I've been lurking a while, but waiting to post until the perfect moment. I've run many marathons, just like the other moms at my youngest child's preschool. The ones who look cute and sexy with 4 layers of makeup and their husband's latest promotion pinned on their overly large busoms. I'm more authentic in that I sweat like a pig, swear a lot, curse God and my husband and actually finish with competitive times (but this isn't about marathons here). I let my kids wear my medals back to wherever we're staying as any good mom would. Last weekend I thought, "let's try something new!" And did a 50k. I finished and had a grand time (sorry, folks- it was a real success story). But here's where the story gets good. I figured, if I can do a 50k, I can do a 200 miler. I think something got lost in the conversion of kilometers to miles because I absolutely did NOT successfully complete the 200 miler. My first impressively failed DNF of my career at a whopping 57 miles. My left knee hurts, my right Achilles' tendon hurts. My crotch hurts from chaffing from the f'ing tampon string I shoved up my vagi$@ 10x running next to a highway in BFE midwestern US. Hand down the pants in free view of them all. The race itself was awesome, everyone I met was incredible. But me? Omg. Now I limp home, my left big toe nail waving goodbye, without my belt buckle trying to convince said children although there is no medal to show off I learned a lot. I think I'll try a 100 miler next.