My Mile-12 Meltdown

Hello, cyber friends. It's been a while, I know, but I promise I have good reasons for my absence. After graduation, I skipped town, adopted a puppy, and started my two-month-long hiatus from all reality known as bar study. Needless to say, I'm still catching up on most everything.

Just a few minutes ago, I was sitting on the couch on the verge of my third full-on meltdown this week when it occurred to me that this time next week, I'll have FINISHED the bar exam. By 3:30 p.m. on Wednesday, I'll just be getting in my car for what will likely be the longest 2 hour car trip back to Wilmington-- back to my double sink full of dishes, my dog who hasn't gone on a long enough walk in weeks, my wedding-day diet, nightly runs, REAL food for dinners that don't come out of paper bags and waxy wrappings, board games and wine with my fiance, and time at the beach. I'm almost there, so close I can taste it (in between the Raisinets I'm hoovering at the moment.... stress eating, what?), but I'm positively more nervous and upset about taking this exam than I have been all summer.

See, the thing is, I might fail. REALLY, I might fail. Lots of people do-- I personally know one person who failed it 3 times, and another who's failed it twice. Very smart people, in fact, who have failed the bar exam. So, as much as I want to be so excited that it's over, I'm filled with dread that this is only round one in what could be a multi-round event, with me getting knocked out in the end. And, to add insult to the feeling of hoping I'll duck a roundabout to my teeth and make it through with just a couple black eyes (and an extra 5 lbs to boot), there is a lapis & champagne colored cloud that's fast approaching. I'm really nervous that on Oct. 14, in addition to having the normal wedding-day jitters, I'll be worried that my bridesmaids didn't have time to spread the word fast enough to remind guests NOT to ask me how the bar went because I've failed, and so some of the 242 guests on the invite list didn't get word. (Sidenote, if that happens, I think we may end up adding the full, top-shelf, all-you-can-drink, anything-you-want booze package back onto the menu. Who cares about the guests... I'll be the one who needs it!)

But, today, as my mind started to "go down the rabbit hole," as I refer to it, as the panicky feeling started rising from my belly to the back of my throat and the tears started to drip all over my highlighted portions of Limited Liability Limited Partnerships (yes, there is such a thing as an LLLP.... who knew?), I remembered my Mile-12 Meltdown.

During the Flying Pig, I thought I'd prepared myself for how hard it would be and I thought I had summoned enough grit and put in enough mileage to make it. It turns out I did, but the meltdown I had just after I crossed the Mile 12 marker almost cost me the entire race, because I almost let it stand in my way. It turns out, it defined my race experience and now it's helping me push through these last 6 days of studying.

I was having a really good run, feeling strong, just coming down out of the grueling Eden Park vertical climb and knowing the worst of the race was behind me and all I had to do was coast in. But, just after I passed the 12-Mile marker, my body stopped working. My stomach started acting up (any runners out there know exactly what I mean), and so I panicked... which turned into tears. Then, I was mortified that among all these "real runners" I was almost crying on a race course, and my pace slowed to a shuffle. I was convinced that my legs WOULD. NOT. RUN. one more step, and my knees picked that moment to start screaming.

Finally, I pulled over and stopped. Completely stopped, just standing there, wondering how I was going to make it the 1.1 miles to the finish line. After I became convinced that I was not going to puke in public, I looked at my watch, remembered the countless training runs where I was still a "2 & 1" runner, and gave myself one minute to walk. I remember telling myself, out loud, "You've got 60 seconds to get your shit together and put your big girl panties on and finish this thing." And I did. I took those 60 seconds, regrouped, and finished the race in under three hours, upright, and actually smiling when they took my photo at the finish line. About a half an hour later, I had a recovery shake in one hand, a beer in the other, a medal around my neck, and the most awesome feeling of satisfaction I had ever felt.

So... it seems I've got a little longer than 60 seconds to recover this time, but not by much. I have 6 days to get my shit together, put my big girl panties on, and finish this thing. Right now, today, I'm pulled over, stopped completely, and I'm staring at the little calendar on the bottom right of the computer screen and all the books on my table. I'm trying to remember how many flashcards I missed last night, and how many essays I can completely screw up and still pass. I'm analyzing my MBE quiz charts as if they held the secret to everlasting life, trying to convince myself that my checkpoint quiz scores are flukes and I will actually pass. The tears have subsided, at least for now (Dustin, if you're reading this at work, no promises they won't come back later), and I'm completely overwhelmed, but at least I've had the Mile-12 Meltdown moment and I am actually buying into the idea that I will make it the rest of the way in.

I guess that means it's back to the books for this girl. I'll see you on the other side...with a glass of wine in one hand, a Cosmo magazine in the other, and at least the feeling of having one bar exam under my belt to show for it.

To my law school friends, hang in there. We're in this thing together-- all the best of luck. Think of all the "Das Boots" you can drink when it's over. Cheers.

The Flying Pig: By The Numbers

Well, I did. I ran a half marathon. As I said to my fiance` earlier today, I'm still in shock with myself, and I don't know any nicer way to put it. Last August, I couldn't run two minutes without stopping-- literally-- and today I ran 13.1 miles. REALLY?!

I'm back in my favorite sweats and my fiance`'s old college tee, and I hurt all over. Every time I get up, I'm reminded that runnings beats up your body, and that I will most certainly be recovering for a couple of days before I venture out to run again. Race lore dictates a walk, at minimum, on the day after a long race to help burn off excess lactic acid, so weather permitting, I'll take the dog for a walk tomorrow and call it a day.

There's so much I want to write about how the race went, but I'm exhausted so I thought a brief "by the numbers" recap would be best for tonight. I've also posted my route and stats here... I was very happy with my time, but I recognize it's really slow, so again running friends, please be kind to my slow-pokey-ness. (The most important thing about these stats is the elevation... scroll all the way down and check out the elevation map in the bottom right. OUCH! http://connect.garmin.com/activity/82922763.)

And now (drumroll please)... My first half marathon, by the numbers:

• 2:57:39 -- My time. My goal was 2:45, but all things considered, I'm happy coming in under 3 hours.
• 3 -- Number of Clif PowerShot Gu packets it took to get me through the race.
• 19,000 -- Total number of runners (half and full marathoners) who ran in The Pig today.
• 1,141 -- Total elevation, in feet, I climbed during this race. Again... ouch.
• 4 -- Months of training it took to prepare me. Twice a week, every week, with my own runs interspersed between training group meetings.
• 5 -- Total number of toenails lost in training, including one more today. (Any ideas for magic nail-growing potions that will work in a hurry before my wedding?)
• 200 -- Total cost, in dollars, for entry fee to the race and training group entry fee.
• 4.5 -- Hours of sleep I got the night before the race, thanks to pre-race jitters.
• 10 -- Text messages of support I got by the time the race ended, and countless more Facebook well wishes, for all of which I am so thankful.
• 11-- Number of ibuprofen taken (as of 10 p.m.) post-race to help swelling and pain. (Effectiveness? 0.)
• 1-- Pair of legs that got me across the finish line on my own.

I'll write more about my race-day observations and thoughts later, but it's past my bedtime. I am so looking forward to mindless TV and rest for the next several hours before I conquer my next pre-graduation challenge... an exam on Wednesday. (Grrrr.)

Thanks for all your love and support. I could feel all the good vibes today as I made it to the finish line!

Nerves of ... steel?

There's only one day between trading in my sweats and my fiance`'s broken-in Auburn t-shirt for my running shorts, dri-fit Flying Pig shirt, and Garmin. The Pig's just one day away, and I have no idea if I'm ready.

All week, the head coach of our training group has been sending out emails full of last-minute tips and encouragement. I have read them so many times I think I have parts memorized but even his pages of bullet points haven't help me feel much better.

I'm not sure what I am afraid of, really. Logically, I know I can do it-- I've run 11.1, and so the last two should feel like a "cool down" if nothing else (at least... this is what I'm telling myself for now, ha). I have never liked the unexpected, not one bit, and so maybe that's what is getting to me most. This race has corrals, and pacers, and pace tattoos, and an Expo... until now, my only experience with any sort of race festivities consisted of bananas at the finish line and maybe a post-race beer. And the sheer number of runners freaks me out too: last night I actually laid awake worried about how I was going to find my family (my step-mom, dad, aunt, and a couple of family friends are also running in the race) when I finished. With over 10,000 runners expected, I'm just hoping they have good crowd control.

Please send "storm stay-away" vibes for Sunday morning. Last year it was a monsoon and the runners even ran through lightening at the start. I'm hoping my first half won't be a literal baptism by fire, so any good-weather thoughts you could send to the tri-state would be wonderful.

Hopefully, at my next posting, I'll be writing with one half marathon successfully under my belt. Wish me luck... I need it!

The Day the Music Died

I am an iPod runner. I like to put my music on and run in my own little world for miles, and not have to think about other people or talk to them. It's not that I'm antisocial... it's just that I prefer to work out all my issues while I'm running, and music helps me. I'm not even ashamed to admit that old-school Britney and Christina actually help me with those crazy hills. I have become firmly convinced that an early-morning run to twangy country or the soundtrack of "Rent" while the sun burns off the nighttime haze from the city might just move almost anyone to tears.

Saturday morning was my longest run yet-- 11 miles. I showed up with the early crew to do a 3-mile loop before we joined the rest of the training group for 8 miles. I was all geared up and ready to go ... until I realized that my iPod hadn't charged overnight. I seriously almost got up from stretching and went home. There was NO WAY I could run for over 2 hours, for my first double-digit run yet, without my beats. No way.

As I was cursing at the little screen that just would not turn on (the fact that it was 7 a.m. and I'd been up since 5:30 on a Saturday did not help my mood), my coach goes, "Give it a try without music. It's all mental, anyway."

And so, I did. I ran for 11 miles, 2 hours and 27 minutes, with no distractions. With just me and my thoughts and my breathing. And I LOVED it. I didn't realize that when I had my earbuds in, I was tuning everything else out. When the rain started; when it started pouring, we all started laughing, and laughing hard, and then everyone started cheering. All 100 or so of us running in the pouring rain, knowing that the drivers passing us probably thought we were lunatics (and they may have been right), and not caring.

I made it those 11 miles on my own, without the crutch of my music, but with the support of the team. I'm feeling particularly brave today, with those double-digits under my belt, and so at the risk of humiliating myself with my slow times, I have decided to link to the run on my Garmin page. You can see my route here, and along with it, all the details of the run... including the crazy hills (which helps explain the time... running friends, please be kind... I am a slowpoke but at least I'm surviving!).

1/2 Pig Training Run by emilyanne84 at Garmin Connect - Details

After my run yesterday, I had the first of my bridal showers and then my bachelorette party afterward in Downtown Cincinnati. I learned that if you hydrate for five days solid in advance, and drink enough Gatorade to recover quickly, you really can go out hard after a run. But more importantly, what I had learned that morning at running group was only emphasized that night.

Throughout my life, I've never done well in groups. My dad used to warn teachers that I don't "play well with other children," and he was only half-kidding. I tend to like to do things my way, and I don't let people get too close for a variety of reasons. Anything that happens in life I have become fairly accustomed to dealing with it and coping with it on my own, in my own way, until the past couple of years.

Saturday night, I realized just how blessed I am to have such great family and friends. My family has been amazing through the wedding process, helping to plan everything, and showing up to almost every single thing I ask, without complaining and usually with wine in tow. My friends... I can't even begin to describe how amazing they've been, too. Last night I quite literally was handing them my phone when people would call for details of the party, because I get overwhelmed really easily and sometimes get really flustered. My girls put together a great night and I realized just how well they know me and how lucky I am to have such good friends.

In short, I have learned that if I get too busy trying to stay in my own little world, I'll miss all the action-- I'll miss everyone start to cheer, and I might even miss some of the best support life has to offer.

Little white bags and band-aids

I hate to fly. A lot. Not even a little "a lot." Picture full-on meltdown, crying, and gripping the armrest during takeoff. Yes, I'm that person, and you hate me. It's okay. I accept it.

"But wait," you're thinking. "Emily's traveled all over the world. What gives?"

True, I've flown across the Atlantic more times than I can count on one hand, but to me, those flights don't count as "flights" because I can drink the free min bottles of red wine, sleep, and most importantly, not feel the roller-coaster drops also known as "rough air," or "turbulence" to the kind flight attendants who have to put up with me. Those big planes don't really count as planes-- those things are like tanks and once you're cruising, those in-flight movies take care of the jitters. Well, the movies and the merlot. But I digress.

I just got back from New York City, where two other law students and I traveled to a moot court competition. We had to fly of course, and I think I bonded better with my teammates in the first 4 hours of the trip than in the remaining 4 days. We flew through a snowstorm, and at one point the Greek lady in front of me offered to sit with me and hold my hand. Instead of being totally mortified though, my friend and teammate tried his best to explain turbulence to me-- that if the engines hit air pockets, they lose traction, and the plane drops a bit. He kept motioning to me across the aisle (I had my earbuds in to muffle my own crying and with the hopes that Taylor Swift would drown out the shaking and bumping... ask the Greek lady how well THAT idea worked) an "up-up-up" motion with his hand. He told me later he was trying to sign that as long as the plane was pointed up, it was okay and we were fine.

I still don't get how turbulence works and I don't know if my friend's explanation is even right or not; I know he was just trying to help. Science never was my strongest subject. I simply don't understand how the plane doesn't fall out of the sky (or a hole doesn't get ripped in the ceiling.... but I digress once more). I do know about going through rough patches though, and so I guess what my teammate was trying to say makes sense: As long as you keep your head up, you're going to be okay, and everything eventually will be fine.

This semester, a case I had become involved in was resolved (at least for the time being; appeals can take years), and to put it as delicately as I can, the case was not resolved in the defense's favor. It was this case that turned my world completely on its head, and taught me the difference between heart and passion. After this case, I realized that even though I never doubted the passion I had for the field of criminal defense, I wasn't sure if I had the heart-- the grit, the determination-- it would take to be successful in it.

It has been almost two months since the case ended and things get better every day. I have gone from crying at the drop of a hat or when the news does a recap of the case to being able to actually discuss it like a semi-intelligent human being on occasion. Usually, though, I just get sad again, and the big "why" question creeps right back onto center stage. I haven't figured out the answer yet and I don't think I ever will, but I have learned more about myself in the process than I ever knew possible.

One of my friends and trial team teammates talked to me right after the case ended, and when I told him I was doubting being able to emotionally handle being in this field, he said something I don't think I will ever forget: "If you stop now, without even starting, without trying, you'll regret it. I know you." He was right then and he's right now. He was right, just like my other teammate was on the plane: Just because my world dropped momentarily doesn't mean everything's crashing to the ground.

I got my very first blister during my training run tonight. I didn't even feel it until I had crossed the 6-mile mark of the 6.12-mile run, but then I felt this huge bump right in the middle of my left foot. As I type this, I'm propped up with ice packs wrapped strategically in all my typically-sore spots, but there's not much I can do about this monstrosity on my foot. It's about 3 inches long and an inch wide and... well, maybe more details aren't necessary. (If I was a "real" running-blogger, I'd post pictures of this bad boy but I like you all entirely too much to do that. Plus, I want to attract readers, not scare them away.)

This blister hurts a lot, but in a way I feel like I'm an official runner now. I've yet to cross into double-digits on my runs, but I've had ankle issues, knee issues, hip issues, and have learned to love the aforementioned ice packs and ibuprofen. All I needed was a war wound-- a real war wound-- and I feel like I'm really in the battle. In a twisted way, I'm proud of this blister because I earned it. You simply can't get blisters like this by sitting on the couch.

In my running group, the coaches take a lot of time teaching us how to run up hills. This is because The Flying Pig is known to be one of the hardest marathons in the country due to Cincinnati's famous hills. Tonight, we had a hill run, which basically means the coaches tortured us. But, tonight was definitely an improvement over when I first was subjected to hill training back in October. I will never forget my first hill session, when I could barely walk up some of the insane hills we ran tonight. Tonight I almost (almost) thought they were bearable.

Our coaches teach us that, in order to run up hills successfully and efficiently, we've got to get our form down pat. We're taught to stand up straight, relax our shoulders, keep our head up, breathe, and keep our eyes forward. We're taught to shorten our stride, use our arms, and take it quite literally one step at a time.

Nights like tonight are evidence of just how right our coaches-- and my friends-- have been.

I've learned it's true. If I keep my head up and my eyes on the goal ahead of me, everything will be okay. Every now and then the world might drop, or rub me entirely the wrong way, but I have figured out that you don't get banged up by just sitting around. Turbulent flights mean I must have had great travels, and a nasty blisters only means I had a long run (or that I need new socks I suppose...). It's all about perspective, and it only took almost 3 years for me to understand just how powerful it can be.

One for one

Some of you may already know me, but to others of you I’m new here… so first, an introduction:

I’m Emily.

I’m a third-year law student just two months shy of graduation day. With my nearly six-figures of debt in tow and the goal of my lifetime just out of reach, I’m on the hunt for my dream job as a criminal defense lawyer somewhere South of the Mason-Dixon Line. I’m also training for my very first half marathon, The Flying Pig in Cincinnati, which is (somehow!) just under six weeks away. After that, the bar exam awaits in North Carolina, and with it comes 12-hr study days and pots and pots of coffee. Oh, and I’m planning a wedding… it seems that if I play my cards right and actually pull this all off, I’ll manage to get my 13.1, my J.D., Esq., and Mrs. all in a span of less than six months.

Busy? Yes.
Anxious? Yes.
Tired already? Definitely yes.
Really, really excited? Absolutely.

I get asked questions like these a lot lately. So I decided to write about them; I decided to write about my training tips and trip-ups (advanced warning though, caveat emptor, it will probably be much more of the latter than the former), and the legal trials and tribulations I’ll inevitably run into as I take on 13.1 miles, the last weeks of law school, the bar exam, and a big Midwestern wedding.

I never, ever imagined I would ever be a runner. A lawyer, yes—after I got my Master’s degree in Sociology, I became somehow enamored with all things penal (the study of punishment … not the other peen-al ya’ll are thinking of, you gutter minds you). Sometime after touring prisons and studying them, I decided to go big or go home and get in the trenches. Criminal defense work seemed like something I could actually do. Running? That seemed like something someone would have to force me to do, and it would have to be its own form of punishment to succeed.

Then, my stepmom started running last year. She always invited me to run with her but I didn’t quite understand the point. Run… for fun? Then my dad started running. THEN, they did the half-marathon Flying Pig last year. My parents. Running. FOR FUN. And they got healthy and looked great. But, I was still skeptical. They ran in RAIN. AND SNOW! And ice. And HEAT. Fun!?

So… when August 2010 rolled around and I found myself trying on wedding dresses in sizes I wasn’t happy about, and my stepmom’s suggestion to run with her actually sounded like a good idea.

Okay, I lied. At first, it sounded like a terrible idea to me but I told her I would give it a shot and see what happened. I like to think I’ll try anything once but this took some convincing. She encouraged me oh so gently by mentioning that the training groups had happy hours, and that for each mile I learned to run, that would be one light beer I’d definitely earned.

One for one.

And so, in the 90-degree August swamp that is Cincinnati, I started training with a local training group. I couldn’t run for more than 2 minutes at a time for a solid three months. It took me a LONG time to be able to run a whole 3 miles, so we didn’t drink that many beers either. But, in those early training days, I knew that if I just kept pushing, it wasn’t far to the bar, and I had definitely earned the small reward.

Here I sit 8 months later. I definitely should have started blogging at the beginning of my running journey—I’ve learned so much—but I figure that later is better than not at all. The farthest I’ve ran so far is 8.03 miles in an embarrassing, embarrassing long time (see how I learned that later is better?). As for race tallies, I’m building up my repertoire slowly but surely: I just ran my first 10k last weekend, and since August, I’ve run four 5ks. My times are still slow but are improving with each race.

For sure, I think I’ve come a long way… but I hope you join me as I make the final push through these big, big challenges that lie ahead. If the first two and a half years of law school, eight months of running, and year of wedding planning is any indication, I promise it will be a wild ride. It's not far to the bar, and I hope to see you at the finish line and at every step along the way.