I ran on Wednesday, for the first time since the marathon. I was in bliss. I absolutely know that running is in my blood now. Even though I bonked in San Luis, I know what went wrong, and why…and I know how to fix it.
On Monday, I put my sweet Princess to sleep. I have missed her every single day. Chet is quiet…his co-dependent barks are no longer. I finally spoke to her vet this morning, and she was glad that the other doctor did it, because she was attached to Princess. She said I did the right thing, that Princess had a bad cancer in a bad place. And, that it was okay.
However, I am bereft. It took all week to even forgive myself. I was simply not okay. I laid in bed looking out at the pool, seeing her happy little run and bark and remembering what a great dog she was. And then, I remembered…I have another great dog right here. Chet and I went for our first big walk in a long time…the boys usually take them…but he and I walked about a half mile or more last night. He was thrilled. He gets the good bed, the extra treats, and more head rubs. He knows I’m sad. He is my constant companion in the mornings.
In the last three days, I’ve had more friends in my life show up for me in ways I couldn’t have asked for. From chats at midnight, to long recovery-laced talks during the day, to signing up for 5Ks and looking for half marathons. I’m blessed to be sober, and also to be able to tell my group how screwed up I was. From texts to emails to word games to phone calls…I am completely grateful.
Which brings me to the title of this post.
I got a Diva bib and sold it. Then got another one from a very special gal pal. Then another gal pal texted that she was driving through and wanted to pick me up…offered me her hotel room. Last week at this time, I was in a hole. This week I head to San Francisco to run a half marathon. I ran 5 miles this morning at HMPace, and it was fabulous. I’m planning on taking my time in SF, and really. I just want to hang with the girls.
This race gives you a tiara. A boa. A medal. Champagne (gotta remember not to grab that one). It’s out and back, pancake flat, and clearly caters to the foo foo girls runners. It’s not even called an Expo. It’s a Health & Fitness Boutique. I think these people have the lock on the pink thing. I think it’s a hoot, since I generally look like a boy sans makeup and matching outfits.
But. This race? This race is for Princess. It’s only fitting that I get all the trappings for her…for the two mismatched owner and dog team…not really Pink girls, not girls who would have pink boas. Except this weekend. I run each mile for her.