeping up on the 2:35 pace group. Checking all my systems, I was assured that I was NOT going too fast, too soon…and I told myself that if I had to fall back at some point during the race with the 2:40, I still had that option. So, I kept going. <br />
<br />
<br />
Conditions were near perfect. It was still cool…still cloudy…and there was a gentle breeze blowing in. The 2:35 pacer, Kelly, was running 3:1 intervals, with slight slowdowns as we climbed the hills, and a slight speed-up as we crested and cruised over the top of the hills. By Mile 3, I was totally in the groove, thinking that my A Goal was still within sight. <br />
<br />
I had studied the course ahead of time, and knew EXACTLY when to fuel up with my GU gels, and when to grab water. Again, this was a result of Garmin. I was not going to BONK and hit the wall too soon.<br />
<br />
Don't do a Garmin. <br />
<br />
<br />
My music was amazing…I have over 800 songs on my running playlist, so I never really know what's going to come on. I listen to everything from Tom Petty to Aerosmith to Johnny Cash. At Mile 4, I had to laugh…as Britney Spears (don't judge) began singing, "Hit Me Baby One More Time":<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SC8HjF2F72rfAXKAzsskECsFF4aASdB00-0Ss6Qzmskv0Ea3gDFaEawcKy_Hqas1pxVxR08ZC6uPrYcFERfbLSE2RpDbOZkSnmDfNR0im6JMnMaOMjpNFQxNqXooO8122xYa-Z5-4DQs/s1600/BritneySpears.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SC8HjF2F72rfAXKAzsskECsFF4aASdB00-0Ss6Qzmskv0Ea3gDFaEawcKy_Hqas1pxVxR08ZC6uPrYcFERfbLSE2RpDbOZkSnmDfNR0im6JMnMaOMjpNFQxNqXooO8122xYa-Z5-4DQs/s400/BritneySpears.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Wearing her naughty Catholic schoolgirl uniform…. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
Around this time, I ran up on a running maniac, Sandy, who's a rockstar…we chatted for a bit, but then I was off.<br />
<br />
Around Mile 5, I ran into Kathi, my Red Cross buddy…we chatted for a bit, but then I was off.<br />
<br />
This was becoming a pattern, it seemed.<br />
<br />
Before I knew it, we were at the halfway point, where we turned around and began running back in the other direction. My A Goal was still in sight, as I was still hanging with the 2:35 pace group, with no issues, other than I was starting to feel a blister burning on my left foot - right where my beloved (not) bunion is. <br />
<br />
<br />
More hills…more pasture…more cows…the only break in scenery occurred when we'd come across the numerous aid stations scattered throughout the course. The volunteers here were pretty amazing; most of them appeared to be kids - probably the kids from the Queen of Holy Rosary Catholic School. <br />
<br />
<br />
At Mile 8, we began "The Climb." This was the longest, and steepest, hill on the course…it went on for what seemed like forever. I looked up ahead, and could not see the crest anywhere in sight. I swear to God, we were climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, and I began to struggle a bit mentally, wondering if I would EVER make it to the top of that darned hill:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EwQdsLd_2fEhR9IFmQtL_ritlHsTMR9aTYWP6fk0VcMKjxbTXA1kE3Mj75YXXfW0UdJpPmPdKlNP_7E62pbTFM6RHiKyAFeQ_stUqJx7JsZfIVxJyRNH4lyS2jAXYujtEK_7oq_OnP0f/s1600/Mount-Kilimanjaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EwQdsLd_2fEhR9IFmQtL_ritlHsTMR9aTYWP6fk0VcMKjxbTXA1kE3Mj75YXXfW0UdJpPmPdKlNP_7E62pbTFM6RHiKyAFeQ_stUqJx7JsZfIVxJyRNH4lyS2jAXYujtEK_7oq_OnP0f/s400/Mount-Kilimanjaro.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>What it looked like from my point of view...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Running is 90% mental and only 10% physical. It's that 90% mental that I have to work on…so I was, once again, DETERMINED to "Don't Do a Garmin". No negative thoughts were allowed to cross my mind on this day. As soon as I began to feel defeated - especially on this stupid mountain - I pushed them out of my head and focused on my goals.<br />
<br />
Especially A Goal:<br />
<br />
<b>Beat 2:38.</b><br />
<br />
It was still in sight.<br />
<br />
And again, my music came to my rescue. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8voWjzMB82g">"Deep Way Down Deep"</a> by Selah came on, and I knew I had to dig down deep and push through for about 3 more miles. It's funny how we hear the songs we need just at the right time.<br />
<br />
<br />
After what seemed like forever, we crested The Mountain, and began a long, slow downhill for awhile. Everything was still going right…I was fueling when needed, and feeling strong (other than the blister pain.) Around here, I ran into another friend, Paula, and it was good to chat with her. These little chats with friends are uplifting and supportive, and I always appreciate running into a familiar face along the road. <br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, we were approaching Mile 13. <br />
<br />
By now, I realized, that unless disaster struck - like a tsunami, earthquake, or tornado - I would reach my A Goal. <br />
<br />
I was going to beat 2:38.<br />
<br />
And I was one happy runner, as this photo bears out, taken at Mile 13:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHphO10V3S9gwU2awrOGuVgYhih9KSAyZFt6zlYmSQPB22ky6CbzgiZdt2vvWwz_jhblRBsQt-UbAWffQ5l0P99hortDlMIsc7_6zwlrxb3se0EZTM5-CM9V5hBfkb2LNdMwFec7Y4Mtj/s1600/Mile13.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHphO10V3S9gwU2awrOGuVgYhih9KSAyZFt6zlYmSQPB22ky6CbzgiZdt2vvWwz_jhblRBsQt-UbAWffQ5l0P99hortDlMIsc7_6zwlrxb3se0EZTM5-CM9V5hBfkb2LNdMwFec7Y4Mtj/s400/Mile13.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Turning the corner for the last .1 mile to the Finish Line, I kicked it in to high gear. Running as hard and as fast as I could (thanks to my Beast of a Trainer, who makes me do this on my Speed Drills), I gave it everything I had. Wanting to puke, but not wanting to mess up my Finish Line photos, I gunned it…and soon, the Finish Line was in sight:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNfUByu_hvRZ4qyWu5yTUK-LwNouD5654lHb9hCzw3F9AP2Dq1sOqnDthMECRLZil8LEIUdjnQFd8Did4bsLOS91l9SQEb6h6Sqm8c3qAt08gT1upUbvI2lU5cp0DuIZpQbfmBJ2AD9yH/s1600/FinishLine3.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNfUByu_hvRZ4qyWu5yTUK-LwNouD5654lHb9hCzw3F9AP2Dq1sOqnDthMECRLZil8LEIUdjnQFd8Did4bsLOS91l9SQEb6h6Sqm8c3qAt08gT1upUbvI2lU5cp0DuIZpQbfmBJ2AD9yH/s400/FinishLine3.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcelAm1Y67Prq6d1H55065MxuSRWi06LxHWB1lmUbg8cqQ4YjjaZpxlYD9rRrRzsrLT_A9qbkzO-JI1Glg3dhdWw9S5s5B3HEguVyY5BZi_0npEJz7tN84dA6krm7oy-uX_chKhuYtbrg6/s1600/FinishLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcelAm1Y67Prq6d1H55065MxuSRWi06LxHWB1lmUbg8cqQ4YjjaZpxlYD9rRrRzsrLT_A9qbkzO-JI1Glg3dhdWw9S5s5B3HEguVyY5BZi_0npEJz7tN84dA6krm7oy-uX_chKhuYtbrg6/s400/FinishLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJP6t6OJFKaWFZBp4G9A8-kKxuTWsro-B53F_mKz9ZAqkPKDt6AMn1Y144t2S-9tDt0YhX3zw26cx5fk1ays62amBVyCkjTBZKizai-68YjnqsRV_4E7dWnlr5-S_jQpU6wOUUUq4vvEP/s1600/FinishLine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJP6t6OJFKaWFZBp4G9A8-kKxuTWsro-B53F_mKz9ZAqkPKDt6AMn1Y144t2S-9tDt0YhX3zw26cx5fk1ays62amBVyCkjTBZKizai-68YjnqsRV_4E7dWnlr5-S_jQpU6wOUUUq4vvEP/s400/FinishLine2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
My time?<br />
<br />
2:34<br />
<br />
<br />
COWABUNGA!!!!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
My best time EVER!!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-bQGvOgg3A0QuGsw0jkQPZstbYLX_OXfXEu72O3cYTKxjk8wmp6p8z2-3yakZrGUSX56DToi-0Gg1AhXL4yY-x4cjuySQIh_83UzGR0xBoV2uS7YoBtTqDNxIiAeLLZSMh70blf9M7dZ3/s1600/Cowbell.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-bQGvOgg3A0QuGsw0jkQPZstbYLX_OXfXEu72O3cYTKxjk8wmp6p8z2-3yakZrGUSX56DToi-0Gg1AhXL4yY-x4cjuySQIh_83UzGR0xBoV2uS7YoBtTqDNxIiAeLLZSMh70blf9M7dZ3/s400/Cowbell.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
After the race, Hubby and I stayed for awhile, cheering on the other runners and chatting with friends. There was a potluck luncheon in the school, which I heard was FABULOUS, but being Celiac, I tend to stay away from those…which sucks, because I was STARVING at this point. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCUFbxPxxsvT7wCp6SudbmToJwikY3G5NfEq324LMb2QDXzk0NyxvkZYpLUHpw8uloxhz1O76oYOb3KyhRGQLUHmCx_wdydOEAUnFIUNFZKeHFmX3bR4LbfObm9cn746EkpSR7xyeNHHi/s1600/HubbyAndI.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCUFbxPxxsvT7wCp6SudbmToJwikY3G5NfEq324LMb2QDXzk0NyxvkZYpLUHpw8uloxhz1O76oYOb3KyhRGQLUHmCx_wdydOEAUnFIUNFZKeHFmX3bR4LbfObm9cn746EkpSR7xyeNHHi/s400/HubbyAndI.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Eventually, we caught a bus and headed back to the boonies, where our car sat, forlornly on the side of a bucolic pasture road…and it was time to head home and call it a day.<br />
<br />
Oh, and that doom & gloom weather they'd been predicting all week?<br />
<br />
Didn't happen.<br />
<br />
And neither did the puking that I was SOOOO feeling all morning.<br />
<br />
Life is good.<br />
<br />
<b><br />
Things I Liked:</b><br />
<br />
1. Organization<br />
2. Shirts/Medals/Cowbells<br />
3. Aid Stations/Volunteers - plentiful. Oranges, snacks, Oreo cookies, milk, candy, etc.<br />
4. Weather conditions<br />
5. Indoor facility to hang out before the race<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Things I Didn't Like:</b><br />
1. Parking.<br />
2. Hills - although none too steep, there were a LOT of them. That last hill was a killer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-7878145620293351652015-05-03T20:43:00.000-05:002015-05-03T20:43:30.472-05:00Trolley Run 2015: A Review<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7ZIfB5vYER6QNqcdfRwotiU7PKbjrRQ-9QIySij9lZR2lKV_qVWQQdfGRoIBAkKAekoOwRCBCIo1Z1ka-8REUOC64ojApQVmjwtVmYCtF134jZl74tWRjQsKWl2m1KJEO0ra2jkPYVY-/s1600/CCVITRlogonoblocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7ZIfB5vYER6QNqcdfRwotiU7PKbjrRQ-9QIySij9lZR2lKV_qVWQQdfGRoIBAkKAekoOwRCBCIo1Z1ka-8REUOC64ojApQVmjwtVmYCtF134jZl74tWRjQsKWl2m1KJEO0ra2jkPYVY-/s320/CCVITRlogonoblocks.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes, well-meaning friends and family members have asked me why I keep training, and pushing myself, and signing up for races that start at ungodly hours on a weekend morning…<br />
<br />
…and the answer, my friends, is bacon.<br />
<br />
<br />
I confess…I have a love affair with bacon.<br />
<br />
The aromatic smell, the crispy crunch as I snap a piece off in my mouth, and then...the smokey taste…nom. Nom. Nom.<br />
<br />
<br />
I run so I can eat bacon. <br />
<br />
And the Trolley Run, a 4-mile downhill race here in Kansas City, offers an opportunity to run WHILE eating bacon.<br />
<br />
Win-win!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Let me back up.<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://trolleyrun.org">Trolley Run</a>, now in it's 27th year, is one of the largest 4-mile races in the country. With a plethora of 5k's (3.1 miles) and half-marathons (13.1 miles) around, it's always awesome to find a 4-mile race, as it offers that perfect (for me) distance that's a tad bit more challenging than a 5k, but not near as grinding as a half marathon. The race benefits the Children's Center for the Visually Impaired (CCVI), so it's not unusual to have blind runners, along with their guides, running along beside you. Way cool.<br />
<br />
The course follows the old streetcar/trolley tracks, and for the most part, is a gradual downhill course. SCORE! I love downhill courses. Almost as much as bacon. Almost.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj63SWIabUsQwEycKupnJG8Pkon6DYvZAYgZHLNgLDzeha8xi2A91r07etYqajKX-dCudal5twb0Xn2sKkj9pAZS9rW7hGkp0Bz1nCO7jkGqWwAG_UDdDIIQZYyRP4dCekrYYPwGpcECvT/s1600/CourseMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj63SWIabUsQwEycKupnJG8Pkon6DYvZAYgZHLNgLDzeha8xi2A91r07etYqajKX-dCudal5twb0Xn2sKkj9pAZS9rW7hGkp0Bz1nCO7jkGqWwAG_UDdDIIQZYyRP4dCekrYYPwGpcECvT/s320/CourseMap.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure how my legs were going to be for this race, after having ran two half-marathons the two consecutive weeks prior to this. They were tired, but I figured that four miles was tolerable…surely, I could do this, right? Hubby and I had done this in 2014, and it had been my longest race at that point, to date. I had finished last year in the blinding speed of 49:10, with an average of 12:18 mile. I had placed 114 out of 264 women in the age group 50:54. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvZ5WdjWGbe4n8Unl0uif5I_CiuPw3udZdJPGCkBGnA_DOQEDI2IaV5tIrLZWQvEeQlGVjSAIueWQJiqxus8Bg3VcApen6fe5UDn1IHUwF5bzYBrBc-e1wAUCMztDgfCa1V680ZaBkEkA/s1600/2014TrolleyRunMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvZ5WdjWGbe4n8Unl0uif5I_CiuPw3udZdJPGCkBGnA_DOQEDI2IaV5tIrLZWQvEeQlGVjSAIueWQJiqxus8Bg3VcApen6fe5UDn1IHUwF5bzYBrBc-e1wAUCMztDgfCa1V680ZaBkEkA/s320/2014TrolleyRunMe.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Me, last year. I hadn't discovered the beauty of Sparkle Skirts yet.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Could I top that this year?<br />
<br />
I had certainly spent the last year training hard…so would it pay off?<br />
<br />
Or would the two half-marathons I did the first part of April slow me down?<br />
<br />
<br />
The night before race day, I had laid out "Flat Me":<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT_YhzRWdsedJKMlC8ufxd0KW5YOVdTo68-SUNTLilUl3kENoUJzqbSwouxTSCOd1HvOCWU45ioSfGv6kUk4HI9iuTUe8dSnkvHyzbD5T2VonW_kM2lXMLEpJaXFGtdmbKd4KM3ey7GZZ/s1600/TrolleyFlatMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT_YhzRWdsedJKMlC8ufxd0KW5YOVdTo68-SUNTLilUl3kENoUJzqbSwouxTSCOd1HvOCWU45ioSfGv6kUk4HI9iuTUe8dSnkvHyzbD5T2VonW_kM2lXMLEpJaXFGtdmbKd4KM3ey7GZZ/s320/TrolleyFlatMe.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
If you haven't figured out by now, I have a serious addiction to <a href="http://sparkleskirts.com">Sparkle Skirts</a>. They are da' BOMB. Built-in running shorts underneath, with POCKETS - SQUEE - that do NOT ever, ever ride up. And they sparkle. With glitter. Which is awesome. <br />
<br />
<br />
Watching the weather conditions, it was going to be a little cooler than I liked…I began second guessing that tank top I had planned. When we woke up at 5:15 am, we also discovered that there was a northwest wind that was creating a windchill of 40 degrees. Yikes. I decided to add a base layer under the tank top, as well as a running hat to keep my ears warm. <br />
<br />
I would end up regretting that base layer…and I'm learning that I really, really need to trust my initial gut reaction on what to wear, and to QUIT second-guessing myself.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hubby and I made the 25-minute drive to the Country Club Plaza, which is where the Finish Line was located. This is a point-to-point race, so we needed to park at the Plaza and then ride a free shuttle bus the short 4-mile distance to the Starting Line, located in the Waldo neighborhood of Kansas City. We had no problems finding a parking spot on the Plaza, and then walked a short distance to where the buses were lined up - and HOLY COW.<br />
<br />
We were met with mass pandemonium, as thousands of other runners all squeezed, pushed and shoved, trying to get on the few buses available. This race is organized by waves, and one of the race organizers began barking loudly that anyone with a red or blue bib needed first dibs on the buses, as those were the first two waves. Well, Hubby was red, and I was blue, so we hopped to the front of a line and quickly got on a bus, and although we didn't have a seat, we were just happy to be on one, and not still in the mass chaos. I used this short ride to go over my mental game plan, after having learned my lesson at the disastrous <a href="http://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2015/04/garmin-half-marathon-review.html">Garmin Half-Marathon</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Arriving at the Starting Line, a light drizzle was falling from the sky, and most of the runners were huddling under the awnings of nearby shops. It was surreal to see the Starting Line near empty this close to the start of a race:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUeEjoybvkgG-1eSGyyDXUHAo6WNSwl2flCk4z_8SWQFuNWkUMPJB-Tf6RO2Ndsdnjbhu0FaAxbkc9VDQXCQeHv6Ln0fwy6gQrkptEHt-enD6xBm0-DTH5ckynaw5CBM0l4B6cR7p4WBH/s1600/StartingLine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUeEjoybvkgG-1eSGyyDXUHAo6WNSwl2flCk4z_8SWQFuNWkUMPJB-Tf6RO2Ndsdnjbhu0FaAxbkc9VDQXCQeHv6Ln0fwy6gQrkptEHt-enD6xBm0-DTH5ckynaw5CBM0l4B6cR7p4WBH/s320/StartingLine.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Seriously. There's over 5,000 runners, so where the heck is everyone??!! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuS5cx2jSZbt4M0F_HJadado2Yv12WluwIBV8Q6PLHBHRYbxlT0zco3GwXFIrcV5QhD7AefEDdx-6YCXKjXyZQTfmUjYA98T7aXjtZJ4QU5m_kavaCoa0z8ltdtTbr1kn9yCz6VfZufV9m/s1600/EmptyFinishLine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuS5cx2jSZbt4M0F_HJadado2Yv12WluwIBV8Q6PLHBHRYbxlT0zco3GwXFIrcV5QhD7AefEDdx-6YCXKjXyZQTfmUjYA98T7aXjtZJ4QU5m_kavaCoa0z8ltdtTbr1kn9yCz6VfZufV9m/s320/EmptyFinishLine2.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I almost had one of those, "Am I here on the wrong DAY???" moments, which NO runner ever wants to have. That's the stuff of nightmares.<br />
<br />
<br />
Plenty of port-a-potties were available, and after making a quick visit, Hubby and I went to a side street to begin warming up. I've found that this is crucial, CRUCIAL, to how I'm going to perform in a race. When I first start trying to run - no matter how slow, or no matter the occasion - my entire mind and body will go into somewhat of a state of shock, and immediately rebel against this forced exercise. Seriously, it's like my legs don't even know how to function, and they'll stumble blindly down the road, each one going off in a different direction. My brain will be all, "Whah??!! What the He$$??!! What IS this foreign thing you're trying to do right now…RUNNING??!! We don't know what that is, and we DEMAND that you STOP!!! NOW!!!"<br />
<br />
I've learned that if I warm up for 5-10 minutes, and push through these treacherous thoughts and motions, I'll eventually settle into a rhythm, and my mind & body will be all like, "Oh…we get it now! Running!! We know how to do that!! Silly us. Okay - we're good. Continue."<br />
<br />
<br />
So. I warmed up. And I got into the groove with about 15 minutes before the start of the race…at which time, I kissed Hubby goodbye so he could go up to the Red Wave, while I settled into the Blues. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTf1V_A-ykDpCnQM4BB2DBwUA3Lrcj7OOjMvd6ma-lfFJEQ6Uz-sEdmQKlPet-JzNlWZphC0ua7O-tpA3YzeoVb4s_ZLArYyvbw5Xd2vCyYi_ds3HdqyEfJ3FxJNkhLWFpqca-XaQIGhs/s1600/Us.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTf1V_A-ykDpCnQM4BB2DBwUA3Lrcj7OOjMvd6ma-lfFJEQ6Uz-sEdmQKlPet-JzNlWZphC0ua7O-tpA3YzeoVb4s_ZLArYyvbw5Xd2vCyYi_ds3HdqyEfJ3FxJNkhLWFpqca-XaQIGhs/s320/Us.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Sometimes, Selfies are NOT your friend. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
While waiting, I checked Facebook, because, I mean…well…isn't that what everyone does before a race??!! I discovered that one of my Red Cross buddies was also at this race, so I texted her so we could say hello before the race:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqmgOgY9TiCNZRspGxv_VFgKjGmStUuYvxYSgjDzelmB-w0I8MKXvl6YiuIU_2_rfkbt7DGnICj12ygT5R58Efs4hvOP-oFnrXKSlVrJ5XA3dbS2IIV26RPEQNXzfSQ90TlhbvCb1XdWP/s1600/Meghan.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqmgOgY9TiCNZRspGxv_VFgKjGmStUuYvxYSgjDzelmB-w0I8MKXvl6YiuIU_2_rfkbt7DGnICj12ygT5R58Efs4hvOP-oFnrXKSlVrJ5XA3dbS2IIV26RPEQNXzfSQ90TlhbvCb1XdWP/s320/Meghan.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Meghan and Me<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
It wasn't long before the national anthem was being played, sung by THIS guy, and he was really, really good - and I could HEAR it, which was even MORE awesome:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnOCKa75hjGp1VsHTuPOeTun4i4pnrZKO0g6SoMp3-io3A0Y6fIWBkC0AU_D2-q-Uu_rLw9TUUanV7SoiTnCSLzrk2g9-MNoyBxq-IsoWcLn1Qj2l8THq4vLnxDSHT_fZa-DxpxWCsNWl/s1600/NationalAnthem.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnOCKa75hjGp1VsHTuPOeTun4i4pnrZKO0g6SoMp3-io3A0Y6fIWBkC0AU_D2-q-Uu_rLw9TUUanV7SoiTnCSLzrk2g9-MNoyBxq-IsoWcLn1Qj2l8THq4vLnxDSHT_fZa-DxpxWCsNWl/s320/NationalAnthem.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
After that, a drone flew overhead, which, although drones are a bit creepy, they're also a bit cool:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2wVHi51cBCzHOy6ekcj32ZvArcb6btTLx3fqBfdEezjREudt5qlzo06dHDu34S_xh3wFSEIcYt0SZRv8fkKdBWG5TNDh0uSliuldMeehjUHJAqTiyxEyIrgZtquuVH1wQtbvWT6NUS0y/s1600/Drone.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2wVHi51cBCzHOy6ekcj32ZvArcb6btTLx3fqBfdEezjREudt5qlzo06dHDu34S_xh3wFSEIcYt0SZRv8fkKdBWG5TNDh0uSliuldMeehjUHJAqTiyxEyIrgZtquuVH1wQtbvWT6NUS0y/s320/Drone.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>SMILE! You're on CAMERA!!! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
It was about this time that I started to get my Garmin 220 Forerunner watch started…and to my horror…it DIDN'T start!!! Ack!!! It was somehow…frozen…and it would NOT turn on! A brief panic attack ensued, as I wondered how I would ever, EVER hope to run four miles without a watch.<br />
<br />
And then my brain settled down, and I realized it was NOT my watch that was doing the running, but my legs. And my legs were fine. Rather than trying to run/walk with intervals, I told myself that my new strategy would be to "run" the course…run as much as I could for all of the downhills, and walk, if needed, only when there were uphills or I was just too freaking exhausted to run anymore. <br />
<br />
Whew. Panic attack averted.<br />
<br />
<br />
The gun started, and the Red Wave took off…and a few minutes later, it was our turn - the Blue Wave. I had settled towards the back of the corral, not wanting to get caught up in a deluge of runners at the beginning of the course. My strategy was to get a good "pocket" of space around me, so I wouldn't waste time bobbing and weaving around slower runners or walkers. <br />
<br />
<br />
There are a few uphills on this course, and most of them are at the beginning. Compared to the hills I'd been running the last few weeks at the <a href="http://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2015/04/rock-parkway-half-marathon-review.html">Rock the Parkway</a> and the Garmin, these hills were NOTHING. I just ran. And ran. And ran. I kinda' felt like Forrest Gump, in that it seemed that all cylinders were firing, and everything seemed to be settling into place: I just felt like running.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtrHJQTb0wp1ISxNyzKTWsLKLd8sGpeWIjqyKsOcZQMp9Fn_J8O7vfYO9lrUUE4beZH1PU3BbFDvNMSD4TWOYXxZ1OKCvz9simfeqj_Xxw_iNQB1LSHWN6x8CoznyOzcbVlO_UGvSUA2V/s1600/Forrest.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtrHJQTb0wp1ISxNyzKTWsLKLd8sGpeWIjqyKsOcZQMp9Fn_J8O7vfYO9lrUUE4beZH1PU3BbFDvNMSD4TWOYXxZ1OKCvz9simfeqj_Xxw_iNQB1LSHWN6x8CoznyOzcbVlO_UGvSUA2V/s320/Forrest.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Before I knew it, I was already past the Mile 1 Marker…I was so focused on running, that I TOTALLY missed the race photographer stationed along the sidelines…<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RQYlIhRdxuN4EzJP9-jFOUZKmrWy5yzYJVPADZImRK9RjqX2IA0EA0TDYB20G4t65RRqgco0l0ZZuZb7hY_tmF024is394t0ByF3-BYU3YR7tIO4xxBSj97WZhELlpjsZxR_Ca5U0UPt/s1600/Mile1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RQYlIhRdxuN4EzJP9-jFOUZKmrWy5yzYJVPADZImRK9RjqX2IA0EA0TDYB20G4t65RRqgco0l0ZZuZb7hY_tmF024is394t0ByF3-BYU3YR7tIO4xxBSj97WZhELlpjsZxR_Ca5U0UPt/s400/Mile1.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I know. I'm shocked, too. I'm normally on top of those things. No cheesy smile for the photographer?? I'm so disappointed in myself.<br />
<br />
However - take a second look at that photograph, and notice the visually-impaired runner behind me, alongside his guide.<br />
<br />
That is WAY cool. <br />
<br />
<br />
Although my legs were feeling really good at this point, I was getting pretty hot. As in, this is how I felt on the inside:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RLT4gynCtiO2wAEH-P_jqnJOojb6aAhYFYY4Mykqi7-Andy3Iu5NQOctQYtKYhzg9hgWai3Io33wXQGT1ZAp0Gzzw5wmVZB-iuFKjjBqB3SN0VDeQ1HC3FOvLeOJnB9n3bzfTc3QwLqe/s1600/Volcano.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RLT4gynCtiO2wAEH-P_jqnJOojb6aAhYFYY4Mykqi7-Andy3Iu5NQOctQYtKYhzg9hgWai3Io33wXQGT1ZAp0Gzzw5wmVZB-iuFKjjBqB3SN0VDeQ1HC3FOvLeOJnB9n3bzfTc3QwLqe/s320/Volcano.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
So hot. So freakin' hot.<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the 2nd race in a row I've worn that base layer, and the 2nd race in a row that I have COOKED. I obviously heat up on the inside like a race engine, and I need to just leave that thing at home - or send it to some needy kid in Siberia next winter. Gah.<br />
<br />
I had to resort to my old standby…at every aid station, I would sip the Gatorade, and dump the water - over my head. As in, let's get totally soaked in 40-degree temperatures. Smart, huh? <br />
<br />
By now, we were heading north on Brookside Boulevard, which is one of the prettiest streets in Kansas City. Not only are there some really cool houses along this stretch, there are some pretty awesome residents, who pull out all the stops to cheer the runners along every year. They'll set up lawn chairs and boom boxes, and sit there with their kids, their dogs, and their friends, yelling encouragement to everyone who passes by. They have awesome signs of encouragement, and the kids all offer their hands for "High Five's" as you run past, and I, of course, being the Queen that I am, happily obliged, high 5'ing every kid I passed. Ah, my loyal subjects - thank you for coming out on this chilly Sunday to support your Queen. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMv1JqJUQp0OUu2NdRYuoW91-oM_Oy9_le8BvGfsrTBuCwQFJcHGTwzvPZ70zXMd7mYIWp72jsuxrFrAMjqyPbvUxcT4WTGEG5ozzlhs3DQr25PUJsjyRWw2sK-AWMQ5zmpKJKC5YP3gm/s1600/Queen.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMv1JqJUQp0OUu2NdRYuoW91-oM_Oy9_le8BvGfsrTBuCwQFJcHGTwzvPZ70zXMd7mYIWp72jsuxrFrAMjqyPbvUxcT4WTGEG5ozzlhs3DQr25PUJsjyRWw2sK-AWMQ5zmpKJKC5YP3gm/s320/Queen.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Not to mention, I got lots of compliments on my AWESOME skirt. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvoIq6aMP5otndWBz-uNgGRIqjexd6tl1Y727y4CyuXaeO3_x00QMv3SZmu_WfrJeOENjHR4YUj183upchgyE8ID-MvDm0B5S_-j6WYG_dj_eJZPGUQpE82yzD2tN-KmIqQ2PtUfHEm6W/s1600/Anchorman.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvoIq6aMP5otndWBz-uNgGRIqjexd6tl1Y727y4CyuXaeO3_x00QMv3SZmu_WfrJeOENjHR4YUj183upchgyE8ID-MvDm0B5S_-j6WYG_dj_eJZPGUQpE82yzD2tN-KmIqQ2PtUfHEm6W/s320/Anchorman.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
And as awesome as the music, and the signs, and the pooches, and the high 5's from the kids, and the skirt compliments were - there was one thing, and ONLY one thing, on my mind, at this point.<br />
<br />
The bacon.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's a well-known tradition at the Trolley Run for one house, along Brookside Boulevard, to set up their grill and fire up bacon. Which they then pass out & distribute to anyone and everyone running along the course. <br />
<br />
BACON!!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8FoDludYnLPQDFh6V03WKcQGQCsdHKASTGHnwMctbxFX692wOgRwXn4MAQfAFgv87_NLLg3NQbhxEccR1WPv7icp4HsmmzWzyuHiQLnX1XkpE2M39IAZJ5zCzb8rOlXuSZJYckgFFBNXW/s1600/Bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8FoDludYnLPQDFh6V03WKcQGQCsdHKASTGHnwMctbxFX692wOgRwXn4MAQfAFgv87_NLLg3NQbhxEccR1WPv7icp4HsmmzWzyuHiQLnX1XkpE2M39IAZJ5zCzb8rOlXuSZJYckgFFBNXW/s320/Bacon.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I had missed this famous "aid" station last year, but there was no way in H.E.L.L. I was going to miss it this year - so I kept my eyes - and nose - peeled. And I found it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziMh2jzIN1XpOVw6emHnvnUq2zWLBzl27e4oKMqlSCfQzNiIORIXtkN-8z82f4vNvY2oIIdh1StSgYb7yM8az2fR4g_oJnoPitGu5iHowoGREbu6D7pW1191nsHZEgnub5HtHRi9_8fwC/s1600/Bacon.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziMh2jzIN1XpOVw6emHnvnUq2zWLBzl27e4oKMqlSCfQzNiIORIXtkN-8z82f4vNvY2oIIdh1StSgYb7yM8az2fR4g_oJnoPitGu5iHowoGREbu6D7pW1191nsHZEgnub5HtHRi9_8fwC/s320/Bacon.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>I know. I look like a wild-eyed crazy bacon stalker. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
However…a curious thing happened. I discovered that attempting to run - really fast - while chewing on crispy bacon - is not the best combination. My mouth was too busy trying to focus on sucking air, and I was now attempting to force it to chew, and SWALLOW, bacon. <br />
<br />
<br />
Yes. Instead of walking and chewing gum…as the saying goes…I was attempting to run and chew bacon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DuA3C3eZtfNWdQKeCKKPKf-D-cJaj41m0P7mTQ9FGi36E_OwlT8o7VEWJbVU0c-r8-s21yNjuPZPhSfgK65g2M65pioDkuSpeDPJ4wFFcoMj0oTgvWIbzhPHGduTM3M2RUNXKx_OpcoS/s1600/ChewGum.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DuA3C3eZtfNWdQKeCKKPKf-D-cJaj41m0P7mTQ9FGi36E_OwlT8o7VEWJbVU0c-r8-s21yNjuPZPhSfgK65g2M65pioDkuSpeDPJ4wFFcoMj0oTgvWIbzhPHGduTM3M2RUNXKx_OpcoS/s320/ChewGum.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I failed. One thing had to go, and if you think I would sacrifice the bacon in order to race faster - you thought wrong.<br />
<br />
I sacrificed some time on the clock to savor the bacon.<br />
<br />
Priorities, peeps.<br />
<br />
<br />
As I was slowing down to savor the bacon, a woman ran by me and said, "NOOOO!!!! Don't slow down NOW!!!!! You've been my pacer!!!!!"<br />
<br />
Which totally shocked me, as I'm normally the one globbing onto someone in front of me like a cat on velcro, and here someone had been globbing onto ME!!!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1ghCmlPiZ5FPeXky_Wc6YmpE2ZrunRG9zYQsidgWcMtNbVd_3twHZ1rVjVtL9whYsK9CZA0wcTOtSg_2ggWzcA9FjN3l9Kxu4uOSI7IiWrqeQp6ch7xuukB8o6dHqwiDlsnEOSIOvFWh/s1600/CatPlanet.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc1ghCmlPiZ5FPeXky_Wc6YmpE2ZrunRG9zYQsidgWcMtNbVd_3twHZ1rVjVtL9whYsK9CZA0wcTOtSg_2ggWzcA9FjN3l9Kxu4uOSI7IiWrqeQp6ch7xuukB8o6dHqwiDlsnEOSIOvFWh/s320/CatPlanet.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
After my bacon break, it was time to push on…and before I knew it, I was approaching the Finish Line at the Country Club plaza. Without the use of my Garmin watch, I had NO CLUE as to how fast I'd been running…had I been running too slow? Too fast? <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1e-4VJ0cWhfItKfCRbwSg_yndoLIt65tdyo5dDLwsiNhQtsmm44bRyorcdtNbAJ2X008-FjyLkGkR4oS5c1sNDzXNbQlDpth2SrJMzvGzMBvMfgUnRP-may9X8aqFnkPOrx5lK7eOPn7E/s1600/Shrug.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1e-4VJ0cWhfItKfCRbwSg_yndoLIt65tdyo5dDLwsiNhQtsmm44bRyorcdtNbAJ2X008-FjyLkGkR4oS5c1sNDzXNbQlDpth2SrJMzvGzMBvMfgUnRP-may9X8aqFnkPOrx5lK7eOPn7E/s400/Shrug.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
Yup. Clueless.<br />
<br />
I crossed the finish line, and you can somewhat see the doubt and confusion on my face here…I haven't had time to get my official results to see how I'd done. Had I sucked? Had I rocked it?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZmkh-kt1rHhFQ_yA2W6i6Rc288P1UhFMhRWjiK8Y3e5AndLrd2Ey3JAoqMKhjpNdNdWSzTfTla31P3dg5lcFVuQpPAuYdxEloG6q0-qy_sMQzEW3l1kMlxzzX-O-0ikIWM2oTbi9TxrM/s1600/FinishLine2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZmkh-kt1rHhFQ_yA2W6i6Rc288P1UhFMhRWjiK8Y3e5AndLrd2Ey3JAoqMKhjpNdNdWSzTfTla31P3dg5lcFVuQpPAuYdxEloG6q0-qy_sMQzEW3l1kMlxzzX-O-0ikIWM2oTbi9TxrM/s400/FinishLine2015.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Okay. Not my best look. But I was still very, very confused.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
As I stumbled through the long chute at the end, grabbing a water bottle, a banana, and whatever else they were throwing into my hands, I frantically looked for Hubby, and couldn't find him anywhere.<br />
<br />
This was odd. Normally, he's RIGHT THERE at the Finish Line, ready to greet me with open arms and the adulation that I deserve. Huh. Weird.<br />
<br />
As I was looking for him, though, the lady that had said I'd been her pacer approached me and thanked me, AGAIN, for pacing her. I said, "But…you passed me! When I stopped for my bacon break!" She replied that I'd soon passed her, and as I'd been running the "perfect" pace, she'd tagged behind me the rest of the way. And she'd managed to set a PR, so she was extremely appreciative. <br />
<br />
Not to mention, she liked my running skirt. <br />
<br />
Duh.<br />
<br />
I made my way to the spot where Hubby and I had agreed to meet up, in case we got lost, and as I sat waiting for him, I managed to check my results.<br />
<br />
And I was Blown. Away.<br />
<br />
<br />
I finished this race in an amazing time of 42:04, with an average mile of 10:34. I had placed 89th out of 311 in the 50-54 year old females.<br />
<br />
I had shaved almost seven minutes off from last year.<br />
<br />
Whoa.<br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, Hubby found me…and he admitted that he'd missed me at the Finish Line, as he didn't think I'd be finishing that fast. <br />
<br />
Whoa.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was the Sparkle Skirt.<br />
<br />
Or the bacon.<br />
<br />
Maybe both. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Things I Liked About This Race:</b><br />
<br />
1. Pretty much everything. The course is awesome, the aid stations are situated just right, the crowd support is amazing, and the after party is to die for.<br />
<br />
2. Bacon.<br />
<br />
3. Did I mention bacon?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Things I Didn't Like About This Race:</b><br />
<br />
1. The only negative thing is the bus situation at the beginning…always a bit chaotic. I don't like point-to-point races for this exact reason….<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-44716036881165201082015-04-24T17:18:00.000-05:002015-04-24T17:20:18.027-05:00Review: Forks and Corks<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9LYN81E0Oa9NiMLDH9UaQ0LDCw9TzuAx_K93x7uRwmc9Cit6fou0RlSdcwYNld7gFz0bgq5rjwnmdkoKlT544vpU62lsN8O5z6-NTmIbBVCtvssg7MTPPOIsXSWIfku572dw8K9EpUPR/s1600/ForksandCorks-web-carousel-2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9LYN81E0Oa9NiMLDH9UaQ0LDCw9TzuAx_K93x7uRwmc9Cit6fou0RlSdcwYNld7gFz0bgq5rjwnmdkoKlT544vpU62lsN8O5z6-NTmIbBVCtvssg7MTPPOIsXSWIfku572dw8K9EpUPR/s400/ForksandCorks-web-carousel-2015.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
God bless whomever invented stretchy jeans.<br />
<br />
<br />
Spandex and elastic were necessary last night after indulging in a near 50-course food and wine fest, and I'm STILL in a food coma today. <br />
<br />
Nom. Nom. Nom.<br />
<br />
Not to mention, I think I put on 10 pounds in one night. Gah.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEnz1AU7FZRcDkNE0ELYR6w-bfPtPN0zamPIqB-6Xkj6kHubsEUxY48UhzerPL2_Vy2Lu6fi34HFCpN0BIAF7AS8vW5cyuZLAFIeV2dsIbdr7NGZs4Zc4dvYJYMJMZX8wweizJGehIo6s/s1600/Panic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmEnz1AU7FZRcDkNE0ELYR6w-bfPtPN0zamPIqB-6Xkj6kHubsEUxY48UhzerPL2_Vy2Lu6fi34HFCpN0BIAF7AS8vW5cyuZLAFIeV2dsIbdr7NGZs4Zc4dvYJYMJMZX8wweizJGehIo6s/s400/Panic.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Hubby and I attended the 19th-annual <a href="https://www.harvesters.org/Forks-Corks-2015">Forks and Corks event</a> last night, which features gourmet food and wine from more than 50 of Kansas City's finest restaurants and wineries, each offering their signature dishes and their finest wines. Forks & Corks was created in 1997 to support Harvesters’ hunger relief effort and is known today as one of Kansas City’s best Food & Wine Events! As their tag line says, "Eat, drink & feed many at this fantastic event where 100% of the proceeds benefit the hungry in our community!"<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BiKSP_qKZAZ4h0hoNklo2pY9y-vnyYFLNAPBPJQ_GNedH_UaSGHMiXW_0NSNNbrHQ51kCeC795eSC7Onj6JeiKbvXQP-lFlQ7SW0PmXYMi7n_K7p-bZet_QHRe9v8QzWzw6OZuJQVdlM/s1600/Us.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BiKSP_qKZAZ4h0hoNklo2pY9y-vnyYFLNAPBPJQ_GNedH_UaSGHMiXW_0NSNNbrHQ51kCeC795eSC7Onj6JeiKbvXQP-lFlQ7SW0PmXYMi7n_K7p-bZet_QHRe9v8QzWzw6OZuJQVdlM/s400/Us.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
We attended this last year, and had so much fun - between the food, the wine, and the fellowship of other foodies - that we weren't about to miss it this year.<br />
<br />
<br />
A VIP ticket got us Valet Parking, entrance to the VIP lounge, and a 30-minute "head start" at the food & wine booths. That 30-minute head start is HUGE, as the lines will get long and longer as the evening progresses…especially at the more popular food booths. We knew from past experience that a couple of booths would get hit HARD when the doors opened to the general public, and so that's where we made a bee-line at the get-go. <br />
<br />
And those booths did not disappoint.<br />
<br />
First up was the ever-popular <a href="https://www.thecapitalgrille.com/locations/mo/kansas-city/8015?cmpid=TCG_PPC_GOO_TCG_KansasCityMO_BR_11407">Capital Grille</a>, which featured some slow-braised beef and creamy, hot mashed potatoes:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdosq1d6v8iYnP2XWE0NF2fDB7XB5JhNN8vxYHZD8qs-iWM9YPdRncIEZeKlD7KwjJYL08C_Yzzeca8lmgG2taiZ8rhWmz24VlW1gq_G6H_d4X-5H63cgBYXBT4qQvkMgOewczKWF4KXzi/s1600/Capital.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdosq1d6v8iYnP2XWE0NF2fDB7XB5JhNN8vxYHZD8qs-iWM9YPdRncIEZeKlD7KwjJYL08C_Yzzeca8lmgG2taiZ8rhWmz24VlW1gq_G6H_d4X-5H63cgBYXBT4qQvkMgOewczKWF4KXzi/s400/Capital.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
This ended up being my favorite entree of the evening…it was pure perfection.<br />
<br />
Although this one was pretty darned good, as well:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMk8gv_EDdxo8nwvxIXb8_gW7ngNL-SSCC4NjIbNRpppKJir8TaanIoINZLP6qitv0q-4IJr8grYuWk2qhhxRM3K5uV_2J5YVtzrO-RHavvntNkJinz87Atb3-ws-JpkwMdu-YZScB16c/s1600/Brazil.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMk8gv_EDdxo8nwvxIXb8_gW7ngNL-SSCC4NjIbNRpppKJir8TaanIoINZLP6qitv0q-4IJr8grYuWk2qhhxRM3K5uV_2J5YVtzrO-RHavvntNkJinz87Atb3-ws-JpkwMdu-YZScB16c/s400/Brazil.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
This was from <a href="http://www.fogodechao.com/?gclid=CjwKEAjw0-epBRDOp7f7lOG0zl4SJABxJg9qg5uMCqw0NWMwpyLRlKM0M0wjUevZbCjgO2JNH7I8yRoCUvnw_wcB">Fogo de Chao</a>, a Brazilian steakhouse here in town. You had me at steak. <br />
<br />
<br />
For dessert, two standouts for us included a chocolate flour-less cake with a jalapeno-strawberry jam from Johnson County Community College Culinary school:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5CqFfmahuJdPAPuaUZdFQMnbwQ7l4yfoVQgo1W1EMeZwG0dmuoSi_c7cSh4OdJuf4WwzJMYQwTEH96KqDa81nBtEqgKiOTKFqKmKVqfYRrGOfmA81QcQ8fk5o4Ve8TrzvPpzQiuHwfx0/s1600/Jalapeno.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5CqFfmahuJdPAPuaUZdFQMnbwQ7l4yfoVQgo1W1EMeZwG0dmuoSi_c7cSh4OdJuf4WwzJMYQwTEH96KqDa81nBtEqgKiOTKFqKmKVqfYRrGOfmA81QcQ8fk5o4Ve8TrzvPpzQiuHwfx0/s400/Jalapeno.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
…and assorted chocolates from Kansas City's premier chocaliter, <a href="http://andreschocolates.com">Andre's Confiserie Suisse</a>:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVS5ToudEMi5WBGTDVuVTkZDFgIjQGpZeS8Ph6T8oi1-fBARpFXqiLMR-Uqi3-G3ZsrkQAkjP7fnwd5lqm3LpvDtnpWDGAFjt3yAdnhCYPIktRwJUySpjvhWO6_NqvX7KOOBF6xcDVENpq/s1600/Chocolates.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVS5ToudEMi5WBGTDVuVTkZDFgIjQGpZeS8Ph6T8oi1-fBARpFXqiLMR-Uqi3-G3ZsrkQAkjP7fnwd5lqm3LpvDtnpWDGAFjt3yAdnhCYPIktRwJUySpjvhWO6_NqvX7KOOBF6xcDVENpq/s400/Chocolates.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxaPPulo9ObBo-LFzV_9Vj_XBjg2OAQ5E5ZksDP0YhZYqelvV1NauE6u5TIgaTEzGhtubJKhf9UesKIcUXXXqr0wRm-EOSrLd56mKkjq0WEX2n7uHN3nqMBnNRL8akVWGpQNq6jFHFKIJ/s1600/AndreTable.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxaPPulo9ObBo-LFzV_9Vj_XBjg2OAQ5E5ZksDP0YhZYqelvV1NauE6u5TIgaTEzGhtubJKhf9UesKIcUXXXqr0wRm-EOSrLd56mKkjq0WEX2n7uHN3nqMBnNRL8akVWGpQNq6jFHFKIJ/s400/AndreTable.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Can I just take the whole table home with me???!!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
One of those truffles was infused with Kansas City's own <a href="http://www.jriegerco.com">J. Rieger</a> whiskey. This special whiskey began in 1887, but was killed by Prohibition in 1920. However, 95 years later - the whiskey is BACK!! And it's better than ever, trust me. These truffles came with instructions: "You MUST eat this whole - do NOT attempt to nibble."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55clPQyVmLDDzDJRG05zsGZ1VMolODmAaLdNOxBimMSU4SzziJsk1R_wzzXdYNin4tlJ3vOsqPqXyZxX2RSx2ZviI0kTjZHrYXV_HN07n6fxgO9vbWRXC0oF366_Q548kKLLePOS_0egI/s1600/Rieger.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55clPQyVmLDDzDJRG05zsGZ1VMolODmAaLdNOxBimMSU4SzziJsk1R_wzzXdYNin4tlJ3vOsqPqXyZxX2RSx2ZviI0kTjZHrYXV_HN07n6fxgO9vbWRXC0oF366_Q548kKLLePOS_0egI/s400/Rieger.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Embossed with the J. Rieger monogram…how cool is THAT??!! <br />
</i><br />
I soon found out why…there wasn't just a drop of whiskey in that sucker. It EXPLODED, with a SHOT of delicious, smooth whiskey that blended perfectly with the chocolate shell.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN5YJ0Jxtb8EoBa-V_6NajtxWgvyNFVPe0xV2wV5IHPEbYakzexJIxTfbKbFKLSIiDoZuzroyJOLIcXFOQFcbbmxc1UF2ShGevDi1Bsbj03Kxtc-1IRPYOG1K-MvWMPMtXAnh8g0sTya4/s1600/OMG.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN5YJ0Jxtb8EoBa-V_6NajtxWgvyNFVPe0xV2wV5IHPEbYakzexJIxTfbKbFKLSIiDoZuzroyJOLIcXFOQFcbbmxc1UF2ShGevDi1Bsbj03Kxtc-1IRPYOG1K-MvWMPMtXAnh8g0sTya4/s400/OMG.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
I may - or may not - have had a few of those. Hubby was worried that the Andre's booth were going to have to take out a restraining order on me…I was pretty much stalking that table for awhile.<br />
<br />
<br />
The Melting Pot had these fabulous chocolate-covered strawberries:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_RWgoeiNpejQnjTomjRZ3GY6fsGitw2daqsKKGOqk3bwPsQx4dsCN9xRKtb6mVOwFk_EOU1dVzwSu7cfP4JWNTQDaaup3g7I6i5wC4FbpXUVMYXJ5uYhCA-EaThysFpkKsyUjPt13uIa/s1600/Strawberries.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_RWgoeiNpejQnjTomjRZ3GY6fsGitw2daqsKKGOqk3bwPsQx4dsCN9xRKtb6mVOwFk_EOU1dVzwSu7cfP4JWNTQDaaup3g7I6i5wC4FbpXUVMYXJ5uYhCA-EaThysFpkKsyUjPt13uIa/s400/Strawberries.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Almost too pretty to eat. Notice I said, "almost." Hee hee.<br />
<br />
<br />
As far as having to worry about gluten-free offerings, it was pretty easy to ask someone at the booth if their food was "safe" for Celiacs. There were definitely some booths I had to avoid - such as the pasta offering at Lidia's Restaurant - but I never felt cheated or short-changed. In fact, it may have been a BLESSING that I couldn't quite indulge in EVERY. SINGLE. ITEM. at this event.<br />
<br />
Like the famous Rainbow Cake from <a href="http://succotashkc.com">Succotash</a>:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfYqxCZ1iI6T_K5pepgbXPscosMwhBHHJHs-yiHNnIkxrT8WNqoUCwpVojA6qFbrgINAZIGjZze0S_20TaM38g8uphK_1l35xHDisxNa3A1-H5um2ajNPkIMiYRq7pK_y-TbU8atUK1Ds/s1600/Succotash.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfYqxCZ1iI6T_K5pepgbXPscosMwhBHHJHs-yiHNnIkxrT8WNqoUCwpVojA6qFbrgINAZIGjZze0S_20TaM38g8uphK_1l35xHDisxNa3A1-H5um2ajNPkIMiYRq7pK_y-TbU8atUK1Ds/s400/Succotash.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Gah. I would have exploded.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
But that certainly didn't stop Hubby from indulging in some deliciousness:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQAAEQFtNV9JjPZNmUmUiuzUNvZYfi8dEej4kmrrgjFM5YMI84L8f2dtVAphHzaw0Il4lSgKn_KhnOTz3bWVmFeAvubO4n961TONaqrxwR1Z-oRNut3XWiBcOU6499aC07AW2ToqWWkw9/s1600/Rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQAAEQFtNV9JjPZNmUmUiuzUNvZYfi8dEej4kmrrgjFM5YMI84L8f2dtVAphHzaw0Il4lSgKn_KhnOTz3bWVmFeAvubO4n961TONaqrxwR1Z-oRNut3XWiBcOU6499aC07AW2ToqWWkw9/s400/Rainbow.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
We could just not. stop. eating.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ljc4Wa04YGoTU-2OmloHPHO0kpjvOjgS-DBZtoxc2P6pCFdtP9L19gNpSZBYSaj4OeV4KTRPCpzHyoNeMwV497M5t2-Jg0PjJm0TZxbNh1ZnPZ49hF7Cc95Nipz9dh5tDpgoRorB5qaP/s1600/MichaelEat.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ljc4Wa04YGoTU-2OmloHPHO0kpjvOjgS-DBZtoxc2P6pCFdtP9L19gNpSZBYSaj4OeV4KTRPCpzHyoNeMwV497M5t2-Jg0PjJm0TZxbNh1ZnPZ49hF7Cc95Nipz9dh5tDpgoRorB5qaP/s400/MichaelEat.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As far as the drinks - what's more fun than walking up to a booth that has 8-10 bottles of wine, holding out your wine glass, and saying, "Yes, please" as they refill it??!! Over. And Over. Again.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzCxPu4Q5mIzuwoK4sGJ37kjuNVZFOBGrfoK_fc43xMk8zYrr2bTh82D0SidmwpPQxUde1hYObeCPaRRN0GGIiaXKlw9ubbzZqlQ5G0uWRncEKXRkzgnT3wlLaTcbG8HZpztHH6srogmB/s1600/FillErUp.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzCxPu4Q5mIzuwoK4sGJ37kjuNVZFOBGrfoK_fc43xMk8zYrr2bTh82D0SidmwpPQxUde1hYObeCPaRRN0GGIiaXKlw9ubbzZqlQ5G0uWRncEKXRkzgnT3wlLaTcbG8HZpztHH6srogmB/s400/FillErUp.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Fill 'er up, please. Squee.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJbh9ZVUYMYkWHhUjWI1ut7e5_NUNE_qX0qrYImE4LlidvA6ocaHaM66MmZ9gcubNHNHumH40iDW0QIv_2z8FkRarQevCP7b-av5Tq_VFCReAw5g51-BVXJW6707e8wl_l5j8TchCCqdu/s1600/Wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJbh9ZVUYMYkWHhUjWI1ut7e5_NUNE_qX0qrYImE4LlidvA6ocaHaM66MmZ9gcubNHNHumH40iDW0QIv_2z8FkRarQevCP7b-av5Tq_VFCReAw5g51-BVXJW6707e8wl_l5j8TchCCqdu/s400/Wine.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>A little white…a little red…a little buzz going on in my head...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Basically, the whole evening was like, "YOU get a drink! And YOU get a drink! And EVERYONE gets a drink!!"<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGBa_pKfE4Xa-67h2_TRf2XOMMxV9eWS1v55Ch4-ML2u9W5Bov2kjTiB8mutnUkn11pwgKNnx6OEJ-lS46Ru456PGFnMaUTjaZ59Ti074bZxpneWgdD2kZ4cLmoDPvbXw1my_C91IS2qS/s1600/Oprah.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGBa_pKfE4Xa-67h2_TRf2XOMMxV9eWS1v55Ch4-ML2u9W5Bov2kjTiB8mutnUkn11pwgKNnx6OEJ-lS46Ru456PGFnMaUTjaZ59Ti074bZxpneWgdD2kZ4cLmoDPvbXw1my_C91IS2qS/s400/Oprah.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
Lots of happy people, trust me.<br />
<br />
Except for a Kansas City policeman walking around, making sure no one was getting TOO out of hand. I assured him that the food, and especially the wine, was terrible, and he wasn't missing out on anything. He thanked me, and said, "Yeah - I see a whole bunch of people having a horrible time tonight." <br />
<br />
Bwahahahahahaha. <br />
<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, there was a live band, Lost Wax, who played some great covers of everything from Garth Brooks to Black Eyed Peas. They kept encouraging everyone to dance, but I think everyone was too busy eating and drinking to even THINK about dancing. Although dancing would have probably burnt off some calories, which was sorely needed at this point.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTx3gkAxJGWhWHktIjFPaqMWDkFobcLSWhO5pgB1bL5xnhUL__Mz-N4oqERLEJzUnj0YV-MDYXUZK_TMCUOK-VkdzQFd1GuhXDz7MyNAJ6EPuNy1lc0uvdYzFZMPeB2GLqDdZyZkefq7De/s1600/Band.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTx3gkAxJGWhWHktIjFPaqMWDkFobcLSWhO5pgB1bL5xnhUL__Mz-N4oqERLEJzUnj0YV-MDYXUZK_TMCUOK-VkdzQFd1GuhXDz7MyNAJ6EPuNy1lc0uvdYzFZMPeB2GLqDdZyZkefq7De/s400/Band.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
There was also a silent auction, which had some pretty cool items, including tickets to The Jimmy Kimmel Show…wowza. Those went for a pretty penny. But for a reasonable $30, Hubby and I scored this cool basket, stuffed with some culinary delights, from Monin Gourmet Flavorings. I was happy - as I had fallen in love with the Honey Mango iced tea earlier in the evening:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPUWeJJJes7glaW8XjDEyfflOzSKkEJu5BDerGoS7f_x_ZZyGLsqq3MPnAp2z_yOdbZh9mwQdRhaj8T8YgfonmgoYuXNF8ZJpwhfrEF4b2leKYpli7lrQI2Dhz3pKvN4z1NffngSXwqLm/s1600/Monin.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPUWeJJJes7glaW8XjDEyfflOzSKkEJu5BDerGoS7f_x_ZZyGLsqq3MPnAp2z_yOdbZh9mwQdRhaj8T8YgfonmgoYuXNF8ZJpwhfrEF4b2leKYpli7lrQI2Dhz3pKvN4z1NffngSXwqLm/s400/Monin.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I know they didn't consult with me, but if they'd put up a year's supply of those whiskey-filled chocolate truffles for auction, I may have cleaned out our life savings in order to win.<br />
<br />
<br />
At some point, I was taking a much-needed break from stuffing my face, checking out Facebook, when I saw that a sorority sister from college was at the event. From her photos on Facebook, I saw that she was wearing a houndstooth dress - and looking up - saw that she couldn't have been more than 20 feet from me.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_JoWrPUkgytvUd0OND4g5-gIMo0uelNSN22XOifZ50yKMzk1GRlWaPnxyv00UJSEd_pghCQ8ok3A7ZSAEAZ7ljssCAEbFqOsjNKyaF8a6aEPP7MtbwzVAw11fBGl7dQiC4KM_L0KmmYD/s1600/Kathleen.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_JoWrPUkgytvUd0OND4g5-gIMo0uelNSN22XOifZ50yKMzk1GRlWaPnxyv00UJSEd_pghCQ8ok3A7ZSAEAZ7ljssCAEbFqOsjNKyaF8a6aEPP7MtbwzVAw11fBGl7dQiC4KM_L0KmmYD/s400/Kathleen.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
CHI OMEGA REUNION!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
After about three hours of wining and dining, Hubby and I waddled back to the car and headed home…happy with our meal, happy with our basket, and happy knowing we'd helped stock the shelves at our local food pantry for another year. <br />
<br />
And when we got home - we may…or may not…have looked like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDOx4lx4aLJduwSLbKWnO36sNFa1tgcdA6J1wNs1jIglHQgbmRXLogmfs1itkEihSvxSf_tWRHp9egoa3RqOWCp54GEmW1lgABkAgHbLuQcJ1I99WR7OvGAN4a6yUVLLB8nVpEvnstw0-/s1600/FoodComa.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDOx4lx4aLJduwSLbKWnO36sNFa1tgcdA6J1wNs1jIglHQgbmRXLogmfs1itkEihSvxSf_tWRHp9egoa3RqOWCp54GEmW1lgABkAgHbLuQcJ1I99WR7OvGAN4a6yUVLLB8nVpEvnstw0-/s400/FoodComa.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-42701321189282657232015-04-22T11:19:00.000-05:002015-04-22T11:19:04.047-05:00Garmin Half Marathon: A ReviewSometimes, life hands you a good kick in the a$$.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, that kick in the a$$ is needed. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo20Iar_NmEu1fA-SRrHRk0xsx_IWJApNUDdPkcR4Yniu-1-X7QzCte4-CyCuJhIhG0xEXIIurlRoDYhg-huQEZazrEFkrjQGbvURSaZqct35wi9A1M0pnSh0Y-6PSQ5SFp80DDL4PSVrq/s1600/Kick.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo20Iar_NmEu1fA-SRrHRk0xsx_IWJApNUDdPkcR4Yniu-1-X7QzCte4-CyCuJhIhG0xEXIIurlRoDYhg-huQEZazrEFkrjQGbvURSaZqct35wi9A1M0pnSh0Y-6PSQ5SFp80DDL4PSVrq/s400/Kick.jpg" /></a>*<br />
<br />
<br />
After setting a PR (personal record) the week prior at the <a href="http://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2015/04/rock-parkway-half-marathon-review.html">Rock the Parkway Half-Marathon</a>, I’d been somewhat cocky…struttin’ around like Foghorn Leghorn in a barnyard of chickens…ready to take on the running elites, confident that I was ready for the Big Leagues of Marathon Racing.<br />
<br />
Ha.<br />
<br />
A little setback, otherwise known as the Garmin Half-Marathon, happened, bringing me back to reality with a cold, hard “plunk”. A cold, wet splash in the face – literally - but very much needed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNU4sQuzkJjVNqzNzMwUJD6lCPJGR5nvSizWsqI-RRkJewJ1Xbc-0LuqpO4Jp4Vwy18k1HPkMtY8C1-tivvWwsHrO1ctD9E1pmNcopyCU5b5GnuKbYC7P6pB6ROFWjKZvLm2dtYJ99FbKQ/s1600/FrontofShirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNU4sQuzkJjVNqzNzMwUJD6lCPJGR5nvSizWsqI-RRkJewJ1Xbc-0LuqpO4Jp4Vwy18k1HPkMtY8C1-tivvWwsHrO1ctD9E1pmNcopyCU5b5GnuKbYC7P6pB6ROFWjKZvLm2dtYJ99FbKQ/s400/FrontofShirt.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Flying Monkeys…bah. I hate Flying Monkeys.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
The Garmin Half-Marathon, which was set for Saturday, April 18th, was Part 2 of the <a href="http://www.heartland393.com">Heartland 39.3 Series</a>…three half-marathons within five weeks that will earn me a huge-a$$ medal, but also some pretty tired legs when it’s all said and done, which will be on Saturday, May 9th.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrrMh6Uui53HW0uSi5arzh6W36CWSNSMuL19P5eDGF2xY0aSTsckFzTpT7DOBw39TyQXK9IlGZHoAERGeMlu5nQ67s5Xob7gRMSyYA1OTID_SbktCuULQAHZ7BUjirBRZOmrCuV36p5-K/s1600/39.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrrMh6Uui53HW0uSi5arzh6W36CWSNSMuL19P5eDGF2xY0aSTsckFzTpT7DOBw39TyQXK9IlGZHoAERGeMlu5nQ67s5Xob7gRMSyYA1OTID_SbktCuULQAHZ7BUjirBRZOmrCuV36p5-K/s400/39.3.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>It's all about the bling...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
All week, I’d been watching the forecast for last Saturday, and it was not looking good. As Race Day drew nearer, the weathermen were ominously predicting severe thunderstorms, gusty winds, and pretty much doom & gloom for Saturday morning. Gah. I can deal with gusty winds…I can deal with rain…but what I CAN’T deal with is lightning. Now, I get that MOST people can’t deal with lightning, but I pretty much have a phobia of it. A flash in the sky can pretty much send me into full-blown panic, and the thought of running over 2.5-hours while having a heart attack was not something I was looking forward to.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGZDse3j47LhyphenhypheniLao9DmIrFGwt9KDaGuKWXzmTZLqIQWNxfdwsqYgvjoCE68hFt4TRo0QNr8SqZd4T4s1efNzATh65DrjPhjueWlTz9DAURMYOFw4cTOH5PvgjsrCnReEldtf9cYnkWhL/s1600/SedateMe.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGZDse3j47LhyphenhypheniLao9DmIrFGwt9KDaGuKWXzmTZLqIQWNxfdwsqYgvjoCE68hFt4TRo0QNr8SqZd4T4s1efNzATh65DrjPhjueWlTz9DAURMYOFw4cTOH5PvgjsrCnReEldtf9cYnkWhL/s400/SedateMe.gif" /></a><br />
<br />
So, having to not only mentally deal with how to dress for potentially being soaked and freezing for 13.1-miles, as well as how to deal with lightning-induced panic attacks, pretty much consumed my thoughts for the 48 hours leading up to Saturday. <br />
<br />
<br />
We’d set the alarm to ring at 4:45 a.m. on Race Day, because we’re kinda’ stupid about that, but anxiety, nerves and adrenaline had me wide awake at 3:45 a.m. You can imagine how thrilled I was about losing an hour of sleep on race day. However, looking out in the pre-dawn darkness, I was somewhat relieved to see that the rain had not moved in yet…perhaps I’d luck out and it would hold off until the race was over?? <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU17DREMka5-z1dDFiMmLAyEHCsVtqar0EVXHIoT-IxQyHQVRmBPyrwyu7L0xafk1UUkaBMJzw501Ge0s6kalKWAESGKK7FG07SRuh5KZeOVYg46I6p79o_32WNA5ts00bFoIkye5ZwBRG/s1600/you-serious-not-happening-babe.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU17DREMka5-z1dDFiMmLAyEHCsVtqar0EVXHIoT-IxQyHQVRmBPyrwyu7L0xafk1UUkaBMJzw501Ge0s6kalKWAESGKK7FG07SRuh5KZeOVYg46I6p79o_32WNA5ts00bFoIkye5ZwBRG/s400/you-serious-not-happening-babe.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
I quickly donned “Flat Me” – the outfit I’d carefully arranged the night before. The bright yellow vest was a new purchase – but I was hoping it would give me an extra layer of warmth in the wind and the rain…as well as giving me some visibility in case the skies stayed dark. The vest was advertised as “glow in the dark” – and as I looked at later photos of me during the race – it DEFINITELY glowed. That sucker was so darned bright that I’m pretty sure the astronauts at the International Space Station could see me. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXslAAzUEQZHkjV1NtVpUbddc-ZU61IoJuHgoQUAbPXckIv91i_7wU90ixcrG-HMOdz-JNp4-3EufDy-GQidu_GBWfcOQoV_swxMqR7opuXYLJrt3HFKh-Pavdoj6Q26JVeZ9nEt5TbJq0/s1600/FlatMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXslAAzUEQZHkjV1NtVpUbddc-ZU61IoJuHgoQUAbPXckIv91i_7wU90ixcrG-HMOdz-JNp4-3EufDy-GQidu_GBWfcOQoV_swxMqR7opuXYLJrt3HFKh-Pavdoj6Q26JVeZ9nEt5TbJq0/s400/FlatMe.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>My eyes! My eyes!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
After a 30-minute or so drive, Hubby and I arrived at Garmin International, the site of the Start/Finish line for the race. We were directed to a parking space that was literally 100 yards from the port-a-potties, which was a blessing, as that’s normally my first stop. While heading over to take care of business, I pulled out my phone so I could text Kristin, my BRB (Best Running Buddy), to see where she was…and imagine my surprise when she was literally right in front of me. What were the odds of THAT?? Four thousand runners, and here she was…in my path trajectory!! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqzXS1RmblkazH8eU5zf8Su8zWpl8kD5xufGccIdqzdbstq5iAY4lFSuWM5C9VZb2dWJ2hfyuv56M7VwEUt6_OkklSBbaEHqM3PC_oocOiM-9Vg7EJFOXoWGT0aI8-oNDLF0I1ncz-6hM/s1600/Kristin.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqzXS1RmblkazH8eU5zf8Su8zWpl8kD5xufGccIdqzdbstq5iAY4lFSuWM5C9VZb2dWJ2hfyuv56M7VwEUt6_OkklSBbaEHqM3PC_oocOiM-9Vg7EJFOXoWGT0aI8-oNDLF0I1ncz-6hM/s400/Kristin.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Kristin and I made our way over to the Finish Line, where we hooked up with some more friends, Paula and Bill. Introductions were made, and we chit-chatted…all while I was still nervously assessing the skies and any impending danger. Did I mention that I HATE, HATE, HATE thunderstorms??!! <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0ADsEnTXqwpMEFuDfE1UgCQmtgqmaJqloWuu6kB885av_IexpUDgAZFO4e-YPq0EHI4uzyjgf9Yg1Zbqdmiiu-SLZh0PBIv9u16xdx66eSOHAy4saFegwNggKKW5EYDiX17JDEgv6Bj3/s1600/PaulaBill.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0ADsEnTXqwpMEFuDfE1UgCQmtgqmaJqloWuu6kB885av_IexpUDgAZFO4e-YPq0EHI4uzyjgf9Yg1Zbqdmiiu-SLZh0PBIv9u16xdx66eSOHAy4saFegwNggKKW5EYDiX17JDEgv6Bj3/s400/PaulaBill.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Partners in crime…Paula and Bill...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Here is where I made Mistake #1. <br />
<br />
I spent so much time jabbering, that I really didn’t mentally focus on what was ahead of me. I normally like to go over my “game plan” inside my head…where I’ll suck a GU Energy Gel, when I’ll need to slow down or speed up, etc…but that’s all done best when you’re by yourself. Not while standing in a social circle, socializing. While we made our way over to the Start Line, with about 10 minutes before the start of the race, I told myself I’d do a quick mental focus when I got lined up in my corral.<br />
<br />
<br />
This is when I discovered Mistake #2.<br />
<br />
Normally, about 15-20 minutes before the start of a race, I like to nibble on some Honey Stinger Energy Chews. As we walked over to the corrals, it occurred to me that I had left my Stingers IN THE CAR. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfki2hH5Nn12fIwCg8mFrWglxLHQbP_sCln5rGeOLrdXhjLWshymgmt-ivg4dl4MkkQQMuYD20a5JH7Zpp0L0C4fuvXe4Wfadio2YZpZxxSJLy7h5vXcOFbu8eH2e7bJCWbtocbXlHqSt9/s1600/Are-you-Serious.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfki2hH5Nn12fIwCg8mFrWglxLHQbP_sCln5rGeOLrdXhjLWshymgmt-ivg4dl4MkkQQMuYD20a5JH7Zpp0L0C4fuvXe4Wfadio2YZpZxxSJLy7h5vXcOFbu8eH2e7bJCWbtocbXlHqSt9/s400/Are-you-Serious.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
This freaked me out a bit. NO STINGERS??!! <br />
<br />
Crap. <br />
<br />
Oh well. Too late now. Tough it up, Buttercup.<br />
<br />
Jumping into the corrals, I observed that a lady next to me had on a shirt that I also own – and it’s one of my favorite running shirts. Well, I HAD to compliment her on her excellent taste in clothing, and soon we were quickly becoming BFF’s. Diana (see, already on a first-name basis!) had driven all the way to Kansas from Georgia to participate in this race. I looked at her like she was crazy, and she explained, “Well – I liked the medal.” I’m sorry, but that made it even CRAZIER to me!! I mean, Flying Monkeys. On a medal. Gah. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtxsQypvWL2FhDiN9xuQCDqGMQfRQ_l9hr5jvCMX44rEsJ7fFyL7VN95eX65Bvvo9sWzAiZNa8T_4biMUmVnb69rTQo-ng1050Vym3KDnwLY707EHxbq8PpIVqUmdqf2zS7IauVbvpXkm/s1600/Diana.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtxsQypvWL2FhDiN9xuQCDqGMQfRQ_l9hr5jvCMX44rEsJ7fFyL7VN95eX65Bvvo9sWzAiZNa8T_4biMUmVnb69rTQo-ng1050Vym3KDnwLY707EHxbq8PpIVqUmdqf2zS7IauVbvpXkm/s400/Diana.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
As we were talking, here comes yet another friend, Tracy, and again, introductions were made, photos were taken – and I STILL had not gone over my game plan.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLbhUISY2O5ZnUe_eGvG0Q6wrH0fLqhW3AVNLusnYN0MCXZbL2JqUe076amomnFznTqxps6fAHRSyUwPMMdLhZFkLfoYuHE1zpSQLYD6OWUxCeOugZSD35srWwu7q8VIawz6rD1UV_6J7/s1600/Tracy.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLbhUISY2O5ZnUe_eGvG0Q6wrH0fLqhW3AVNLusnYN0MCXZbL2JqUe076amomnFznTqxps6fAHRSyUwPMMdLhZFkLfoYuHE1zpSQLYD6OWUxCeOugZSD35srWwu7q8VIawz6rD1UV_6J7/s400/Tracy.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Tracy, me and Diana…STILL not focusing here...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
“It’s okay,” I thought to myself. “I can still do it during the National Anthem.”<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
There WAS no National Anthem!!!<br />
<br />
Okay, that’s not correct. Apparently, they played it – but they didn’t play it over a public address system…so those of us in the back of the corrals NEVER, EVER heard it. Hubby said that even in the front, where he was, they could barely hear it.<br />
<br />
So…as I was chatting with Tracy and Diana, we looked around and realized that runners around us were starting to run.<br />
<br />
“Hey!!” Tracy exclaimed. “We’re MOVING!!!”<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yxJ7crB1x3ojwgAo7yvMA032bx4gAjAmyK361HncWIxNujvMeZklD84ZsqGGvp3ZsUI5os-LMHqN_7HgnUmH0fGwc33EhdjUGUujRD6UEElEouwVK-8y_cAdDlLMj0iYdhJIEeNAJCP1/s1600/Chock.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yxJ7crB1x3ojwgAo7yvMA032bx4gAjAmyK361HncWIxNujvMeZklD84ZsqGGvp3ZsUI5os-LMHqN_7HgnUmH0fGwc33EhdjUGUujRD6UEElEouwVK-8y_cAdDlLMj0iYdhJIEeNAJCP1/s400/Chock.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Well, crap again. No Stingers. No National Anthem. And no Mental Focus/Game Plan before the race.<br />
<br />
It was time to run.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttT8d_W69sfwsaCfPIEBKW66er6QVbZhTpe-sc60idnO2i_A7IgYoMu6iZ8SN0DvrYYV7oSLdnRrWx2idOWHdZF90qcxaMx_ZUTeaMQQ13yt7_Zu0OAchP7WUC5PUqXHZYuLGBdD8IPBN/s1600/GarminStart.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttT8d_W69sfwsaCfPIEBKW66er6QVbZhTpe-sc60idnO2i_A7IgYoMu6iZ8SN0DvrYYV7oSLdnRrWx2idOWHdZF90qcxaMx_ZUTeaMQQ13yt7_Zu0OAchP7WUC5PUqXHZYuLGBdD8IPBN/s400/GarminStart.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I’m not going to go into a mile-by-mile breakdown of this race…suffice to say that it was long. And it was hard. Because it seemed to go uphill…a LOT. More than last week’s race, actually. At race time, the humidity was at 97%, and my lungs felt like I was sucking water every time I took a breath, which, when running uphill, happens a lot. Lots of breaths. Lots of huffing and puffing. <br />
<br />
When I finally caught enough breath to somewhat analyze this, around Mile 3, I realized I was running with the 2:20 Pace Group – which is about 20-25 minutes TOO FAST for me. I was so stunned at this bonehead move on my part that I almost literally slapped myself right there. This was a Rookie Mistake – starting out too fast – and I am NOT a Rookie, and should have known better. No wonder I was sucking air – I was running way too fast than what my body had trained for. <br />
<br />
<br />
I immediately slowed things down – but the damage had been done. My legs were spent. And I had ten more miles to run. Mistake #3.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gSsT3QVohaNjd6uNyGQ9Q4ZI0JxZw41O4obqcRt8kaELLRBZ2vYq7DXOBVy95G6ZVoXB5aY0eqUO2J5m3HYCOm07wfZOHKh4lUUpDZaK-DrX3gdiS5rla8Ty4kXi9sWiGjWZynWXVWnV/s1600/funny-tired-dog-pics.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gSsT3QVohaNjd6uNyGQ9Q4ZI0JxZw41O4obqcRt8kaELLRBZ2vYq7DXOBVy95G6ZVoXB5aY0eqUO2J5m3HYCOm07wfZOHKh4lUUpDZaK-DrX3gdiS5rla8Ty4kXi9sWiGjWZynWXVWnV/s400/funny-tired-dog-pics.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
At Mile 4, my knee was starting to make its unhappiness known – what with the hills and the earlier speed drills – and I instinctively reached into my pocket for my emergency Ibuprofen that I carry.<br />
<br />
And it wasn’t there.<br />
<br />
I’d lost my little bag of medicine somewhere along the race course. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfCV58ckSuT7XNW8kUCCviYb3cvpN43fZKHFvAQEnpcFi9kUFu6mNqO6RLWh-f7dYGuPtketju9Dx7WRSHWdRh15U-YU6IwDcIRMhpbXcgkiMPgDwZdAxcOMUdgNiMR3iChtj0JL4MCrB/s1600/Baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfCV58ckSuT7XNW8kUCCviYb3cvpN43fZKHFvAQEnpcFi9kUFu6mNqO6RLWh-f7dYGuPtketju9Dx7WRSHWdRh15U-YU6IwDcIRMhpbXcgkiMPgDwZdAxcOMUdgNiMR3iChtj0JL4MCrB/s400/Baby.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Mistake #4. <br />
<br />
Ack.<br />
<br />
At this point along the race, I was somewhat regretting wearing that yellow vest. A fellow friend and runner, Kathi, had suggested that I might get too hot in it, and I was starting to believe she was right. I unzipped it as far as it would go, and doused myself in showers of water every time I hit the Water Station. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfJbD7txJKPncne9PmKKbYC3tnoTc18HWPvEA5snl5G4N4VOqzTjjxeeosbpWVIRvHsDSaWZ3rs89ZCazGEiuqsup5oZUjV1T1_XcviTM2isBORQcxXyaq1k4PPCKlEqqztymbftz0uKg/s1600/Cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfJbD7txJKPncne9PmKKbYC3tnoTc18HWPvEA5snl5G4N4VOqzTjjxeeosbpWVIRvHsDSaWZ3rs89ZCazGEiuqsup5oZUjV1T1_XcviTM2isBORQcxXyaq1k4PPCKlEqqztymbftz0uKg/s400/Cup.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
By Mile 6, the raindrops started…light, at first…but increasing with intensity. Far off in the distance, I heard the rumbles of thunder. Yikes. It was coming. The lightning was coming. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbvHJxfy5jePdh7ISgS03MmEWzNG_eJ_e_ldAEpfmUgeFCj2V2yU61RGhNgj2GDPdLKP2Nr-_vHxGhujKHxcace083k9pRorBp1-IHOxhubvYs25-zNhWzZSW4izD_10CehbOaryeaEH4j/s1600/Coming.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbvHJxfy5jePdh7ISgS03MmEWzNG_eJ_e_ldAEpfmUgeFCj2V2yU61RGhNgj2GDPdLKP2Nr-_vHxGhujKHxcace083k9pRorBp1-IHOxhubvYs25-zNhWzZSW4izD_10CehbOaryeaEH4j/s400/Coming.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
By Mile 8, I was soaked…what with the rain, and the previous showers I had taken at the Water Station with the Dixie Cups. The wind had kicked up, and any thoughts that I had overdressed with the yellow vest were gone. I was now officially freezing. I was also congratulating myself for perhaps doing the only smart thing of the day – wearing that vest – as it gave me a little bit of warmth. <br />
<br />
Mile 8 is where the race course took an interesting diversion…we’d been running along asphalt-coated streets, but suddenly, we were now on a bike trail through a park. The scenery though this area was incredible – trees budding out in beautiful spring colors, a bubbling brook and bridges, etc – but the trail was incredibly muddy AND slippery from all the runners.<br />
<br />
It was like running on an ice rink.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EuVn5fUSFH4ptCaC16as4F9aMx8vfOFsxajTz1Flr4P6vqYf19e8FRz_jVLD2PIA64sOg2owwYxkTpdKz-00Lz1SMbNFkrZd8W5dFqtKnlgwHlfG32CN1pXhuV4SQ2vATcrtAEDESlVI/s1600/Duck.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EuVn5fUSFH4ptCaC16as4F9aMx8vfOFsxajTz1Flr4P6vqYf19e8FRz_jVLD2PIA64sOg2owwYxkTpdKz-00Lz1SMbNFkrZd8W5dFqtKnlgwHlfG32CN1pXhuV4SQ2vATcrtAEDESlVI/s400/Duck.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
I’m not sure how long this trail lasted, but enough to slow me down even more. By this time, I’d pretty much resigned myself that my only goal was to finish, period. Don’t worry about time. Don’t worry about setting any PR’s. Just finish.<br />
<br />
By now, I'd settled into a good rhythm. It went something like this:<br />
<br />
Run, run, splash, splash, flash, flash, <b>BOOM</b>.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FRnwxY-0DL4g6zobvKk98-QPCHhdVjakSOXOn6ry-RG9y7jmRvqR1I69qtIRm7JJaoaR8RihzYZn9obJcKrEFTAtvWPQHfzMwGt85wYPzGfRA6bcJr8lT66IwfpHLDX-RYMGEthcEz5h/s1600/it-s-been-lovely-but-i-have-to-scream-now-funny-poster-print.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FRnwxY-0DL4g6zobvKk98-QPCHhdVjakSOXOn6ry-RG9y7jmRvqR1I69qtIRm7JJaoaR8RihzYZn9obJcKrEFTAtvWPQHfzMwGt85wYPzGfRA6bcJr8lT66IwfpHLDX-RYMGEthcEz5h/s400/it-s-been-lovely-but-i-have-to-scream-now-funny-poster-print.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was my slowest half-marathon to date, but I didn’t care at this point. I was just happy to finish, in the rain, in the lightning, and in one piece. I was wet. I was freezing. I was tired. <br />
<br />
And I’d qualified for <a href="http://www.halffanatics.com">Half Fanatics</a>, my Bucket List item which was now complete. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecpBdT3YnN0kNc224Hb0GYhyphenhyphenUAljiVSNF3yY4Xi86cR016XoGvaYKHDQIIfgnXE2_eV4dz56WywurA2x6bhgN19oSXyhmWO3V6i5v4-izJqZybNSOCpQBUDlxpPPgjonxx-zfjWeZ022B/s1600/HalfFanatics.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecpBdT3YnN0kNc224Hb0GYhyphenhyphenUAljiVSNF3yY4Xi86cR016XoGvaYKHDQIIfgnXE2_eV4dz56WywurA2x6bhgN19oSXyhmWO3V6i5v4-izJqZybNSOCpQBUDlxpPPgjonxx-zfjWeZ022B/s400/HalfFanatics.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Shivering, Hubby and I had just made our way to the car when a HUGE crash of thunder roared in our ears – and the skies opened up to torrential showers. I couldn’t have timed my finish any better – missing most of the worst of it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In a lot of ways, I’m glad things went wrong at this race. Mistakes we make are teachable moments, and this race was certainly that for me. Things I should know better than, and things I should/could plan better for in the future, will all help me in future races. I’m still relatively a “newbie” when it comes to running, and I hope that my mistakes will help someone else in the future, as well – those “Don’t do THIS” moments are helpful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Things I Liked About This Race:</b><br />
<br />
1. The incredible volunteers. They were out there, in the rain, and I KNOW they had to be even more cold than we were. Their enthusiasm never wavered – so major snaps to them.<br />
2. The theme: being that we were in Kansas, the Land of Oz, the race was focused on the Wizard of Oz, complete with a Flying Monkey medal. There was some great signage along the route that incorporated themes from the movie, such as courage, heart, etc. The Finish Line had been decked out as a Yellow Brick Road, which was pretty cool. There were also several costumed runners, which made things interesting.<br />
3. Not too many runners. This was a smaller race, and I enjoyed not being surrounded by swarms of people…and we always had plenty of room on the streets to run. No pinch points. <br />
4. The food & beer at the after-party…although I can’t have the beer (due to the gluten), Hubby really enjoyed his. Whole Foods were giving out bags of food at the end, which was incredible. There were also free chicken sandwiches and burgers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Things I Didn’t Like:</b><br />
1. It’s advertised as “Wickedly Fast” – but that’s not the case. They need to be honest about the “rolling” hills that are part of this course. It’s not flat. Not at all.<br />
2. The weather – but there’s nothing the Race Director can do about that. That’s just my own phobias, which I need to deal with.<br />
3. The course…that trail was just…gah. WAY too slippery to run on with any decent speed. It slowed a lot of us down.<br />
4. The medal. It has a Flying Monkey on it. The Flying Monkeys used to scare the BEEJEEBUS out of me when I was little, so I’m not overtly fond of this medal. <br />
5. Packet Pick-Up: It was at a Hilton Garden Inn – in the LOBBY. Four thousand runners showing up to pick up shirts & bibs in a small LOBBY is not good. It was crowded and crammed and chaotic. Not very many vendors, either – which that may have been good for my wallet. ;)<br />
<br />
<br />
Note the back of the shirt: “A Wicked Good Time.”<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHGTB62DyWkWqmJEqow5wnZ2-AibcL0BW9GdTuWINSfx3iVpfd5R2-Lculc-diVP2J7P-r_qX0ZIuajMR6a7ldTcUaSNmy_6HDuczeZw0Qg69uRwvnWIJXgA0j6aZ79VztnfqFzNtCbN5/s1600/BackOfShirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHGTB62DyWkWqmJEqow5wnZ2-AibcL0BW9GdTuWINSfx3iVpfd5R2-Lculc-diVP2J7P-r_qX0ZIuajMR6a7ldTcUaSNmy_6HDuczeZw0Qg69uRwvnWIJXgA0j6aZ79VztnfqFzNtCbN5/s400/BackOfShirt.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Ummmm…no. Just no.<br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p><br />
*Image from <a href="http://jerryrushing.net/?p=1714">HERE</a>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1100140666365898132.post-22864110532813050152015-04-13T23:02:00.000-05:002015-04-13T23:02:20.414-05:00Rock the Parkway Half-Marathon: A Review<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil75hyphenhyphenFntBjXgLBv5iZkLJZVH3EIQY6E1kR_oeC-NwwSrth2WUhUSafovvNNYQXyejX_1ELsEzMdKnveQP554nA2IZuOqRY6B4vaTmPoQptzxQY1v2nnOTNv_RL3GkbFe6x9ioWuUTCrik/s1600/rtpwy01.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil75hyphenhyphenFntBjXgLBv5iZkLJZVH3EIQY6E1kR_oeC-NwwSrth2WUhUSafovvNNYQXyejX_1ELsEzMdKnveQP554nA2IZuOqRY6B4vaTmPoQptzxQY1v2nnOTNv_RL3GkbFe6x9ioWuUTCrik/s400/rtpwy01.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
I ran my 3rd half-marathon last Saturday, at Kansas City's 6th Annual Rock the Parkway…one of the fastest growing half-marathons in the area.<br />
<br />
And if I'd just been brazen enough to wet my pants…I would have smashed my previous record of running a half.<br />
<br />
Darned bladder the size of a pea.<br />
<br />
Darned long lines at the port-a-potty.<br />
<br />
Darned peeps in front of me in line who took FOOOORRRREEEEVVVVEEEEERRRR themselves.<br />
<br />
<br />
Let's back up, though, shall we???<br />
<br />
<br />
So…Rock the Parkway…let's talk about it.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHOVkcLkjo0Sb17AC7iYCiGYHtVdUDjpMhSbxJNfw3DYhEO9WwTWqmZ-7TRn6nYZ_Rsd1DEzvmOqHhXRdlXwtLUs7SHitV_dCqut2D2LsltmAC708v5ZXW4lkZGcSKCxhC_VEhJB6e8V9/s1600/Course.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHOVkcLkjo0Sb17AC7iYCiGYHtVdUDjpMhSbxJNfw3DYhEO9WwTWqmZ-7TRn6nYZ_Rsd1DEzvmOqHhXRdlXwtLUs7SHitV_dCqut2D2LsltmAC708v5ZXW4lkZGcSKCxhC_VEhJB6e8V9/s400/Course.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
A year ago, Hubby and I ran the 5k at Rock the Parkway…which was one of my first, ever, official races…and I remember I about died, trying to complete a 3.1-mile run. I wanted to puke afterwards. What a difference a year makes…because here I was, attempting my 3rd half-marathon, 13.1 miles, in less than a year. And let me be honest - even after having ran two previous halfs, I was by no means confident that I could pull this off. Not at all. My anxiety and nervousness knew no bounds, as I knew that my training the last few weeks had fallen far short of where it should have been - what with my bum knee and my insane travel schedule. <br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday, I woke up at 5:25 a.m. in order to begin the process of getting dressed. The night before, I had laid out "Flat Me" to look like this:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKlgggQsPNyVG9p8_YRXp1NxmrJQfYrC6MhAf570H2-59pLdVRimSp7spEoo2t6WJpfjR0vaVXPOZgxeVAxpcGxet5rFDQ9R-7fpHw0aWpdS7juyHIdTcnlRUA9ES7XO1luNDMHQQrFkb/s1600/FlatSherri.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKlgggQsPNyVG9p8_YRXp1NxmrJQfYrC6MhAf570H2-59pLdVRimSp7spEoo2t6WJpfjR0vaVXPOZgxeVAxpcGxet5rFDQ9R-7fpHw0aWpdS7juyHIdTcnlRUA9ES7XO1luNDMHQQrFkb/s320/FlatSherri.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
However, when I checked the temperatures, they were a tad bit chillier than I had expected…so I ended up throwing on a base layer underneath the shirt (which I would regret later, as I got WAY too hot during the race), and a pair of running capris under my skirt (which I never regret, as they're like a second skin). I also threw on a "throwaway" Mickey Mouse sweatshirt at the last minute, which would keep me warm before the race began, but could easily be discarded along the side of the road when needed.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'd packed my <a href="http://www.fitletic.com/ultimate-running-belt.html">Fitletic Running Belt</a> (which is pretty awesome, by the way) with not one, not two, but THREE GU energy gels, along with some eye drops, chapstick, Ibuprofen, and a hankie. Energy gels are a no-brainer: my plan was to suck down a GU every 3-4 miles for extra energy, as this has worked great for me in previous long runs. My contact lenses demand that I run with eye drops, as the least bit of wind will dry my eyes out like the Sahara Desert - gah. The Ibuprofen was there in case my knee (or any other part of my body, for that matter) decided to throw a fit during the run…and the hankie is because my nose sometimes decides to run just as much as my legs. Nothing can be more distracting, to me, anyway, than having a runny nose when you're trying to focus on running a race. <br />
<br />
So, once Hubby and I were packed, we hopped in the car and drove to the Starting Line, which was located at 9400 Ward Parkway in Kansas City, Missouri (a good 23 miles from our house). A good majority of the race would take place on Ward Parkway, a wide tree-lined boulevard that has some awesome homes, fountains and scenery along the route…hence the name of the race, "Rock the Parkway." <br />
<br />
This was the 6th year for Rock the Parkway, and it had sold out with 7,000 half-marathoners for Saturday's race. There were an additional 1,400 runners signed up for the 5k, which is what we had participated in last year. There is a staggered start for the race - the 5k runners start 30 minutes after the half-marathoners - which is nice, leading to less congestion at the start line. <br />
<br />
We had no problem parking, choosing to park in a local high school's parking lot that was within yards of the starting line. There's lots of other parking lots nearby, as well as tons of side streets that offer available parking. As soon as we parked, I immediately texted my BRB (Best Running Buddy), Kristin, to see if she had arrived yet. She immediately texted back, "I just parked at Rockhurst High School. Plenty of parking here." How funny - that's where WE were parked at, and after glancing around the parking lot, I found Kristin about one row away from us. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHt2zjhYFNIOkfmodDeGe3SxNfcw8goR0EJ5uyyUg7mipjFMzWJZkOvwFQqdsnb39k7q8AdvG85cBP_0W_uMNmKFZ7Mlaa9s79aJ2Gmkr1wG-E37Pp09utxBXJlnQ2ABEhm7WX5llI7AH/s1600/MickeyMouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHt2zjhYFNIOkfmodDeGe3SxNfcw8goR0EJ5uyyUg7mipjFMzWJZkOvwFQqdsnb39k7q8AdvG85cBP_0W_uMNmKFZ7Mlaa9s79aJ2Gmkr1wG-E37Pp09utxBXJlnQ2ABEhm7WX5llI7AH/s320/MickeyMouse.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Kristin and I, pre-race, in our throwaway sweatshirts…<br />
</i><br />
<br />
We made our way to the starting area, where we hooked up with our running group, <a href="http://www.kcendurance.com">KC Endurance</a>. My Beast of a Trainer, <a href="http://sherrirodell.blogspot.com/2015/03/an-ode-to-personal-trainers-everywhere.html">Jessica</a>, was there, and she gave me some last-minute strategy and advice on how to tackle the race…as well as calming my nerves. KC Endurance had an awesome tent set up, so it was the perfect place to drop my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt - he will live to see another race!!! <br />
<br />
I went for a last-minute visit to the port-a-potty, hoping it would be my last trip of the morning…little did I know that all of the water I'd been drinking for the days leading up to this race would come back to bite me. <br />
<br />
Soon, it was time to head over to the corrals…RTP is a wave-start, and you're placed in a wave when you submit an estimated finish time when registering. I was back in Corral F, while Hubby was in B…so after kissing him goodbye, I made my way back. Along the way, I ran into Dana, another Running Buddy that I met first on Facebook, and then "in real life."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KqQkQW9t8r097V369OgiBlM_aPypLtd_X-wsR65mTma2XO-o9cT9076f2Bb8zoaxF8dH9vSA0WHpZldEsWLOm0nsANPZbOjz7LmbSOFKA2A0Yo8j373AEotsAzKmo2J_Wg9yUGoxyj5N/s1600/Bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KqQkQW9t8r097V369OgiBlM_aPypLtd_X-wsR65mTma2XO-o9cT9076f2Bb8zoaxF8dH9vSA0WHpZldEsWLOm0nsANPZbOjz7LmbSOFKA2A0Yo8j373AEotsAzKmo2J_Wg9yUGoxyj5N/s400/Bruce.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Too bad Bruce had his eyes closed…!!<br />
</i><br />
<br />
All too soon, the race started, although it was a good 10 minutes or so before my corral actually got close enough to cross the timing mat at the start line. A quick flip of the Garmin watch, as well as a quick flip of the tunes on my iPhone, and I was off. <br />
<br />
I'd only gone a few feet when I realized I was running with the 2:30 pace group…and I was immediately faced with a decision. My goal was to either tie - or beat - my time from the KC Half Marathon last October, which was 2:43. I had planned to run with the 2:40 pace group, but seeing the 2:30 pace group right in front of me, I quickly decided to hang with them for awhile, and if forced, I could always drop back and pick up the 2:40 group behind me. I wasn't sure how fast the 2:30 group would be going, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to "test the waters" for a mile or two, and then decide a final course of action.<br />
<br />
The first couple of miles of the race are a long, gradual incline heading north on Ward Parkway…and I was having no problems at all running with the 2:30 group. Having ran with the Smart Pace Teams before, I knew what their strategy would be: they'll run a bit slower in the beginning of the race, walk through the water/aid stations, go really, really slow uphill, and go like hell downhill. <br />
<br />
I could do that. <br />
<br />
My only concern was my knee…and wondering how long it would take before it started hurting…and how much it would slow me down. Little did I know that it wouldn't be my KNEE that slowed me down…grrrrr….<br />
<br />
So…I ran. And I ran. And I ran. Pretty much ran the entire first 4 miles straight, with no walk breaks - except for a brief walk through the first water station at Mile 2 - but at a pretty slow pace, considering it was all uphill. And I felt pretty strong…slammed down a GU gel at around the 4-mile mark, and grabbing water and Gatorade at the water stations. The Gatorade was for sipping; the water was for splashing on my face to keep me cool. And the 2:30 Pace Group was right there beside me the entire time, and I was starting to think that I could possibly, just possibly, shatter my personal record. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And then…disaster struck.<br />
<br />
**insert ominous music here**<br />
<br />
I had to pee.<br />
<br />
As in…I had to really, REALLY pee…and it wasn't going to wait. Like, I had reverted back to being a newly potty-trained toddler and needed to go NOW. It didn't help that I had just passed the beautiful <a href="http://kcparks.org/fountain/sea-horse-fountain-2/">Meyer Circle Fountain</a> at Mile 4, and the water was gurgling and bubbling and doing crazy things with my mind:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4bTMO6rdC-vZjGArhWe9ZE1DTgVk7gQAM1rktKBzSlKjlaQYiVGFP4imfAagpFg8g41j5lceOnHTvbuu-oUqF7a8SAFOgly39EHuUo2ACBHSkMLDIA-BSmkE-iZRITXZJT69Sx8tofJ-/s1600/MeyerCircle.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4bTMO6rdC-vZjGArhWe9ZE1DTgVk7gQAM1rktKBzSlKjlaQYiVGFP4imfAagpFg8g41j5lceOnHTvbuu-oUqF7a8SAFOgly39EHuUo2ACBHSkMLDIA-BSmkE-iZRITXZJT69Sx8tofJ-/s400/MeyerCircle.jpg" /></a> <br />
<br />
Gah. <br />
<br />
Frantically, I began looking for the nearest port-a-potty, and right around Mile 5, I saw a blessed sight: five little potties in a row. That was the good news. The bad news? A line of about 12 runners, waiting impatiently for those potties.<br />
<br />
EEP.<br />
<br />
<br />
Having no choice, really, I ran over and joined the line…and then began waiting. And waiting. And waiting. We waited SOOOOOOOOO long that I seriously started thinking that the potties were empty, and we were being punk'd by some sadistic a$$hole. Minutes went by…precious minutes that I was losing on the clock, and I could see that 2:30 Pace Group disappearing off into the distance…a long-gone forgotten memory by now.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Finally, FINALLY, people began emerging from the potties, so the line began moving…but alas. By the time I hurriedly took care of business, I emerged and hopped back into the race in a sort of "No Man's Land" - not seeing any Pace Groups in front of me, nor behind me. I had no idea how much time I'd lost in that little venture, but I knew it had been over five minutes. <br />
<br />
I should have just peed my pants. They were black. Who would know??<br />
<br />
Okay. I kid. I would know. And that would be one too many people as it was. <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Back to the race…the rest of it is sort of a blur. I knew we ran uphill…and uphill…and uphill…a lot. I know we didn't run downhill all that much, which kinda' pissed me off. But, knowing that running is 90% mental, I'd quickly try to squash the negative thoughts, so that I wouldn't sabotage my efforts. And it was getting hotter by the minute, so I was regretting that base layer I had on under my t-shirt. If I hadn't paid $99 for that base layer, it would have been stripped off and thrown away. But $99? No way, no how. I'd melt before I'd throw that sucker away.<br />
<br />
<br />
One of my friends, Mary, lives along the route, and at a party the night before, had told me she'd be out looking for me to run by. Sure enough, I saw her standing on a street corner, anxiously peering through the crowd of runners parading by her, so I shouted and gave her a quick, sweaty hug - after first posing for an awesome photo, that is:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xlhk8epAuqjHack_uOkmpNF_Dt5eYDhRkAZK2PM3MC7mzQyGOH22WKU3ofM6wpsmouGEJNz4ZDqQc012-_eW_82C1y30bI170LS4em4OZGRvLW03SnaolV0jafTN0OTz0HFe2aq-vzMH/s1600/Mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xlhk8epAuqjHack_uOkmpNF_Dt5eYDhRkAZK2PM3MC7mzQyGOH22WKU3ofM6wpsmouGEJNz4ZDqQc012-_eW_82C1y30bI170LS4em4OZGRvLW03SnaolV0jafTN0OTz0HFe2aq-vzMH/s400/Mary.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Do you see that girl with the dark blue top/purple sriped skirt to the front of me? I followed the girl the whole time - and I totally lusted after that skirt. It was pretty awesome. I. WANT. THAT. SKIRT.<br />
</i><br />
<br />
Speaking of skirts…I got a lot of compliments and thumbs-up from fellow ladies on my own skirt. Which tickled me to no end, because as I always say - I may not be the fastest runner on the course, but I'll certainly be one of the most fashionable. Priorities, people.<br />
<br />
Somewhere between Mile 5 and Mile 6, I came across a sofa…sitting in the middle of the road, really…with a table beside it and a giant sign: "Beer Stop." And on the table were little cups of beer. For the taking. Wha?? Was this legit? Apparently, this is a tradition that some mysterious benefactors do every year, but it doesn't take long for our local police department to find this little hidden gem and shut it down. Darn. <br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, we were running through the mansions…the houses that are 10,000+ square feet that I can only dream of…I was swinging my head back and forth, overwhelmed by the house porn that was on either side of me, when I stepped in a pothole and rolled my ankle. Crap. That's going to hurt. Fortunately, another water stop was on the horizon, so I quickly downed one of those emergency Ibuprofen. Thank God for modern drugs.<br />
<br />
<br />
Telling myself to quit paying attention to the houses, and pay more attention to the road in front of me, I carried on. Soon, I had passed Mile 7, and as I was rounding Loose Park, I looked up…and up…and up. There, in front of me, was a monster of a hill, that seemed to go on forever. Jeremy, our KC Endurance guru, had warned us about The Hill in his pre-race pep talk, telling us to not go all out on this, because this wouldn't be the last hill of the race…there were more. Crap. Well, he needn't have worried about me going all out on this…I was getting hot. And my legs were getting a bit tired.<br />
<br />
And my lower back was starting to hurt.<br />
<br />
As in, major pain. Like, I want to cry, pain. What the hell was this???!! This was new. This was unexpected. And this was not good. I still had 6 more miles to run, and I couldn't be dealing with a sore back. <br />
<br />
Time to push on.<br />
<br />
<br />
As I was somewhat slowly trudging up The Hill, I heard someone yelling my name, and I looked over to see another friend, Kathi, making her way up The Hill. Kathi's a Red Cross buddy of mine, and a fellow running fanatic. We chatted for awhile, more to take our minds off The Hill than anything, and soon I was taking off, hoping to get to the next water station at the Mile 8.4 Mark, so I could down another GU and another Ibuprofen. <br />
<br />
Gah, I sound like a junkie.<br />
<br />
<br />
Miles 9 - 11, I don't remember much, although I know the crowd support along the sidewalks was incredible. So many people, with so many amazing signs. Some were encouraging, some were motivating, and some were downright funny. "Smile if you've peed a little" - duh. I broke out in a HUGE smile. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjxOWBO8tX8y3z8xyH2YBViXxYGurY4mBC5LeDxj3jGPpTRJF3iJLgqtVhs3_Y25gdl4V3IVksWgbWr6-oNXCsHDaXsH9KsYgixJxU9rmxEzeEPzxsNRstwmdZj3E-1pRUcn9QTTYG68S/s1600/DedicatedRunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjxOWBO8tX8y3z8xyH2YBViXxYGurY4mBC5LeDxj3jGPpTRJF3iJLgqtVhs3_Y25gdl4V3IVksWgbWr6-oNXCsHDaXsH9KsYgixJxU9rmxEzeEPzxsNRstwmdZj3E-1pRUcn9QTTYG68S/s400/DedicatedRunner.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Taken somewhere after Mile 8.4, because I'm down to my last GU in my belt…I'm amazed at my detective skills here….<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Around Mile 12, I knew that a downhill was coming - soon - and I broke into a bit of a happy dance:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEmjA8MLRSWz73JTo_dZ-QxYH3Q84lO8BYqxRZ9pfPdfFrCdW9nxFb1Qm5IgpVVJxhvxiHcxchjjJ_x7A8PR55gTYXrhC7L6Cfl9wtvDk3LRa5VZvjodyUGtmud-m1AJgb6wvlI45K8dp/s1600/HappyRunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEmjA8MLRSWz73JTo_dZ-QxYH3Q84lO8BYqxRZ9pfPdfFrCdW9nxFb1Qm5IgpVVJxhvxiHcxchjjJ_x7A8PR55gTYXrhC7L6Cfl9wtvDk3LRa5VZvjodyUGtmud-m1AJgb6wvlI45K8dp/s400/HappyRunner.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Wheeeeee!!!! I'm flying!!! <br />
</i><br />
<br />
I also knew that I was going to be close - but it was possible to set a PR (personal record). Even more happy dance. Although my back felt like a thousand needles were being stuck in it, so I couldn't do the happy dance TOO much. It was agony just to move at this point. <br />
<br />
<br />
Soon, I was running the last mile - a long, downhill stretch - that took me to the raucous finish line:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtBeDPxkudmnCwi6KPXpt5_bDydDcyPKprqT32D8Y0Ulw2f8tes1uEP_jTBM9Vy1Ex0H62EkOOU-3rsPGpKp3XEOQdqtpW6NNymARZafsMMEvrtRkb51TP0WUR5I6aQOnTtV0DfM2wPMF/s1600/RTPFinish2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtBeDPxkudmnCwi6KPXpt5_bDydDcyPKprqT32D8Y0Ulw2f8tes1uEP_jTBM9Vy1Ex0H62EkOOU-3rsPGpKp3XEOQdqtpW6NNymARZafsMMEvrtRkb51TP0WUR5I6aQOnTtV0DfM2wPMF/s400/RTPFinish2.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Pointing to my Angel in the Sky, my Dad...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
My official time? <br />
<br />
2:40:09<br />
<br />
<br />
I HAD DONE IT!!! I'd shaved three minutes off my time from last October, and if I hadn't had to wait so darned long in the potty line, who KNOWS what time I'd had??!!<br />
<br />
I was happy. Deliriously happy. <br />
<br />
And looking for Hubby in a sea of 8,000 runners and 10,000 family and friends…it was a moving mass of humanity as I made my wait to get my medal and banana.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-IG3QgiVIbteeyGDJSWyWT8frh0p-ruNG2jcsan-c7LPb4Gu9-uaY7P8HiW236S8Rs2WnO2S6Wt0JrCKiaZuGUmeVikT51tfUWdnTdW8QYhPxHYKx3dt1GtOu-A4sbNLDdpsDtfTVLeb/s1600/MikeAndI.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-IG3QgiVIbteeyGDJSWyWT8frh0p-ruNG2jcsan-c7LPb4Gu9-uaY7P8HiW236S8Rs2WnO2S6Wt0JrCKiaZuGUmeVikT51tfUWdnTdW8QYhPxHYKx3dt1GtOu-A4sbNLDdpsDtfTVLeb/s400/MikeAndI.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>Hubby and I…with our bling. He found me, fortunately, as I would NEVER have found him in the mass of people...<br />
</i><br />
<br />
So, I rocked the Parkway. #3 under my belt.<br />
<br />
Woot! Woot!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Happy dance, people!!! Happy dance!!! <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Post-Race Thoughts:<br />
</b><br />
<br />
Race Bling:<br />
<br />
The Half Marathon shirt (different than the 5k shirt) is a royal blue tech shirt, and came in a men's or women's cut. The mesh sleeves are a nice touch.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5T6osdq5NUbGX1J4x6o4pVEte1PS8QGAFLf67j_pLqk4Cj66JOYCkPY2AH2cLUXeVhlAgkz81Sy6MyH3uOdIEMWvF3cadJ9Na-kvcnHhvr0RrqJEp1wDxhl2_po2RWXqAcfaqnWHMroqq/s1600/Shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5T6osdq5NUbGX1J4x6o4pVEte1PS8QGAFLf67j_pLqk4Cj66JOYCkPY2AH2cLUXeVhlAgkz81Sy6MyH3uOdIEMWvF3cadJ9Na-kvcnHhvr0RrqJEp1wDxhl2_po2RWXqAcfaqnWHMroqq/s400/Shirt.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>It's pretty awesome, and will likely become one of my favorite shirts. <br />
</i><br />
<br />
The back of the shirt:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZQ4pM-HbMEijE6XEL5kjTI6fghnEFbeENTbR83_BXzbQ3SUgBZGKxc5lH72rVtfveKI5bOYRzvT62ybImXV5w_66Wp88AEKFgIxLYE_1VqQhe-rSYDss0zYLb9KexVR7ImYqaK3QTZ9c/s1600/RockedIt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZQ4pM-HbMEijE6XEL5kjTI6fghnEFbeENTbR83_BXzbQ3SUgBZGKxc5lH72rVtfveKI5bOYRzvT62ybImXV5w_66Wp88AEKFgIxLYE_1VqQhe-rSYDss0zYLb9KexVR7ImYqaK3QTZ9c/s400/RockedIt.jpg" /></a><br />
<i>I rocked it, indeed….<br />
</i><br />
The medal is nice and solid, as well as heavy. A decorated ribbon is a nice touch:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7fQhSc11tYa-TRgRtle1t9hcfyhrNw81kV69KFk0KmxISXMadlOwmP6FWVy2CsBgu7hJdRGsAPNKmKykS4C7ZNuR9JWC6qjYPpSIKNKNh3egYeZp3gsifq9zLLWJcAmPLB_ZMjEUNTQu/s1600/Bling.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7fQhSc11tYa-TRgRtle1t9hcfyhrNw81kV69KFk0KmxISXMadlOwmP6FWVy2CsBgu7hJdRGsAPNKmKykS4C7ZNuR9JWC6qjYPpSIKNKNh3egYeZp3gsifq9zLLWJcAmPLB_ZMjEUNTQu/s400/Bling.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Course Support:<br />
<br />
Amazing. Lots of police presence at intersections, lots of volunteers at the water stations, and lots of people to cheer and yell on the sidelines. Couldn't ask for better support.<br />
<br />
Race Organization:<br />
<br />
The Kansas City Running Company sponsors this race, and they are truly the pros when it comes to organization. They know how to do it - and they do it right. <br />
<br />
<br />
As for me, my only concern after this race is my back…what was causing it? And how can I prevent this in the future? Unsettling, to say the least - but certainly something I need to explore as I continue with my running adventures.<br />
<br />
<br />
As far as Rock the Parkway goes - I would definitely do this race again. And maybe, just maybe, hold my pee. <br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<p align="right"><img class="center" style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" alt="Signature" src="http://i567.photobucket.com/albums/ss117/hotbliggityblog/Custom/sherrisig.png" /></p>KCSherrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15197104891128238863noreply@blogger.com3