Finished in record time!

Carol, you're my inspiration.

Last October 10th, I woke up at 4:30 a.m., bsessively tied and re-tied my shoes, then joined the seas of runners on the trains into downtown to find my place in the corals, sing the national anthem, and wait for over an hour to make good on the promise I had made to friends and family that I would complete a marathon if I could raise $1000 for blood cancer research.

Here I am in the coral with my running mates, like lambs to the slaughter:

It started out as a beautiful day. The crowds were cheering and I was humming along through the naighborhoods. Somewhere around the half-marathon mark, as Bon Jovi's "Half Way There" blarred, things started to turn.

The temperature started to creep up to the high 80s. Entire mile stretches began to smell of human waste. The race turned into grotesque human parade with runners displaying the range of human emotions from wide-eyed panic to exhuasted apathy, from caffine-induced exuberance to tearless sobbing.

I mention these unpleasant details to quell your fears: "Did Michelle suffer enough to justifiy my donation?" I submit as evidence to you, Michelle at mile 20:

Yikes.

At first blush I look fine. Sure, my stomache is a little distented (I have what I refer to as a Gatorade pregnancy) and my face is more Grave Heart than Brave Heart. But look! I am barely sweating! How hard can it be?

But then you must realize: it's nearly 90 degrees and I have been running for nearly 4 hours. I am not sweating. This is not healthy. This is heat exhuasion.

I threw up and felt better (see? suffering!). I walked nearly the last 5 miles and tried chatting with my fellow runners who would have told me to "Bite me" had they the energy.

But, dear friends and family, I made it:

And I am going to do it again.

This time with more feeling.

Michelle

See this lady? Her name is Traci Ackron.

Let me tell you about Traci. She listens to Christmas music all year long. She wears her pajamas every chance she gets. She likes Disney movies and Caribou Coffee. She has two Masters degrees. One in teaching, which she earned after working in the Chicago's broken public school system for two years with Teach for America. Which she did on a whim. The other one, in Public Health, she earned traveling to Kenya and Honduras and working to raise awareness about AIDS here in Chicago. Then, somehow feeling that was not enough, she decided to go to med school, where she currently resides.

In the buffet table of life, Traci is a glutton. But you know who's life she thinks and cares about more than anyone in the world?

Carol Ackron. Her mother.

Carol has non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and has suffered from graft versus host disease after a bone marrow transplant. Throughout many years of struggle and frustration, Carol has remained strong and determined to make the most out of her life.

If I had a magic wand and could fix one thing in this world, I would save Carol's life. But I am not a doctor. I am a wuss. I faint when I see blood and say weird things to sick people. Traci is going to be a doctor. A great one. She started running for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society five years ago for her mom. Three years ago I joined her. Since Traci is now busy studying malformed cells and other gross things, I am going to keep the flame burning. Every Saturday when I get out there to run-ish, I will think of Carol and people like Traci who would do anything to make her life better.

Happy Birthday Traci. I wish I could give you the gift that you want the most. I am cheering for Carol.