I've signed up for my first spring race. My first race in over 6 months. Ouch, I didn't realize how long it's been, and how out of shape I've become. Last winter, when I was training(I'm using that term VERY loosely) to run(i.e. practically walk) the P.F. Chang's Marathon, I blamed everything on work and home. My main job had me working extreme amounts of overtime, without getting paid for it. For about a month I was working overnight at the office, then catching a cab home to take a shower and a quick nap before I came back to the office to do it over again. Rinse and repeat. Did I mention during that month my cigarette habit must have gone from 5-7 cigarettes a day to almost a pack? Did I also mention that I was training for a MARATHON? This was stupid on so many levels, I'm ashamed to talk about it.

That marathon was hell. I hated every moment of it. I hated my 5:50:41 finish time (my first marathon [which was also my first race ever] I finished in 4:27:32). So to have a finish like that was just embarrassing for me. I am embarrassed because I couldn't blame anyone for my shitty finishing time. I had done it all to myself. I had skipped my long runs with TNT, time I could have spent training or sleeping or whatever were dedicated to working those overtime hours without pay, and I was smoking and drinking like a teenager who had just found Dad's Marlborough lights and Mom's secret liquor stash. I've never been one to deal with stress in a healthy or even normal fashion, and last winter was certainly no exception.

Sure, I could blame my horrible mental state on everything else that was going on in my life. I was giving my time and my sleep to this company who had completely fucked me over, my second job was punishing me for showing up late to a few shifts because of my other job, and to top it off, my husband didn't have a job. So I was the soul breadwinner, and after 18 or 22 hour days, I'd come home to a messy, foodless house and I then expected myself to go out and RUN 6 or 8 miles? The idea was laughable. Any time I found myself with free time I either fell asleep, or went out on my porch to call my parents or friends and smoked and got wasted as fast as possible.

In short, I was a fucking wreck.

I was nearing the end of my training when I met Claire. This girl is my own personal guru. She works at my office and was there the whole time during the project from hell. She was working almost as much as I was, but yet she was able to constantly be training and running and cycling. Personally, I thought she was amazing and someone I wanted to but could never be, because I couldn't seem to get my act in order.

We take the same train into work. I didn't know this until she and I bumped into each other on the way in. I was smoking. At that time, I didn't know how many events she had done, but I knew she was hardcore. Anyway, she asked me how training was going and I think I looked at her like she was crazy. Here I am, smoking, and she's asking me how my training's going? Is she serious?

"Well, considering how much time I spend here, not very well," I said. Then, acknowledging my cigarette, "You must think I'm so stupid for smoking while training for a marathon."
"No." She said flatly. "I used to drink and smoke when I trained too. I get it. I mean, it's not good for you, but right now, what you're doing, is stressful."

And she left it at that. Since I already felt like a dumb ass for ruining my training, it was nice not to have an athlete talk to me without judgment. Maybe she was secretly judging me, but I didn't notice(and I doubt it).

The day before the marathon, my friend Kelly arrived in Phoenix to meet me. I was still so stressed out and so excited to just get away from all the shit that was happening in Boston, I begged her to drive me to a CVS to pick up some cigarettes. I must have smoked a pack of cigarettes that day. If I had the opportunity, I probably would have smoked one or two before the race at 4:30am.

But, it's been a year since that horrible project, and I think I'm finally getting my shit together again. I haven't had a cigarette in a month, and to be honest, I don't crave it all that much. Only when I'm really really stressed out about something do I even consider asking someone for a cigarette. I've been cutting down my drinking too. I don't go out to drink, and besides getting laid off last month (and an embarrassing scotch incident with my family), I haven't had a drink in awhile. My training is improving, and although my pace is still painfully slow, I know it will improve. If 4 years ago I went from never running before, to being 45 minutes off a Boston marathon qualifying time; then I should be able to bounce back from all these unhealthy choices I've been making the past few years.

So, in sigining up for the Fells Trail Race, a tough as nails trail race which gains and looses 100 feet per mile and I've been told that it's difficulty cannot be overstated. It's an 8 mile race which I might actually come in dead last. My friend Wes, who tried desperately hard to get me to join the Cross Country team when I was a freshman in college, told me that I will *never* come in first or last in a race. I might just prove him wrong with this race because there's probably only going to be about 50 people participating. I told Caire about this race. She's done it twice.

This time, she told me I was crazy.

Well deserved.