dogs get artificially inseminated too

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israel: day 1

Friday. August 13, 2007

I know it’s the 21st century, but I am still fascinated by air travel. How is it that I entered this elongated capsule and 10 hours later am standing on Middle East soil? As we approached our destination the sky appeared to be on fire, which I strained to see and admired from afar (the other side of the plane). We landed around 5:30 a.m., and although the sky was lightening into a lavender hue, the moon stood still over Lod. I strolled off the plane and into Ben Gurion Airport in a daze and met back up with Abbey, who introduced me to Hillary. “I have that shirt with me too!” I excitedly shared with her. “And I think I have the same camera as you,” she replied.

The first thing that struck me was the amount of Jewish Stars. On the tails of the parked planes, on the first aid signs, on the flags. Definitely not something I’m used to seeing in such abundance, if at all. After we all got our bags we gathered together and at Leor’s booming command—“Shorashim!”--made a gigantic human circle. He brought some people into the center and introduced them as the Israelis who would be with us for the remainder of our trip. They formed a mini circle, huddled closely with their arms around each other’s shoulders, and demonstrated the look-at-us-we-have-arrived song and dance. Then it was our turn. We collectively bent down and on our spring up, yelled, “Aaaaaaaaa-CHIM Achim achim achim achim! Simcha simcha simcha simcha simcha!” (literal translation: “happy brothers”) as we bounced up and down to the right, then repeated everything to the left.

A rather tall, red-headed Israeli named Asaf offered to carry my backpack out to the bus. Probably because I looked like I was struggling to get it onto my back. I smiled and thanked him but said I had it under control. Outside there were buses lined up and Shorashim staff waiting to hand us a breakfast bag and a bottle of water. Abbey and I decided to split the cost of a cell phone, and as we waited to do so met the sisters Abby and Alexis, also from Chicago. At first glance you would never peg them as relatives, much less sisters, but the more we got to know them, the more similarities shown through.

Our bus driver’s name was Shlomi, who we all adored right off the bat because of his maniacal style of driving. Leor announced into his microphone from the front of the bus that we would learn a Hebrew word every day. Today’s word: Sharutim. The first word one should learn in any foreign country…bathroom. Shlomi dropped us off at our first scheduled stop of the trip: an overlook of Jerusalem called Armon Hanatziv. After we received plastic shot glasses of grape juice, Leor led us in the “Sheheyanu,” a blessing said on a new occasion…Baruch atah, Adonai Elohenu, melech ha-olam, sheheyanu v'kiYemanu v'higiyanu lazman hazeh.
Blessed are you, Adonai our God, Ruler of the world, who has given us life, sustained us, and brought us to this season of joy.

After that, he told us we’d have a moment for silent prayer. “Give thanks to God or Nature or whoever you want to give thanks to.” Any apprehensions I had of this trip turning into the Jewish equivalent of Jesus Camp had been lifted. Here’s this 31-year-old conservative rabbinical student, who does not assume that everyone there believes in a god, but rather acknowledges that although we are all Jewish, we don’t necessarily have the same idea of what that means. As I stared out at the sacred city of Jerusalem, I mentally gave thanks to my parents and my ancestors—thank you for bringing me into this beautiful world.

We had a few minutes to take pictures and eat bagels. Matt, Abbey, and I took a picture together and decided to create an “Elster’s Bitches” series as a gift to our mutual friend back home. After our Kodak moment I met Eran, an Israeli who doubled as our medic and security guard and always had his gun slung around his shoulder. He looked intimidating, tall and burly with long curly black hair, sitting there protecting our bagel supply. But when I asked, “Can I have one of these?” a huge, warm smile appeared on his face and he replied, “You can have whatever you want.” Still not used to the gun, though.

As we wound our way towards the Holy City, we learned some facts from Leor via the microphone. Israel is the size of New Jersey but, despite it’s size, has an impressive number of seven ecosystems. 93% of the trees here were hand-planted, and Israel is the only country whose tree population has increased from the year 1900 to the year 2000. All buildings in Jerusalem are required to be built with Jerusalem stone, a light-colored limestone, which reflects the golden hues of setting suns at night. “You are Jewish and this is a Jewish state. Your homeland. Welcome home.” The people I’ve talked to who have been here weren’t lying when they said they felt something as soon as they landed on Israeli soil. Such a simple statement—welcome home—yet it almost made me cry. I didn’t know I cared, but I do.

We arrived at the Shalom Hotel, our home for the next three nights. I assumed that we’d get to pick our roommates, i.e. Abbey and I would live together for the entirety of the trip, but I was wrong. Alphabetically assigned (again), I ended up with Sabrina and Alexis. The three of us went up to room 623 and picked out beds. Before I let myself take a quick nap, I admired our view of Jerusalem out the window and also the fact that our room key was an actual key.

Not much later we had to meet back up with everyone else in one of the conference rooms downstairs. I anticipated the whole getting-to-know-you games but was in no way looking forward to them. We did the typical go around the room and everyone say your name, where you’re from and what you do. I wasn’t expecting there to be so many Chicagoans, so that was a nice surprise. When it was my turn, I got nervous and instead of saying what I do (how do you explain having a college degree and being a driver?), I said what I eventually want to be. “Hi I’m Alyse. I’m also from Chicago and someday I want to be a travel writer and photographer.”
Then we played a name game followed by a trust game where Leor went around the room, and while we stood atop the chairs, pulled one out from under selected people and we had to figure out how to not fall on the ground. Believe it or not, I succeeded.

[above photo taken by Matt in the food court]

Lunchtime. Reut gave us each 100 Sheckles (or about $25) for lunches on our short drive to the Malha Shopping Mall. We had to go through security before entering the building. I am always torn on whether things like that make me feel more or less safe…more because hopefully it’s preventative and less because it’s scary that they would even have to do that, which makes me uncomfortable and paranoid. Abbey and I stuck together and staked out the food court. I had my heart set on falafel, so I got that and a Coke. What a concoction! There were all kinds of extra ingredients to choose from—hummus (pronounced ho-moose), cabbage, tomatoes, cucumbers, FRENCH FRIES, and some spicy goodness to top it off.

After lunch we took a bus ride up to an area called Sataf, where we went on our first hike. I walked along with Asaf and Lior at one point, and they asked if I wanted to sing a song with them. Of course I want to sing a song with you! So they taught me a popular kid’s camp song about taking a trip to the spring, and we sang together responsively.

We came upon a well of sorts with signs posted that in English, Hebrew, and Arabic said, “No Swimming!” Naturally there were people splashing around in it anyway, while little kids stood above staring down at the rule-breakers. A guy with dreads decided to take the plunge, and a bunch of us whipped out our cameras and documented his descent. Matt immediately came up to me, his camera in hand and said, “Look. I found Jesus.” Sure enough, he took his picture at a perfect angle where the jumper looks like a suspended Jesus on the cross. Towards the end of the trail I had Abbey take a picture of me standing among cacti in honor of the shirt I was wearing, which showed a cactus and red balloon with little hearts floating between them and underneath in scripted letters says, “Impossible love.”

Back at the Shalom we had a few hours to rest up before our first Shabbat celebration. After I took a shower, which had the craziest water pressure I’ve ever experienced, I took a nap. It took much convincing from Sabrina (the only one with an alarm clock) and Alexis to get me out of bed. In fact, if they hadn’t been there, I’m pretty sure I would have missed out on the rest of the evening.

The three of us met the rest of Shorashim 15B in on the balcony overlooking the pool for Kabbalat Shabbat, or welcoming the Sabbath. The scene from Fiddler on the Roof played out in my head and I wanted to sing the “Sabbath Song” from that soundtrack. We then went down to the lobby and crowded into a tiny storage room to light the Shabbat candles. Leor said it was tradition for the boys to give the girls a flower, as Reut and Jamie handed out what looked like miniature roses to them. I fully expected to be that leftover girl forgotten in the back corner (where I was standing), but Sharon (not to be confused with Sharon), a quiet, unassuming Israeli with a shaved head, turned to me and handed me his flower. Even though I’m sure the gesture was out of proximity, I still appreciated his offering and twirled it around in my fingers the remainder of the evening.

We then had an opportunity to go a service at a “modern” orthodox synagogue. Reut had to give me her shawl to wear around my shoulders, since they remained bare under the string of the long halter dress I (wrongly) decided to wear. Those who chose to go walked from the hotel. I felt like I had wandered onto the set of Fiddler.
I’m still not sure what was considered “modern”; seemed pretty non-participatory to me, having the women still sitting upstairs, tucked away from the action below. I felt like a voyeur peering through any cracks in the dividers to watch what the father and son down below (who appeared to be playing games with each other the whole time) were going to do next.

We didn’t stay too long at the synagogue because we had to be back at the Shalom in time for Shabbat dinner with the 15A group. They were already halfway through their birthright adventure and had a leader who only wished he could be as cool as Leor. We sang the Hamotzi (blessing over the bread) and HaGafen (blessing over the wine) and then were set free to hit up the buffet. I have never seen such a variety of salads before, all lined up in huge glass bowls. Shredded carrots with chunks of pineapple, diced cucumbers in a dill sauce, cabbage and jalapeños, etc. etc. etc. Made my planned transition to vegetarianism pretty easy. Abbey and I sat across from each other at the end of one of the long banquet tables, next to Ruth and Jessica. Jessica asked, “So what are everyone’s thoughts on the upcoming election?” Or maybe the question wasn’t so specific, maybe she was just asking about politics in general. Being not only severely jet-lagged, but also relatively apolitical, I’m sure whatever added to the conversation probably sounded like gibberish. We sang songs of celebration (although never “Shabbat Shalom,” which I frequently tried to start), and Leor urged us to sing louder than the French high-schoolers sitting in the adjoining dining room. That was fun.

After dinner we joined up with 15A again for our Oneg party in one of the conference rooms. Both Alexis and Sabrina volunteered to participate in some pretty hilarious games—well hilarious for us as the audience, anyway. Way to represent #623! I sat quietly and laughed at them for being funny and at myself for thinking I wasn’t going to make any friends. “I totally lucked out with the roommate situation,” I thought. “These girls are hilarious.”

On the way back to our rooms, I walked up all six flights of stairs with (Israeli) Lior. He told me that during the games he had been trying to learn everyone’s name in the group. I challenged him and said, “Fine, what’s mine then?” “Aicha?” This made me laugh really hard because that was my nickname when I lived in Madrid three years ago. When we got to the sixth floor we paused to discuss our origins. I said I was an Eastern European mutt—Russian, Polish, Hungarian and Romanian. He made me guess what else he was besides Israeli. “Somewhere where tthere are a lot of French people.” That was his clue. I guessed France, Switzerland and Canada. Turns out he’s half Moroccan. Pretty cool. We said goodnight and I bounded off down the hall, eager to congratulate my roommates on being social. (I, on the other hand, am pretty much the definition of socially awkward)
Before we fell asleep we talked about our personal quirks. Sabrina expressed her undying love of fountains—anywhere there’s a fountain, she’ll jump in it. Alexis is a pizza fanatic, something I could totally relate to.
I couldn’t think of anything to share (cause I am quirk-less…not.), so I think that’s when I told the story of how my screen name came about/how I ended up working at SNL. Then we talked about birth control…I don’t remember why? I believe by this point I was talking with my eyes closed, possibly not even contributing to the conversation anymore.
The last thing I remember thinking: Was today really only one day? I feel like it was at least three.
I can’t wait for the next 10!

Here is the album for Day 1

en route to israel

Thursday, July 12, 2007

En route to JFK airport—quite a trek as we slept at Susie’s place in Harlem last night—I shared my anxieties with Abbey about the social aspect to this Birthright trip we’re about to embark on this morning.
“It’s not that I don’t want to make friends, it’s just that I get uncomfortable in large groups….especially when the group has been formed for any religious purposes…even if it’s my own religion,” I said, still half in a sleeping state of mind. “I’m just so glad that we found a time when the two of us could go on this trip together.” Abbey is my single Jewish friend…(I mean I guess that’s unfair—I have a few other friends from pre-school/Hebrew school, but no one that I talk to/hang out with frequently.) and has been since first grade when we met on the playground.

Nevertheless, I was more than ready and excited for this trip, thankful that we were departing on the 12th because I am superstitious about the 11th of any month. For the past week the Hebrew alphabet song, which I don’t think I had sung since fourth grade, kept spontaneously running on loop through my head, while random memories of Sunday school permeated my thoughts as I mentally prepared for this upcoming adventure.

El Al airline staff members took security measures to a whole new level. Four or five uniformed people stood in a row, each behind a podium, and each of us had to approach one of them for what seemed like a formal Jewish interview before being okay-ed to continue on to the baggage check line. A woman, not much older than myself, asked me about my Jewish identity—are you Jewish? Yes. Did you grow up in a Jewish household? Yes. What is your favorite Jewish holiday? Passover. What is Tu-bshevat? Celebrating trees…right? Do you have a Hebrew name? Yes. What is it? Um…my mind went totally blank. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me that…I know I have one, I said. Oh! It’s Yenta! She looked at me like she was waiting for my serious answer. Really? Ha, yeah, really. I laughed nervously. I’m not sure whose idea it was to give me a name that means “gossiper” but I can’t really do anything about it at this point.

A nice girl, who introduced herself as Reva, started talking to me as we waited in line to hand over our checked bags to the giant x-ray machine. She said she had just been grilled for 15 minutes by one of the El Al people, even asked to write (or maybe read? Or both?) Hebrew. “Yikes!” I said. “I’m glad I didn’t have to do that. I don’t think I would have passed.” She suddenly realized she was sans passport and had to leave the line to find it. My opinion of meeting new people already began to change.

When we first arrived at the airport we were told to meet under a specified sign at 10 a.m. before we’d proceed through security as a group. It was only about 8:30 a.m. by the time Abbey and I checked our bags and received our boarding passes, so we went downstairs to get some bagels and juice at Au Bon Pain and make some last-minute “goodbye-I’m off to the Motherland” phone calls.
As we approached the meeting place we saw a bearded man already addressing a large group of people sitting on the floor—our first glimpse of our leader, Leor and the rest of Shorashim 15B. I looked at my phone. 9:58. I turned to her and said, “Apparently meet at 10 means be here 5 minutes early…” as we sat down behind the of the group. “Thanks for joining us,” Leor said directly to us. I felt my face turn red and stared down at my shoes.
He lectured us about the importance of drinking water and wearing hats and that we would, in fact, not be allowed to wear tank tops. I, assuming that this rule must have been a misprint in our packing list, of course packed tank tops. Then he passed around pieces of paper and instructed us to write why we came on Birthright. “Free trip to Israel,” definitely crossed my mind, but deep down I knew it was more than that. I wrote, “To rediscover my Jewish roots and take a lot of photographs.”

Once on the plane I discovered to my immense disappointment that I had been assigned a middle seat. A girl named Sabrina sat beside the window and a guy named Matt sat in the aisle. Turns out that out of all the people I could have possibly been sitting with, I second-handedly knew Matt. My friend Stephanie had been telling me about him for several years, this guy she was in love with who had the same birthday as me. She had called me back in June freaking out that he and I were going to be on the same birthright trip. Right before we left I stalked his facebook page and realized we had two friends in common--not just Steph but this guy, Matt, who I've known since preschool. Turns out Matt and Matt are best friends from college and were roommates in Chicago this past year. What are the chances of this happening? I thought. (Later, I found out, the seats were arranged alphabetically, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise. But I'm easily excitable.)

The flight was pretty uneventful. We had two meals, I finished reading Sedaris’s Dress Your Family in Courderoy and Denim and watched Disturbia on the little TV screen embedded in the headrest in front of me. Good book, not a good movie. Matt hardly ever sat in his seat, and with about three hours left in the flight, Sabrina’s best friend, Valerie, replaced his absence. I couldn’t get over the hilarity of sitting between the two of them. There was a lot of “Oh.my.god. Val.” thrown around. I slept a little bit, mastering how to curl into myself, propping the provided pillow atop my bent knees (see photos [taken by Matt] below).


Here's a link to my album of photos from my NYC visit pre-Israel: NYC photos

i completed my second half marathon

Ordinarily this follow-up would have been posted by Monday, but our family experienced some unforeseen events, which prevented me from immediately sitting down to write about race day. Around 1 a.m. post-race my mom started getting "intensely dizzy" (in her words) and by last night was admitted to NW Community Hospital, where she stayed for the past 20 hours. The good news is all her tests were negative. The doctors think some crystals got dislodged from her inner ear (who knew we had crystals in our ears??) during the half marathon causing some kind of vertigo (i forgot the the technical/medical term). She's still a little dizzy but in good spirits.

So here is my half marathon overview.

I set my alarm for 3:45 Sunday morning, noting before I went to bed that if I fell asleep immediately, I'd get four hours of sleep. Well, that's better than no sleep, I thought, as my head hit the pillow. Around 3:00 I woke up to what sounded like the house about to be blown over. I remember lifting my head off the pillow, staring at the headboard in the dark and mumbling, "There's no way I'm running in this" as rain whipped against the siding. Next thing I knew my room was suddenly lit up and my mom cheerily announced, "It's 3:30, Alyse--time to get up!" Oh, shoot me in the face. There is no way I'm doing this. I refused to get up and squeezed my eyes against the intruding light, intent on getting back into my dream of a stormy castle on a hill (reading Harry Potter before bed every night has great effects on my dreams).

By the time we left the house, the storm had ceased, but the intense humidity lingered. My dad drove us (mom, mom's friend--Cheryl, Sheri, and me) in the minivan to SuperSibs! headquarters in Rolling Meadows to meet the rest of our suburban teammates by 4:30 a.m. My sister and I remained planted in the back seat, groaning about how tired we were, while my mom and Cheryl went inside to check in and use the bathroom. They came back and handed us temporary tattoos of the SuperSibs! logo and wet paper towels to apply them to wherever we felt like putting them. I decided to go all out, and as we began our caravan down to the city, I put one on my thigh, one on my arm and one on my cheek. Represent.

(Note to my Shorashim crew: en route to the city we passed a school bus that said something Israel on the side as well as something in Hebrew...i got so excited and immediately started singing "Shlomie you can drive my bus" etc. etc. etc.)

When we got downtown, Melanie (founder of SuperSibs!), who was driving in front of us started excitedly pointing out her window for us to follow her past the parking garage entrance. There, to the left, was SUPERSIBS spelled out in lighted office windows of the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building. Not only did we acquire 4x as many team members as last year (our first year), but one of the new members included Commissioner Raymond Orozco of the Chicago Fire Department! Thanks to his help, we got this incredible exposure as part of the city skyline!

Another new and great thing--we had a team tent this year, donated by Peacock Construction. This served as our 6 a.m. meeting place for our team photo, of which Before getting there, though, I insisted on stopping at a port-a-pottie to pee out the bottle of water I had drunk on the drive down. We headed to the start line with the other 10,000+ runners and waited for the 6:30 a.m. "GO!" announcement. My sister and I, who had both gotten hungry last-minute, saw a Wheaties booth and each grabbed a mini box and started shoving cereal in our mouths to feed our hunger. Unlike last year, there weren't port-a-potties lining the start area, which was detrimental to me because I had anticipated on using one at least one, if not two, more time(s) before we took off (as i did last year). I attempted to run to them but only had 5 minutes, and when I saw the lines of people waiting to do the same, I headed back to where my mom and sister were standing and decided I'd relieve myself somewhere during the next 13.1 miles.

For the first two miles or so Sheri and I jogged side by side, showing our overtired-induced enthusiasm by punching the air in time with the music playing on our ipods (We both stayed up the night before constructing our own 10-hour playlists). At one point she turned to me and started singing, "turn around..." (from "Total Eclipse of the Heart"), and I responded by screeching because at that same moment, I had begun singing, "Don't turn around..." (Ace of Base classic). I found this rather amusing.
Around 2.5 miles, Sheri pulled ahead as I slowed down to power walk for awhile, not wanting to use up all my energy in the first 30 minutes of the race. For awhile, I kept her in sight, but eventually I knew I'd never be able to catch up to her and resorted to fully concentrating on my music and the fact that I wouldn't have anyone to talk to for the next 2.5 hours.

Mile 4 was right around when the course curved back onto Michigan Ave. and so there was a good crowd of people milling around to watch the action. As I approached all these people, "You Sexy Thing" started playing in my ear, and I laughed to myself at the irony. "I am so the opposite of sexy right now," I thought. "This is hilarious." A few steps later my dad jumped out at me from the sidelines and yelled, "Lyse! I love you!" as he held my sister's camera to his eye and took an action shot of me running. This only made me laugh harder.
Around mile 6, though, I started to hate my current situation...I was extremely sweaty, sick of pushing myself to run when I knew I couldn't, and missing the company of my sister...or anyone for that matter (last year I pretty much completed the entire race with two other members of our team...this year i flew solo). I thought the music would be enough to keep me motivated, but all my chosen songs made me want to do was dance. Not run. I couldn't even visualize the finish line and had serious thoughts about giving up at the halfway mark, even though I knew that wasn't an option.

Close to the mile 8 marker the path looped around from going south down Lake Shore Drive to a path going north, closer to the water. I recognized my sister heading north while I was heading south and yelled, "Sister!" while frantically waving my arms. She saw me too and happily waved back. She yelled that her ipod had froze after mile 2 and yelled back, "This isn't fun without you!" But seeing her and knowing I only had five miles remaining re-energized me and I started to enjoy my surroundings again as I rounded the corner to head north myself...bypassing the port-a-potty I could have used.
Ended up seeing my mom as I was down there and she was up where I had been previously yelling to Sheri. Unlike Sheri, though, she didn't notice me (even though I was screaming, "MOM!", waving my arms like a madman and running up the grassy hill in her direction) until someone next to her pointed. She looked like she was having a good time.

Just past mile 10 I stared in disbelief at the large amount of orange sponges littering the ground. How did I miss those?? Last year that was the best thing--someone handing out sponges soaked in very cold water, which I kept in my sports bra the remaining three miles. Instead of concentrating on how hot it was and how I missed out on my one chance of relief, I focused my attention on Lake Michigan and the great Chicago skyline in the distance. "This truly is a beautiful city," I thought with genuine appreciation.

At mile 12, with just over a mile left, I was greeted by our neighbors--the Nizynskis--including Shelley, who I've been friends with for over 20 years. She ran to meet me, as I struggled to power-walk the remainder of the race, holding a huge fuschia posterboard that said, "GO ALYSE BONNIE AND SHERI!" complete with a pasted-on caricature of me running. As I ran past her parents, Pat and George, her dad took my picture. Then Shelley's boyfriend, Brent, ran after us and I had one of them on either side of me literally pushing my back to propel me forward, encouraging me to finish the last mile as fast as I could. I thanked them and said to go back to their post so they didn't miss cheering on my mom, who I knew was several minutes behind me.
That last mile sucked. It seemed so much longer than a mile and was a huge tease because you see the finish line but then have to do this like half-mile zig zag to get there. I mostly power-walked, intent on saving whatever adrenaline rush I could muster to sprint to the finish line. As I rounded the final corner, Stevie and Lexie (two of my sister's best friends) stood behind the fence cheering loudly for me, waving flowers in the air. I told them I felt like I was going to die and frantically skipped songs on my playlist to find one worthy enough to listen to as I finished...I found it. "I Feel Good Again" by Pete Yorn.
The finish line appeared to be another half mile away (in actuality it was only 1/10 mile away), so I wouldn't let myself sprint yet because I feared I'd lose steam before I actually crossed it. My dad appeared again, proudly shouting for me to face him for a picture. Then, "Oops! I missed your head! Let me take another one--turn around!" So I turned around and threw my hands in the air in a champion pose as I jokingly jogged backwards. "Got it!" And I continued towards the elusive finish line. With about 100 yards left, I saw one man that I could potentially beat, and that was enough to motivate me into sprint mode. As I crossed over, the announcer guy said, "And she finishes strong at the last second--that's the way to do it!" I expected someone to throw a freezing wet towel around my shoulders, again--like last year, but no such luxury this time around. After someone put a medal around my neck and a different person cut the chip off my shoe, I limped over to the giant fans blowing water into the air and stood there for a few seconds loving the wet breeze. I saw some people with wet towels and found out I could get one at the medic tent. So I headed there, where the medic accusingly asked me, "Didn't someone give you one when you crossed the finish line?" "Um, no. That's why I'm here." And he begrudgingly handed one over. Thanks dude. Didn't see you just complete 13.1 miles.

I slowly made my way over to where my dad, sister, Stevie and Lexie were standing waiting to cheer for my mom. Stevie and Lexie handed me a bouquet of carnations. Not only had they brought flowers for Sheri but for me and my mom too. So thoughtful. I laid on the ground with the wet towel around my head staring at the sky until I heard them yell that my mom was rounding the bend. We all stood up and started cheering, and when my mom saw us, she pumped her arms in the air and yelled, "ROCKY'S ON!" (she loves listening to the "Rocky" theme song when she runs) and we all laughed. My dad stood there displaying his wingspan-long handmade banner, which he's held at the finish of every race she's run, since she started running a year ago. W+2G+O, 1-[graphic of a set of lungs, of which he crossed out the right one with a black Sharpie...see photo].

(For those of you who don't know, my mom had her right lung removed five years ago after she was diagnosed with a carcinoid tumor...and a year ago March she decided to take up running, and has been a running machine ever since.)
She finished in 3:22, improving last year's time by 15 minutes!! I finished in 3:04, a 10-minute improvement, and Sheri, who had never run a race before, finished in 2:53. The final picture is of the three of us back at the SuperSibs! tent to celebrate our great finish. My mom changed into a shirt that said, " 13.1 miles and still smiling."

I've been unbelievably sore since I finished the race Sunday morning, but as I said last year, at least it's a relentless reminder of a worthwhile accomplishment.

Special thanks to:
Dad, for driving, taking pictures, cheering loudly in two locations
Shelley (& co.), for the awesome sign and encouraging words as you ran alongside me in sandals
Stevie and Lexie, for being a pair of extra little sisters and for the flowers
Having you all ^ ^ ^ ^ there (smiling, despite the early hours!) was definitely key in my success (my mom and sister agree).
Your cheers of encouragement kept me smiling and made the experience way more enjoyable than it would have been without your presence

and to Amy, for letting me borrow your earphones the night before when I realized that the foam things on mine were destroyed

And of course, thank you to everyone who donated and helped me surpass my fundraising goal (check your mailboxes--your real ones--soon).
Our team raised $43,000+ this year!!!!, which will allow SuperSibs! to provide full services for over 500 children whose brothers and sisters have cancer. I encourage you to learn more about this wonderful and much-needed organization by visiting their website at www.supersibs.org.

As I mentioned, I attached a few photos. If you'd like to see the complete album, follow this link: CDC '07
If you'd like to see last year's pictures (because last year i brought a camera with me [whereas this year i didn't]), so you can see shots of the actual course, follow this link: CDC '06