Get Your Game Face On

Let’s get straight to the point: the Marines know how to kick your ass. And no, I’m no talking about being enlisted (though I hear that’s rather grueling). I’m talking about the Marine Corps races.

Last year when I ran the Marine Corps Marathon, it was clear that these guys and gals don’t mess around. The first 6.5 miles were hills. The 14th Street Bridge is where runners started dropping like flies. Oh, and don’t forget the last 2 miles of steady incline. Endurance, determination, and David got me past that finish line.

Fast forward to 2015, and I’ve already completed two Marine Corps events: the half-marathon in May and Run Amuck, which was yesterday. The half-marathon was more hilly than I anticipated, and it was my slowest 13.1 mile race ever. And Run Amuck…boy did I underestimate that.

Run Amuck was held on the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia. It was four miles of trail running through mud pits and 25 obstacles. What types of obstacles? Wall scaling. Tires. Obstacles testing balance. Crawling under wires through mud. A bungee cord spider web. Cargo net A-frames.

I endured hot temperatures, scrapes, and mud in places I don’t even want to talk about, but I survived. (See the happy hot mess below.)

OORAH! Another one in the books!

But the real killer wasn’t the obstacles: it was the hills. As you can see, there’s a theme here, and that’s my underestimating of hills.

Why do so many runners hate them? Because they can burn you out…fast. A running buddy told me that you should attack hills using the same effort as you are running flat. You don’t necessarily want to take them slower, just at the same effort. I didn’t follow that rule, and instead either charged them when I felt strong enough, or walked up them when my legs couldn’t take the incline any longer. During a race, there is nothing more discouraging to me than having to walk up a hill. Thankfully, Run Amuck isn’t timed.

I’ve decided that I’m going to give more attention to hill training this year. Physically it’s going to be difficult, but it’s going to be a real challenge for me mentally — last year’s calf injury was hill-related. But, I can’t let fear or my insecurities get in the way. I will make the hills my bitches this year. It’s that simple. And I’ll do it wearing my game face.

As the heat and humidity begin testing us, remember this when it gets tough:

“Courage isn’t having the strength to go on.
It is going on when you don’t have the strength.”
Napoléon Bonaparte 

Now put your game face on and show those miles who’s boss: YOU.

 

 

Take It Easy

Today our family laid cousin David to rest at Allentown Presbyterian Church in Allentown, New Jersey. The church sits on a hill next to a large pond, trees running alongside the water’s edge. The cemetery lies on rolling knolls, and holds some of the oldest gravestones in New Jersey (some date back to the Revolutionary War). It is here where we gathered to say our goodbyes.

It was supposed to rain today and my brother and I weren’t surprised; any Cooper family funeral we can remember took place under unfriendly skies and violent rain. Prepared for the bad weather, we were instead greeted with cloudy skies, a cool breeze, and intermittent rays of sunshine. During the church service, the sunshine flickered through the old, wood-paned windows at the most appropriate times. I remember when the reverend called David a gentle a giant (he was 6’5”), and a devoted husband and father. The sunlight fell on David’s closed casket, right where his face would be. It was as if David was smiling in approval, happy that he’d be remembered in that way.

No matter your faith or religion, I think we all look to something bigger than us for answers sometimes. Today was one of those days for me.

Sitting in the church, I remembered the last two miles of my marathon, and how tired I was and how much pain I was in. A Team in Training coach from a different chapter ran alongside me for about a half-mile, and asked how I was feeling.

“I’m tired and in so much pain,” I said, as I looked ahead trying to find the finish line.

“Who is David?” coach asked. He’d clearly read David’s name on my shirt.

“He’s my cousin and he’s kicking leukemia’s ass right now, coach!” I yelled.

“Then keep going,” he said. “You are helping David with every step you take.”

Coach patted me on the shoulder and reassured me the finish line was near. “You got this,” he said before falling back and out of sight.

Those last two miles, I believe David was running with me. I remember digging as deep as I could to find the strength and the determination. If David can fight cancer, I can finish a marathon.

I thought about this moment briefly today as I blotted my tears. David inspired me to keep running that day, and here I sit and question, Why him? Why did his life end so early? I’m not sure I’ll ever find an acceptable answer.

David’s wife, my cousin Lori, told me today that David found inspiration in me. I was surprised and touched. We kept each other going, perhaps not knowing the significance the other played. He kept fighting, and holding onto hope and the possibility that he’d beat leukemia. I kept running, believing that I was making a difference in David’s life. Doesn’t that make all the blood, sweat, and tears worth it? To have something to hold onto, to fight for, to achieve?

After the graveside ceremony, family and friends bid farewell to David, lightly running their hands over his casket and whispering somber goodbyes. But for those who knew David, he wasn’t a “goodbye” type of guy, and his brother-in-law reaffirmed that today during his eulogy.

“David never said goodbye. It was always ‘take it easy,’” he recalled.

Take it easy, dear cousin. You are deeply missed, and I will keep running for you and fighting the good fight until my legs can no longer carry me.

In Remembrance
David A. Hicks
September 6, 1966 – December 23, 2014

David and his daughter Courtney at her guitar recital on June 1, 2014

 

David and Lori wed July 2, 1994

The Good Fight

When we remember people or places or things, we never remember everything. We remember parts. When I think about my first memories of David, I remember two things: his monster truck and his waterbed—both indicative of the 80s.

David was the cooler older cousin. He drove cool cars and had Kiss posters on his bedroom wall. If you asked him if you could play in his bedroom, he’d always say yes, and there were no restrictions attached. This meant Wacky Wall Walkers on the wood panel walls. It also meant playing on the waterbed.

Growing up, David was the only one I ever knew with a waterbed, and I thought it was the neatest piece of furniture imaginable. I remember the first time I asked for permission to actually touch the “mattress” (I always kept my distance and just looked at it). I remember pushing down on the blanket, watching my hand go down and the surface area around it rise up. The sound—a cross between a gurgle and the ocean’s tide—was soft. The ripples traveled under the fuzzy, black blanket and to the edges of the wooden bedframe.

I remember David standing in the doorway, watching me. “You can climb on the bed if you want to,” he said in a slow, Southern-like twang.

What a bizarre feeling. As I climbed over the bed’s edge and put my hands and one knee down, the lack of stability nearly caused me to flop forward on my face. I crawled to the middle of the bed and lay on my back, stretching my arms and legs out like a starfish to keep myself steady. The water gently splashed below me and then settled.

“Pretty cool, right?”

I looked around the room and ran my hands over the polyester blanket.

“Sooooo cool,” I said.

Out of all the moments my brain allows itself to remember, it chose that one. It must have been special.

Fast-forward 23 years, and here I am remembering David at this year’s Thanksgiving dinner. His wife, Lori, cooked enough food to feed the fire department, and the table was set as if Martha Stewart did it herself. It was the most special Thanksgiving to me, not only because we spent it with David and his family, but because it was the type of Thanksgiving I always wanted. Everyone sitting around the table laughing, drinking wine, and passing the mashed potatoes and biscuits. My older brother and I teasing each other while no one noticed. It seemed surreal.

My cousin David lost his battle with leukemia on December 23, 2014. He fought long and he fought hard. It is now up to us—the family—to keep him alive through stories and photos. It is up to us to keep fighting the hard and long battle against blood cancer.

This year, I trained for my first marathon with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s (LLS) Team in Training (TNT), and raised more than $4,000 to help find a cure for blood cancer. My chapter alone raised $250,000—enough to fund five researchers for one year. For 2015, the “Do It For David” campaign will be an even bigger success. I will surpass this year’s fundraising goal and shave 30 minutes off my marathon finish time. With the support of LLS, my TNT coaches and teammates, my family, and friends, we will keep David’s memory alive and help other blood cancer patients along the way.

It’s what David would’ve wanted—to keep living our lives and fighting the good fight.

A Morning of Milestones

Yahoo! My first 20-miler!

My alarm went off at 4:15 a.m. this morning. Blargh. Somehow, though, I was able to get out of bed without hitting the snooze button once. I guess I was amped up for today’s run — 20 miles.

For the past few days, I’ve been getting myself all worked up over this run. I doubted myself and feared that I would get too dehydrated to finish. I don’t ever want to be that girl getting hauled off on a stretcher during a race because of dehydration. I must have prepped well the few days before this run, because I actually felt strong and fueled up almost to the end. Here’s what I did, and I’m certain it made a difference.

Wednesday night: Fat loaded (thanks to Boss Man for recommending) — ice cream for dinner
Thursday night: Carb loaded — one serving of manicotti, one side order of spaghetti with tomato sauce, and garlic knots
Friday night: Carb loaded — one order of cheese ravioli, one order of spaghetti with tomato sauce, bread, one glass of red wine
Saturday morning: One cup of coffee, 10 oz. Gatorade, 2 waffles (plain), one banana

Yes, I consumed a lot of Calories over the past few days, and I think it had everything to do with me feeling so strong today. I guess I had enough carbs to work off of before my body worked off of my fat reserves. I fueled along the way with GU, water, PB pretzels, and gummy bears.

So how did the run go? As fantastic as it could have gone! It helps that I had a great running partner! Michael keeps me motivated, gives me tips along the way on how to conquer hills, and gave me the inside scoop on Marine Corps Marathon logistics when it comes to porta potties, water stops, and the 14th Street Bridge (the bane of my existence). Here we are after our run (we’re wearing our 20 Mile medals).

We did it! GO TEAM!

What other firsts happened today?

• Lost my first toenail. It’s been fighting the good fight since my 14 miler weeks ago. It finally gave up.
• Blood in my sock. One of my toenails cut into the toe next to it. It looked much worse than it was.
• Blister on toe. I’ve gotten blisters before on my inner big toe mound, but never on a toe. It’s small, but it hurts.

I’m feeling super pumped for the marathon! If I can run 20 miles today, what’s another six miles in a few weeks? I got this!!

To celebrate my first 20-miler, I’m asking you, my readers, to make 20 $10 donations to LLS. It’s super easy to do and every dollar counts! Help LLS find better treatments and a cure for blood cancers! You CAN make a difference.

Conquering Milestones in New Jersey

I flew back to the East Coast on Saturday and stayed the night with my family before driving back to D.C. During my 24 hours in New Jersey, I managed to squeeze in a 12-mile run on the boardwalk. It was a lovely morning to hit the boards!

7 a.m. New Jersey sunrise!

After a challenging 12 miler, I took a dip in the ocean to help relieve the tightness in my ankles and calves. A bit chilly, but so refreshing!

Looking down at my legs in the waves…

Now, completing a 12-miler is nothing compared to the update I received from my cousin Lori about David! We spoke on Tuesday, and David is making excellent progress with his physical therapist. He’s walked 50 feet twice (!) and was attempting to walk up and down four stairs — he last walked up and down two. According to Lori, he’s basically doubling his progress every day! His new goal is to walk up the steps of his house when he returns home.

Can we please all send him virtual high-fives?! GO DAVID!!!!

This news brings everything full circle for me. Sure, I’ve got nagging injuries and sometimes I tell myself that I can’t do this. I’ve put my social life on hold to train, and yes, I’m scared as hell for my 20-miler this weekend. But I’ve also put so much effort into fundraising my tail off and raising awareness of LLS for this: to see progress in blood cancer patients. To see David’s improvement reaffirms why I’m doing this; I know my efforts are helping so many others too. I’m so proud of my cousin and his strength and determination. My family isn’t made up of a bunch of quitters, and I’ll be damned if I’m the first.

26.2 OR BUST FOLKS! Marine Corps Marathon is only 25 days away!

 

Official MCM Course Released Today

I didn’t know it at first, but I wasn’t mentally prepared to view the official course of the Marine Corps Marathon today.

I received a notification via the race’s Facebook page that the course was now available to view. After opening the PDF, I became a little overwhelmed. I guess running 26.2 miles hasn’t truly set in yet. As I followed the mile markers, I focused on the Aid Stations. Gee, I hope I don’t end up in one of them, I thought. Then I started to obsess over the food and water stations, especially the ones on Haines Point (the halfway mark) and mile 20 (where many runners allegedly “hit a wall”). Interestingly enough, mile 20 is across the 14th Street Bridge, a landmark that has always been really difficult for me. That bridge really screws with my head; I’ve always hated running across it. Mile 20 is going to be more of a mental challenge than a physical one for me, but at least I have time to prepare for it.

Looking at the course today, it seems daunting and impossible. I know I can (and will) do it, but wow…actually seeing it marked up on a map made it feel real. I am really doing this!

I also checked out spectator information since I have a lot of family and friends coming to my race. One thing that caught my attention was the Spectator Shout Out Contest. I thought this would be a great outlet for my family to raise awareness about LLS and the Do It For David campaign. Submissions for the contest begin in October and there will be five winners. The announcer will read the shout outs at the starting line. What if we won?! What an inspiration for me to be reminded on race day of why I’m doing all this: David. Through his story, I continue running to raise awareness of the great things LLS does to help rid the world of blood cancers. And isn’t that the point? To do something bigger than yourself?

I imagine what it will feel like to cross that finish line. Will I cross it solo? With a teammate? Who will I first notice cheering for me? Will I cry? I’ve got 2 more months to find out.

1 of 9 5Ks Completed!

You may remember that shortly after I made the commitment to run the Marine Corps Marathon, that my brother and mom also pledged to run the equivalent in 5Ks to help raise awareness and donations for LLS / TNT. Last Saturday, August 2, they completed their first of nine. Way to go guys!

Conditions were not what they expected: torrential downpour, my brother had an undiagnosed case of a respiratory infection (diagnosed after the race), and my mom had never run in the rain before. Obviously, odds were against them, but they both finished and without injury. Mom nicknamed the race the Neptune City Day Slip ‘n Slide 5K (how appropriate)!

My nephew, Ezra, made race day signs and my brother’s friends also came out to cheer. Congrats you two! Keep it going!

Check out those signs!

Here are family and friends after the race. Fantastic signs, right?

That’s my brother crossing the finish line!

Go Michael Go!