a day in the life of a ferry boat.

Well, technically it’s only a 35-minute crossing from one side of Puget Sound to the other, but the ferry boat just sort of does the same thing, back and forth. back and forth. So I feel pretty safe in assuming that the 35-minute timeframe is a fairly accurate snapshot of her whole day.

I am fortunate to be able to work from home most days, with my personal hygiene being the only thing that suffers from the arrangement, but I do go into my Seattle office once a week. It’s a great chance to shower see my fellow colleagues.

Usually I just drive on, sit in my car, open my computer and telecommute my way through some deadlines.

But yesterday, it dawned on me that maybe the ferry boat deserves a closer look.

Who am I to say? She could be just sitting there, suffering in silence, hoping that someday, someone will come along and pay attention.

Well, ferry boat. Today is your day. Let’s all take a look, shall we?

First of all, here is ferry boat looking her best. Which obviously means I did not take this picture:

As I looked around, trying to see this hard-working, sturdy vessel with fresh eyes, I started to notice that ferry boat seems a bit, well, bossy. And not in a fun-loving-Tony-Danza-Who’s-The-Boss kind of way.

More of a don’t-mess-with-me-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you kind of bossy.

A little off-putting there, ferry boat. Just sayin’.

Case in point:

Come on, ferry boat. Manners? Hello? It’s just one simple word, and they don’t call it “magic” for nothing. All I’m saying is that it goes a long way.

To be fair, I could see why ferry boat might be harboring some bitterness. After all, here’s what she has to look at, day-in, day-out:

Sure, this view is easy on the eyes, but it could also mean life-long torment if the only thing that would make a girl feel truly complete is a ferris wheel ride. Don’t cry, ferry boat. Those things really aren’t that safe anyway.

Speaking of safety, what the ferry boat lacks in people skills, she more than makes up for in emergency preparedness:

A water hose AND a fire extinguisher? Hello, that’s not a redundancy you’ll hear me complain about.

To her credit, it did seem like this one time ferry boat was really trying to be friendly:

I kinda sensed a little bit of teeth clenching go on, though. What with the all-caps block lettering and all.

When I spotted this assortment of snacks, I snapped a quick picture and kept on walking.

What I wanted to do was say a few gentle words about the damaging affects of high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated vegetable oil, but clearly ferry boat is an emotional eater and it’s not really my place to make her feel any worse about herself.

Oh ferry boat, I don’t want to paint an ALL bad picture of your day. In addition to being a very useful mode of transportation, you’re clearly doing your part for the environment, and that should be commended. Good job, ferry boat.

Also, it sure is cute the way ferry boat tries her level best to keep up with the 21st century.

The fact that the available wi-fi system works a solid 50% of the time (provided there are no high winds or seagulls in the area) is really something to be proud of.

But you know what, ferry boat? Just be yourself. You don’t have to try to impress anyone with your high-tech mumbo jumbo. Just stick to the classics, they work for you. And by classics I am obviously referring to your TOTALLY AWESOME PAC-MAN MACHINE!

That little piece of nostalgic gold is worth its weight in a thousand dropped Boingo connections. Well played, ferry boat. Well played.

Well, there you have it folks. A day in the life of a Washington State Ferry boat. It was quite a ride. We laughed, we cried. We felt a little bit funny in the tummy. Good times were had by all.

What’s your favorite mode of transportation? I’d love to hear from you!

gratituesday – part 8.

Because there’s always something to be grateful for. And also, it’s Tuesday.

Here, I’ll get us started:

I am grateful that I got off my butt tonight and did my run. It was just a 3-miler but I may have procrastinated all day about doing it, I can’t say for sure. But I DID IT. I felt strong, and I didn’t eat a single bug. Also, I’m grateful that I don’t care how fast I run. That way, I can stop and take pictures for you. You’re welcome.

I am grateful for these roasted garbanzo beans* that John made us. Just sea salt and olive oil. Who knew?

*Disclaimer: I call them garbanzo beans. Do you? Or are they chick peas in your neck of the woods? Inquiring minds just gotta know.

I am grateful for the simple pleasures of summer. Like watching little 5-year-olds skipping stones at the beach. Alright, fine, they were hardly skipping them.

I am grateful for watching little 5-year-olds plunking stones into the water at the beach.

I am grateful that Olivia gets to have this guy as her dad:

Yeah, that one. With the unicorn on his head. I’m grateful I get him, too.

I am grateful that photos of animals or people in mid-blink make them look intoxicated. And just to clarify since my own husband didn’t recognize her in such an embarrassing state, this is OUR actual cat, Abby:

Poor, Abby. She’s gonna be hurtin’ in the morning.

I am grateful for Red Vines. Yes, all you black licorice lovers, I realize that technically it’s not really “licorice” but I’m not here to judge. Also, I’m grateful that Olivia can’t read yet because I’m going to tell you right now that this package was hers and I ate all of it.

Last but not least, I’m grateful for Family Game Night with these characters:

Where we can hear each other’s real laughs, and see each other’s real faces. I savor these moments and try with everything in me not to take one minute of them for granted.

On tonight’s to-do list? Possibly, eat a fudgesicle.

What are you grateful for? I’d love to hear from you!

look, a rainbow!

I just learned about this fun Monday Listicles project and today’s theme is THANK YOU.

You never need to ask me twice to talk about things I’m thankful for. And also, rainbows. I’m fond of talking about them, too.

So let’s do this thing:

THANK YOU RED for finally going away. You’re usually my favorite color and all, but not when you attach yourself to me in the form of a colorful sunburn. I don’t really have a color – or a thank you – for the molting I’m doing now, though.

THANK YOU ORANGE for not rhyming with one single thing. I love that about you. Way to find your place in the crowd. A colorfully loud crowd. (see what I did there?)

THANK YOU YELLOW for being the color of the big, bright orb in the sky. I don’t really like it when you plot a conspiracy against me with red but right now, it’s about you. Not me. Thank you, for all that you do. And the vitamin D thing. Super helpful. You know, for living and stuff. (note: that says “THANK YOU YELLOW” above and I promise to never use this color for text again).

THANK YOU GREEN for being the color that could visit my wallet more often, you know, if you wanted to. You don’t call, you don’t write. Was it something I said? I have always loved you, do I not show it enough? If you come visit I promise to make you feel welcome. You can wear my favorite slippers, even.

THANK YOU BLUE for being way more fun to play with than orange. Sorry, sometimes love is tough. Oh, blue. I’ve lost my shoe and I have no clue what I should do. I feel so …. blue. Are you taking notes, orange?

THANK YOU VIOLET for your rainbow of confusion. Seriously, what’s the deal? I grew up in a time when it was all about ROYGBP. And by P I mean PURPLE. Now you go and throw yourself into the mix, and I have to worry about INDIGO, too? Next thing you’re going to tell me is that Pluto isn’t a planet. I really can’t take much more of this.

Since the rules for this game are to list 10 THINGS and there are only six colors in the rainbow (don’t start with me, violet and indigo. I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans) I’d better throw in a few extra-credit colors:

THANK YOU BEIGE for being such a good sport. Man, do you get a bad rap. One quick google search is all it took to find an article called, “Why You Should Hate Beige.” That is HARSH, people. Normally I would do the right thing and link back to the source, but in this case, come on. Poor beige deserves a break.

After all, we have beige to thank for making the rest of the world brighter. Beige, I totally meant that in a nice way. Please stop crying.

THANK YOU GRAY for being an ACTUAL COLOR and not 50 shades of a passing fad.
I am all about finding a good page-turner, but I was a fan of gray WAY before it was famous.*

*Disclaimer: I am not talking to the gray that has decided to move in for good on top of my head. Oh yeah, I am SUPER thankful for THAT gray, said no woman ever.

THANK YOU WHITE for being extra awesome in your use of negative space, but entirely a FAIL when it comes to fitting into this whole colored-text thing I’ve got going on here. I’m hopeful everyone will just look past it and appreciate the irony.

THANK YOU BLACK for all the ways you make me feel good about myself, even when the camera doesn’t get my best angle. You’ve always been there for me, so slimming and supportive, even on my most muffin-toppy of days.

What are you thankful for? I’d love to hear from you! And if you happen to have TWO things to list, feel free to save one for tomorrow because you know it will be all about gratituesday….

minimum (w)age.

Girls should not wear tuxedo shirts made for men.

Especially 13-year-old girls with newfound breasts and fresh insecurities too big to hide beneath unforgiving fabric.

But that was part of her uniform in 1987 at the Lincoln Theater in her tiny hometown:

- tuxedo shirt, thin
– button-down vest, maroon
– black bowtie, clip-on

It was her first real job.

There are times when it would be hard to argue that growing up in a small town can be a limiting, I-just-can’t-breathe experience.

And there are other times when there is beauty in the everyone-knows-everyone way of life. And the lines of faraway big city rules blur in your favor.

Like landing your first real job years before it is considered “legal”.

She had always been a few steps behind cool. She had a handful of friends, but she never found herself comfortably in the right space, in the right crowd, at the right time.

She was not setting trends.

She was not passing notes on Monday morning, recounting the amazing party on Saturday night, with words written in whimsical cursive and heart-dotted “i”s.

She wore her anxieties under baggy rugby shirts and last season’s Guess jeans. But she also wore a thin tuxedo shirt, a maroon vest, and a clip-on bowtie.

She had a life outside of her teenage angst and she would punch her fears of not being “enough” every time she slammed her weekly time-card into the metal slot in the clock.

She had this.

It was an adrenaline-infused rush for her to fly behind the concession counter at the frenetic start of a Friday night, scooping buttery popcorn with ease. Counting change in her head while lining up wax-coated cups down the length of the soda machine, timing each one so that the perfect amount of liquid was dispensed without spilling a drop.

She had this. It was hers. And there were no stories good enough on Monday morning to take it away from her.

She made just pennies over 3 bucks an hour.

Her first paycheck was 56 dollars. And she felt like the richest girl alive.

read to be read at yeahwrite.me

I’m submitting this story to a wonderfully supportive community called Yeah Write! A great place for bloggers who write and writers who blog.

what lies beneath – part two.

Before I finish this horror story, I should probably give you a quick run update. I’m starting to feel like those of you that are reading along for the running portion of my blog might be starting to think I’m full of hot air.

Actually, I can’t confirm or deny that last part, but I did run 10 miles this weekend. In a row. You know, no big deal.*

*Disclaimer: that was sarcasm. It was a big deal, to me.

I averaged a 12-minute mile, which isn’t quite fast enough to be Katie’s running partner any time soon, but it was plenty fast for me, given how hot and muggy it was.

I did an out-and-back course. Out-and-backs are my favorite because, unless you’re a fan of hitchhiking (which I’m not, though we all know I have the thumbs for it), once you get OUT you have to get BACK. It’s one of the many psychological games I play with myself to get through my runs.

Alright, now where was I on this story? Oh, right. This was happening: 

After that crunchy little bugger had darted back down behind the bed for the second and pray-to-God the last time, I was a complete wreck. John tried to reassure me that these things happen, we were in the tropics after all, but that did nothing to calm my nerves.

I left the light on and laid down in bed, but there was no freaking way I was going to sleep that night.

It was about 11pm and I laid there. Eyes. Wide. Open. Until 6am.

And then I got up and did what any reasonable person would do. I snuck into the bathroom to make a wake-up call to the property manager.

I had decided that I didn’t want to tell anyone else in the house and suffer in silence for the rest of the trip. I wasn’t trying to be a martyr, I just didn’t think it was necessary to traumatize everyone else and make them wonder every night if they were going to get a little visitor dropping by.

I told the property manager what had happened.

She was plenty sympathetic and assured me that the house and its perimeter had been sprayed just days before. It couldn’t be sprayed again this soon, though, especially with young children around, but she said that she’d send the exterminator to set traps all around the house (inside and out).

After the traps were set, I secretly monitored them all day, every day. I couldn’t decide if I WANTED to see a roach trapped in these little cardboard Hotel California’s or if it would be better to NOT see one.

As it turned out, I never did see one. In the traps, in my hair, or in my bed.

But, the damage had already been done.

I spent the entire week in a sleep-deprived daze. I left the light on every night (sorry, love) and hoped that Ambien would help (it didn’t).

The moral of the story? Avoid ground-floor accommodations when on vacation.

Have you ever had something like this happen? I’d love to hear from you!

what lies beneath.

I have hesitated to tell this story, for several reasons.

1. You’ve already heard me talk about roosters, rats and raccoons. What more can you take? I mean, really. I don’t know if I want to start setting a precedent here.

2. It was one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life.

3. It really scared the crap out of me.

But, hey. Aside from #1 above, aren’t #2 and #3 the makings of just about the perfect story to tell the world? I‘ve already told you I peed my pants, so let’s do this thing:

Last November, I planned a family trip to Hawaii. It was my mom’s 60th birthday and she had just finished breast cancer treatment so we were all in the mood to celebrate.

It was a large group: my mom, brother, his wife, their two children, John and I and Olivia. We wanted to stay together and naturally, we needed a pool.

I love pretending like I know what I’m doing, so I offered to coordinate the details.

Not gonna lie: it’s kinda high-pressure to plan something like this for a large group, especially for a stress-job like me. There’s really no way around feeling personally responsible for everyone’s satisfaction, even if some things might be out of your control.

So anyway, we get there and the place was good enough. Nothing to write home about, but it was large, there was a fridge for the wine I mean snacks, and it had a pool.

So far, so good.

Fast forward to the first night. The kids are all tucked away in bed and the adults are sitting around the kitchen enjoying a celebratory cocktail. Laughing, and laughing, oh the good times.

Pretty soon, we start to peel off, one by one, headed for bed. The last four standing were my mom, my husband and myself.

And the 4th person standing?

Well, it wasn’t really a person so much as a big, huge, black cockroach in the middle of the kitchen floor. Except he wasn’t standing so much as darting mockingly across the room like a demented version of the Gingerbread Man. I for sure heard him shout, “Hee hee, you can’t catch me!” as he scurried under the table.

Well, we DID catch him, with a Solo cup and my screams, and kicked his little crunchy butt to the curb, aka the toilet.

Oh, was I shaking. A) I had never seen a cockroach in real life. We live in the Pacific Northwest, people. We have slugs. B) Fear and panic that I had just checked us all into the Roach Motel and we were only on NIGHT ONE rushed through me.

This was going to be a long night.

In the next scene, we find ourselves in bed. I am just dozing off when I feel something tickling my hair. Surely I am dreaming but I’d better do a cursory sweep of my head just in case AND WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??? I SWEAR I JUST FELT SOMETHING CRAWLING IN MY HAIR!!!!

No, no, love calm down. Says John. Go back to bed.

I frantically rush around, looking for the light switch, and when I finally find it the glaring spotlight is cast onto ………………… THIS: 

Right about now I am picturing all of you saying, “Yeah right, Melisa. Good one. You are just joking. Ha ha.”

Oh, what I wouldn’t pay for this to be a joke. The only discrepancy between the photo above and the actual nightmarish scene was I think the real cockroach was bigger.

Seriously.

Ready for what happened next? As soon as the light came on, he darted back down behind the bed. And then, guess what? Oh, that playful little trickster! He darted BACK UP onto the bed! And not just the bed, but MY PILLOW! Oh, for the laughs.

I’m pretty sure this is what he said to me:

Come back tomorrow for the exciting conclusion! You know you want to…

On tonight’s to-do list? A scalding hot shower to try and wash this memory off.

What do you have planned this weekend? I’d love to hear from you!

now for something completely random.

I had some free time last night so I started stalking my own Facebook page. Who knew it had been around for so long?! It was like unlocking a treasure trove of vintage gems.

Like this Random List of 25 Things About Me that I have taken the liberty of copying and pasting for you here. You’re welcome!

  1. I love to sing in the car at the top of my lungs and I never care if someone’s watching. I’m just thankful they can’t hear me. Actually, they’re probably more thankful than I am.
  2. At least once a day when I see my daughter I am amazed that we created a human. Billions of people have been born and I still think it is so fascinating!
  3. Speaking of Olivia, I didn’t know just how much love was inside of me until she
    came along. It is a little OTT, people.
  4. 

I am physically unable to walk on the right side of people. It makes me completely uncomfortable from head to toe and I have to correct it as quickly as possible (as in, move to the left). Most of the people in my life are aware of this random neurosis and are (mostly) very patient with me.
  5. I went to kindergarten with my husband. We weren’t going steady at the time, though. We didn’t officially start dating until I was 17, and we’ve been happily together ever since. We just celebrated 20 years together. Oh great, now you know how old I am.
  6. My very favorite types of movies are psychological thrillers. The scarier the better, but I will never, ever watch a scary movie alone.
  7. My husband puts toothpaste on my toothbrush every single day and I think it is a wonderful little treasure every single time. It still surprises me.
  8. 

I have big, huge love for my job. I have worked at the same company for over 12 years and I truly love what I do. I swear I am not just adding this one because my boss and our CEO are on Facebook.

 (updated: neither one of them read my blog)
  9. I have really long fingers. That is just about the only thing that Olivia got from me.
  10. Also, I have the most crazy hitchhiker’s thumb EVER. Seriously, LOOK at this thing! I think it might scare small children. Except Olivia, she’s used to it by now.
  11. I am legally blind. I ask my eye doctor every year if perhaps they’ve changed
    the guidelines that set this “rule” but alas, it never changes. I’m very grateful for corrective lenses.
  12. My three biggest fears are going blind, public speaking, and sharks, but this is SO yesterday’s news.
  13. I say “I love you” to my loved ones every single time we hang up the phone,
    no matter what. Always.
  14. The feeling of taking a very, very deep breath makes me so happy and I forget to do it all. the. time.
  15. I am easily amused, easily fooled, extremely gullible, never stay mad, and I have never ever held a grudge in my life. Sometimes these traits have burned me, but it is always worth it.
  16. My mom and I are very close and talk on the phone approximately 365 times
    a year. Sometimes more on a Leap Year.
  17. I am a consummate peace-keeper and it drives me absolutely crazy to have any ripples. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t concentrate, until it’s all straightened out again.
  18. I can recite Paul Revere from the Beastie Boys very quickly and will always oblige when asked. But I think you probably knew this already.
  19. I can’t swim without a nose clip. Yes, I did a full IronMan with a nose clip (but only for the swim. It would have been REALLY silly to keep it on for the bike and run).
  20. I love sending unexpected surprises in the mail to people. Several years ago when everyone went the way of “Happy Birthday!” on Facebook, my New Year’s Resolution was to send REAL birthday cards – with an actual stamp – in the mail. It’s the only resolution I have every kept.
  21. I am very sensitive, all sap, and mostly a big dork. And I really don’t care who knows it. Um, obviously.
  22. I have a brother who is a paramedic firefighter and I think that is so cool. I
    am very proud of him. I also feel very comfortable taking huge bites of food in his presence because really, the guy knows his way around the Heimlich Maneuver.
  23. I came in secund place at the City Spelling Bee when I was in the 8th grade.
    I went out on “exhortation.” Curse that silent “h”! And yes, I deliberately misspelled ‘second’ just to see if you were paying attention.
  24. I love to travel and have made it to a few corners of the globe so far. I wonder why they say ‘corners’ when the earth is round? Anyway, we are getting Olivia out to see the world with us, too. My very favorite thing about travel is seeing how other people live, and to know there are so many, many wonderful and wildly different ways of doing things. Oh, and the food. And the wine.
  25. Every single night, no matter where I am, when my head hits the pillow, I say,
    “Thank you for this life.”
Now tell me something! I’d love to hear from you.

stage fright, you’re not the boss of me.

My three greatest fears in life (aside from the obvious fears of losing loved ones and finding a rat in the toilet) are:

1. Going blind.
2. Public speaking.
3. Sharks.

In that order.

Last night I had the opportunity to grab the business end of #2 and show it who’s boss.*

*Disclaimer: despite how brave my late-30’s may be making me, I will never – let me just repeat that, NEVER – grab the business end of #3. Just wanted to clear that up.

About a month ago, I learned about something called a “Story Slam” that was happening on our little island. It was being put on by Field’s End, this cool community that supports writers. You sign up. You bring a story based on the prompt “Away From Home”. You get 5 minutes. No notes. Just you, the stage and a microphone.

A. I’ve never stepped foot on a stage in my life.
B. I’ve never spoken into a microphone (except in the shower, but my bottle of shampoo doesn’t count).
C. See #2 above.

Sure thing, sign me up! I had a fairly funny “Away From Home” story to tell, so I put on my Big Girl panties and did this thing.

Guess what? I had SO. MUCH. FUN.

The place was packed, but luckily the audience was really friendly and supportive. There wasn’t a heckler among them.

OK, I’ll admit that I might have gotten some seriously sweaty pits when I saw a few members of my church and realized suddenly that they were going to hear me drop the
F-bomb in my story, but I worked through it with a few deep breaths and a sip of wine.

Because I realized that despite my anxiety, I am just human and so are they. I took my flawed, imperfect self right up there and gave it all I had.

I wasn’t writing a clever tweet. I wasn’t posting a partial-truth photo of myself on Facebook, strategically cropped so you’d see only the best of me.

I was really up there. With my grown-out roots that are begging for a touch-up. With the extra pounds that insist on following me everywhere I go.

I was really up there. With my own voice. No rewind, pause or edit button.

Alright, so I didn’t win the tote bag or any of the other prizes. But I DID win the satisfaction of knowing that my fears do not own me.

They are a part of me, sure. They rent a room from me and sometimes they are really inconsiderate and drink milk straight from the carton and don’t put it back in the fridge.

But you know what? My fears are just one part of me. They don’t DEFINE me. And last night, I took a step closer to conquering them.

What is something that you’re proud of doing, even though it scared the crap out of you? I’d love to hear from you!

gratituesday – part 7.

Because there’s always something to be grateful for. And also, it’s Tuesday.

Here, I’ll get us started:

I am grateful that I not only love the day job I have that feeds my belly, but I also have the opportunity and honor to do volunteer work that feeds my soul.

Like the new logo I was asked to design for our sweet little church:

I realize that church isn’t for everyone, but this place sure is for me and my family.

This little church is the real deal.

If we were going to expose Olivia to organized religion, it was absolutely going to be in an open and accepting environment that has love, kindness and respect for others as its top priorities.

We needed to be welcomed into a place of worship that accepts everyone, regardless of where they are in life and who they choose to love and be with.

Our pastor, Dee, is a prominent supporter of marriage equality and she puts her money where her mouth is. She hits the streets with her message, and takes our enthusiastic congregation with her.

This church isn’t trying to be hip and cool with its views on same-sex marriage just to gain a few more followers on Facebook.

It is modest in its message and steadfast in its actions. And I am really grateful to be a part of it.

I am also grateful for this cookie I had today:

I had lunch last week with a friend at the bakery that makes these little gems. They are lavender sugar cookies and I can now confirm that they are awesome.

The funny thing is, I told my friend that I really wanted one but didn’t need it after our big lunch. And then? A week later, John brings this home for me. Just because. And he had no idea I had even been jonesing for one the whole time. He just knows that I love anything lavender, and had a hunch I’d enjoy it.

This is what 20 years will do to you, my friends. It is a beautiful thing.

And? My boobs and I are super grateful to be done with our run for the day. Sure, it might seem a little weird to you that I’m referring to my boobs as my new side-kick, but if you read yesterday’s post, it will make sense.

And if you didn’t? Well, I can just be a little weird and I’m perfectly fine with that.

It was so stinkin’ hot out there. Every single person I passed asked/commented, “Isn’t it too hot to be running?” For which I replied, “Yep. It sure is.”

But, I had a run scheduled and dammit, I’m going to do this. Or else I’m gonna have to change my blog tagline because “confessions of a recovering procrastinator” will no longer cut it.

Last but not least, I am truly grateful that I faced my fears tonight and lived to tell about it.

And I promise to tell you about it. First thing tomorrow.

What are you grateful for? A new toothbrush? Nailing a project at work? Your baby’s first smile? I’d love to hear from you!

taking a run down marathon lane – #7

If you’re new here and want to read about my crazy awesome goal, here you go.

If you’d like to read about my previous marathon shenanigans, here is 12345 and 6.

I would really love to make the story of Lucky #7 be worthy of following an entire post dedicated to my boobs, but sadly, I cannot.

Because when I say “Lucky” I actually mean the worst possible way that I can think of besides water torture in the eyeballs to spend over 5 hours of your day. I am usually much more glass-half-full and all that business, but there just is no way to sugar-coat this one.

It sucked.

Oh, and speaking of water torture, did I mention it was raining? I actually LIKE running in the rain. Usually. In fact, it’s my weather condition of preference when I’m out on a run.*

*BIG HUGE FAT DISCLAIMER: As long as my shoes – and feet! – do not get wet.

I bet you can guess where this is going. Yes indeedy, my shoes and feet were SOAKED THROUGH within 30 minutes of starting the race. Why? I’ll tell you why.

Because it POURED before the race started.

It POURED while the runners waited patiently in their time corrals to get going.

It POURED during hour one. two. three. four. five. and then it POURED some more.

Not to worry, though. It totally stopped raining the second I crossed the finish line.

Here is my very sad, sad time:

Let’s just turn this frown upside down and enjoy the experience by way of some fun pictures, shall we?

Here I am, all dry feet and happy!

My super wet and super supportive crew:

The best race bibs IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE:

I ran this race in honor of my dear friend Fatima who was in the middle of breast cancer treatment. Forget everything I said above about having wet feet and being miserable.

There I am! About to finish, and still standing! Yay!

Here they are again. I love these wet people:

How can one possibly wear a frown when they have a mug like this to kiss?

Here’s the deal: I finished.

I pushed on, even though I was miserable and calling my husband on my cell phone every few miles crying hysterically. I’ve said it before and I’ll just go ahead and say it again:

I don’t do marathons – EVER – for a time goal. What is “slow” to me might be fast for you, and vice versa.

That’s not what it’s about (for me). The reason I find my time for this race so very sad, sad is that I know what I was FEELING for those 5:25 hours. And it was. not. pretty.

But those 5:25 hours are behind me now, so let’s move on!

On today’s to-do list? In keeping with the theme of “5” I’ve got a 5-miler scheduled. If it takes me 5:25 hours, please send help.

How do you feel about the rain? I’d love to hear from you!