(That title could take us in oh so many directions)

I recently went to the wedding of an old family friend (Congrats Kim and Frankie). After some mental calculations, our families came to the conclusion that I had not seen anyone from the Deshano family in about 18 years. Our families vacationed together for the first half of my life, and unfortunately I missed them at various weddings and other significant events since then. While talking to Jill, my childhood vacation partner in crime, she asked me why I had stopped writing blog posts, saying that she loved following my curious adventures. I gave the usual “life got busy” response, but began to realize that I actually missed sharing my misadventures. Surely I could find a way to squeeze a post in here and there between marathons of Dexter episodes.

So what better time to start blogging again than as I begin training for my 2nd half marathon. What? 2nd, you say? Yep, I ran a half marathon on my 36th birthday, April 13, 2013. And we can probably all agree it is one of the most idiotic things I have ever done.

In August of last year I broke my foot in a scooter accident (another item on the idiotic list). At the time, I was already 20lbs heavier than the previous year, due to an undesirable side effect from medication and my affinity for craft beer and cheese products. Wearing a big black boot for 2 months did not help matters. As the holidays approached, my bright idea was to give my sister the gift of a fun travel weekend and a half marathon for Christmas. I thought if I entered us both into a race that required a significant amount of training, it would force me to get off my ass and return to being a reasonably fit individual.

I was wrong. Days and weeks came and went while I mentally prepared for this physical challenge. On the first day of the 12 week training program, I ran the requisite mile. For the next 11 weeks and 6 days, I ran 13 more miles… total. My birthday week snuck up on me as if I’d been in a coma since Christmas day. And my birthday week has never been “lucky.” I remember as far back as my 7th birthday when I spilled my milk on my next door neighbor’s brand new parachute pants. That’s bad ju ju, man.

5 days before the race, I was rear-ended on the highway, totaling my Escape. I had a mad seat belt bruise and a case of whip lash to take along with me to Wine Country (If we were going to run 13.1 miles, there better be a boat load of wine at the finish line). Upon arrival at our resort, we decided relaxing by the pool for a bit would be a nice activity, until I was bit by a “Mexican Jumping Spider” which caused me to have a fat itchy welt swell up on the outside of my thigh. Great for under running tights.

All this time, in the back of my head, there was a voice saying “Jen, what the fuck do you think you are doing?” but I never considered foregoing the race. My sister had trained very hard. I couldn’t let her down. We put on our race clothes and headed to the park. I hadn’t really bothered to look at the course or terrain during my intense preparation for the race, so it was exciting to learn that it was on a beautiful scenic mountain trail (great for my recently healed broken foot) and it climbed uphill for just the first NINE MILES. There were only about 400 runners… and ALL of them were advanced athletes who had run this race before, or at least another half. Shit.

The gun went off and Michelle and I ran together for about 29 seconds. 29 seconds later and I could no longer see her ahead in the crowd. I turned on my phone’s MP3 player, which I had only remembered to put music on 5 minutes before leaving, so it only had 20 songs, all by artists that begin with A. I had to carry the phone in my cleavage because I didn’t have the forethought to buy an arm band, all the while being reminded of its location because of the vibration of happy birthday text messages I was getting throughout the morning.

At the first water station one mile in, we hadn’t even started the rough terrain or the uphill battle and I was already questioning whether I would be coming back down this mountain strapped to the back of an ATV. But I just kept going. It hurt. It sucked. An old man who was injured was kind enough to run with me for miles 7 & 8 before bounding on ahead.

And then, finally, there was a finish line in sight. My rubber legs could barely carry me across, but my sister was waiting with the biggest look of pride I had ever seen. She crossed a good hour before I did and had sent me a few text messages saying it was ok to drop out. I’m thinking a few more minutes and she would have come looking for me. I came in at 3:10; a great time for a full marathon, and about 20 minutes before the cut off time for this half. I think there were about 7 people that finished behind me, all twice my age.

But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that I freaking finished. I was out of shape, but I wasn’t dead, I wasn’t injured… hell, I didn’t even puke. The only bad thing that happened was that I broke out in a nasty case of face herpes two days later because of the stress I put my body through. I was thoroughly amazed and motivated by my body and what it could do.


So here we are in November. And Michelle and I have decided we will do a sister half marathon every year in a different fun location. This time? Disney World Princess Half Marathon. This time? I am going to train a bit before I arrive there in February.

So, back to the title of this post…running with giant boobs sucks. Whenever I am out there “training” and I see someone that is obviously an avid runner, they are almost without fail flat chested.  I dream of what it would be like to run chest high without the burden of 15 extra pounds hanging off my front side.

My marathon training goals for the Princess Half Marathon:

  • Run with Michelle for the first 58 seconds
  • Shrink a full cup size
  • Avoid face herpes