tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22388680155781271252012-01-30T18:34:56.463-08:00The World Through My ShoesCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.comBlogger591100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-45504715464685839572012-01-28T23:12:00.000-08:002012-01-29T09:06:08.389-08:00Diary of A Mad Woman : Part 2
The Ankle Dictator and I are in a stare down; each waiting to call the other's bluff. Unfortunately, I am not bluffing and he isn't joking so we continue to stare at each other. It's a waiting game and I wait impatiently for him to flinch. Maybe I should flirt with him.
Oh the Ankle Dictator thinks he can trick me. He brought me a gift that he thought I'd love; wrapping it up in fancy Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-77581527252508248442012-01-22T09:16:00.000-08:002012-01-28T22:56:19.400-08:00Diary of A Mad Woman : Part 1
It is 5 days removed from spraining my ankle, 5 days of no running, and I am still alive. Amazingly I haven't killed anyone either; that could be in part that everyone can out run me right now, but let's attribute it to my incredible self-restraint shall we?
The Ankle Dictator has been pretty quiet, not jabbing my ankle every time I move. The trick, I discovered, is sitting on the couch withCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-80120281713082158272012-01-19T12:56:00.000-08:002012-01-29T09:10:31.216-08:00Curve Balls & Laundry Baskets
One can plan out an entire year of racing, down to the minute detail and it can all get tossed up in the air by a laundry basket. Strange to think that something that has absolutely nothing to do with running can bring my exercise regime to a screeching halt.
The Villian - doesn't it look evil?
It is hard to say what happened, as I really am not sure what did. I do know I casually Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-12320025022980566812012-01-16T17:21:00.000-08:002012-01-16T17:21:54.844-08:00Falling SnowThe slider door closes behind
me. All is quiet. Snowflakes fall softly from the heavens. The ground is white now in color and makes
the darkness less deep. I press the
start on my Garmin and begin my run.
The world seems asleep and silent;
my breathing the only sound I hear. Far
off in the distance I see a car traveling down the road but I do not hear
it. The morning is incredibly
Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-54262172166475543442012-01-08T17:10:00.000-08:002012-01-08T18:32:21.275-08:00Lake Samish Half MarathonWe got the last parking space
nearest the lodge where runners were to check in and collect their numbered
bibs and timing chips. The temperature
stood at 45* creating perfect weather for running, but chilly for standing and
waiting.
Entering into the park lodge it
became an instant family reunion.
Friends not seen for awhile greeted us with hugs and in an instant
several conversations had Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-85973607392657377172012-01-01T16:26:00.000-08:002012-01-01T16:27:21.529-08:00Last Chance MarathonLarge, white clouds obscure Mount Baker yet help create a spectacular sunrise with the morning sun's rays of red exploding behind them. A beautiful start to the last day of the year. A couple hundred of us milled around the start line trying to keep warm. It wasn't long before the countdown began, someone yelled "Go!" and we were running.
Last Chance Marathon would be my fifth of the year andCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-87802691482346044632011-12-25T16:25:00.000-08:002012-01-02T09:37:57.191-08:00Christmas BlessingsRain bounced off the windshield. The sun was still sleeping as were most homes I drove by this Christmas Eve morning. The city streets were considerably quiet; most retailers still closed preparing for a busy day.I turned down a dark, desolate road and by the glow of my headlights could see the rain bounce off the pavement. Although the calendar read December 24 the temperature read 41 degreesCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-25697691298983260332011-12-04T10:25:00.000-08:002011-12-05T12:43:11.112-08:00Sunday MorningThe sun shone bright in the cold December sky. Temps sat at a brisk 35 degrees. The coldness in the air hits my lungs hard as I walk out from the warmth of my home. My 10 year old is climbing onto his bike. While I run, my son Dane will ride next to me; giving us alone time together. Today's run will be short in hopes the shins behave.
Normally a 5 a.m. runner, it feels good to be running Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-79650875827610104172011-11-05T22:33:00.000-07:002012-01-02T09:40:17.409-08:00Running LegendsStrep throat set in motion my love affair of running. While at the doctor’s office, to confirm I was suffering from more than just a store throat, I was asked to step on the scale. Here I discovered the weight I had put on during my last pregnancy did, in fact, come off. Despite being sick, joy exploded on my face.
To keep the weight off I started to run. Not far at first, but I ran. As aCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-42523768736710599272011-10-30T15:20:00.000-07:002011-10-30T15:20:48.831-07:00Seeds of TraditionFall presses against my kitchen window as the wind drives the rain. The sky begins to brighten telling me the rain will stop soon. My hands are deep in pumpkin innards searching meticulously for the seeds to which I'll roast.
Sunday football plays in the background as the boys and I talk about the masterpieces they are carving. Creativity abounds while sibling rivalry for the best pumpkin Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-40373066968195404722011-10-23T10:09:00.000-07:002011-10-23T10:09:33.738-07:00A Run In The RainDarkness was broken by the headlights of my car. The light illuminated the road ahead revealing rain falling with such force, the drops bounced back up off the pavement. Fall in Washington State has arrived.
Pulling into a parking spot in downtown Bellingham, I notice Pat and Melissa had already arrived. Today is Melissa’s Birthday Run. I grab my things and jump out of the car; I place my Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-76804420646946169062011-10-15T11:05:00.000-07:002011-12-28T15:46:30.029-08:00A Man Named BobThe road lay long in front of me. His bright yellow singlet stood in stark contrast to the mundane grey of the road. With his shoulders slightly bent, his gait spoke of the years he has lived. I had to catch up to him and hear his story.
My pace quickened from a walk to a jog. Despite perfect running weather, a gorgeous marathon course and friends all around, it was not a good race day for Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0Victoria, BC, Canada48.4286111 -123.365555648.4043286 -123.4024321 48.452893599999996 -123.32867909999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-19293556954133955282011-09-17T14:45:00.000-07:002011-09-17T14:45:11.354-07:00JuxtapositionI lay in bed listening to the rain hit the skylight hoping it would pass in time for our run. Tip-toeing out the door I got into my car and drove into town. The streets were quiet this Saturday morning, the world must still be sleeping. Pulling in to the parking lot at the waterfront, I see my running friends milling about preparing themselves for the 22 miles we were gearing up to do. The Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-35218966801602043472011-09-12T15:47:00.000-07:002011-09-15T21:26:34.333-07:00Strangers, Friends and AngelsThe weatherman predicted the weekend to be the hottest of the year. Murphy's Law laughed and said "But of course it is" as this is the weekend in which my friends were to run a marathon.
Karen, Kathy and I, with a truck loaded with ice, water and Gatorade, headed out of town. Armed with a GPS and course maps we made our way to our first stop on the marathon route; approximately mile 8. Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-11400136217224231012011-08-25T10:55:00.000-07:002011-08-25T16:18:56.502-07:00In A BlinkBuzzing. The alarm is buzzing. In a blink I open my eyes to the realization I actually at some point did fall asleep. Then I remember. The phone call from the previous night was not a dream. The sadness in my heart is heavy. My run will help me feel better.
As soon as my feet start running, I begin my conversation with God looking for comfort and peace.
I had been making dinner and Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-49659279768009699342011-08-10T13:51:00.000-07:002011-08-10T13:51:34.909-07:00An Ordinary DayThe morning is strangely quiet. It's 5 a.m. and the sun has not yet introduced the day, reminding me summer is leaving soon and fall is close by. I'm not ready to say goodbye to summer.
My feet fall quickly on the streets bringing a break into the silence. The clouds hold no rain, for which I am very grateful. The quietness of dawn gives me a blank canvas in which to paint my conversation Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-43804383658827205842011-08-02T12:59:00.000-07:002011-08-10T10:20:23.493-07:00PushAt my desk eating my lunch, I find myself staring out the window. I sigh. I'm tired. Not a missing-several-hours-of-sleep tired, but a physical tired that comes from pushing yourself athletically beyond your current limits.
My running group and I met at the track last night and did a tough 1600 meter repeat workout. The weather was hot, the workout was tough and it felt great! Drenched in sweatCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-36579633537061519722011-07-27T14:16:00.000-07:002011-07-28T16:00:32.171-07:00ContagiousAs of late, everywhere I look I see inspiration. And I need it. Just as my motivation wanes, God places these little sparks of inspiration to get me moving.
Yesterday morning my run had not gone particularly well, it wasn't bad mind you, it was just a struggle. A few hours later, as I was driving to work, I saw a woman large in stature running down the road I was travelling. This was not a Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-21626997596063610732011-07-23T23:53:00.000-07:002012-01-17T09:00:27.398-08:00A Stolen HeartThe streets felt good under my feet. There was an early morning coolness in the air that only a summer’s day could bring as it felt thick with the promise of the sun’s heat. It had been two months since I last ran through the city of Eugene, and I was enjoying this run immensely.
With some planning and a few emails back in forth, on my way through town I was fortunate enough to be able to runCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-59823705449140628842011-07-05T08:55:00.000-07:002011-07-05T08:55:19.114-07:00To Run or Not to RunOne of the many things I often hear is how much running will ruin my body. What is extremely ironic this is always explained to me by people who do NOT run. My friend Dane Rauschenberg came up with this great article listing the most often heard excuses - and his response - to why we shouldn't run. A great read that I thought you would all enjoy.
Dane's Top 10 Reasons Not To Run
Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-6289441021646133312011-06-28T16:03:00.000-07:002011-06-28T16:03:39.295-07:00Sky, Stars and MotivationAt times we all need a little motivation, and I for one, have been lacking in it lately. It is times like this that I am reminded that I am the one who holds me back. I set my own limits, hit my own ceilings.
Yet I reflect on this great big world and I realize something. In daylight I look up and see the sky above me, nothing more. If I wait until darkness falls, I look up and I see endless Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-40907475380179889602011-06-26T19:58:00.000-07:002011-06-26T19:58:45.684-07:00Seattle Rock N Roll MarathonSeattle Rock N Roll Marathon isn’t just a race. I look around at the masses of people around me and it becomes clear it is a celebration. For me, it is personal. The race has become an annual weekend about friendships.
The corral I am in is alive with activity. This year is the first time I will run this race with friends at my side. Kathy, Karen, Joy and I are talking amongst ourselves and Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-36844250444834502482011-06-19T11:10:00.000-07:002011-06-29T16:59:15.615-07:00Mud, Fun & LifeSaturday, June 18th held the promise of fun and dirt. My friend Joy had signed up with her husband Adam to do the Survivor Mud Run in Carnation, WA. Due to an injury Adam had to back out leaving her with a spare entry and an invitation to me. Jumping at the chance to play, I accepted the invitation challenge.
Leaving town at 5:30 a.m. and making the 2 hour drive to the race, I found myself inCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-85801034085200864522011-06-03T14:24:00.000-07:002011-06-03T14:24:19.755-07:00Pat's StoryThe air was cool; the weather was warm. A juxtaposition lending to a perfect race day morning. The coolness of the October morning would hold due to the overcast skies above. Pat glances up at the sky and smiles; he'd been training 6 months for this day and the weather seems to promise perfection for a runner.
Standing in a crowd of 8,000 people, Pat took in his surroundings. Each runner Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-4224740818357350842011-05-26T11:12:00.000-07:002011-05-26T16:47:18.427-07:00GreatnessWith grandeur there it stood. And it took my breath away. His eyes fixed on me long before I even noticed him. In the farmer's lush green field, an eagle regally stood less than 50 feet away from me; his size that of a toddler child. I slow my run to a shuffle just so I can look at him longer.
He watches me and I, him. His greatness delivering me into a mesmerized awe. And I had almost Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-50188069178746789972011-05-19T17:26:00.000-07:002011-05-23T10:00:50.294-07:00Beth's Story
The streets of the town were lined with people. An excitement that only an Olympic Trials can bring, filled the air. 10 year old Beth held the hand of her father, staying safely by his side. The women’s marathon was running through the streets of Olympia, Washington and would soon be nearing where Beth stood. In an instant, Joan Benoit Samuelson runs by, leaving behind her sprinkles of marathon Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-62101497645534857372011-05-11T10:54:00.000-07:002011-05-11T10:54:10.258-07:00A Spring RainThe sound of Chuck Swindoll speaking lured me from my slumber. Reaching over to turn off the alarm, I became aware of another sound; the sound of rain hitting the skylight. Every ounce of me wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, staying far, far away from the rain. The excessively long and rainy winter has taken it's toll on me and leaving my warm bed to run in the rain ranks right up Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-15941821215588348252011-05-05T16:40:00.000-07:002011-05-05T16:40:19.010-07:00My Favorite Marathon Through The Eyes of AnotherI'm 4 days removed from the 2011 Eugene Marathon and still feeling the euphoria from it. Words are hard to pen as to how running 26.2 miles makes a person feel mentally and spiritually; sure I try, but I come up terribly short. Not every marathoner feels the same emotion, but every marathoner will completely and wholly understand it.
During the Eugene Marathon, as most of you know from my Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1Eugene, OR, USA44.0520691 -123.0867536000000143.9801146 -123.17260510000001 44.124023599999994 -123.0009021tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-56494155359286026842011-05-02T20:43:00.000-07:002011-05-11T12:09:15.992-07:00The Eugene MarathonWe meet in the lobby of the motel, chatting nervously and anxious to make our way to the start a mere 2 blocks away. It's early and the desk clerk clearly does not understand our excitement. Within minutes we are making our way out the door at a very slow jog to warm up for the race.
People are milling around everywhere. Some doing strides, others walking and the corrals even have a few Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-57100537150778474272011-04-28T11:19:00.000-07:002011-05-03T12:30:17.885-07:00It's Almost HereRace Day. It's almost here. My nerves are playing their own version of WWE Smackdown contained underneath this layer of skin. One never gets use to the pre-race jitters.
While winter did it's best to thwart my training, the focus of this coming weekend pushed me through. Knowing that all the hard work would pay off has a way of sharpening one's determination. For months I ran through bitterCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-92131908955329181412011-04-09T20:27:00.000-07:002011-04-09T20:27:58.024-07:00The Final Long RunThe final long run, and I am more than anxious to get started. It’s 6:20 in the morning and the lake is deserted of people. I start my run on the trail surrounding the lake knowing that my friend Melissa would be heading in the opposite direction until she and I would meet on the trail.
Birds are chirping their “good mornings” as the sun has just risen stirring them awake. Ducks are scurryingCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-65981255086887222892011-04-02T14:12:00.000-07:002011-04-02T14:12:41.596-07:00Out On The Trail Inspiration Was FoundWe were working on our second lap around the lake and enjoying the flatness of the trail. Up the gravel path we could see him running along in solitude. Catching up on the week's happenings, Karen and I were about to intrude on his quiet with our conversation.
Life has a way of getting crazy, and there in the earthen sanctuary of the woods, we felt ourselves recharging in the midst of our 7 Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-68905260743808459282011-03-27T17:26:00.000-07:002011-05-03T12:30:30.124-07:00Birch Bay International Road Race 30kThe morning air is crisp, the smell of salt water lingers in the air. People are milling about; some sprinting, some stretching and others talking. Laughter wafts above the conversation. My friends and I are cold, but we know once the run begins the shivering will stop. The weather was a runner’s perfection.
The race official yells orders into the handheld bull horn and seems to be unsuccessfulCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-48005533040965225612011-03-19T22:13:00.000-07:002011-03-19T22:13:25.397-07:00The Good, The Bad and The BeautifulThe weatherman said sun and I wanted to believe him. The raindrops falling on my skylight told me different. Never wanting to give up hope and knowing that it was still a good hour away before meeting Melissa, I put on my running skort. Being so anxious for spring and some sunshine, I decided even if it was going to rain I would wear the skort. Me? Stubborn?
7:00 a.m. Melissa and I meet at Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-38349165277912061242011-03-12T15:00:00.000-08:002011-03-12T15:00:41.753-08:00The Wind, Rain and a Little RunI park the car near the ocean and look at how hard the rain is hitting the windshield. I'm going to get wet. Looking forward to this run all week, I pushed aside the disappointment of having to run in the wind and rain. Again.
The fuel belt is ready to go and I strap it on, hit the start button on my Garmin and I'm off and running. The plan is to do the first 8 at marathon pace; the last 8 Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-71186211298155111512011-02-20T12:46:00.000-08:002011-02-25T12:50:05.432-08:00A Heart OverflowingThe alarm sounds. What day is it? Oh, yes, Saturday. The alarm is sounding by my choosing. I roll out of bed careful as to not disturb the flu-ridden little boy laying next to me; who after two sleepless nights managed to sleep through the night. After slipping on my running gear, I tiptoe to the kitchen in an effort to keep sleeping boys sleeping, just down the hall was a room full of Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-8173521019720718762011-02-05T11:23:00.000-08:002011-02-05T21:43:32.597-08:00Step Backs and Sunrises
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We began our run. After a week of grey skies and winter rains, the sunshine beckoned and the trail cameCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-10389199973365723852011-01-15T22:03:00.000-08:002011-01-16T08:18:57.846-08:00Nookachamps Half MarathonThe Northwest sky, colored grey, held back the rain that often comes with our winters. The January wind blew from the south bringing with it an extremely rare 53 degree day. There I stood at the start, in a running skirt, and an incredible itch for spring. My friends and I chatter nervously while waiting for the start of the race. As with most small town races, someone yells "GO" and the raceCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-68838752863822004362011-01-02T21:26:00.000-08:002011-01-02T21:26:09.897-08:00An Ocean ViewOur first run together in the new year and our excited chatter rose from the bed of the forest floor only to be caught in the canopy of spiney branches of leafless trees. Winter's cold seeped through our gloves and nibbled at our fingertips. The creek, swollen just a few weeks before, now meandered at a leisurely pace leaving an icy reminder of its presence on the creek bed rocks.
We pass underCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-23980426776596341262010-12-31T12:02:00.000-08:002010-12-31T12:02:19.581-08:00The Final Run and A New BeginningIt was a brisk winter's 23* when I began my last run of 2010. The rays of the sun felt good despite the coldness in the air. I pressed the start button on my watch and began the year's final miles.
There is excitement to be felt standing on this side of the stroke of 2010's last midnight; excitement in savoring the successes of the year. When I began the year I had made the decision to get Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-47178576543609084442010-12-18T20:53:00.000-08:002010-12-19T14:55:51.910-08:00A Winter's MorningThe city had come alive despite the winter's pre-dawn darkness. Christmas shoppers were hustling about in search of the season's perfect gifts. I rub my gloves together warming my hands as I wait for the others. The brisk breeze brought the faintest smell of snow.
Laughter announces the arrival of my friends; right on time and ready to go. We discuss the route we will take and the button Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-76789215345356350032010-12-05T07:59:00.000-08:002010-12-05T07:59:04.911-08:00Testing The LimitsThe temperature read 23 degrees.
This is gonna be cold.
With the sun starting to crest the mountains, the golden winter rays gave sparkle to the frost which covered the ground. Nature's diamonds glistened from the trees, the frozen grasses and roads.
And slippery.
The park was beginning to awake and wipe the sleep from its eyes. Race directors and volunteers were filtering in bringing life Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-20301130337809549222010-11-27T20:29:00.000-08:002010-12-05T09:26:22.065-08:00GenerationsThe town was beginning to awake. Old men were beginning to spill out from the doorway of the local greasy spoon producing evidence the Saturday morning ritual of gathering for early morning coffee was still alive. The men have been doing this for generations. Sipping their coffee in between offerings of encouragement peppered with sarcasm and laughter. I watch one of the town's gentlemen Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-14595186649662236222010-11-23T12:22:00.000-08:002010-11-23T21:59:41.148-08:00A Night of Inspiration
Some time ago, my pastor (Bob, an accomplished marathoner) approached me before the beginning of a service and stated, "You know who Ryan Hall is right?".
Of course I knew who THE Ryan Hall was, but if he was talking about a Ryan Hall who attends our church, nope, didn't have a clue who he was referring to.
Fortunately for all of us, he meant THE Ryan Hall and when Bob confided to me of Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-68173489501910839502010-11-18T13:10:00.000-08:002010-11-18T18:27:11.827-08:00The Day BeginsWhat? Oh.
The alarm.
Off. OFF!
It's so dark.
And cold.
Brush my teeth.
Get dressed.
Running shoes.
Slide open door.
Darkness.
No moon.
No rain!
Bazillion stars.
Wow.
Start watch.
Running slowly.
Sleepy.
Shiver.
So cold.
Running easy.
Heavy legs.
Last night's workout.
Ouch.
Feel slow.
Running slow.
Praying.
Incredibly thankful.
Shooting star!
WOW!!
Owl screeches.
Looking.
Can't see him.
Running.
Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-61362003235231263022010-11-13T11:19:00.000-08:002010-11-19T11:16:01.740-08:00The TrailThe morning was wet. The sky was colored an endless shade of gray due to the misty rain it was releasing. My spirits were not dampened as I looked forward to running a trail in the foothills with my friends. Besides, my feeling was it would stop soon.
We carpooled to the trail head. Looking at the map, we plotted the trails we would run and then we began. The rain had stopped and the chill Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-61806587732318206062010-11-03T12:23:00.000-07:002010-11-18T18:27:35.738-08:00The Curb
I'm sitting on the curb near the fork in the road mustering the courage to pick a path. Do I stay on the path I know? Where the journey, as of late, has been met with frustration and exhaustion? Or do I chose the path I've never traveled before?
This parenting thing is hard.
Every parent can attest to the feeling of perfection you feel when you first gaze at your beautiful new baby. So Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-6919838003150155312010-10-26T10:06:00.000-07:002010-11-18T18:27:59.925-08:00Moon ShadowsThe door creaks open and the moonlight spills onto the floor. I sneak out of the house quietly, shutting the door behind me. This is my time. There are no phones, no interruptions, no voices. Only me. Shaking the sleep from my mind, I begin my run.
Fall’s crisp air is warmed slightly by the breeze from the south. Summer did it’s best to hang on, but there is no mistaking the changing Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-61329877910655476272010-10-18T22:06:00.000-07:002010-11-18T18:28:15.306-08:00The Celebration DinnerThe chatter wafted only to be drowned out by the laughter. I look around the table and smile. These are my friends. Like a large family eating Thanksgiving dinner, we are all talking at the same time. Each one of us is reliving our last 26.2 mile race. Some of us raced together, and some of us did not, but we each came to the table with our own experiences. With understanding found only by Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-48785437807366255302010-10-18T09:37:00.000-07:002010-11-18T18:28:28.639-08:00Stepping Stones and PathwaysToday the 2011 Boston Marathon registration opens and I figure what better day than today to publish the goals I've thought about over the last week. The path I'm following leads to Boston, and along the way I'll have to use some stepping stones. The journey begins.
Ultimate Goal: To run the Boston marathon.I am 41 years old which in Boston Marathon language means 3:50:59. Wish me luck as Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-64480156417599401272010-10-17T08:27:00.000-07:002010-12-11T20:40:07.206-08:00The Post Marathon BluesOne week ago today I couldn’t sleep. It was the eve of my 7th marathon and the anticipation and excitement were a little more than this 129 lb frame could handle. Standing at the start with 9,000 other runners in the torrential rain, the little voice inside me sighed. No matter how hard you work, nature has its own way of adding a special little twist to your race day. And there is nothing you Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-41308311239970017012010-04-11T16:29:00.000-07:002010-11-18T18:26:43.532-08:00Me? Speed?Speed. I don’t have it. I want it. Somewhere in the midst of my distance running I lost my desire for going faster. Training for a marathon changes the perspective of a runner. Well, it did for me anyway. No longer did I think about how fast I was running my normal 4 mile loop, but where I was in relation to my long run that week. Everything became justifiable to the long run.
“Oh, I have to Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-68606253722377383662010-01-09T21:32:00.000-08:002010-11-18T18:29:08.862-08:00Three WeeksThree weeks. Where will you be in three weeks? What are your plans? The future you are planning? Three weeks. It’s all they gave her. Raylene will spend the next three weeks planning her own funeral.
If given the same news, what would I do? Hug a little tighter? Kiss a little longer? Laugh harder? Does one spend the last few weeks cherishing the memories made or regret the dreams never lived? Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-43444956768001418012009-12-27T18:57:00.000-08:002010-11-18T18:29:28.726-08:00The BattleCancer has been a part of my entire adult life. Not as one battling the giant, but as one who must stand on the sidelines and witness the struggle. I hate it. Always known as someone who gets things done, my usual method of operation is to jump in with both feet and take charge. Not this time. I can’t. It’s not my fight.
My dad was first diagnosed when I was in my early 20s. It was my first Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-4250467983424912782009-09-27T21:30:00.000-07:002010-12-05T09:28:15.689-08:00Bellingham Bay Half MarathonBellingham Bay Half Marathon
September 27, 2009
Crisp with the smell of fall, the air was alive with excitement. People were milling around the start area trying to ward off the chill of the early September morning. The cloudless sky brought on the promise of warmer temperatures. Although chilly, I knew my best bet was a tank top and running skirt. I hadn’t run a race yet this year without Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-54657111333403539662009-06-28T09:46:00.000-07:002010-12-05T09:28:15.690-08:00Seattle Rock N Roll MarathonSeattle Rock N Roll Marathon became a marathon of learning. Most runners on the course would probably state this inaugural marathon is race of running, but for this single runner it was more than a marathon it was a run of learning.
Beth, Sharlene and I were three Nervous Nellys sitting in the backseat of the truck trying to talk ourselves out of pre-race jitters. We each came to this race Cheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-54251032983645271582009-06-07T09:49:00.000-07:002010-12-05T09:28:15.690-08:00North Olympic Discovery MarathonA runner’s dream. The sky was overcast with no threat of rain. The temperature was hovering in low 50s. After taking the shuttle to the start, I find myself sitting in the community room waiting for 9:00. I looked around at the people I was about to embark on a 26.2 mile journey with. Energies were high and laughter wafted above the nervous chatter. I was definitely nervous. After running CapitalCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2238868015578127125.post-46519355832316705822009-05-17T09:51:00.000-07:002011-11-18T14:35:38.821-08:00Capital City MarathonThe marathon is a gift. One that we relish and one that we sometimes wonder why we even accept in the first place. Either way you want to look at the gift, it is one that teaches you the most about yourself. Today was such a day.
Standing at the start the temperature was toying with us. Predicted to be in the high 70s, it felt cool enough at the start, but I knew better. The cloudless blue skyCheri Fioruccihttps://profiles.google.com/112319832434936327243noreply@blogger.com0