Last weekend I got sick. I NEVER get sick. I brag about having an “immune system of steel” and it is no exaggeration. I really never get sick. But last weekend some nasty little virus broke through my antibody fortress and kicked off a week-long series of crazy happenings.

So first came the death plague, then came the SNOW!

Snowy Atlanta!

Snow might not seem odd, but that much snow in Atlanta was downright nuts! The town SHUT DOWN. Luckily, I was so sick I LOVED being snowed in!

The one thing I did not love was what I saw when I finally emerged from my apartment four days later:

Yes, my jackass neighbor actually shoveled only his half of the steps! Are you kidding me? Who does that? I hope he doesn’t think he can come by looking for a cup of sugar during the next blizzard!

One week post-snow things had finally thawed enough to go outside. I joined my friends Drew, Betty, and Maria on a bike ride south of the city. The route was new to me, but after being shut in all week, I was in a pretty adventurous mood, so I decided I’d just follow the others.

For 3+ hours the ride was amazing! The sun was shining, the roads were mostly clear, and I was feeling great! Then we had a bit of a hiccup. Drew, our fearless navigator, was scanning the map and his face fell. “Oops,” he said. We’d taken a wrong turn.

Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, but it was Sunday afternoon and I needed to be in Pennsylvania for work Monday morning. I had a flight to catch! I was 25 miles from my car and a little more than two hours from take-off. Not even Lance Armstrong could make my flight!

I decided to do what any good employee would do: Hithchike! Actually it wasn’t so much hitchhiking as bribery, since my friends and I sort of attacked a guy at a recycling center, begging for a ride and throwing sweaty dollar bills his way.

Thirty-five dollars later my bike was in the back of his Four Runner and we were speeding toward the airport. I know taking a ride from a stranger might not sound like the smartest option, but I’m very committed to my job. And how many serial killers recycle?

Thankfully, my good Samaritan chauffer dropped me and my bike off safely at my car. I quickly traded my helmet for a winter hat and made it on the flight with just minutes to spare! Sickness, snow, bike rides, and hitchhiking – what a fun start to 2011!

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My sister and I call my mom Ebeth (pronounced E-Beth, like email). Elizabeth, her real name, is just too formal. And “mom” is too generic. If I yell “EBETH” into a crowd I’m sure to find only my mother (or no one at all if I’ve done something embarassing and she’s trying to avoid me).

Ebeth grew up downhill skiing and actually raced professionally. And considering she was in high school before Title IX – that was quite a feat!

Now she’s a runner – a very fast runner. Like qualified for Boston by 20 minutes in her very first marathon fast. I think some people might be ashamed that running with their 50-something-year-old mother often reduces them to tears and whimpers of pain, but not me! I think it just means I can get faster!

My friend Kelly, Ebeth, and I after a race!

Right now Ebeth lives in Minnesota where she logs lots of winter miles on the treadmill. If she does brave the cold and run outside, she has to deal with a few obstacles: icy roads and road rage.

I don’t mean road rage in the typcial “driver-angry-at-driver” sense. I’m referring to when drivers are completely oblivious to the brightly clad runner just trying to do a healthy workout. The driver’s complete lack of a brain leads him or her to nearly run over the defenseless athlete. The runner, whose endorphin buzz has just been killed by the near loss of life, is so overwhelmed with rage that she feels an intense desire to attack the car like a spider monkey on steroids.

I think that was how Ebeth felt when she sent me this cartoon:

Hahhaha, I obviously inherited my mother’s love for stick figures and maybe a bit of her temper…fingers crossed the fast running genes will show up soon!

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“I like Sweetwater so much better than Kennesaw, Sweetwater has real trails.”

Gulp. I tried to hide my nervousness as I started jogging behind my friend Kelly. She had generously invited me to run with her and a few of her ultramarathon friends at Sweetwater Creek Park  to kick off the new year. I’ve been trying to run with faster people and I was really excited about checking out the trails until I heard that sentence. I had never been to Sweetwater before and was under the impression Kennesaw had “real trails.”

“Yeah, the only good climb at Kennesaw is running to the top of the mountain.”

Double Gulp. I’d only run to the top of Kennesaw Mountain once. I took a wrong turn, and it was a mistake I never repeated. And these people thought that was fun? What had I gotten myself into??

Within ten minutes we were sliding down a concrete embankment and crossing a stream, just to scramble up the other side. My shoes were wet, my hands were muddy, my shins were scratched, but I thought I was handling it all very well. 

Then it started POURING. Like a full-on monsoon. I looked down at my watch. 20 minutes. We’d only been running for 20 minutes. I’d told Kelly I was in for a full 2.5 hour deal, but I was seriously wondering if I would be able to make it.

But shame is a powerful motivator and I didn’t want these people (most of whom I’d just met) to think I was a total P-word, so I kept going. Even when the trail seemed to go vertical, and I watched the others climb like mountain goats, and I staggered behind, scrambling on all fours, grasping at clumps of grass and thorns,  I kept going. Even when the others whooped and hollered with joy as they flew down the descents, while I slipped and slid with fear, trying to figure out if I had enough cash to cover my insurance deductible, I just kept going.

I didn’t know how to get back to my car anyway, so running was really my only option, but I’m still a little proud of my tenacity.

And through all the falls, the scrapes, the mud, the thorns, the rain – I had the best time. Some of those hills were a huge struggle for me. And it was so humbling to have everyone waiting for me at the top…and again at the bottom. But that’s what makes runners such awesome people. And when we got back to our cars a few hours later, we were all smiles! Happy New Year!

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This year my little sister, Hannah, gave me the greatest Christmas present ever – she helped me set up my own website! I may have a few years and inches on her, but she far out-ranks me in the technology department (and the great smiles department)!

I loved writing for the Element Bars blog, but the control freak in me wanted my own site. Who doesn’t want to see their name followed by a dot com? Plus, now if I decide to drop the F-bomb, I don’t have to worry about it being censored! (Kidding! Sort of…) But if you don’t want to change your “Haley’s Blog” bookmark – do not worry – my incredibly deep insights will still appear on the Element Endurance blog page. You’ll just miss out seeing the sweet swim/bike/run stick figures and my name in size 72 font featured on this page.

Anyway, onward to more exciting topics – like Duluth, Minnesota!  My parents decided to move to Duluth last summer, and this Christmas was my sister’s and my first visit. Duluth is way up in northeastern Minnesota along the shores of Lake Superior (which is a GINORMOUS lake, by the way). 

The town is known for exactly two things: Grandma’s Marathon and Kara Goucher. The marathon is famous for being a  fast course; Kara Goucher is famous for being a fast runner. Unfortunately, I think Kara Goucher no longer lives in Duluth so my celebrity sightings were limited to newspaper clippings at the local running store. I did manage to visit Grandma’s Saloon, where I ate the “Marathon Spaghetti” and drank “Grandma’s Old Time Lager,” which I am certain put me well on my way to a faster marathon time. I also snapped this pic of the landmark restaurant and the really cool Canal Park Aeriel Lift Bridge behind it:

Despite the frigid temps, my mom managed to get me out the door for a way-too-fast run along Lake Superior. This was followed by an all out slaughter by my sister in the local YMCA pool. Thank goodness the roads were too icy to ride or I’m sure my dad would have completed the “let’s show Haley she’s not really that great an athlete” trifecta by dropping me on a bike ride up Duluth’s hills. Instead I got to make a fire and enjoy the extra hours of darkness in the northern latitudes and do what I do best – sleep!

But all kidding aside – I had an awesome time in Minnesota. I got to check out a new area and spend time with a few of my favorite people. It was the perfect way to close out 2010. Cheers to new adventures (and websites) in 2011!

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