Miles 1 through 7: I kicked butt. Sailed through the streets like I’d been doing it for years. Right on pace. Felt amazing.

Miles 8 through 13.1: *pant*.

I finished in a smooth 2:15, a time right in the middle of the pack and what I consider to be darn respectable for a first-timer. I’d have easily made my 2:10 goal if the race hadn’t been delayed…for an hour. All runners stuck behind the starting line…for an hour. After we were all fueled up with energy bars and water, ready to get out and go, the 20+-mph wind knocked down all the road barricades and the city had to spend all morning fixing them before we could start. By then, our bodies had used up the fuel, and that last bathroom break didn’t seem to count anymore. The pit stop I had to make at mile 8, waiting behind someone who was in there a while, cost me those five minutes.

But who cares? The race rocked. It hurt…oh, it hurt. I’m not sure where everyone got the big idea that this is a “downhill” race, because I spent 90% of my time on the road wondering where in the [censored] world all those downhills were (hint: they’re all after mile ten). I wasn’t prepared for what seemed like dozens of inclines. After about ten miles I was sure I wouldn’t make it (thank heaven for the downhill—finally!), but there’s something to be said for having to face all the people who knew I was out there doing it, and besides, I really, really wanted that finishing medal.

By the way, that point-one mile at the end? It counts. A lot. I wanted to walk something fierce, because I could see the finish line and I hurt so badly by then…but I could see the finish line. So I ran, to my glory of stepping over that line and getting my medal, but damn, that had to be the longest point-one on earth!

the starting line

the gun goes off…that’s me in the middle with the red hair, white cap, black jacket

have some runners (5,500 to be exact)

after the finish with my hard-earned medal! (hubby didn’t snap a finish photo in time, but I’ll be getting one from the pro race photographers shortly)

Turns out, my skin didn’t hurt in the shower, but my muscles sure did. I am exhausted and loving it. Where do I sign up for the next one?

…said a bumper sticker on a truck I passed while driving to pick up my race packet this morning. Wonder if he was on his way to the same place?

The goody bag is full of all sorts of things a writer and lover of office supplies (race is sponsored by 3M) can put to good use: star-shaped Post-Its, butterfly-shaped Post-Its, Post-Its with grids on them for the serious Post-It note-writer. Tape, bandages, earplugs, power drinks and bars, the works. And, of course, a souvenir T-shirt!

(If you’re just tuning in, I am running a half-marathon this weekend—which happens to be my first organized race ever—and I am bouncing off the walls.)

According to the date on the confirmation e-mail from way back when I registered, I signed up in August when I first started running. Proud that I stuck with the plan and ran through all those months? Yes. Forgotten everyone who mumbled and grumbled and said “yeah, right”? No way. Eat yer words, people!

A writer friend asked the other day how I got started. Basically, I got sick of the treadmill. I’d been working out on it for years, and when I couldn’t stomach staring at the wall for another hour, I decided to go outside (it helped that around this same time, my kids started school so I had time to do this). While walking around the block, I felt like I was going too slowly and had this weird urge to go faster, to run. So I did, and loved it so much that I came home, researched the sport of running online, found a half-marathon in my city and an accompanying training program, and started following it.

Yes, really, I signed up and paid for a 13.1-mile event when I hadn’t even run a mile yet.  But it’s amazing what you can build up to if you stick with it. I’ve completed 10-, 11-, and 12-mile runs without walking a step. And double-digit runs hurt. Seriously. I came home one day, after the 11 or 12, and I was so worn out that my skin hurt. Because I’m strange, I love that feeling—that putting soap on in the shower is painful because I pushed myself so hard. That’s how I want to feel on Sunday! (Uh…when I’m finished, that is. Hurting two miles in is not going to be very inspirational.)

The race goal is to finish, screw the time (I run a decent average pace but certainly nothing competitive), and not walk any of it save the water stops where I’ll have to slow down to drink. If I am successful, there should be a picture of me and my medal on here in a couple of days. If not…well, that isn’t an option.

Training up to this point has consisted of running laps around my neighborhood. Running through the city with thousands of other people will be a different kind of experience, for sure. Bring it!

Talk about it at Nobody Writes It Better, where I’m psyching up for my upcoming half-marathon (6 days to go!).

Much to my delight (sob, sob, bawl), For His Eyes Only is piling up the fabulous reviews! The folks at Whipped Cream awarded the book five cherries, and it will be included in this weekend’s Best Book of the Week poll at their website.

Please click on the poll link and throw in a quick vote for me—voting is this Saturday 1/16 and Sunday 1/17, so hurry!

Also received somewhat happy news on a beloved manuscript today. Happier than “sorry, your rejection letter got lost in the mail”, anyway. LOL Cross your fingers on that one—I’d like to give these wonderful reviewers something else to love!

Thanks to Courtney at ARWA for passing along this oh-so-true article about writing—and if you don’t have time to read it, you still gotta watch this video!