The first milestone is that I passed 100 miles, did you notice? I have missed a few runs with all the traveling and running around I've been doing, but I think only about 10 in total.
The second milestone is that I have started to speed up. Also awesome in its awesomeness.
The third milestone is that this year I have begun eating properly for someone who's in training. It never happened last year and I dragged an extra nine pounds around because of it. That's like running with 36 sticks of butter as Weight Watchers would tell me. Except that butter would melt. I don't recommend running with butter.
Oh, I hope I did the math right. Math is hard.
The fourth milestone is AWESOME because I've passed the halfway mark in my fundraising for the AIDS orphans in Tunisia. With the money raised, we'll send the kids to school so they can get an education and rise above their circumstances! Thank you to everyone who has contributed and remember that a $5 donation is received with the gratitude of a $50 donation! If you'd like to simply give me a little cash, I will make the donation for you electronically. If you care to give me a check, I'll do the same thing.
Whatever works best for you, works for me. You guys are fabulous!
I would like to be inspiring or funny or painfully honest about what it's like to run 8 or 9 miles, but there's one more milestone we need to discuss:
The fifth milestone is fatigue.
Fatigue has decided to be my BFF and I know from experience that getting rid of her is hard to do. She's one of those people I can't get away from. I tell her to buzz off, but she plops down in the chair when I'm untying my running shoes and she starts to jabber a mile a minute about all the housework I didn't do, how I forgot to call my mom and that I forgot to do something important before I left work.
Let's call my new BFF Fanny. Fanny doesn't like to run, so at first I could go out for a run and she would stay at home with her face pressed against the window waiting for me to return so she could have someone to
pester irritate talk to.
Somehow along the way, Fanny figured out how to climb on me and hang on. Let's face it, for those of you who know me, she's probably got her fingers tangled into my 24 pounds of frizzy hair, arms wrapped around my ponytail holder.
At any rate, she comes along on almost every run right now. As the weeks of training progress, she got wise and now I can't fool her into thinking I'm not going for a run, so she's there every time, shrieking with delight and flapping around so I can't forget as I run: I feel tired.
She's coming to work with me most days, too. Pretty soon I know she'll jump into my bag every. single. morning. and I won't be able to get to the office without yawning.
I hate her. Every night I go to sleep and I think she will get bored and slip off into someone else's house, but every morning she's at the breakfast table waiting for me with a big grin, ready to start the day.
I have a message for Fanny: House guests and fish both stink after three days.