72 days til Marathon, 8 days til kickoff

3 months and 1 day and I forgot how to even log into this thing! Moving on…

I’m full on into my NYC marathon training. None of it would be getting done if it wasn’t for my friends, running friends and those who are non-runners. They are constantly checking in on me, asking how the runs are going, and making sure I’m stretching enough (doing enough yoga).

My training currently consisting of two days of running (gasp!), one day of Crossfit, one day off, one day of yoga, and then two days of soul cycle/swimming/crossfit/yoga. Crossfit has been my saving grace as strengthening my legs is my number 1 thing to build endurance and most importantly avoid getting injured!

Tuesdays I run with Orchard Street Runners (best run club in lower Manhattan!) and Saturdays I do my long run usually with my friend Leticia– she is the best! Tomorrow we’re running all the way up the West Side to the GW Bridge and getting my first glimpse of the Little Red Light House, I’m stoked! 16 miles is our goal and because of that I’m doing my best to rest today. NYC is not an easy place to do this. Nothing can be accomplished without walking! I needed to grab Honey Stingers from REI so I did the laziest thing EVER and took the subway there- it’s 15 blocks max. I felt so lazy I made myself walk back. I’m fortunate to have today and tomorrow off work so I’ve spent the rest of the day holed up in my apartment doing nothing. RELAXING!

Now to what’s on the fore-front of my mind. One week from tomorrow is kick-off. GO DAWGS! I leave you with this email that’s been floating around. It’s a piece written by the late, great Lewis Grizzard:

Great moments in a would be father’s life

To my Son, if I ever have one:

Kid, I am writing this on September 3, 1984. I have just returned from Athens, where I spent Saturday watching the University of Georgia, your old dad’s alma matter, play football against Clemson.

While the events of the day were still fresh on my mind, I wanted to recount them so if you are ever born, you can read this and perhaps be able to share one of the great moments in your father’s life.

Saturday was a wonderful day on the Georgia campus.

We are talking blue, cloudless sky, a gentle breeze and a temperature suggesting summer’s end and autumn’s approach.

I said the blessing before we had lunch. I thanked the Lord for three things: fried chicken, potato salad and for the fact he had allowed me the privilege of being a Bulldog.

“And , Dear Lord,” I prayed, “bless all those not as fortunate as I.”

Imagine my son, 82,000 people, most whom were garbed in red, gathered together gazing down on a lush valley of hedge and grass where soon historic sporting combat would be launched.

Clemson was ranked number 2 in the nation, and Georgia, feared too young to compete with the veterans from beyond the river, could only dream, the smart money said, of emerging three hours hence victorious.

They had us 20-6 at the half, son. A man sitting in front of me said, “I just hope we don’t get embarrassed.”

My boy, I had never seen such a thing as came to pass in the second half. Todd Williams threw one long and high, and Herman Archie caught it in the end zone, and it was now 20-13.

Georgia got the ball again and scored again, and it was now 20-20, and my mouth was dry, and my hands were shaking, and this Clemson fan who had been running his mouth the whole ballgame suddenly shut his fat face.

Son, we got ahead 23-20, and the ground trembled and shook, and many were taken by fainting spells.

Clemson’s kicker, Donald Igwebuike, tied it 23-23 and this sacred place became the center of the universe.

Only seconds were left when Georgia’s kicker, Kevin Butler, stood poised in concentration. The ball rushed toward him, and it was placed upon the tee a heartbeat before his right foot launched it heavenward.

A lifetime later, the officials threw their arms aloft. From 60 yards away, Kevin Butler had been true, and Georgia led and would win 26-23.

I hugged perfect strangers and kissed a fat lady on the mouth. Grown men wept. Lightening flashed. Thunder rolled. Stars fell, and joy swept through, fetched by a hurricane of unleashed emotions.

When Georgia beat Alabama 18-17 in 1965, it was a staggering victory. When we came back against Georgia Tech and won 29-28 in1978, the Chapel bell rang all night. When we beat Florida 26-21 in the last seconds in 1980, we called it a miracle. And when we beat Notre Dame 17-10 in the Sugar Bowl that same year for the national championship, a woman pulled up her skirt and showed the world the Bulldog she had sewn on he underbritches.**

But Saturday may have been even better than any of those.

Saturday in Athens was a religious experience.

I give this to you, son. Read it and re-read it, and keep it next to your heart. And when people want to know how you wound up with the name “Kevin” let them read it, and then they will know.

**PS. I’m currently wearing UGA football panties and got excited at the idea of the New York wind blowing up my dress today and revealing this to those around me. Would you expect anything less? Thanks Victoria’s Secret 😛


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