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Yes, I do have giant thumbs.

Before I get the the complaining, let me take a moment to tell you how full my gratitude cup is. With a couple of months to spare, I hit my NYC marathon fundraising goal of $3500 for Every Mother Counts! Thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank you again. Your dollars are going toward making sure mothers all over the globe get the care they deserve.

The only downside is that I’m now completely on the hook for the actual running part. This week, my confidence is wobbly.

My intention was to write something deep and inspiring about training marathon but then I woke up in a foul mood this morning. I did my four scheduled easy miles, hoping it would help me strip off my grumpy pants. Yeah. Not so much.

Some of the grouch might be PMS related. Given that I had an endometrial ablation a few years ago and no longer do the actual bleeding part of menstruation, I can’t always tell if aches, bloating, and wanting to bite someone is caused by hormones or by too little sleep. Or both. Or neither. Bodies are weird.

FYI: there’s about to be more TMI so either buckle up or bail.

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Even my running buddies passed on hearing the story that follows…

My last long run was 16 miles, which feels crazy to even type. In all honesty, the run was OK, if by “OK” you interpret “hard and exhausting but no harder or more exhausting than anticipated.” The weather was co-operative for August — sunny and warm but not oppressively humid, which is all one can ask at this time of the year. I strategically hid a frozen water bottle at the halfway point and was again really happy with my past-self for doing it.

The only wrinkle in that long run was that I tried something new for breakfast. I KNOW. That bowl of rice Chex and milk seemed like a really good idea before I set out. It felt like a less good idea three miles in where there was a rumbly in my tummy. Around mile seven, I knew a code brown was imminent.

Sadly, when that realization dawned, I was in the middle of a cemetery. And while there are some rules of polite society I can ignore, dropping a deuce near someone’s final resting place is right out of the question. After slowing down to a walk and clenching like I’ve never clenched before, I waddled through the neighborhood that surrounds the cemetery, which was also out of the question vis a vis dropping my running skirt because I’d be in full view on a front lawn.

I was about ten tight little steps from a McDonalds when I was forced to thrust a fart. While the result was unpleasant, it could have been so much worse. SO. MUCH. WORSE. I was did the necessary, then cleaned up and was out of the Mickey-D’s potty in seven minutes — at least two of which were spent wrestling my sweaty and damp but marginally less gross skirt back on. Then I ran nine more miles.

Upside: that was the last truly disgusting running-related bodily function I’d yet to experience. Achievement unlocked, I guess.

Like I said: bodies are weird.

This Saturday’s schedule calls for 17 miles. I will have nothing more exciting than a plain bagel, which is my usual go-to before a long run. I am, however, going to try another new thing and stash a Rice Krispy treat near my frozen water bottle. By the middle of these long runs, I really want more than Gu. Coach suggested a little snap, crackle, and pop. We’ll see how it goes.

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We’ll be near here. It looks awful, right? We’re just going to be soon miserable. (Also: I am very lucky.)

Part of my over-it-ness this week might be a side effect of prepping for what should be an amazing family trip to Florence and Tuscany next week. [side note: please don’t rob my house.] All told, there will be 11 of us: my immediate clan plus my Dad and some cousins. We’ve spent the better part of a year figuring it all out; now it’s time to pack and go. I’m excited to be there, mind you, but getting there is making me weary. First world problem, I know.

Coach has scheduled a few short and easy runs for the trip.  And just like the trip itself, I’m really, really looking forward to them but the idea of having to find a safe route is making me weary. I’m also sure, however, that I’m likely overthinking all of this. Once I’m under that Tuscan sun and full of gelato, I suspect a path will present itself. Even if it doesn’t, I will still be full of gelato. It’s a win either way.

And before I forget, which I almost did — I’m looking for a little booth help during Wineglass weekend in Corning, NY. Anyone available? We’ll have some exclusive BoCo trucker hats and shirts, too!

Question of the week:  how many of you crave solid food during a long run? What is your go-to snack?