I'm only half crazy

Spent my evening with several of my Black Girls Run! Lansing team mates. We broke bread (and onion rings and mozzarella sticks), shared race stories and the veterans gave us tips for tomorrow's half marathon.

Most of the BGR! Lansing dinner group. We missed Erin!

We were a loud bunch at a local restaurant. A couple of us even wearing race shirts and all of us carefully weighing what we would eat with tomorrow morning top-of-mind. Nothing new. Nothing too spicy. Nothing too, well, anything.

I decided to run this race around April or May, right after I ran a marathon relay with several of these wonderful women.

If you've run seven miles, you can certainly run 13, they said.

Just train. You'll be fine. You can do this. Somehow, I believed it and took on the challenge.

The cheering and encouragement continued, both in person and on Facebook. On days when I woke up with fresh legs and felt like I could run forever. And -- more importantly -- on days when I felt like a 100-year-old woman with arthritis running on quick sand.

Ran into Deanna while picking up my bib and race shirt.

My family has been supportive on many other levels as well. They never complain about my long absences. Or about the many trips to Playmakers for more gear I just "have" to have. They even smile politely when I talk about my running plans or what gear I'm trying out next.

But they really don't get why I've pushed myself through all the miles. In the cold. In the rain. At night. Early in the morning. While camping. After very long days at work.

They shake their heads and secretly (and not-so-secretly) wonder if I've gone insane.

13.1 miles? Normal people don't run that far.

They might not understand, but that's OK. Because tomorrow, I run for them. 

And, after all, I'm only half crazy.