Team Lo vs. The Cold Sore

You know the kind of days or the kind of the weeks (or the kind of races) when everything seems to click? And fall into place? And all the stars align? And everything turns out just the way you want it to?

One month ago that happened. Dress fit. Skin cleared up a bit. Nails didn't look massacred. Dance moves abounded. Greatest party ever happened. Wedding bliss ensued. I was in Heaven.

Today. At present. That is not so much happening. In fact, the stars aren't just unaligned, they aren't showing. I have completely failed to feel their magic shine down on me this week. And I'm really, really dreading the course I'm supposed to be on in two days.

Last year Team Lo versus the Chicago Marathon was bad. Real bad. You can reminisce with me if you would like. This year was going to be different though. I signed up with a vengeance - to beat that course and the misery that I felt as I crossed the Finish Line. I trained with a renewed vigor, better running form, more water pumping through my system, and a theory backed by the book Born to Run about my innate purpose in life - waking up every morning and running hard so I would never be the prey. My sophomore marathon season was going to be amazing. I was going to run this sucker like I never thought I could.

And now I'm on the couch. Tired. Achy. Stuffy. Without an appetite. (But still having a glass of wine.) And annoyed at the cold sore on my mouth and the pain in my left foot.

Here's what I have to say.
What the F?
I haven't been sick in literally two and a half years. Two and a half years!
I haven't been injured at all during my running career. 
I never get cold sores. 
And who ever heard of over-hydrating?! I seriously just got an alert message on my phone from the Chicago Marathon saying that the weather on Sunday fell into the "yellow" range and I should be careful not to over-hydrate. I'm really hoping the five liters of water I drank today is not considered above and beyond the call of duty. 

With all that said, and with my left foot going numb from the ice pack glued on it, I know I will finish on Sunday. And I know I will finish with a smile on my face. And accepting of the heat cape (although I'm still really, really confused why a hot, stinky runner would need to keep warm on a 75 degree day.) And proud of what I have done over the past two years. 

Why? Because I'm not running this race for me. I'm running it for Mark Johnston and his son Luke.  (watch this video - you'll get it.)

I'm running for Max and his mom, Liz. 

I'm running for Jena and the whole Crawford family.

I'm running for children and families that are facing challenges far worse than my cold sore or my 26.2 mile bum-footed trek through Chicago. Children who are facing marathons of their own every day as they battle illness and injury. But children who are doing it equipped with the best medicine of all, their families, who are able to stay close by to them thanks to a network of Ronald McDonald Houses around the world.

On Sunday, I couldn't imagine running the marathon without my family there to cheer for me, support me, give me a drink and some power in the form of a bar, and hug me at the end despite my stench. Their presence will help me fight till the end.

What I really couldn't imagine though is being in the hospital without my family by my side. I'm running to help make sure that sick kids will always have their families by their side when they need it most.

Help me, help children find strength to get through the tough times by giving the gift of family today. 

Here's to the champagne that will be popped on Sunday at 11:30 AM - my estimated time of arrival at the RMHC tent.

Lo.