Oh, my goodnes, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but ... I am a runner.

I've resisted this title for a long time, but about 3 weeks ago, it suddenly seemed to fit. I was running 3 miles on my own, not wanting to die, and actually being able to think of something besides my breathing or aching feet or fatigued legs.
Yesterday was our last big run before the half marathon on April 30th. (What a total bummer--it's the same day as Mormon Helping Hands Day.) We ran 11.5 miles starting in the tiny, tiny town of Yolo (smaller than Biggs). We ran up on the levy and on some county roads with hills. This picture was taken at about the 10 mile mark.

Some may call it coincidence, I firmly believe that the following was a tender mercy of the Lord...

So we're out in the middle of nowhere at about the 4 mile mark, when it hits me--I need to use the bathroom. Nikki the amazing-running-organizer Ochoa told us that she would be driving the route ready to pick up runners and take them to a mini-mart 5 minutes away. Oh, man. I really did not want to take 15 minutes out of the run, get all behind my group, have to run by myself etc, etc. At about the 6 mile mark, I started to fervently pray for help in enduring or some other option that wouldn't take me so far from the run. Just them, what should I see in the middle of a field? A parked truck pulling two port-a-potties. Awesome. No, don't be silly, you're not going to use that. As we ran by it, the thought came, "Hello, you prayed for help and here's a port-a-potty. Are you looking for a bathroom suite on your road to Damascus?" I turned around and ran up to the man in the cab. "May I please use your port-a-potty?" I don't know if the gentleman could even speak English, but he kindly nodded his startled head "yes." Well, word to the wise--if you find yourself as the first user of a recently traveling port-a-potty and you're tempted to hurry as quickly as possible so as not to get too far behind your running buddies and not take the time to carefully remove the rubber band securing the toilet paper and try to just pull off shards around it and finally give up and grab the paper cover off the other roll and hastily use it, just resist that temptation and take the time to do it the right way from the beginning.
It took me two miles to catch up, but it was a MUCH more comfortable two miles.

2 hours and 11 minutes of running will still leave you a little sore for two days, despite 6 months of training.

Oh, and by the way, this has been a very myth-busting and bubble-bursting experience. I have harbored the mistaken notion that the day I started regularly exercising would be the day that I would soon fit comfortably in my pants. Not so. Despite 6 months of regular (and I might add strenuous exercise) I experienced a brief respite of more comfortably fitting pants that is no more. I now weigh more than I have in my entire life--and yes, I get the whole muscle weighs 3xs as much as fat thing--which, who cares, we don't even own a scale. (I only know my weight due to a recent doctor's appointment.) But what the heck, shouldn't my jeans be a little more comfy? Getting old. That whole metabolism thing. Now I'm scared to stop running. And no, I don't think I've been eating any more, or not much more, since I started running.

p.s. I don't plan to be a runner much longer.