My name is Summer, and I'm a gal born and raised in L.A. but who seems to keep migrating farther north: up to the San Francisco Bay Area and now at home in rainy Portland, Oregon.
I've been running for several years now. I use the vague "several" because like my early relationship with my husband, my running relationship has a nebulous and hard to identify starting point. I remember running a bit here and there in college (10+ years ago now, shh, don't tell). But it was never very serious, long-lasting, or with any specific goal in mind other than getting off the couch and getting outside. Then in 2006, I signed up with my best friend for Camp Pendleton's Mud Run in San Diego--a 10K race full of obstacles (think mud pit, tire jumping, lake-wading, etc.). I remember thinking it was the most fun I'd ever had sober. Well, before the post-race beers, that is. We did that race a few times, and in 2008/2009, I wound up in San Francisco, feeling frumpy, tired, and out of shape. So lo and behold, I signed up for my first half marathon in Santa Cruz. I've found that pretty much the only way for me to stay on task with my workouts is to have an upcoming race on the books.
Now, four years later and with five half marathons under my belt (not to mention plenty of ups and downs on the scale), I've convinced myself that I'm ready for a full 'thon. I'm not a fast runner, mind you, but I'm a dedicated runner who's found that the long weekend runs are my favorite. Give me a 10- to 12-miler on a Saturday morning, and I'm one happy lady. So in theory, it all makes sense to make the marathon my next goal.
In my non-running life, I'm a professional sign language interpreter by day, a wife, friend, and mom of a rambunctious little kitty by night.
This blog is about my attempt to conquer my fears and anxieties as I approach my first marathon--mainly by exposing and hopefully eradicating them via some strategic obsessiveness, humor, and i'm guessing a few angst-fueled tears.
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