lo hicimos parte dos: the good the bad and the funny


I swear to God I’m not going to keep talking about this day after day. Unless you count yesterday and today. I promise, after this I’ll be done. I think. It’s just, well, there’s some more stuff to talk about from the race. And it’s funny. Unless you’re the cop at mile eleven and then nothing’s funny. At all. Moving on.

The following are a few of my favorite conversations during and following the half marathon.


My friend Doug


Ah, yes, my dear, dear friend Doug. My friend Doug who tore his calf muscle at mile six and not only finished the race, but came back to walk the last mile again with me.

My friend Doug who is a rock star in our world on so many levels. My friend Doug who, early in the race, ran by me and yelled at me, “DON’T RUN!’ and who I smiled back at while running. My friend Doug who I thought of over and over again after mile eight when I thought I was going to die because I’d spent the majority of the first eight miles running.

My friend Doug who taught me some running terms. DNF (did not finish) DNS (did not start) and the one that would forever be after my name in the Allstate Boston 13.1 – DFL (dead @#&%ing last).

My friend Doug who I love so much that I’m not even going to say anything about those sunglasses.

My friend Doug who gave me a new barometer for deciding just how bad things are.


As we pass a runner going the other way (No, I don’t know why he was going the other way, nor was I remotely capable of trying to figure it out), Doug says, “Hey, you see that guy? His nipples were bleeding. That sucks. So dude, you’re doing better than him – at least your nipples aren’t bleeding.”

Me: “Um, yeah. Ok, Doug. So there’s that.”

Him: “Seriously, if your nipples aren’t bleeding, you’re lookin good!”

And with that, no matter how bad a situation gets from here on out, if my nipples aren’t bleeding, it’s a win.


 Mario, the head valet guy in my parking garage


Monday morning watching me attempt (three times) to lift myself up and out of my small car …

Mario: “Jayseeca, you ok?”

Me: “Yup. Thanks, Mario. Just need a minute.”

Mario, smirking as I struggle to stand: “Jayseeca, good night last night?”

Me: “Oh my God you did not just say that.”

Mario, as I finally manage to get to my feet, steady myself and realize that I’m standing like a cowboy, “I guess it was a VERY good night, Jayseeca.”

Me: I can never look this man in the eye again. 


My friend Alysia


Monday afternoon, checking in via text …

Alysia: “How are you doing today?”

Me: “Sore!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Her: “Is it the good sore I always hear about? :)”

Me: “Is there a good sore? Like really? Cause I call bullsh!t”

And then the conversation took a turn that included the words good, sex, DVD and Kim Kardashian so I think it’s best if I leave it at that.


OK, I think I have it all out of my system. Except this …

Thank you.

I really can’t say this enough.

Thank you.

Your support over the last few days has been humbling and uplifting and overwhelmingly wonderful. I really, really wish that I had time to respond to every single one of your comments. Hopefully I will find it in the next few days because they mean the world to me. YOU mean the world to me.

In so many ways I feel like a fraud. I told Luau yesterday that every time someone says some version of, “Wow, you managed a 13,1 with no training; that’s awesome” I can’t help but think that it’s like complimenting someone for making it through a day of work hung over. Like, ya know, the not training thing was the bed I made. So I managed to lie in it. Woo hoo.

But at the same time, I do feel a sense of accomplishment. I did something I never thought I could do. Parenthood does that to you, doesn’t it? Stretches you, makes you bigger, faster, stronger than you are? Or than you think you are?

You know those moms who pull cars off their kids? We all have the capacity to do the things that we need to do for our babies. Whether we know it or not, we just do. We don’t walk around thinking we are strong enough to lift a car until the day that we have to. It’s God’s perfect, sneaky plan. It’s in us. All of us.

Even a half marathon. Who knew?

Thanks, my friends.

For listening.

For sharing.

For keeping me going.

For everything.

We did it.

(Ed note: I bought the picture, so please don’t sue me. It’s on its way and I’ll replace the proof when I get it.) 

24 thoughts on “lo hicimos parte dos: the good the bad and the funny

  1. I am in awe. I am SO not a runner and have been attempting to somewhat, sort of train for a 5K. Time slips away, you try to take care of yourself (actually get sleep!) or write, or whatever. It’s so hard to juggle and balance it all. This inspires me that I can do it. Thanks for being brave enough to share you were DFL. 🙂 I have a friend who ran a race with nothing but the fire trucks behind her. These stories again, inspire me to just do it.

  2. You are not a fraud – don’t even think that….especially since I did not train for the event either and just so you know I crossed that finish line exactly 1 minute before you…really. I got kicked to the side walk too, they were cleaning up the water stations and the cones as I approached. But they all cheered for us. You did it! You and your husband inspired all of us whether you ran, walked or crawled you did it. You are fabulous!

  3. You just simply rock. I could read a whole week of Lo Hicimos chapters (you might have another good Mario conversation to write about!) And I kind of like that proof pic with the big old word PROOF splayed across – proof that you indeed did it. This mama warrior thanks you for all that you do and share with our special community.

  4. Again, so proud! So you didn’t train. You DID IT anyway! I think I can speak for many (all?) of us when I say, we are HAPPY to hear every last detail! Really.

  5. You’re awesome. You did it, Now pick a new race for the spring (maybe a 5 or 10K) and sign up because it will keep you motivated over the winter and you will know you do not want to repeat the no training=long recovery that you are living now.

  6. YOU are the rock star my friend! YOU!

    “Parenthood does that to you, doesn’t it? Stretches you, makes you bigger, faster, stronger than you are? Or than you think you are?”

    And that is the key to it all, isn’t it? Mom’s and Dad’s are certified (or certifiable?) BADASSES who can rise to the occasion, perform above expectations, transcend physical limitations and surprise ourselves on a regular basis. Why? because it’s what we TRAIN for! Every. Single. Day.

    We are our children’s real-life superheroes (rock stars) and we just have to do things to remind ourselves of that every once-in-a-while…


  7. Fraud? Hell no! You earned every single one of those miles. And you came in with style and grace and humor. HUMOR? Who does that after walking for three hours straight?
    And the no training thing? I call BS. Every step you take every day was training for this moment. This was for your girls, my boys and hundreds of thousands of others men, women and children who are told they can’t do something. We believed in you. You believed in you. And you crossed that finish line.
    Just remember: “Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.” – Steven Wright
    Thank you for making the time for our kids.

    Now…can you introduce me to Mario?

  8. Seriously you deserve kudos for your perseverance. As much as you struggled you kept a smile on your face every time we crossed paths. Be proud. You’re technically a runner now. 😉

  9. Of course you ordered the photo…it’s awesome. And “proof” of so many things. As for “not training,” you (and any naysayers, real or imagined) have to keep in mind that what you do as an autism supermom is basically the equivalent of running a marathon. Every single day.

  10. We are all out here rooting for your awesome little family every day… I’m glad over 2,000 of us gave you a little love after such a big accomplishment!

  11. You totally have me motivated to do this, or something like it. You’re a rock star and as I’ve said before, my internet based rock (wait, what?) Since our son’s diagnosis, I go here for comfort, motivation, and at times, a good laugh or cry. Thank you so much! And a big congratulations on this huge accomplishment!

  12. Awesome picture, awesome accomplishment, awesome committment and stick-to-it-iveness. So AWESOME. May some of that rub off on all of us. Remember the soreness, it will motivate the training for next time!

  13. Thanks… Love, love, love the pics of Doug and of course you crossing the finish line. BUT, the Mario story was well…. the best. You’re a friggin’ rock star… 🙂

    PS. I was an athlete in a past life, and NO there is no such thing as good soar. Call bullshit all you want.

  14. I love, love, love these stories! I’m a “not-really-a-runner” runner who’s training for a half. Your story gave me encouragement and a good laugh! Please tell more! You are such a gift to all of us : )

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