​The alarm might have been set for 5AM.  Does it really matter at this point?  All I know is that I am awake, in my best friend's house and he's already downstairs.  

I zombie shuffled down the steps because my quads, glutes and hamstrings are on fire.  Rayne, one of my best friends of over three years, is doing his first Spartan race with me.  For over a year, he's been doing strength, calisthenics and very light cardio work (because he sucks) with me in and outside of the gym.  Watching him go from being somewhere around the 250 pound range to shaving off over 30 pounds, I think that this was a great way for him to experience a day in my life.  He lives for this type of shit, as he has quite often told me.  

We split a center cut steak with spinach and cheese omelet.  He made breakfast three perfectly shaped large pancakes for his son before heading out the door.  We caught a gypsy cab to take us to the train station not too far from his home, which kept us in decent timing.  Along the commute, we did our occasional shit talking towards one another and because I am stubborn, I reminded him to NOT push help on me if I don't need it.  The dynamics of our relationship is build on love, hypocrisy and very stubborn personalities.  We feel the need to help each other but we randomly break out into asshole moments of ripping each others' heads off with affectionate terms like "stop being a dick" or when one of us fuck up, the phrase starts off with "What you're not gonna do is..."  Despite our chaos, we know how to push each other through the pain and I guess we kinda give a shit about each other.  

Once we reached New York Penn Station, we hustled our way through the light crowd of people to check the train schedule for the NJ Transit line heading towards Newark.  We had a bit of wiggle time and decided to go to the most gluttonous place possible:  Krispy Kreme.  Once we picked up a half dozen of doughy goodness with our iced lattes, we walked towards the funk of the station to go on board.  

We made it to NJ in less than 30 minutes and linked up with my friend Asha.  She was just as sweet as she was on Saturday.  We talked about all things TMI and had enough conversation fillers to make a nun blush.  Along the commute, I couldn't tell if it was my nerves or something severely wrong, which made us make a stop at the Dunkin Donuts on the way.  Silly me forgot how caffeine sensitive that I can be, which made my bowels do the Harlem Shake.  My body shook for a little bit but once we reached Mountain Creek Resort, it slowly started to leave my system.  
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​I woke up Saturday morning a bit frustrated.  It was still raining in New York City in small spurts through the night.  On Friday, I got caught in a downpour after leaving the gym for my last Spartan training session.  It didn't help that I was wearing the trail sneakers that I was supposed to wear for the Spartan Super.  As many things happen in life, the show must go on.  After canceling the second alarm, I decided to go about my pre race morning ritual.  Three scrambled cheese eggs, two slices of buttered toast and tea.  Light shower.  Left all of my nerves and bowel movements in the toilet.  Made two days worth of lunch and dinner for my family.  Triple checked to make sure that I had everything needed, even with being packed up over two weeks ago.  Shortly after, I darted out the door to the train station.

​On the ride, I remember how nervous I was because of the weather conditions.  I am no stranger to racing in the snow, rain or cold but to essentially do ambitious trail with over 20 obstacles in it made me exceptionally nervous.  My fun time at the indoor rock climbing class didn't prepare me for a Spartan of this calibre, as I was going to be doing this at the Mountain Creek Resort in Vernon, NJ.  From what I researched and remembered about the resort, the elevation is over 2700 ft, which makes a city slicker like me exceptionally nervous.  Trekking up some unstable rocks can make you think twice when the only boulders you ever dodged were slow walking narcissists on 34th Street during rush hour when you're trying to commute and an occasional irrational drug addict yelling at you about the self-inflicted atrocities of his life.  

​It was Saturday morning.  

I didn't come home until 2AM.  Conveniently, I was working as a Press Photographer covering events at the New York Comic Con on behalf of Comic Attack.Net.  Aside from being a passionate runner, I enjoy doing freelance photography and culinary work when I can.  After all, it is New York City and the New York Comic Con was already in my schedule way before I ever considered the Chicago Marathon.  I worked New York Comic Con for two days and on that Friday, I went to meet up with a few friends at Howl at the Moon bar in the city, chilled with them until around 10pm and decided to live it up a little at the after party with the celebs and comic book geeks at Bowlmor bowling alley at 42nd Street.  I may have had a bit over 8 drinks that night and surely was tipsy as all hell.  This was something that I told myself that I would avoid but it was my last night in NYC for a week.  

It felt like death to wake up at 3:45AM but my flight was scheduled to leave for 6AM.  Thankfully, I had everything packed and set out for two weeks.  Saturday morning, I told my family that I loved them, talked with my best friend for partial of the ride because he's a night owl who happened to be at work and rushed to the airport in a cab.  The air was cool, my nerves were playing Tetris but there's something exceptionally beautiful about looking at the city lights when going up 50,000 feet into the sky.  Everything and everyone is so small.  In turn, I used this as the correlation to my race.  The Chicago Marathon is huge and small at the same time.  When something is placed directly in front of you, it's easy to get overwhelmed by the gravity of things but when you separate yourself for a few moments, it's easier to look at all sides of the board.  I gave myself permission to stop tripping while en route to Chi Town.

I have been downplaying a lot of things for a few years now.  Secretly, I have been scared of success for a really long time.  As much as I don't give a shit about what people think of me, I kinda do to some degree.  

Most of my closest friends and family think that I care about folks and in the same breath, think I am one of the biggest assholes that ever graced this earth.  Perhaps I should be flattered that I can earn such a honor but it's not as charming as people may think.  Folks like me are confusing as all hell most times.  Three days of the week, I love being around a group of people.  Two more days roll by and I may just want one or two of my closest buddies nearby but by day six, I want nothing to do with anyone and this is when it starts to get weird.  By the second week, I want to kill everything around me and can't stand being in my own skin.  I learned a lot of my not so funny quirks through running.

When I think about my first and only ultra marathon, I realized that my spirit rose and fell way before my legs had a choice in the matter.  I could babble on forever about how I felt that day but the same feelings wouldn't translate nearly as well unless you experienced it on your own.  Sounds elitist or pretentious?  That's why I downplay a lot of what comes out of my mouth.  I start to sound like a long winded know it all and combine it with doing something that most people think you're bat shit crazy and maybe amazing doing, you start worry about your accomplishments.  I feel nuts to admit that sometimes I'm a bit embarrassed about pushing past my own boundaries.  Some might think that's absurd but it's my own personal truth.  

I remember doing the Miami Marathon in January 2016.  I only spent two or three days there because my concern was mostly surrounded by visiting my family in Florida, learning more about my father's side and meeting this incredible woman that I have a girl boner for10 plus years that I was meeting for the first time on MySpace.  She would eloquently point out my bullshit from miles away and until this point, never met me in person.  When I think about the Miami Marathon, I find a personal peace in my "failure."  On race day, I made it to mile 6 and knew I was in trouble.  Typically when I am struggling through runs, I go through stages of bereavement.  This strong urge of denial overwhelms me to a point where I convince myself not to fail.  A host of reasons shoot rapid bullets in my brain, trickling down in my feet to push through.  It's usually the notion of not failing others who helped me financially cover a race.  Anger settles in when I start to slow down or walk.  I tend to be my own worst critic in these aspects.  Regardless of how rational I can be most times, I still encounter moments of a self defeatist attitude.  Once I get to state of bargaining, I start to tell myself a load of bullshit, sometimes translating into mind over matter.  On this particular race, I think bargaining became the fourth step versus depression.  I was filled with sadness around the ninth mile when I quickly realized that my growing sciatica pain was going to injure me.  I asked myself if doing the full marathon was worth weeks of being laid up in a hospital in another state, knowing that I had to board for Atlanta the next morning to meet someone that I wanted to see for years.  Even in this constant strange pursuit of perfection within self, I accepted that I needed to change my route into the half marathon lane around mile 12.  On that day, I faced a huge fear of failure.  Shifting from a full marathon to a half marathon isn't so bad.  It's not like I DNF (did not finish) and even if I did, I actually gave it my best.  Until this point, it was easy to avoid acknowledging that I can be my own worst critic.  

These aren't the only lessons that I learned through running.  Through this sport, I learned that my mind needs more exercising than my body.  When I think about my first marathon, running while on a journey to becoming a functional alcoholic, I realized that my mind is what pushed me through such shitty training.  There have been times that I have ran (and walked) through injuries.  Running with a sharp pain in your ass is like laying in a bed full of nails with your child kicking you in the nuts for giggles.  Sciatica gives no comfort and in turn, my metaphorical life mantra tends to come to life 50 percent of the time on the pavement:  Get comfortable with the uncomfortable.  

I've been running since late 2013 and there are days where I am still conflicted about my wall of achievements.  In my heart, I want to earn more, constantly strive to do better but worry that I'll isolate myself from so many by doing so.  Every run, I still can feel my heartbeat resting on my throat.  The jitters haven't left my system in three years.  Ironically, I have been sick on almost every major half or full marathon to date.  Perhaps this is some bizarre well wish from the universe as a form of good luck.  On a continuous basis, I give myself a pep talk that doing something positive with my life shouldn't be affiliated with guilt.  Running is such a great thing and if finisher medals come with it, rejoice in those moments. I just wonder at times why am I so ashamed of accomplishing so much.  I know that part of it is that I am secretly scared of my own success but I wonder if it's connected to something so much deeper.  

This journey of going from a person who only ran for the ice cream truck to becoming an ultramarathoner is exceptionally humbling.  I learned some dark things about myself that I found easier to deny prior to becoming a runner.  From sticking to this fitness kick (or whatever folks want to call my passion), I am also forced to confront my fears head on.  What have you learned about yourself through your journey to becoming a runner (or through fitness)?  

At least once a week, there's someone who comments under one of my photos or see me after avoiding all of my phone calls for six years who will give me some half assed advice about running once they find out I'm a runner.  In the beginning, I used to take a lot of these things to heart for all of fifteen minutes.  Now, you're lucky if I take it seriously for less than five minutes.  Please let me entertain you with my list of questions and suggestions that I received over the last three or so years: 
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I'd probably be 400 pounds, eating Twinkies, polishing off a 6 pack of beer and my cardio would consist of frequent trips to the corner store for Kit Kat Bars.  When I ran out of money, I'd ask your mother to spare a dollar.​  

The irony is that typically these type of questions follow up with shit advice from a person who has a host of health issues and never made an attempt to fix them.  Sometimes, it comes from some "personal trainer" who has no realistic understanding of how nutrition comes into play.  This scares me a bit.  There are times that it is as simple as the misery loves company effect.  
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Thank you for worrying about my precious knees but have I told you about my back problems that drastically reduced or the spare tire that I lost about 6 months ago?  Sometimes, I pick it back up and it looks exceptionally deflated.  

I promise you, if all you're worried about are some fucked up knees, I can tell you a host of things you can use your imagination for to figure out other interesting ways to jack up your "knees."  Some people have their vice; let me have mine.
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Yeah, you're right.  I'm running away from that time I was 4 years old and my dad beat my ass over throwing a tantrum over getting the wrong colored gum ball.  Traumatized the shit out of me.  Running is my only savior now.  Who needs a therapist when the road is my salvation?

Listen, not all of us are running because we have suppressed daddy issues, recovering alcoholics or two steps away from going manic.  Even if we fit into one of these categories, so fucking what.  Is having a hour or two of solitude REALLY that bad?  In a world where we live on our cellular phones, lack the ability to get as much physical exercise as we did years ago and are two steps from crazy sometimes because of inflation, what is SO WRONG about allegedly running away from something.  Oh wait.  You could never run because it makes you happy.  Right.
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Damn, how could I be so delusional and not realize that I could replace those two or three hours on the pavement with watching the new episode of Bad Girls Club that I have recorded on my DVR?  Why wait?  I could be throwing away money on that new Facebook game with all of the micro transactions.  Or I could be waiting for you to hang out with me, which that day may never come.  

In short, my life is not your life.  It's not for you to understand.  It's not just a "craze" or a phase.  Each individual have their own reason.  Running balances out my weight, clears my mind and occasionally stops me from catching a court case.  People who knew me prior to running can attest on my usage of "free time" or how I dealt with irrational people prior to running.  Be thankful.  I could be on America's Most Wanted right now but you don't want to let me live.
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Thank you...so so much.  I guess you didn't notice my obsession with skulls.  I just wanted to match my tattoo but thank you for your concern.  

Before you say something, ask yourself if it is coming from a genuine or helpful place.  Sometimes we translate our own insecurities in forms of "concern."  If you are truly concerned about someone's physical appearance, is it because it seems like there's a legitimate health issue involved?  If not, you probably want to keep your advice to yourself.  Just because you don't like it, don't mean someone needs to hear it.  Nobody wants another insecurity induced by friends or family.  Besides, it's not about you.
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...go fuck yourself.

People have a host of reasons on why they like to run.  Don't make adding you onto the list as their list of motivations to run.  Saying things like this would make concerns like number 3 valid because they will run FAR away from you.  No person should feel obligated to lay out all of their personal  intentions to others just to make their personal goals valid.  End of discussion.
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Jesus, runners must be the most obsessive fitness nuts that ever existed on this planet earth.  I guess after the two hours of blissful running, there's no way I can find time to hang out with you in 24 hours.  Oh wait...I forgot.  It has to be on YOUR time, not our mutual time at random moments.  

There's no polite way to say that this sort of mentality is selfish as hell.  Unless you're abandoning important obligations like feeding your child, telling your dying significant other that you just need to get in a 10 mile run or else you'll be thrown off your entire day or losing a job, it's not that damn serious.  Runners are sometimes perceived as anti social, self absorbed/selfish and boring.  We don't just lose our sense of life because running is important to us.  We're not even angry or tired of you.  Almost every person on this planet earth has something that they make as a priority.  This happens to be one of them.  Relax.
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I have a few folks who may only know me as a runner but I love cycling for miles...well before someone stole my bike back in January.  All jokes aside, I am a family woman.  My son takes up a huge chunk of my time.  I actually have FRIENDS who I hang out with and they kinda like me.  Outside of running, I love pole dancing for the athleticism and constantly seeking this black girl rhythm that keeps escaping me.  Unfortunately, I have been blessed with hips that I do not know how to use without WD-40.  Cooking makes me go from the Grinch to Winnie to Pooh.  Making food for a group of my closest friends and family is something that I incredibly adore.  Doing yoga keeps all of my anxiety down to a low point on the richter scale.  These 4 goldfish that I never thought I would like in my house keep me amused for some reason.  And contrary to belief, there's times that I truly love being alone.  Running is just something that I'm passionate about.  It doesn't mean that I stopped giving a shit about the world or the folks that live in it.  If anything, I just want people to respect that this is my metaphorical chew toy and I'm not seeking for anyone to replace it for a new one.  You don't need to get me a psych evaluation no time soon.  Give me another five years and we can revisit that conversation.  In the meantime, be easy and find your own version of happy.