Last weekend, my kids and I participated in a local Dash and Splash race.  My little Ladybug decided to race at the last minute and rocked her 1/2 mile run and 100 meter swim.  At the start of the race, she was so excited to run fast that she took off a little too fast and ended up face down on the concrete but got up and kept running through a scraped up hand and knee and lots of tears.  My husband then cleaned up her scrapes and sent her off for her swim.  She finished the race with a smile on her face but told me she prefers races where she also gets to ride her bike.  I guess she is a little triathlete at heart.


Then it was go time for me and Lovebug.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, he committed to completing a 5k every month so he opted to do the adult race which was a 3 mile run and 800 meter swim.  He wanted me to pace him on the run and then we were going to try to swim together.  Well, his run was nice and consistent.  He had told me he was going to run 10 minute miles so that he would have energy for the swim and I just told him ok (knowing that he was going to end up running faster).  He held 8:30-8:40 pace with ease, yet towards the end of the 3rd mile he started telling me "my body isn't meant for this", "I have no idea how I'm going to swim after this".   I assured him that he would be just fine and that swimming would be like 2nd nature since he swims almost every day.  He didn't believe me but kept on going. 

Suddenly, his attitude changed.  My typically non-competitive little boy was on a mission and had a look of determination in his eyes that I don't typically see.  He then looked over at me and said "I'm gonna destroy you in the pool.  I'm gonna own you".   Yikes!  I was in trouble... But, I was also so happy to hear him decide that he was going to finish strong.

We got to the transition area and he quickly removed his socks and shoes and had his cap and goggles on and was running toward the pool while I was still messing with my swim cap.  I hurried and stuffed my hair into my swim cap and chased after him.  We got in the pool at the same time and were swimming pretty close to one another.  I was slightly ahead of him for the first 200.  That first 200 was probably the best 200 I ever swam thanks to some help from former Olympic swimmer, Darian Townsend; however, since I had spent years swimming incorrectly, I soon realized that swimming properly is hard!!  At around 200 meters, my little Lovebug swam right past me!  I tried to catch him but couldn't.  I had to switch to breaststroke on and off just to keep him close to me (yes swimmers... my breaststroke is faster than my freestyle and I realize this is a problem).  By the time we got to the last 50 meters, Lovebug was still slightly ahead of me.  I started kicking harder and trying to pull more water but I still couldn't catch him.  I could hear people cheering for him and it made me smile even though I knew I was getting my ass kicked. 

We hopped out of the pool and sprinted to the finish and he was so happy that he beat me.  I will be hearing about this for a very long time!

While Lovebug's primary sport is swimming, he has completed several 5k's and was on his school cross country team this past fall.  With each 5k, the point at which he starts to wonder why he signed up becomes later and later in the race.  At this year's Commitment Day 5k (www.commitmentday.com), he decided that his "commitment" for the year was to complete a 5k every month.  He sets time goals for himself and has gotten progressively faster but isn't nearly as consistent about his running as he is about his swimming.  He's  the type of kid that never wants to miss a cross country or swim practice but when it comes to training on his own, he is totally fine with blowing it off.

For this month's race, he decided to substitute a  Dash and Splash race for a 5k and chose the 3 mile run/800 meter swim over the shorter kids' events.  We signed up to do it together with the goal being for me to pace and encourage him on the run, and then I need to try to stay with him on the swim so that I don't have to admit that I got my ass handed to me by my 9 year old.

This past weekend I decided that it was time to get back to running twice a day so I told him he needed to come out for me on my short afternoon runs as part of his training for next weekend.  It was a bit of a white lie because one week of training isn't going to do much, but I wanted company and enjoy spending one on one time with him.   I am also trying to teach him about the importance of preparing for races.

Saturday's run was a blast.  He complained about getting ready to go but once we started running and he realized that it was just a fun training run and not a race, he started to just talk to me about whatever was on his mind.  I just listened and smiled.  Lovebug was an early talker.  He started talking at 6 months old and from that point on, it was always a constant dialogue from the time he woke up in the morning until he went to bed at night.  I used to find it exhausting sometimes.  But now that he has gotten older, he spends more time on his own and doesn't tell me every thought that pops in his head anymore and I miss it!  I was finally getting some of this special time back. 

Sunday's run was different.  It went more like this:

"How far have we gone?  Can I rest?  When can I rest?  I hate running.  Mom, you are killing me!  I really hate running.  I can't believe you took me out in the damn afternoon, in the damn heat, in the damn Arizona sun. Why can't I walk?  You walked during your Ironman.  Ok, I just have to go down the street and take a right and we will be home.  Will you make me juice when we get home?  Close your mind and just run!  Mom, I have almost forgotten that I hate running!"

It was beautiful!  The true mind of a runner. 

And, for the record, I did make him watermelon lemonade in the juicer and he loved it!  I think the juice made the whole run worth it for him.  Here is the recipe:

1-2 cups of fresh watermelon

1 lemon

Pour over ice and enjoy! 

I used my Breville juicer but this can also be made in a blender with ice if you want slush consistency.

Today is the one year anniversary of the 2013 Boston Marathon.  That day was a life changing event for me on many levels.  Being there and hearing the bombs is something I will never forget and my heart goes out to all the victims and  I have reached a new level of gratitude for each and every day that I am here on earth and able to do all of the things that I love and surround myself with the people that I love.  On that note, I have decided that it's a perfect day to stop saying that I am going to start a blog and to just go for it! 

 The day had finally arrived!  I was going to be running the Boston Marathon.  I grew up in Boston enjoying a day off from school every Patriot's Day and I would either watch the marathon on TV or hang out on Beacon Street watching the race.  I remember seeing people in pain, men with bloody nipples, people with poop running down their leg, and wondering why on earth anyone would ever want to do that... yet I couldn't stop watching.  At that point in my life I could barely run a mile and complained whenever we had to do it in PE class.  I was one of the kids that ran one lap around the track, felt breathless, and ended up walking the rest of the way.   The fact that anyone could and would chose to run for 26.2 miles seemed absurd. 

It wasn't until the summer after 8th grade that I gained some sort of appreciation towards running.  I used to spend a month every summer at an overnight camp and some of the girls in my bunk used to get up early in the morning to go run loops around the camp to get ready for cross country season at school.  I never thought of myself as athletic or someone who liked any physical activity other than swimming, but looking back, my happiest childhood days were the days at camp when I was outside and active from dawn until dusk.  I always disliked my body and  wanted to get in better shape, so I started getting up early to run as well.  For the first time in my life, I stopped hitting snooze, looked forward to getting out of bed, and happily  grabbed my fluorescent Umbro shorts and yellow Sony Sports Walkman (the kind that played cassette tapes) and went for early morning runs with one or two other girls.  My parents had to buy me the most obnoxious rooster alarm clock and sometimes sprinkle water on my head to wake me up for school, yet suddenly the girl who dreaded running and being getting out of bed early looked forward to this special time in the wee hours! 

 I then ran on and off as part of conditioning for other sports I was involved in throughout high school and college and enjoyed it but was never really consistent about it.  It wasn't until after Ladybug was born that I started training consistently.  I had started training for a half marathon twice before but got pregnant both times... oops!  This time I had an IUD and was ready to conquer 13.1 miles.  I ran my first half marathon (The IMS Arizona 1/2 Marathon)  in February 2009.  I ran slow for the first 9 miles in an attempt to pace myself and then it hit me that it was race day and I still had plenty of energy, so I picked up the pace for the last 4.  It felt so amazing to just be in that zone knowing the finish line was approaching.  I finished and was pleased with my accomplishment.  A friend asked me if I wanted to do another half marathon or if I was ever going to run a full marathon and I said "No way!"... but all of us runners know how that goes.  It was one of those little lies we tell ourselves at the end any race: "just finish and then you never have to do this again".  A year later I ran my first marathon (IMS Arizona Marathon again - my favorite race)  with a goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon.  That wasn't my goal when I had started training but as the training progressed, I decided that if I was going to go through training for a  marathon I was going to try to qualify.  Well, it didn't happen at my first marathon.  I needed to run a 3:40 and finished in 4:07.  I learned during that first marathon that no fuel until mile 17 doesn't work out too well.  Live and learn. 

Even though I told myself at mile 22 of that race when I was hurting and my run looked more like a shuffle that I just needed to finish, cross this off the bucket list, and never run another marathon, I finished and started crying.  Not because of the excitement of finishing my first marathon.  I was crying out of disappointment that I didn't make my goal time.  I had lit that fire.  I set a goal and was determined to hit it and that fire wasn't going to be extinguished until I reached that goal.  Within a couple weeks, I registered for my second marathon, the Rock 'n Roll San Diego Marathon.  I didn't qualify there either but I broke 4 hours (3:55), didn't bonk, and enjoyed the whole race.  I was smiling and passing people at mile 22.  That race's lesson... when you feel good, run harder. 

I then decided that the Tucson Marathon would be my race.  With a mostly downhill course and some more training, that sub 3:40 BQ time would be mine... Nope!  The downhill shredded my quads because I hadn't learned the art of just letting go and letting gravity take me down the hills and to top it off I had strep throat the week before and a stomach bug the day after and it was unseasonably warm in Tucson that day.  I finished that one in tears with a time of 4 hours.  There was only one thing to do.  Run the PF Changs Marathon 4 weeks later.  Why not?  I found Hal Higdon's training plan online for back to back marathons and followed it.  I PR'd at PF Chang's with a 3:50 but still not a BQ time.  My spirits were still up though.  I loved the long hours of training, I loved marathons, and I wasn't feeling burned out.  My heart and my mind were still set on qualifying for Boston and the determination hadn't waned.  I was going to run another marathon in 4 weeks (IMS Arizona again) but ended up dropping down to the half due to an injury.  It was during that half marathon when I had no goal other than just to finish and have a good time that I learned the importance of throwing in some fun races that you treat more like an event than a race.  It was raining, windy, and it even hailed that day.  I ran the whole 13.1 miles with a smile on my face and making little funny comments to other runners.  Well, at least I thought they were funny.  The serious ones trying to PR didn't want to hear about the rain making my hair frizzy.

A couple weeks later I made a new friend (Kristina Pham (http://www.kristinapham.com/) in a bathroom at a local 10K (go figure... 2 girls that discuss poop daily met in a bathroom... more on that later).  She gave me contact info for her coach at the time(Bill Salazar).  I called him and we spoke about my running history and my goals and he agreed to coach me.  I entered the lottery for the St. George Marathon and got picked!  It was go time.  My new coach came up with a plan for me for the Seattle Rock 'n Roll half marathon and based on my time there, we would know whether I could hit a qualifying time in St. George.  Training went great until I broke my toe less than a week before the race but I raced anyways and ran a PR on Seattle's hilly course.  I was beyond pleased.  I knew I was on track to finally hit a BQ time in St. George.   The marathon was in October which, when you live in Phoenix, means lots of 4am wake up calls in order to train all summer, but I was ready and willing to do whatever it took!!  I followed my  training plan even though I dreaded the tempo and speed workouts and I made sure to run lots of hills because St. George is mostly downhill but has some climbing, and practiced my downhill running.  St. George race day arrived and my first 19 miles were awesome!  I was on pace to run between 3:25 and 3:30.  Then I bonked hard!  Bill was nice enough to arrange a trip to St. George to come watch me race and when I saw him at mile 22, he asked how I was doing and I burst into tears and said "I bonked at mile 19".  He ran next to me for a few seconds and told me "ok, just keep going".  He may have said more but I don't remember anything from that point other than crying and then trying to catch my breath again. 

Sidenote:  that crying was only the start of things Bill would see from me at races.  At Ironman Arizona he got a "this fucking hurts and I'm never doing it again" and at my most recent marathon he got a "I pooped my pants but I'm going for a PR".  Maybe one day he will learn not to ask me how I'm doing late in a race. 

I crossed the finish line in St. George and the clock said 3:40:something but races are chip timed so I didn't know my actual time yet but was feeling down on myself and pretty certain I once again missed qualifying for Boston.  I sat in a corner and cried and called my husband and said "i hate this.  I am done with marathons".  His response was "Congratulations!  I thought you'd be happy".  I said "what do you mean?".  He had been following the live results and told me my time was 3:39:54!  I did it!  by 6 seconds... but I did it!  A BQ... finally!!!!  And then of course Boston changed their qualifying standards and registration procedures so I set out to get a faster qualifying time just in case.  I ran the PF Changs Marathon that January and that was a disaster that left me pooping in the bushes, pooping in a porta potty, and pooping in my car after the race and a "shitty" time.  Then I ran the Ojai to Ocean Marathon and PR'd with a 3:37 and 2 stops to poop in the bushes.  That would have to do.  At that point I had to leave it to fate.  I put in for Boston registration in September and a few weeks later my dream began to came true.  I just got back from a run with a friend and checked my phone and the email was there!  I had made it into Boston (and so had she). 

 I feel a little bit bad for annoying everyone with my facebook posts from that day until race day but I was just so beyond excited.  It was the one of the  first times in my life that I felt something was working in my favor.  I ran a ton of miles leading up to actually training for the race and then followed the Hal Higdon "Boston Bound" program.  It wasn't as many miles as I thought I should be running but the plan was effective.  I cleaned up my diet.  I'd always been a very healthy eater but I started eating mostly paleo (more on food in another post), and most importantly I trained my mind! 

Confession time: I used to be envious of people who were always posting positive and inspirational stuff on Facebook because things always seemed to go their way and for me, I felt like I spent my entire life just spinning my wheels and never got the results I wanted and it wasn't fair that good things always happened to other people and not to me.  I used to throw my own pity parties all the time!  It is how I was raised and it was so ingrained in me that I knew no other way.  Well, then a shift happened, instead of being annoyed by those overly happy and successful people, I picked their brains!  I found out what it was that helped them smile through it all and kept them focused during races and during life in general when things start to hurt. 

I wasn't just setting out to run Boston, I was setting out to PR and make it my best race yet.  One person in particular changed my thinking when she told me that all I have to do is DECIDE.  From that day forward DECIDE became my mantra.  Shortly after that I finally watched The Secret on Netflix and it all made sense.  All I had to do was visualize the outcome I wanted and it could be mine? Cool!  And then it happened.  It's like a switch in my mind was flipped.  I realized that the belief that good things always happen to other people and in our family we need to struggle and that's why we are stronger and learn to just "go with the flow" and deal with the crap life throws at us was all just a figment of my imagination that I could willfully change.  Life wasn't throwing crap at me.  My life was wonderful and all I needed to do was see the beauty of it and be thankful for everything I have.  I had to DECIDE to believe that even when things didn't go exactly my way, it wasn't a "struggle", it was a learning experience.  Working towards something isn't a "struggle", it's beauty!  It's setting a goal and taking the necessary steps to achieve that goal, knowing all along that the end result is there.  Working towards something isn't struggling, it's a joyful experience and give you reasons to celebrate every baby step along the way. 

With my body and mind in top condition I was more focused than I had ever been.  Race day was gong to be epic!  I stayed calm the week leading up to the race and wasn't nearly as bitchy to my family as I normally am before a race.  I had a sense of peace knowing that I had put in the work, I was trained and ready, and all I had to do was show up and run.  Someone told me a long time ago that the training is the work and the race is the celebration and this was going to be a 26.2 mile celebration of the previous 4 years of work! 

We took a red eye flight to Boston and my kids behaved relatively well on the plane as far as I knew because my wonderful husband took care of the kids while I put my headphones in, listened to my self hypnosis, and went to sleep.  I could tell the plane was packed with other runners each with their own pre race rituals.  I landed in Boston the next morning and as always I was so happy to be in my home town.  Going home to Boston is always emotional but this time, landing in Boston was even more emotional.  At last, I was there to run the marathon!  The year prior I had been back East visiting my grandfather who was ill and had a stopover in Boston on my return flight.  My dad met me for dinner at the airport and when I hugged him goodbye I said I hoped that the next time I was in Boston I would be there for the marathon and here I was... about to live the dream.

I got to my mom's house and the kids fell asleep and I met up with my dad and my childhood best friend and we headed over to the Hynes convention center to pick up my race number and to buy the special Boston jacket.  I was so excited and filled with adrenaline but for the first time ever, I didn't get choked up picking up my race stuff. I was calm.  My dad and best friend were the ones crying, so, of course we all laughed, hugged, and took photos.  I walked through the expo and it was surreal.  I couldn't believe I was actually there.  My dad surprised me and bought the Boston Marathon jacket for me!  This was a huge deal.  Growing up, we never got gifts for no reason.  Everything had to be "earned".  And when I say earned, I mean that in the sense of struggle not in the sense of working hard to reap the rewards.  When he did buy me something, I was constantly reminded about how he had to go out of his way to do it for me.  It was never just "I'm doing this because you are my kid and I love you".  This time, I reached for my wallet to pay for the jacket and he took his wallet out and said it was his treat.  He bought it with a smile on his face and was truly happy to do it for me and never said another word about it.   

There were still 2 days until race day.  I spent the following day touring colleges with my kids because it's never too early to dream.   Lovebug is set on someday going to Harvard or MIT and Ladybug wants to go to Brandeis just like mom and dad. We then went to lunch at an old favorite restaurant and out to ice cream (which I didn't eat since I was still in pre-race mode) and then to visit my sister at work.  She was late as always but I was prepared.  My always sensible husband reminded me to just prepare for her to be late like she always is and if I expect it I won't be upset about it.  He was right.  I got a little anxious because I wanted to drive the race course before dark but I was more focused on how happy I was to be hanging out with her and that I got to share this experience with her.  We set off to drive the race course.  My sister was as giddy and as excited as I was.  We got out of the car and took some photos at the "It all Starts Here" sign and then I put my headphones in again, listened to my "race day" playlist and studied the course.  My race plan was set in my head.  I got back to my mom's house and she prepared me a pre race dinner (one of the perks to going to your home town to race!) and I spent some time with the family and then forced myself to go to bed even though I didn't feel the least bit tired.  I shared a room with my sister for old times sake and ended up sleeping pretty well.

 The next morning my mom and sister got up with me and made me my pre race breakfast and coffee (another bonus to the hometown race and having a wonderful family).  My mom and sister sat with me to make sure I ate through my pre-race nerves.  My husband and I left my mom's house to pick up a friend from AZ who I had been training with and he dropped us off at my friend Bonnie's hotel.  It was awesome to be reunited with the girls I had been training with.  I did most of my training with Bonnie.  There were many early morning hill repeats, track workouts, long runs, and tempo runs and here we were again... meeting up for another run... the big one!  We walked to Boston Common to board the busses and there were thousands of runners and many school busses all lines up.  It was actually happening.  I already had to pee (of course) and believe it or not, there are NO porta potties at the bus loading area. 

The bus ride to Hopkinton is a bit of a blur.  I was just looking out the window going over my race plan in my head and chatting with other runners.  I thought I would be super emotional when I got to the athletes village in Hopkinton, but at that point I had to pee so bad that it was all I could think about.  I waited for a porta potty and then went to the front of the line and begged someone to let me go in front of them.  Peeing my pants mid race is ok, but peeing my pants while waiting in line for the bathroom before the race even starts is not cool!  I wouldn't have been embarrassed, but I would have felt bad for everyone around me who had to see that!   After using the bathroom a couple times, I found Bonnie again and we sat down on a foil blanket in the grass and just waited for our start wave. When I felt anxious, I just put my headphones in and laid in the grass and closed my eyes listening to my "race day" playlist.  It was finally time to walk to the start.  We dropped our bags and headed to the start line.  I had to pee... again... and there were too many police officers and spectators and houses to just drop trow and pee on the ground so I prayed that there would be more bathrooms close to the start.  Thankfully there were!  I stopped at the potty one last time and then got in my corral with barely a minute to spare.

Off we went!  I kept checking my watch  and realizing that I was running slower than I needed to be running but I didn't really have a choice because the first 6 miles are just crowded and the streets are narrow but I didn't stress about it.  I ran and enjoyed it and took it all in.  I was offered beer in the first mile and was amazed at how many spectators there were even on the early part of the course.  If there is one thing Bostonians love, it's their sporting events!  I ran with B until about mile 11 and then we each ran our own pace.  I felt great until mile 14... and then the dreaded urge to poop.  Yup, happens almost every race, especially after running downhill and the first part of Boston is downhill.  And it's not like being out in the desert where you can just go behind a bush.  I was in the big city with people everywhere.  I stopped at the porta potty and they were all occupied and for a brief moment I thought about pooping behind the porta potty but thought better of it.  I waited my turn, gave myself a minute to do my business and then got out of the bathroom and sprinted to see if I could catch people I had been running with.  I found them and settled back into my pace.  I was actually looking forward to the Newton Hills because I had done so much hill training and knew I was ready and knew that after the notorious Heartbreak Hill, I just needed to cruise for the last 4 miles on a gentle downhill and flat course.  I hit the first hill and that was the most challenging of all of them, but I didn't let my pace slow too much.  The next two hills were not bad at all and then when I got to Heartbreak Hill I was smiling from ear to ear because I knew I just had to get up and over and it wasn't nearly as steep as the hill near my house that I had trained on.  After Heartbreak Hill I broke the race into small sections.  One mile and I will see my dad and stepmom (I never saw them), another mile and I will see my husband, mom, sister, and kids (didn't see them either), then 2 miles to the finish.  I was a little disappointed that I didn't see my family but hoped they saw me and just kept running.  When I saw the Citgo sign, I ran a little harder and when I hit the last mile, I pushed the pace.  I had never had the energy to do that in any other marathon but this time I think it was effective training combined with a surge of adrenaline that allowed me to drop my pace to 6:30.  I actually yelled at people to move out of my way in the last half mile (something I don't normally do).  I crossed the finish line in 3:35 and just like with every other race I was a bit disappointed that I didn't go under 3:30 but was thrilled that I ran a PR at Boston.  I was told over and over again that most people don't PR at Boston but I was determined and I got it done. 

It was cold and windy at the finish and I was frustrated that they were handing out chocolate milk which I can't even drink but taking forever to hand us those metallic blankets.  I also remember standing in line saying "this is bullshit.  what if there was a real emergency?  they couldn't get to any of us".  I was so anxious being stuck in a crowd feeling unable to move and my body starting to tighten up from running a marathon and then just standing still in the cold.  Little did I know that this would soon be the least of my concerns.  I finally got through the finish line area and walked a couple blocks to the busses with our bags of warm clothes. I was so happy to finally get my bag.  I met some other runners and we were chatting while changing under the blankets laughing at the fact that we were sitting there in public with no pants on.  Then I got my phone out to post of Facebook that I PR'd at Boston and wasn't sure whether to be happy about the PR or sad that I didn't go under 3:30 and then we heard a loud boom.  The girl I was talking to and I just looked at each other and said "that was strange" and continued talking.  Then we heard the second one.  It was odd but it didn't occur to me at that point to be nervous or concerned. It wasn't until people were checking their phones and I heard people muttering about bombs and explosions.  Then my phone rang and it was my mom hysterical saying "where are you?".  I told her where I was and she said she and my sister were coming to meet me.  I found them within minutes and my sister just hugged me and started crying.  I told her to calm down and that I was ok and we would all be ok.  We just needed to figure out how to get back to Brookline.  I said we should just walk.  It was only about 2 miles away.  At that point our phones had stopped working.  We walked back to Brookline and my mom and sister made me eat a protein bar because they were terrified that I would pass out on the way home.  Thankfully they brought me a chocolate Vega Sport bar because they just know me that well.  They also brought me gluten free chocolate covered pretzels and Theo chocolate bars.  Notice a theme here?  I had grand plans to pig out after the race but at that point I was in no mood to celebrate.  Walking back to Brookline was just eerie.  I had never seen the city so quiet (even on a day that wasn't marathon Monday). There were empty cups in the streets, some police officers and the race was over.  I remember my mom just saying over and over again 'they stopped the race. they just stopped the race".  We didn't know what exactly had happened but we knew it was bad.  I was in a big hurry to get back to my kids and husband who I thought would be worried sick.  I had spoken to my husband briefly before we all lost cell phone service and said have you watched the news.  He said he hadn't. I told him there was an explosion and I don't know much else but I am safe with my mom and sister and we would be back in Brookline as soon as possible. 

When we got back to my mom's house, Ladybug and Lovebug were happily playing and watching movies on the iPad and my stepdad and husband were glued to the TV. I was so grateful that they didn't tell the kids.  All they knew is that they were waiting for mom to get home from yet another race.  I got back to my mom's house and was just numb.  I didn't cry.  I wasn't hungry or thirsty.  I didn't feel like showering.  I just sat there staring into space.  I eventually got in the shower and ate something but I don't really remember much.  I just remember sitting on the couch staring at the tv and thinking about how people had died and one of them was a kid the same age as my son.  I wasn't able to process the feelings at that point.  I just mindlessly responded to text after text that I was ok and safe at my mom's house.  I talked to a reporter from AZ on the phone about my experience but don't even remember what I said.  Later that night we went to dinner at a small restaurant across the street from my mom's house and then out to J.P. Licks for dairy free ice cream but I was so numb I couldn't even taste my post race celebration food because there wasn't really anything left to celebrate.  The Boston Marathon finish line was turned from a magical place to something from people's worst nightmares.

We left Boston the following day and decided to proceed with our scheduled vacation to New York City and Washington DC.  I tried my best to enjoy the vacation and made myself stop checking Twitter and reading about the latest updates on the search for the bombers but at night I found myself in the hotel room just staring at the news.  I spent the entire week just hugging my kids every chance I got and just telling them over and over again how much I love them and how thankful I am for them.  At one point, Lovebug just looked at me and said "mom, you're weird".  At that moment I was more thankful than ever that he had not been at the finish line and that to him this was something bad that happened on tv and that "everything will be ok now.  One bad guy is dead and the police caught the other one".  Sometimes the simplicity of the way a child views things is the most beautiful thing.  

The following week I returned to Arizona and was greeted by hugs and tears and felt like I was re-living the awful experience but soon after that the healing began.  I coped with my emotions the best way I knew how.  I got  started on my training plan for Ironman Arizona a couple weeks earlier than I had planned.  I could have talked about it until I was blue in the face, but for me, it's not until I have hours on the road biking or running solo or hours in a pool when I can really get my thoughts in order.  It's just how I work.  I need to move in order to think clearly and I'm totally ok with that!  I will never forget what happened that day, but I am now able to look at it as two separate events.  My own personal journey to get to Boston and to run it and then the horrible events that occurred.  If I let the terrorists take away from my experience then they have won.  

I chose not to go back to Boston this year, but my plan is to race it again in 2015 and I can not wait to get back there.  I will always be "BOSTONSTRONG"!