Route 66 Tulsa Half Marathon: A Run Down Memory Lane

In addition to being the city where I went to high school, college and med school; Tulsa is also the city where I learned to love running. Though I haven’t lived in T-town for nearly 15 years, it is home. My parents still live here and each corner of the geometrically laid out city holds a little note of nostalgia.

Nearly 20 years ago I Iived in a duplex near Riverside drive and the adjacent river parks trail system. I figured it was a waste to live so close to such a beautiful trail and not run on it. Before I knew it, I was pounding out 3-4 miles a day, and a year later I signed up for my first “long race” The Tulsa Run, a 15 k that’s put on every October.

I ran the Tulsa Run, a simple out and back course down Riverside drive, for the next 4 years. I loved the crowds, costumes, race T-shirts and adrenaline. Those were days before Garmins and I never worried about my splits. I ran to be healthy and because I liked to run (and eat cake). I didn’t worry about my time, I was simply thrilled that I had manged to run such a very long way.

Each year since I moved away, I have searched for a way to make it back for the Tulsa Run, but it never pans out. This year I realized I once again would miss my favorite race, but I would be in town for Thanksgiving–and with a little creative travel plans, I could make it for the Route 66 (Half) Marathon.

Since signing up for the race,  I have been excited about the chance to run through one of my favorite cities. While I was able to stick pretty closely to my training schedule over the last few months, my race week preparations read like a list of what absolutely not to do the week before a race:

  • Worked 70+ hours (including delivering 10 babies in 1 week…. hello ice storm of 2/2015, nice to see you again)
  • Didn’t get enough sleep
  • “carb loading” was mainly ice cream and wine
  • Day before race, drove 12 hours solo with my children and ate mainly fast food

About half way through my drive from Nashville to Tulsa,  I realized that despite frequent breaks to stretch and attempt to keep my children from beating each other, my glutes were cramped and achy. I wasn’t sure how this would effect the race, but I doubted I would be hitting sub 1:50. I readjusted my goal to finishing strong and decided to put my goal pace at 8:40. I would try not to obsess about my time, but instead focus on enjoying the experience of racing past my favorite landmarks.

Thankfully my awesome sister picked up my packet for me and had it waiting for me once I finally made it to my parents house.


Laying out my gear the night before. With a starting temp of 25 and and ending temp of 40, picking the right clothing combo was a challenge.


The race started at 8 am, so I was able to sleep in until 6 which was fabulous. As an added bonus my (step)dad drove me to the race so I didn’t have to fumble around for parking and wait in the cold. Instead I cozied up in the car with him until about 15 minutes before race time. Despite my absolute spoiling of sitting in the balmy car while all the other losers were freezing in the the 25 degree weather, my toes still went numb in the 15 minutes I waited in the corral.


Excited to start my 7th half marathon and my first race in Tulsa in 15 years.

Like most big races, the crowds were thick for the first few miles. I was in corral A (first of four starts) so there wasn’t too much weaving. I was hoping to enjoy the art deco architecture of the many familiar Tulsa skyscrapers, but instead I was too busy trying to avoid snapping my ankle in the many pot holes that have infested the streets of Tulsa. The state of Tulsa’s streets are embarrassingly terrible, I mean third world country bad. I love you Tulsa, but you need to work on those pot holes.

At about mile 3 I had found my pace. I felt good running about 8:40 and I could finally feel my toes. The new trouble was as soon as I could feel my toes, my core was too hot. I realized that I no longer needed my jacket and I had made the mistake of pinning my bib to my jacket instead of my under shirt. I should have worn a throw away outer layer, instead of a jacket. It was a rookie mistake.

The course wound through many of the older gorgeous neighborhoods of midtown Tulsa. A few streets had a spectacular golden and crimson leaves left on their trees. Half frozen spectators shivered as they rang their cowbells and held their signs like “Go Random Stranger” and my new favorite “Run like someone called you a jogger.”

The jaunt through Cascia Hall private school was great in that there were lots of spectators, water and music. It was not so great in that there were 200 speed bumps.

Next came Woodward park, which is slightly less awesome, but still gorgeous, without its azaleas in bloom. The race was well organized with frequent  water stops, including a festive one at Woodward hosted by blue cross employees.


Favorite sign outside the Philbrook Museum of Art. (photo credit Route 66 marathon)

The jaunt down Brookside (Peoria) was rowdy. The staff from Lulu Lemon were out in full force with hilarious signs and crazy loud music. Running through Brookside was literally a “run down memory lane” with fond flashbacks of my college days of drinking heavily flavored coffee at Java Dave’s and seeing wannabe grunge bands at the IKON.


Everyone loves a good gynecology joke. Thanks Amber.

Up ahead, I saw my own cheering station where my dad and sister were holding up signs. It is so encouraging to see familiar faces along the route, between their hugs and the GU and water at mile 7, I was supercharged for the next few miles down Riverside drive.

The course then twisted back through the neighborhoods. At mile 9 there was an unofficial block party. Residents had set up a balloon bridge over the road, Journey was blasting “Don’t stop believing'” and tables were set up with Jello shots and beer.  I was still running about an 8:30 pace and the thought of alcohol made me want to spew, but several of my comrades were partaking in the festivities and continued to pass me.

Over the next several miles I was glad I had kept a conservative pace because there was an obnoxious number of hills. Luckily I have “athletic quads”according to the skinny sales lady at Lulu Lemon, so hills don’t scare me, but they also don’t allow for a speedy finish either.

As the course headed back to downtown we ran partially across Southwest Boulevard and under the cool “Route 66 bridge”. A guy was dressed as Gandolf at the bridge holding out his staff to each runner announcing “You may pass!” He was great. I geekily laughed for half a mile.


Photo via Route 66 Marathon

One particularly sad moment was seeing a poor lady running without shoes. She had the rest of her gear on, just no shoes. I’m not sure if she couldn’t afford shoes or if perhaps her luggage got lost. Regardless, I slipped her a $20.

The course finally flattened out around mile 12. I was tired from the hills but still felt I could finish strong. I was particularly inspired by one of the wheel chair racers who was encouraging us runners. She was so positive and inspiring, I felt like I was inside a motivational meme. As positive thinking inspired adrenaline began to surge through my veins, I picked up my pace. My positive thoughts were then quickly interrupted by searing pain in my hands and a jarring pain in my knee as I suddenly found myself kissing the pavement in what had to be quite an ugly fall. My choice phrases to describe Tulsa streets are not repeatable, but needless to say I was quite irritated. Several runners kindly stopped to help me, but it was my pride that was injured more than anything. No blood was dripping, so I got up and finished.

Between the pot holes, speed bumps and hills I think this course could officially be considered an obstacle race. All kidding aside, I really did


Loved the zip up jacket and medal.

enjoy the race course and the scenery. I hope to do the race again next year, maybe it will be my new Thanksgiving tradition. Not sure I would want to ever do the full marathon here, but it would be particularly cool to run through the “Center of the Universe” section of the course. (This is where my husband proposed to me).


Quick Trip is the best place to “refuel” after a race in Tulsa



Celebrating with my sister at the finish line

I regretted not having more rest time before the race, but it was unexpectedly pleasant to have some downtime after the event. Also, I’m not feeling nearly as guilty about indulging in all my Tulsa favorites like Braum’s, Hideaway and Taco Bueno.

I always imagined when I grew up that I would live in midtown Tulsa, work at St. Francis, buy all my gas at Quick Trip* and run everyday on the Rivertrails.  I love my life and job in Tennessee and realize that is where I belong, but this year I’m thankful for the chance to run through the beautiful city of Tulsa.


*I’m a little obsessed with Quciktrip


The Many Reasons People Don’t Like Me

Recently I finished a lovely continuing medical education seminar on the importance of patient satisfaction. Patient ratings are currently being tied to both hospital and physician reimbursement models. According to the speaker, recent surveys suggest that patients prefer a nice (timely) doctor over a competent one. While I strive to be BOTH, and I believe that having a compassionate bedside manner is extremely important, it’s been my experience over the years that YOU CAN NEVER MAKE EVERYONE HAPPY.

I decided make a list of some of the stranger complaints I’ve received over the years and will attempt to update the list as new complaints arrive.

  • My sweater is too fluffy
  • I’m too young
  • I’m too old
  • I spent too much time with them at their visit (they felt I was condescending by explaining their condition so thoroughly)
  • They had too wait too long
  • I wouldn’t give them narcotics for their cramps
  • I gave them medicine
  • I was not encouraging enough about natural childbirth
  • I didn’t tell them the truth about how painful natural childbirth really was (though their birth plan forbid it)
  • I’m not athletic enough
  • I asked them to pay their bill

Learning to Breathe Again: Turning 40 in Paris

On the morning of my 37th birthday it dawned on me, much to my chagrin, that I would soon be turning 40. Obviously this is something I had always known, but for some reason 37 was the age that it sunk in that I was no longer a spring chicken. The crows feet were forming and I realized that it had been some time since a patient had obnoxiously inquired if I “were really old enough to be a doctor.” I made a decision that if I absolutely must turn 40, I would embrace it.  I wanted to mark the occasion with something fabulous and I could think of nothing more fabulous than a week in Paris.

After three years of dreaming and planning, last month I spent my birthday week in the city of light. My husband and I always like to have something to look forward to, not to “wish our lives away” but to have a focal point on the difficult days and a “project” we can be excited about together. The timing of this adventure ended up being perfect, as a recent cascade of events that ranged from tragic (death of my father) to inconveniently annoying (wreckage of my car) had lead to the last six months being the most difficult season of my life. Faith, prayer and the support of my friends and family helped me make it through the awfulness. However, there were some difficult days that the only thing that got me by was the the thought that I would soon be in Paris. 


We flew Iceland Air to France, via Boston (since we plan our own travel it always becomes overly complicated) and spent a day in Reykjavik. Iceland is worthy of it’s own post, should I ever get the time, but to sum up, I would say it’s a quirky, gorgeous, treeless, unique and cold Island. We enjoyed our 30 hours there and would love to go back and spend more time hiking and exploring. We took the I heart Reykjavik Tour and it was great.

Russ and I touring Rekjavik. Where we looked like homeless people because we kept having to but more layers as we walked around town to keep from freezing to death.

Russ and I touring Reykjavik in our official Icelandic Guild hats. We we looked like homeless people because we kept having to put on more layers as we walked around town to keep from freezing to death.


We made a day trip to the Blue Lagoon. It’s a geothermal spa. The mineral water is the craziest color of blue and 100 degrees, whereas the outside temp is 45 degrees (the lifeguards wear Parkas).

We ate in this funky place. The menu is on the left, beside the ordering line. You ask for fishkebabs (or mink whale steak), they walk around to your side of the counter and take it from the shelf, then cook it and bring it out to the family style table.



People keep asking me about my favorite parts of our trip, but really the best part of Paris was  simply “Paris.”  As we sat in cafes, walked along the Seine and observed the beauty of the architecture, it was as if the city’s energy was coaxing us the feel more alive. Strolling through this ancient city I felt minuscule next to its history and intricate beauty, but at the same time I felt inspired to create and dream.

The sky was so crazy blue it looked photoshopped

The sky was so crazy blue it looked photoshopped.



Night tour in an 2CV convertible. Watching the tower twinkle at midnight gave me goose bumps.

Being in Paris was an obvious reminder of the world that exists outside my silly suburban bubble. Sometimes it takes a trip half way around the world, to one of the most densely populated cities on our planet to be able to slow down. With each block I walked, I begin to slowly feel myself relax. With each breath, I breathed a little deeper. Each step I took, felt a little lighter.

One of my take away moments was sitting at a sidewalk cafe with a local guide. As we got ready to leave I decided I wanted a coffee. As I started to ask the waiter for a coffee to go, our horrified guide quickly stopped me and looked at me as if I had just slapped his grandmother. “This is Paris” he said, ” We do NOT get our coffees ‘to go’, we sit and sip and enjoy the coffee and the company of of friends.” I laughed at my own American ridiculousness and I drank my coffee from a ceramic cup, savoring every sip.

Fun to see the Love Locks bridges before they take them down

Fun to see the Love Locks bridges before they take them down.

The food was phenomenal. Meant to be savored, not gulped.

The food was phenomenal. Meant to be savored, not gulped.

The question "Do you want a crepe?" is always a rhetorical one.

The question “Do you want a crepe?” is always a rhetorical one.



Since my husband was still recovering from his ruptured his achilles tendon on our trip, we looked for ways to reduce his walking. We discovered the Blue Bike Tour of Versailles and it was truly a highlight of our adventure. We took a train from Paris to Versailles, then stopped at a local market to pack a picnic lunch. We spent several hours biking through the grandly manicured gardens of the 20,000 acre 400 year old estate of Europe’s largest palace. It was truly a marvel. We stopped for a picnic lunch at the end of the mile long the canal looking back at the palace, and much like riding the gondola in Venice, it was a crazy surreal magic moment. The entire time I’m eating my baguette and drinking my wine, I’m thinking that this has to be one of the most perfect moments of my life.

Picnic lunch on the grand canal at Versailles at the end of the mile long canal behind the palace. The canal is cross shaped with treelined paths surrounding it, perfect for biking.

Picnic lunch on the grand canal at Versailles

I’ve been dreaming of walking the famous hall of mirrors at Versailles since I was a girl. While the grandeur of the Palace was mesmerizing, it was the wind in my face as I biked the country side that was my favorite part. I see now why Louis XIV made Versailles the capital of France during his reign.

Hall of mirrors at Versailles

Hall of mirrors at Versailles

Versailles main entrance

Versailles main entrance

Palace view of canal

Palace view of canal


My Birthday Run

As a morning person and a runner, I knew I wanted to start my actual birthday with a run. I started at 6 am and ran from our hotel (Hotel Therese, which I loved) to the Louvre. During the day, the Louvre’s courtyard is teaming with tourists, but at sunrise it was only me and my running shoes making cadence on the ancient stones of the courtyard.

Birthday run around the court yard of the Louvre

Birthday run around the court yard of the Louvre

Next I jogged along the Seine, taking in the surreal beauty of the sunrise. I followed the Seine down to Notre Dame, made a lap around the ancient church, gazing up at her intricate flying buttresses and then forced myself to head back to the hotel.

Notre Dame later in the day with all her crowds. It was fabulous to spend some alone time with her at daybreak.

Notre Dame later in the day with all her crowds. It was fabulous to spend some alone time with her at daybreak.

I jaunted back and forth across each bridge of the Seine, running both on the street level and river level. I knew I would likely only get in one good run on my trip and I wanted to experience the city in my favorite way: at day break with a brisk jog. I payed no attention to my pace, I was too busy smiling.

Sunrise run in Paris

Sunrise run in Paris

Lunch on Eiffel Tower

Six months ago my life was turned upside down, when my dad was murdered. {Damn. Just writing that sentence makes my fingers shake.} Afterward, everyone told me to take the time to mourn. I tried, but the realities of my life and my responsibilities kept getting in the way. Over the next few months, each time life would start to creep back towards normal and I would start to feel like I could maybe breathe again, something else would happen. My husband ruptured his achilles tendon and was unable to walk for 6 weeks, upping my stress level as I then had to do all of his household work in addition to my own (side note: I will never take him for granted again!).  About the time he could walk with a crutch, my grandmother passed away, I wrecked my car and then another close family member was diagnosed with cancer. I felt like a dark cloud was hovering over my head that I just couldn’t shake.

In the midst of all the drama as we are planning this trip, Russ came up with the idea to eat my birthday lunch on the Eiffel tower at the Jules Verne Restaurant. I resisted at first, as it seemed like a ridiculous splurge, but I’m so glad we did it. The moment I sat down and peered out the window over the city, I was overcome with all the emotion and anticipation of the last six month. I began to cry bittersweet tears for the beauty of the moment, in the midst of all the heartache of this season. Thankful for the opportunity to get to experience something so amazing, heartbroken that I wouldn’t get to tell my dad all about it.

40 th Birthday lunch at the Jules Verne Restaurant in the Eiffel Tour

40th Birthday lunch at the Jules Verne Restaurant in the Eiffel Tour. We got to bypass the 1.5hr line and take a private elevator straight to the second level. We relaxed and spent 3 hours eating a meal at a Michelin starred restaurant while enjoying one of the most fantastic views in the world.

I guess at super fancy restaurants they expect you to eat with tiny utensils

I guess at super fancy restaurants they expect you to eat with tiny utensils

Eiffel tower observation deck obligatory selfie

Eiffel tower observation deck obligatory selfie

Jules Verne dessert course. Every single bite was delicious.

Jules Verne dessert course. Every single bite was delicious.

When I got back home, I spoke with a dear friend who said that she prayed for me that my black cloud would simply fall into the Atlantic as we flew across it. I loved that analogy, because that is really what it felt like. The Paris trip was a turning point and beautiful transition for us. My heart is healing. I’m now making time in the midst of the craziness of life to sit on the porch with my coffee and savor the little moments and remember what It felt like to walk through the vibrant beauty of Paris. On my morning runs, I’m beginning to appreciate the gorgeous colors of my Tennessee sunrises again. Am I still grieving? Of course. But the pain is beginning to transition from a sharp raw grief to a bittersweet ache and I feel like I’m breathing again.


Thank yous:

A giant thank you to our parents my for watching our kiddos while we were gone. Especially Russ’s parents who road-tripped the kids to Oklahoma via Branson.

Thank you to Wendi Mihalko who helped us plan our meals. Every place she suggested was amazing! She has since started her own of travel consulting site. If you are traveling abroad I would highly recommend her.

Thank you to our guide in Paris, Micheal @ Paris Find. He was excellent, knowledgeable, affordable and simply a nice guy. If you want to pretend you are in Paris you can follow him on Instagram where he posts the most lovely pictures of his city.







This Week on the Internet: Evidently I Don’t Want Friends

Recently, I was most pleasantly surprised to be approached by WebMD to be a contributor for their new women’s health blog. Here’s a link to my recent post of VBAC.

Also, because I don’t necessarily want friends {or because I actually care about women and am tired of all the anti- vaccine hooligans} I wrote this post on the HPV vaccine for Grace for Moms. 

My half marathon is next weekend and I feel pretty good about it. I’m going to try for negative splits, with a goal to finish under 1:50, but we’ll see how it goes. Babies are popping out everywhere (I’ve delivered 10 in the last week) interfering with my training  and sleep schedules. I know, how inconsiderate of them.

Ragnar is in 3 weeks and we just lost a runner. We are currently desperately looking for a sub, or else several of us will be running an extra leg and that is a particularly unappealing proposition.

Any of the 3 people who read this want to run Ragnar, let me know ASAP. It’s super fun I promise: 200 miles from Chattanooga to Nashville in a sweaty van with 5 other crazy ladies for 30 hours.  Hmmmm. perhaps it’s good I didn’t go into sales…



Franklin Classic 10K

I love my quaint little suburban town. It’s made up of equal parts good country folk and wannabe Nashville hipsters with just a dash of California transplants to make things interesting.  At about 70,000 people, it is just big enough to have what we need, but not so large as to feel like a metropolis. Historic homes, Civil War battlefields and gorgeous horse farms make it a joy to run through.

The Franklin Classic is a race that shows off the highlights of our town as it winds a 10 K loop through the historic downtown each Labor Day. It benefits Mercy Children’s Clinic, a local organization providing free health care to children and adults at need.

A beautiful sunrise at the over the square at the start of the race

A beautiful sunrise at the over the square.

I’d been training for the race for 6 weeks by adding hill sprints and tempo runs into my routine. I ran my tempo runs at a 7:40 pace with hopes of running a sub 48:00 10K but alas, it was not meant to be.

Once again the weather was not it my favor. At 7 am the temperature was 75 degrees with 97% humidity. The air was THICK. Even as I was warming up, I was already doubting my time. My plan was to run the first mile at 8 min/ mile pace and then try to crank up my pace to 7:30, if I felt strong.

Most races I get caught up in the excitement and start off too fast, but this time I didn’t have that problem. I felt like I had to push myself to keep my pace from the start. Even so, I was right on target the first 3 miles, but honestly I just got really hot and tired. It felt like I was running through Jello.

The course was beautiful but hilly. If I hadn’t been concentrating so hard on simply putting one foot in front of the other, I might have enjoyed historic grave yards and gorgeous horse farms along the way. As always, the race was well organized and attended. Rumor has it Ashley Judd was among the runners, but I didn’t see her. The last 2 miles I dropped my pace to 8:30. Realizing I wouldn’t make 48:00, I was hopeful to get sub 50:00; but as I rounded the final turn to finish up main street I saw the clock and realized I wouldn’t make it. I was going as fast as I could go without vomiting.

Running down Main street, into the historic square is a great way to finish the race.

Running down Main street, into the historic square is a great way to finish the race.


I was disappointed in my time initially, but it was still a 3 minute PR for me. My goal was likely too ambitious for that course. I’ll be back next year to support a great cause and have fun, but I’ll cross my fingers for a little less humidity.



Baby Pictures: Illegal Privacy Breach or Adorable Tradition?

I write the Apgars and weight on a sticky note as I survey the delivery room one last time. The new mom is staring in awe at the baby in her arms while dad is nearby trying to dry up his tears before the extended family descends on the scene from the waiting room. I reassure myself with a glance at the monitor confirming that mom’s vital signs are stable, as I quietly make my way to the door.

“Wait Doctor! Don’t leave, yet. We need a picture of you with the baby!” They insist.
Internally, I cringe. It’s 3 am. My hair resembles that of a Dr. Seuss character due to hours of wearing a surgical hat and my eyes are a swollen mix sleep deprivation and caffeine overload. But outwardly, I smile. I realize this moment isn’t about me, it’s about the parents preserving the memory of the birth of their child.*

At mom’s six week postpartum visit, she—like most of my patients—proudly hands me a copy of the picture, requesting for me to put it on my “wall.”

My office is lined with baby pictures, like almost every OB/GYN office in America. After 10 years in private practice, walking down my hall is a virtual scrap book of my life. As I see the faces of the hundreds of babies I’ve delivered, I can’t help but smile.

Recently, more and more offices are removing the baby pictures from their walls over for concerns for patient privacy. A recent article in the NY Times notes how most large hospital corporations are requiring physicians to take down photos out of fear of HIPA noncompliance. The article quotes Rachel Seeger, a spokeswoman for the Office for Civil Rights of the Department of Health and Human Services as saying “A patient’s photograph that identifies him/her cannot be posted in public areas” unless there is “specific authorization from the patient or personal representative.” It states that unless written permission is obtained, the pictures are illegal.

Patient privacy should be taken very seriously. But is displaying a picture of baby, which was given to me specifically for that purpose, truly a breach of trust? Can there possibly be a small ounce of common sense left in this over-legislated world?

I adore the pictures as well. Some pictures make me laugh, as I remember the delivery of a baby that splashed me with a tidal wave of amniotic fluid, which sadly I’ve learned tastes like coconut water. Other faces are a reminder of a delivery tainted with tragedy; these evoke a silent prayer for patients with loss. Most of the pictures bring a simple smile and a moment of gratitude that I’ve been blessed to be a part of so many miracles.

But just as the birth isn’t really about me, neither are the baby boards. When women come back for their second and third pregnancy, I often see them hoisting up their tots to show them their own baby picture on the wall. “Look, there you are! That’s you with the doctor that delivered you!” they say with a grin. The toddler often responds with a squishy faced grimace of disbelief and a chuckle. If they can’t find their picture (we get so many, we actually have to rotate the photos) they are disappointed.

The purpose of the baby boards is to celebrate life and bring a small moment of joy to those walking by, not to expose someone’s private health information.

For now, my office walls will continue to display unflattering pictures of me at 3 am holding crying babies, fresh from the womb, still coated in coated in creamy vernix. These pictures bring us joy and my patients want me to display them. Some say it might be illegal, but surely that is not the spirit of the law. There are real problems in health care right now that need addressed, baby pictures on my wall isn’t one of them.

*any patient references are used with patient’s permission or are a fictions conglomerate of multiple patient encounters.

The 5 Most Surprising Things About My Marathon Recovery

Like the studious gal that I am, I had read about post-marathon recovery in order to avoid the pitfalls that had befallen many a runner before me. However, much like the race itself, reading is not the same as experiencing it. Here are a few of my most unexpected findings.

1. Post Marathon Depression is Real

I had read about post marathon depression, but much like R.O.U.S.’s, I doubted its existence. “Depression” is too strong a word, perhaps the “post marathon blues’ would be a better description, but whatever you call it, I was surprised to find that I did not feel like myself for the next weeks after the race. Perhaps it was the carb withdrawal (no more carrying around a bag of bagels) or maybe the lack of long run endorphins, but I felt more moody and irritable than normal. It may simply have been the normal let down after such a highly anticipated event. Luckily, I felt back to normal in a couple weeks.

2. Recovery Wasn’t That Bad

Headed to church the morning after the race

While the race itself was entirely harder than imagined, the physical recovery was not so bad. Many had warned me “that I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week” after the race. While I was sore, I was back to regular activity the next day. I followed the a post marathon taper I found in Runner’s World and it worked well.

3. I Was Ready to do it Again

I’d heard many people say that their marathon experience really burned them out on running in general and especially marathoning. Even though my experience wasn’t perfect (and maybe because it wasn’t) I definitely want to give my legs another chance to try 26.2. Not this year, the timing won’t work, but perhaps next fall, I’ll try the monster again.

4. Losing a Toenail Ain’t no Thang

I made it through the race with no major chafing or blisters, but about a month after the race, one of my toenails decided to pop off. It never turned black, it simple wiggled out like a lose tooth. No pain or drama was involved.

I'm a "real" runner now!

I’m a “real” runner now!

5. I Enjoyed Exercise Again

While the race didn’t ruin me for running, It was nice to run/walk/swim/crossfit without checking boxes or worrying about pace. While I’m still too type A to be all ‘wild and crazy’ and run without my Garmin, I’m not absorbed with mileage this summer. I’ve even slept in here and there and eaten pancakes with kids.


While the race itself was a stinker, other than feeling a little moody and losing a small, expendable piece of my toe, my recovery was rather harmless. Of all the many things I stressed over about the race, the recovery should not have been one of them.