Thanks Steve, for sharing it with me. But what are you saying?…

And since last night it was decided that Jen and Denise (my friends who are 2/3 of the infamous trio we once made up at Greenview Court in good ole southern Maryland) will be staying with me Friday through Sunday, it is sure to be an alcohol-fueled weekend. Oh yes, let the good times begin!

I replied, no I couldn’t play that piece and reminded him that I had only briefly taken lessons. Then I moved on, thinking nothing more of it.

Later that evening we met for drinks and he inquired about it. I again stated I couldn’t play it, that my piano skills had been marginal at best and that despite having played an instrument for eight years my ability to read music was, well, crap.

He laughed, “Did you recognize the piece?”

“Yeah, it’s Ode to Joy,” I wondered what he was getting at, after all, the damn title was written across the top of it.

“Also known as Beethoven’s 9th…”

I looked at him, not quite that deer-in-headlights blank stare, but one that was a bit perplexed.

“Number nine… Your blog…”

“Oh shit… You found it…”

He laughed, “Yeah.”

Well hell, it had happened. I wondered if perhaps it was time I take my friend’s advice and stop blogging about my adventures in dating.

“It’s okay, you actually summed up our date quite well.”

I laughed, “Well thanks. I am smart about what I write, not everything makes the blog. How far back did you read?” This is always the question I dread asking. No, I take that back - it’s not the question I dread so much as the answer.

“Not far…”

We then talked for a bit about it. He admitted that his closest female friend and he were going over ideas as to how to be clever and let me know that he knew he was #9. My favorite idea: send me flowers with a note that read: From #9, may there not be a #10. It’s my favorite because let’s face it - women love getting flowers and it is quite creative.

He then stated that knowing I have a blog, and knowing that I write about my life, including those I date, was a bit intimidating. That he might censor himself a bit, be a little cautious about what he reveals to me.

Well #9, here’s the deal - you’re going to have to trust me. You’re going to have to trust that I am careful about what I post, and that I will consider your feelings when I’m writing. And I’m going to have to trust you too. I’m going to have to trust that you’re not going to go all the way back to July 2007 when I started blogging and read forward. That you like me enough to want to get to learn about me through me, rather than reading my entire history.

Of course I do have friends who have done this - gotten bored one night, or suffered from insomnia, or perhaps just had me on their minds and so they spent far more time than intended, reading the back-story of my life. And that’s okay. Some of those people have become my closest friends. But it doesn’t always work that way, so I hope #9 waits a bit before deciding to dive headfirst into what can occasionally be the cluster-fuck I call my life.

I’m going to attend this conference in 2009 for the following reasons:

1. I’ve wanted to attend a BlogHer conference since I partnered with them on my advertising.
2. It’s in Chicago, a city I’ve never visited but always wanted to.
3. I can claim all my expenses (travel, hotel, conference fees, etc.) on my taxes, and I need all the deductions I can get.
4. I can extend my visit by a few days to make it a vacation in addition to attending the conference.
5. My good friend Mel is going and we’re going to room together.
6. By July I’m gonna need a vacation.
7. Why the hell not?

I’m not sure, but this must mean he likes me if he cares enough to send such a thoughtful card. Haha.

Driving down to Richmond took far longer than it should have, but that’s because 95 was, of course, backed up as people are morons and when a cop has already pulled someone over they still feel the need to slam on the brakes and drive 5 miles under the speed limit. Which backs up traffic and ultimately pisses me off.

I slept fairly well Friday night, which I’m not always able to do the night before a big race. I woke up several times to check the clock to ensure I hadn’t overslept or missed my alarm, but each time I was able to fall back asleep, resulting in me getting a solid 7 hours of sleep.

Saturday morning I ate the only thing I ever eat before a race - a banana. I also had the necessities ready to go - my watch and some delicious GU:

After packing up, I headed to Starbucks for my morning caffeine. Usually I’m able to drink coffee pre-race with no problem but this time it hit my system and my stomach immediately cramped. I managed to get in a few swallows (so I wouldn’t get that lack-of-caffeine headache) before deciding I’d had enough and letting my system calm back down.

Arriving at the race I found my corral and my pace group. While my over-arching goal was to break 4 hours, I also hoped to really push myself and get a time of 3:40, which would qualify me for Boston, the holy grail of marathons. It seemed attainable as my training runs put me just over that time. So joining up with the 3:40 pace group seemed the smartest thing to do.

Before the gun could go off, the National Anthem was sung. Here I am with my fellow runners:

A couple of minutes later the gun would sound and we would surge forward:

I clocked my first mile at 7:54. My second mile was at 8:15. I stayed with the pace group and felt comfortable for the first 10 miles as we settled into our desired pace of an 8:23-mile.

It was around mile 11 that I fell behind. I stopped to grab a water and after getting none in my mouth while running, I slowed to a fast walk to actually get some fluid in. Less than a mile later I would make my one and only stop at a port-a-john, but the damage was done. The pace group was too far ahead of me. It was around this time that I also started shivering. This is never a good sign for me because it means my body is crashing. I have no idea why this happened so early in the race, especially since I’d logged plenty of long training runs. The weather wasn’t ideal for racing, but it wasn’t terrible either. Warm (67 degrees when I started, it would peak at 76 during the race) and initially overcast (the sun would hit full force by mile 15), but this shouldn’t have affected me that much.

Just before the halfway mark my friend and cheerleader of the day caught up with me, jumping into the race and running beside me, passing off GU, Gatorade and gummy bears. “You’re not that far behind them,” he said, referring to the pace group, “step it up and you can catch them. I’ll see you at Mile 20.”

I nodded and kept going, trying to ignore the shivering, hoping the GU I had just downed would supplement my body enough to keep propelling me forward.

He caught me just before mile 20 and I was in some serious pain, but still pushing forward. My pace had slowed significantly and I knew at that point that qualifying was out of the question. At mile 20 my time was 2:58:40. In order to qualify I would have had to crank out the last 6.2 miles in just over 40 minutes, which is a sub-7 minute pace. There was no way I could do it, not at that point in the race.

Just after mile 21 a woman was on the sidelines, Vaseline in hand. I gladly scooped up a glob of it. Never before have I chaffed in a race or even on a training run -  I’ve run in the rain, the snow, the heat, the humidity and I’ve never had a problem. This race however, brought serious chaffing to my underarms and nipples. I thought this was something only guys suffered from but it would appear it can happen to women too, I guess this is just a part of the sacrifice often required of running. So the Vaseline was a blessing as I rubbed it on.

Between miles 22 and 23 was another blessing as I came across the Richmond H3’s Beer Check. Grabbing a cup and shouting “On-on!” as I ran past gave me a bit of encouragement and a push to keep going.

At mile 24 my friend caught me and once again jumped in to run beside me. I dropped back behind him a bit, using him to block the headwind I’d been battling for miles. “Let’s go, Courtney!” he shouted, “You haven’t done all this training to run a 4-hour race. You can do this, let’s go!” He would run with me the rest of the race, yelling at me to open up my stride as I went down the last hill, crossing the finish line with a time of 3:59:41. So I ran a sub-4 hour race, but just barely. I definitely credit my friend for pushing me in the end and ensuring I made this goal. Thanks baby, for being the cheerleader and support I needed that day, I love you and I really couldn’t have done it without you.

In the end I am happy with my time. I cut nearly 40 minutes off my last marathon time (the Marine Corps Marathon, which I ran in 2007), and I feel much better after this race. I’m sore, but I’m moving and after a couple of days, I’ll hit the road to run again.

And this time I’m serious when I say I’m not running another marathon… At least, not for a while…

I waited before spending the money. Then I thought about just what I wanted to spend it on. First, something responsible: I paid off the remaining balance of my credit card! YAY! Though I only owed a few hundred dollars, I had quite a balance after I moved and was steadily paying it down. Yesterday I officially paid it off completely!

Then, I decided what I really needed wanted was a new dress for my company holiday party. This is the little black dress I’ll be sporting in December (now I just have to find a date for the party!!) :

Next, a much needed new winter coat, the one I’ve been coveting since last season:

And, because everyone knows I have an addiction to pretty underthings, something new to add to my collection:

After all that, I still had a few bucks remaining so I hit the wine shop and purchased a few bottles to help stock that never-quite-full wine rack I have.

All in all, I think I spent the money quite well and I am happy with my purchases. Now, if only this would happen every few months or so. It’s nice to treat myself.