Last week, I officially recommited to raising $2,950 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. As of today, I've raised $2,395 (although my page shows less) and have run about 150 miles since our training started mid-June. Saturday, we'll run the longest run yet — 10 miles.

Last week, my friend and running buddy (also a TNTer) Lydia Hassel and I ran eight miles. It was a challenge. We conquered 7 gigantic hills and ran every single one. But we did it. I had sore hips, and I can't seem to get rid of a black toenail that has plagued me since July.

I only have $555 left to raise. Do you believe I can get there and run 13.1 miles on October 14? I know I can, with your help!

Lydia and I after our 8-miler on Thursday. We were feeling a little....blurry.

To beat the heat, you run early.

Today, we ran longer than the longest distance yet — 6 1/2 miles. We were scheduled to run 6, but Coach Bob placed the Gatorade and water 1/4 mile past our halfway point. After six miles, what's another half mile, anyway?

I struggled with running those miles today. Each mile seemed to stretch out a little longer than the last. Usually, I stay with my friend Lydia. But I let myself fall behind today, and I was the last runner to finish. Admittedly, drinking five glasses of wine the night before a long run isn't the best idea. But thinking about my cousin suffering through chemo in Lexington, KY seemed to add a weight on my shoulders.

But that's what I'm here for — to run for him, even on days when I'm the slowest and on days when it's boiling hot.

I love you, Matt.

Photo caption: My mentor and I, Leigh Ann Weber, take a break as we pass the three-mile marker on our way back to the parking lot.

MILES RUN THIS WEEK: 10 (8 LEFT TO GO)

MONEY RAISED SO FAR: $895

HOW MUCH MORE I NEED TO RAISE: $2,005

DEADLINE: SEPT. 15

Dear friends,

We grew up together, eight months apart. Matt is an only child; we are a tight-knit, rowdy group of four. When we were young, I visited him, played in his pool, four-wheeled with him, even fed the mean-spirited emus his parents kept on their farm. In middle school we were on the academic team together. In high school, he picked me up and took me to school in his white Chevy truck. We kept the grass neat and trim in the cemetery where our grandparents were buried (we mowed that mountain of a hill for $20). I took my first sip of alcohol (Jose Cuervo) in his apartment, puked in his trash can. He introduced me to my first boyfriend.

We weren’t inseparable — as we grew older, we grew apart, as family and friends often do. I moved away to college in Texas; he married and had a daughter who shares his build and sandy hair and green eyes.

Matt, if anything, was always persistent as a kid, and an adult. He pestered my aunt, Wilma, for everything. She usually gave in, even if it took hours to persuade her. He sat for days — literally — playing video games until he conquered the villain and won the game.

Yesterday, he found out that he’s going to need his fighting spirit more than ever.

He was diagnosed with leukemia after he’d been feeling tired for a few months. The doctor did blood work, and the blood cells didn’t lie: leukemia.

Without treatment, he has a month to live. He began his treatments last night. He’s fighting.

So my journey to find a cure just got personal.

There will be no more skipping training runs if I’m tired, no more eating junk food at night, no more wine. Matt can’t enjoy these things right now, so I won’t either.

Every day, I will fight for him. I will fight to raise money. I will fight to run the longest, hardest, fastest miles I’ve ever run.

Because now it’s personal.

But soon, I know he’ll be in remission. His persistence and determination will get him there. Your generosity will get him there.

And soon, we’ll be sitting together, laughing, thinking about the days when we cruised down the road in that white Chevy pickup, hair blowing in the wind, not a care in the world.

Thank you.

Click help me fight for Matt. If you've already donated, thank you so much for your support and kindness. If you can't, or choose not to, I ask that you pass this along to your friends and family and others who might help.

The heat…well, it’s hot. And it’s not so fun to run in.

Fortunately, I didn’t experience any of the heat my teammates did this weekend as I was in Memphis for a wedding. I ran my five miles on a treadmill with an air conditioner blasting my back and Katy Perry keeping me motivated.

But this week, it’s cranking up to 100 degrees by Friday. We’ve started mid-week training and are meeting tonight to run three miles. Tomorrow, I’ll run with a friend I met through Team in Training — we’re planning on five miles, and it’s supposed to be about 90.

I’ll be bringing my water with me on the run, and a washrag to wipe off my sweat periodically.

Our longest run is Saturday, and I’ll be posting pictures of that shortly. Six miles, beginning at 7 a.m. That’s the longest we’ve run yet, and I know we can do all make it through. To survive the heat, I’m planning on icing my water bottle overnight and letting it melt as I run with it.

Stay tuned — in a few days, I’ll post about making a friend. It took a few weeks for her to tell me something: She had lymphoma.

She doesn’t look like she has cancer.

She has a full head of thick, auburn hair, rosy skin, and a cheerful laugh. She smiles a lot.

But a few years ago, LaNay was diagnosed with a rare form of blood cancer. She was living in Wisconsin, and thought she was having a heart attack. Turns out, there was no heart issue, just cancer that a random doctor diagnosed and her own doctor dismissed.

But the test didn’t lie.

Now, LaNay keeps her cancer under control as best she can with oral chemotherapy. She doesn’t let it stop her from living. She takes care of her four children without complaining.

And when Team in Training called asking her to serve as our honored hero this season, she paused. She had to think about it.

“I’m not a hero,” she told us. “You’re all my heroes because you’re keeping me alive.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in Triad Park Saturday. As she shared our story, as humble as she was in saying she wasn’t a hero, we all knew the truth — she is a hero.

Please donate today and help find that cure, so the millions of women and men like LaNay can see their children graduate, get married, have families of their own.

We’re running, biking, and hiking our way there. And with your help, we’ll make it. And so will LaNay.