Had a wonderful weekend at the Whitman's. What a blessing to get to 'retreat' for a weekend of wonderful fellowship and planning time for Camp of the Hills. Jammin' House was pretty good eatin', but the company could not be topped.

Today has been claimed as a new holiday. That's right, today is National Stay-Home-and-Play-With-Your-Puppy Day. The Nicksons have a new addition to the family. Friday night Jessie, now about 7 weeks old, joined the ranks for a life of playtime with the famous rubber chicken, puppy boot camp (as we like to call it), and lots of love. So Dad decided to claim this holiday to help get Jessie more 'acclimated' to her new home surroundings. And from what I hear, tomorrow may be Take-Your-New-Puppy-to-Work-Day. You'd think there was a new child in the family... Too bad she'll be as big as a bear when I get to see her. Welcome to the clan, Jess.

Well, I'm going to attempt to actually keep this one up. No promises, but we'll see how it goes. Without further ado, on to the first entry...

For today, I must dedicate this entry to coaches. In 7th grade there was Coach R, who after watching me attempt the high jump bar backward quickly sent me to try out for hurdles. Coach K picked up from there and instilled in me the love of running, whether that meant you tripped on a hurdle and went flying head over heels right in front of the cute 8th grade boy, or whether you were a natural star, like my good friend Jennifer. Then came the high school days and Coach W. One of those people who was your best friend if you were really good, but made your life miserable if you weren't naturally amazing, despite how hard you were willing to work. I was miserable. One day I remember she hid golf balls miles out in the country and we had to each run and bring one back so she would know we completed the run. Enter Coach C. She was the best sprinter coach one could wish for. Knew what she was talking about, got out on the track and ran with you, encouraged and saw potential in everyone. But she was never head coach and therefore could make no decisions. And then there was Coach H, who was also my Pre-Cal teacher. No bigger around than a toothpick and barely older than we were, H. had no business being a track coach. She literally carried around this book "How to Coach Track and Field" to all of our practices. In our Pre-Cal class one day, the lesson was on how amazing she was because she had just run in the Boston Marathon. She set up a TV so we could watch parts of the race she had taped. Anyway, coaches are pretty ridiculous a good majority of the time.

So this last Sunday I ran my first marathon in Austin. It was pretty amazing, aside from the fact that it was 30 degrees outside. But as I trained for the race over the last several months, I have to admit a good part of my motivation was to prove past coaches wrong when they told me I couldn't run. But I certainly didn't do this alone. I had my family and friends rooting for me all along the way. And those people are the reason you keep going at mile 20 when you're ready to give it up. You keep going for the people who brave the weather to watch you run and cheer you on in neon orange bandanas. (Thanks, Mom, DM, Em, and Bullet.) You keep going for the one who bailed out of the car on the highway to go with you to the starting line and make sure you got there on time. (Thanks, Dad.) You keep going because of the people who asked how training was going and encouraged you every step of the way for 13 weeks. Those who called you the day before the race to give last minute advice and talk through race strategies because they'd been through it all before. And for those who were the first call you got after the race to see how you did and congratulate your finish. So thanks, Coach. Here's to the next race....