DRC Half Marathon

This is me.

Holding a half-marathon medal.

It took me two hours and lots of steps around White Rock Lake and the surrounding neighborhoods to get my face that red.

In my opinion that's one of the hardest ways to earn a free five-minute massage.

And do you know what they serve you after running 13.1 miles? Pizza!

I guarded my little meal ticket like it was gold, only to hand it over for a slice of pizza. Let's just say that running a half-marathon is the hardest way to earn a free piece of pizza for Danny!

At somepoint during Danny's ten-months of going to work at 3 am I started running. And then I started running even more. And then one weekend I ran REALLY far and I thought to myself, "I'd really like to run a matharon."

It has never crossed my mind to torture my body for 26.2 miles, but something about Rihanna, Coldplay and David Crowder on my iPod makes my legs do things I never thought possible. Don't judge the music choice - it's my perfect trifecta.

Unfortunately, while the White Rock Marathon was on my calendar in big bold letters, my little hamstring and the tendons in my feet didn't get the memo.

They quit working.

The diagnosis from the sports doctor was a strained hamstring and insertion tendonitis in my ankles. No White Rock Marathon.

"I know you don't think this," he said, "but you're young and you have lots of running left to do."

You're right I don't think that. I've only run a half marathon and my achey feet feel to be about 100 years old when I get out of bed in the morning.

So the marathon running goal has been bumped to 2009. My perfect playlist will probably be completely old school by then.

But don't worry, I've been assured that my little feet are young, and I have high hopes of being able to teach them to run to a new tune.