About Me

Hi.  I'm Traci.  I'm 42, married, and I have three kids, teach high school English, and for no particular reason I have committed to run 1000 miles in a year. 

I have no goals to run a marathon or raise money for monkey habitats in Peru.  I'm not trying to lose 150 pounds (though ten or so would be a bonus), and I am not doing anything heroic like overcoming cancer or finding a solution to world peace.

I have no horrific stories of personal loss, abuse, or addiction.

Just a glaring case of mild discontent smattered with a tad of nagging emptiness, and what I know about discontent is this: it is an invasive weed.   

So, after spending a particularly harrowing Saturday in February listening to adolescents gripe about not wanting to eat pork tenderloin or do homework, I went on a run to get some peace. 

There was a moment before my cardiovascular system realized what was happening that it felt so good to run I thought I might never stop.  But as hearts are prone to do, mine caught up with my head and the intensity of my blood flow  quickly convinced me that a couple of miles would suffice.

When I made it home I saw this...

I ran 100 miles over the course of the fall/winter without meaning to which led me to sing "I Would Walk 500 Miles" or whatever that song is called.  Which quickly had me thinking that it might be neat to run 1000 miles for kicks and giggles.

For those that didn't make the leap, you need to know a couple of things: I am terrible at math and in my economy 500 and 1000 are roughly the same, and I make rash and lofty decisions all the time.  It's happened many times.  As a matter of fact, there is an amendment in our family constitution that protects all remaining human family members from having to particpate in my "cockamamy schemes."

And with that I introduce you to Mack - he is decidedly NOT a human family member. He exudes joy, he smells like summer and fritos, and he is a lover of cockamamy schemes.  He is my running buddy.

He's  7- that's 42 in dog years, which is coincidentally exactly my age.  Coach, that's my husband,  gave him to me for our first anniversary.  He has run almost every step of the first 100 miles, so I figured he'd go the next 900 with me.  He's the perfect running buddy because he never complains about pace or route preference.

So join us.  I'll post regularly with musings and stories and probably injury reports, because I do love a good injury every six months or so.

Happy running.

See y'all,
Traci