I think I can I think I can I think I ... did.

Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes.

The day started at 4:45amCT. That's when the alarm went off, and I knew that I wouldn't have the luxury of hitting "snooze" at all. I am, sickeningly, one of those folks that can sit upright and start walking straight out of a deep sleep so I got going right away. Put on gear that I figure I'll likely NEVER wear again, running hat, hair in a ponytail, packed some cube stuff called "Goo" which tastes like strawberry jam and has the consistency of undercooked pork, filled up the water bottle, and was ready to go.

The race started at 6:30am, 'tho Scott and I didn't cross the start line until 7am. I've told him from the get-go that I would NOT be running, so we wished each other luck and off he ran. I was able to keep my eye on him for about two minutes and, after I put on my ipod and started my playlist going, I looked up and he was gone.

Miles one through three went pretty fast. There was lots to look at, and the groups were still in blob-form, so while I knew no one around me, we all made the same observations, cheering each other on, and such. It was shortly after mile three that I realized I needed to take off my rings while I still could. My hands were bloating … so I suddenly had inverse knuckles … the hands of an infant. Making a fist felt tight and strange, and I figured that it was blood was going everywhere to keep up with my oxygen needs. My feet and legs felt fine, so onwards I went.

At mile six, we passed a firestation. "The boys" were all out with their coffees, watching us, and I gave them a bit of flack for not having a pancake breakfast out for us to grab. The carb need was starting to hit me, which was when I remembered the "goo cubes". We were directed onto Highway 370 and, looking ahead, it became clear to me that this would be the part I'd like the least. We'd be crossing a bridge. Not a significant bridge, but significant enough. At this point, as tho' I had planned it (which I hadn't), a song came through my headphones to help distract me. So I crossed over, humming along, and continued along the path.

I wanna point out too that all along the way were coaches, cheering stations, random groups of people and very little kids just screaming their lungs out – for total strangers. It's a little weird, to have folks applaud you for doing something like this, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make a difference. It made a HUGE difference – my steps became easier, my stride longer, my smile broader.

Right around mile nine, we passed a Waffle House. This, as far as I'm concerned, is grounds for cruel and unusual punishment. Not that Waffle House is the end all and be all of breakfast joints, but again – carb load. A short stack would have been worth $40 to me at that point.

I also realized at mile nine that I was gonna do this. I could tell that my heel on the right side was gonna have issues, possibly blisters – tho' nothing that would be unmanageable – but regardless, I really was going to accomplish this.

At mile 11, we were cheered on by Jared. Jared looks to be in his early 20s, if that, and is holding a sign specifically for the group I'm racing through. "If it weren't for you doing this, I wouldn't be here." He is a cancer survivor, and the drugs he was given has helped him live. Those drugs were funded via the training company I'm partnered with. I ask him what time he woke up. "4am, but it's totally worth it" he says.

Just before mile 13, I'm greeted by Scott's ex-wife and daughter, all smiles. Scott is, of course, long done and getting food but has admitted that he'd be far less sore if he'd trained more. I decide to admit to him when I see him next that I've done NOTHING to prepare since June. I'm not proud of this – it'd be easier for me if I had trained too – but that we are both still standing (and neither of us got sick) is nice to know. If I HAD to put my body through this, I could do so.

I cross the finish in under 4 hours. Now, obviously, 4 hours for 13.1 miles is NOT a blistering speed, but I walked it – strolled at times, actually – and it's more than I've done ever before, and CERTINALY more than I usually do on my average Sunday morning.

We take photos when Scott returns, with our medals and gear still on. We call Todd, our co-worker, who is currently running his own race. His finish will be to go into remission, and no matter how sore I am as I lower myself into the bathtub for a well-earned soak, I'd do this again tomorrow if it meant getting Todd to his finish line.

Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes. I'm happy to report that I met all my goals. I intend to do all I can to help Todd meet his.