A Little Piece of Paris

I want to live in Paris. I want to wake up surrounded by the kind of beauty that cannot be found in the US. We're just too young a country. I want to see ladies riding their bicycles by me, wearing their long skirts and fashionable tops.

I want to run the Paris marathon, cheer the riders at the end of the Tour de France, and then sit in the park where Hemingway hunted pigeons. I want to know the artists at Monmarte.

I'm not moving any time soon. But a friend up the street visited recently. When I realized how close she was to the Eiffel Tower, I immediately let her know about my all-time favorite chocolate shop, Jean-Paul Hevin, was just around the corner from her. Not only did she go there to get herself a treat. She brought me back the most delicious box of chocolates I have had for a long time.

So each night, when things settle, I eat one of those chocolates and I am instantly transported to Paris.

Thank you.

Run down

I have been training like mad for the third attempt at the Marine Corps Marathon. It might be my one legit chance to qualify for the Boston Marathon, though I've been hopeful before. My secret weapon? I've aged. And yes, this is not normally good for speed - but it does produce TEN extra minutes to run my race. And trust me, 10 minutes in a race that needs to last just under 4 hours is like getting a dog year. I'm psyched.

But I'm also tired. I've been running 5 days a week for 11 weeks, and I can tell it's adding up. One of my toenails has been on the edge of liberating itself from my toe for several weeks, and each morning I look to see if it finally jumped off at night. Another one is loaded up with bruises, which is how the first attempt at toenail liberation started. My arches have newly formed callouses, I've sloughed off more skin than I care to recall, and I have chafing where sun does and doesn't shine.

In other words, this training cycle has been pure glamour.

There's at least one enormous bright spot in the whole thing. My Tuesday running partner thinks she'll be able to run much of the race with me (she makes her own go at qualifying for Boston a few weeks later). She is MUCH faster than me, but also younger, so her qualifying time is something I'd need to use a bicycle to hit. I remember having a pacer for my first half marathon, and it's just such a huge mental lift, that if anything can push me under my BQ time, I know this is it.

I have also logged many, many miles with friends - even though I've been half delirious for some of these. Yesterday morning at the track, I was full of focus trying to hit a particular pace. One of my all-time best friends, who is not normally a runner, was there. I didn't even know she ever came to the track - so when in the dark she waved to me, I absolutely did not recognize her. I thought she was waving at me because I was staring at her awesome shirt.

Turns out, we were out that evening, and she mentioned she saw me. I was, naturally, completely dumbfounded. Then, I asked her if she'd noticed the woman in the awesome shirt. Her reply? "That was me!".

Today is a rest day, which I'm filling with lots of water drinking in preparation for tomorrow's 24 mile run. And I am desperately hoping for one of those awesome "I DID IT!" kind of feelings after that run. Because I think it will make me less tired.

And I'll feel a little less run down.