Tumor Humor - Part 2

When I suddenly started seeing double as I was driving my son to school on Friday, I knew that something was really wrong. The fact that I can barely remember the drive, other than the strange sensation of “waking up” at a light with a flat tire, was unnerving, to say the least. This one couldn't be explained away as “just one of those things.” Everything else that was unusual—dizziness, insomnia, sensitivity to cold, weight loss despite eating loads of chocolate (yay!), my love of Laptops – these things have been more pronounced than usual, but haven't warranted a huge amount of concern.

When I called the doctor to tell her I had experienced double-vision when driving, she wanted me to come in immediately for an MRI. Yippee! VIP-treatment! Mental note: When seeking quick medical attention, you are taken much more seriously when you complain about double vision, than when you complain about mood swings.

The MRI did reveal a small growth on my Pituitary Gland. The doctor was not surprised because this was consistent with her recent blood work findings. The Pituitary Gland sits right behind the optic nerve, so it's not unusual to experience double vision with this type of growth. The doctor set me up with an endocrinologist and a neurologist.

She assured me there were no brain tumors. The Pituitary Gland isn't technically your “brain” and this growth could most definitely be treated. “If you have any other unusual neurological problems, be sure and call me right away.” she told me.

Unusual neurological problems? Well, that's a big bucket load of possibility! People have told me my whole life that I have a very strange brain! It would be unusual for me to act normal! The fact that I'm now completely paranoid about a brain abnormality is exactly the way my normally abnormal brain works!

So last night when I had a splitting headache and my lower jaw felt numb, I was sure it was another brain malfunction.

Tumor Humor - Part 1

This morning I'm taking some sick time from work. This is kind of silly because I'm here, typing on my laptop, which is all that is really required for me to “work.” The most physically taxing part of my job is the energy required to get up and go to the bathroom. However, we get five sick days a year, and I can't remember ever taking one. I can work from home and I'm addicted to email. Even when I'm legitimately sick, I manage to check my email, just to make sure I'm not missing out on some late-breaking information. I want to keep up on any schedule changes for the Team Happy Hour, for example.

But yesterday, I went to work, despite the recent diagnosis. I tell my co-workers in an ominous, scary way that I have a “brain tumor” in order to solicit the most sympathy. People look at me in horror! “Oh my God! You will be in our prayers! What are you doing here?” I figure I might as well milk this sympathy for all its worth. “Yes.” I say in a brave, resolved voice. “God will see me through this!”

A pituitary gland tumor (or, if I'm drop the melodramatics, it's really just a growth, and not very big) is almost always benign and treatable. They can either remove it through the nose (a very unique booger) or maybe even treat it with drugs or radiation. I'll find out more today.

The exciting thing is that this can explain so much! Everyone blamed my dizziness on my blond highlights! And all that scatter-brain behavior? It all makes sense now! The pituitary gland controls all the hormones. As any female can attest, we have enough trouble with our hormones even when things are working normally! Apparently, my hormones are completely out of whack, and NO, IT'S NOT BECAUSE I'M PERI-MENAPAUSAL! AHHHHH! I'M GOING TO CRY IF ANYONE TRIES TO CONVINCE ME OF THAT!

Who Needs Money? - Bowel Cancer Research

Last November I met Ian Usher, this guy that's traveling the world accomplishing 100 goals in 100 weeks. He's really quite a fascinating character and I've been following his blog with interest. When I told my 14-year-son about him...all the cool places he's going and things he's doing...my son's first comment was a very matter-of-fact: "He's going to run out of money." Note to self: Stop worrying about money...or at least stop talking about worrying about it...in front of Scotty!

My son's not the only one that mentions the little issue of money when I rave about Ian's adventures. People want to know if he's independently wealthy. How in the world does one afford to take off for 2 years and travel the world? I'm sure it's a question that Ian gets asked a lot...in fact, I asked him that myself when I talked to him.

His budget approximately averages out to $100/day, he told me. And a lot of what he's been able to do has been due to the generosity of people he meets. Reading through his blog, I saw that it's often through serendipity that he's met just the contacts to help him fulfill some very unique goals that often require very specialized talents!

One of the most incredible of these meetings happened 2 days after I'd met Ian on Thanksgiving Day. He told me he was meeting a juggler that would help him accomplish his "juggle with fire" goal. I had pictured a street vendor who was probably just making ends meet. "Juggler" doesn't sound like the kind of job that pays well. I pictured Ian and the juggler sitting around with a can of spam on Thanksgiving Day, maybe throwing around some burning turkey legs. I read his blog the next day and saw that the juggler was world famous! Thanksgiving was spent at this outrageously gorgeous mansion in the Santa Monica mountains!

But my surprise and awe at the stories I read on Ian's blog aren't about wealth in the monetary sense. They are about the generosity and spirit of all of those that are helping him to accomplish these goals! I admit to feeling a tad guilty after I read about it all that I met him purely for selfish reasons. I didn't help him accomplish any goal...he helped me with one of mine! And, he bought me a drink at a very posh LA bar to celebrate afterwards.. Undoubtedly out-of-budget when one is traveling around the world on $100/day. It struck me that Ian neither boasted of his fame nor complained about any disappointments or worries of money.

There is one goal I thought maybe I could help him with. (Well...two, if you count the "Mile High Club" but... I wouldn't really call myself experienced in that area unless he's talking about a hike...) I have some experience with fund-raising (as anyone that knows me can attest.) Ian's Goal #81: is to raise $50K for Bowel Cancer Research. (Put Ian Usher in the "Name of Event" field.) His father died of Bowel Cancer and today, Jan.22, is the Anniversary of his death.

I know that these days most of us are worried about money. We're worried about the economy, the value of our houses and investments, and our jobs. But isn't it heart-warming to see people reaching out to someone they don't know, either to give or receive? It can even be as simple as a smile (but even better to donate money to a worthy cause.)

I hope you'll consider it!

Out With the Old, In With the New

I have a lot of difficulty “letting go”...whether we're talking about a relationship or an old vase, I just am not good about getting rid of stuff. My ex is the opposite. When we were married, some of our biggest arguments were about throwing away old stuff. He would go through a room and just throw away anything that he thought was old or imperfect. “If it hasn't been used in a year, you don't need it”, was his motto. I, on the other hand, attached sentimental value to every object. The ticket stubs to movies, the silky nighty I wore on our honeymoon that had become worn out and lace-torn, the beautiful vase gotten as a wedding gift, now held together with hot glue.

So, 5 years ago, when my ex left (out with the old, in with the new), perfectly in character, he said he'd rather have cash than the house or any of the “stuff” within. This worked out perfectly for me. Though it's not easy to afford or maintain this big house, I get to hold on to all my glorious “stuff”. I even had trouble getting rid of the piece of driftwood found in Mendocino that we'd put on the bed to symbolize we'd felt disconnected... like we were “drifting” apart. (Although I admit to being tempted to throw that one through the window of his new house with a note that said, “your new wife might want this”.)

Without my ex around any more to throw away all my precious junk, my kitchen-cabinet-cleanup project is long overdue. My idea of making spaghetti sauce is heating up a jar of Prego so this is more kitchen than I deserve, but I still love it. Taking everything out, one cabinet at a time, I discovered all kinds of “treasures”. Cooking gadgets that I have no idea how to use. Holiday molds that release the jello into a unique shape causing guests to think “what the heck is that supposed to be?” I found another kind of mold, too....on an ancient sandwich left in one of the 10 Bolder Boulder lunch bags that I've collected. Ah...what memories. I found all the baby cups that Scotty used to drink chocolate milk from that have since been chewed up by our dog, Chloe. I found 3-kids worth of elementary art projects and I also think "What the heck is that supposed to be?" I even have a bunch cheesy stuff from MY childhood like my “St. Louis” souvenir cup and saucer.

Let's face it... I'm not just sentimental, I'm a packrat. I can't stand to throw away something that is too old or worn out or sentimental to give to charity, but still has some value (supposedly). I think the weirdest thing I found was something that looked like a urine specimen cup. It was still in a plastic container (unused thank goodness!) but I must have thought the container might come in handy some day when I stuck that little treasure in my food storage cabinet. I have to admit, it was one of the few items in there that actually had a lid that I could find. There were quite a few lids with no corresponding containers as well! Almost everything was stained and weathered from years of use. “Tupperware” was “special” according to my mother. (I can't believe she actually asked if she could take some of these sorry containers, saying I could send her the lids if I found them in my cleanup. Now you can see where I got my packrat behaviors from.) My son asked me if I was going to give them to the homeless... Um... No. I don't think homeless people want old and dirty food storage containers to store all their leftover food in their live-in “refrigerators”. What my Mom didn't want, I actually put in the trash. Thanks to Walmart, I was able to replenish my supply for less than 20 bucks. It may not be “Tupperware” but it's clean and has lids.,

I found lots of mugs that were the ex's... Far Side, “I Love My Daddy”, Enginerd... He drank a lot of coffee, so coffee mugs were a standard gift. I boxed them up to send over. Most likely he will throw them all away. I'm proud that I either gave away or threw away a lot of old stuff, too. But I'm keeping a few of the old things. The “I Love My Mommy” mug will never go out of style.

In Love on New Year's Eve

A year ago I made a resolution. I would fall in love in 2008. I vowed that on New Years night, 2008, I would be with someone I loved. Every month, without fail, I went on at least one date and looked for the positive in those dates, finding something to learn, something to love. I also vowed to have at least one “adventure” a month..going out of my comfort zone...doing something daring or out of character. I rappelled down waterfalls in Costa Rica. I went skinny dipping in the Pacific with someone I barely knew. Every month I took risks where I never would have before.

As I look back over my photos for the year, I see a year full of new experiences, not just with dates, but with friends, kids, parents, and strangers. I see mountains and oceans and flowers and snowflakes. I see the love between my daughter and new son-in-law and the ultrasound photo of my beautiful new grandchild. I see my kids and all their accomplishments and my heart swells with pride. I see smiles of so many people ...that love me and that I love...more than my words can ever begin to express.

My heart is full. My “adventure” this month.... to be with someone I love on New Years Eve. At first, I was looking for a date or considering finding a stranger to kiss at midnight. Then I thought it would be more noble to volunteer at a homeless shelter or nursing home. It turns out volunteers are plentiful over the holidays and they didn't need me (I guess it would be more noble to volunteer at some time other than the holiday season). I got invited to a friend's party which I attended and feasted on fondue and champagne. It may have been rude for me to leave before midnight, but I really wanted to have my adventure and keep my resolution to spend New Years this year with someone I loved.

So here I am in my bed at 11:45pm looking over my photos. I'm going to send virtual kisses via text messaging to a bunch of my friends and family. I am planning my goals and adventures for 2009. Did I fall in love in 2008? 100 times over. Am I with someone I love right now? Absolutely!

My Yearly Sexual Encounter With Mr. Roboto

There are a lot of drama queens out there that will tell you mammograms are “horrible”. They'll tell you war stories about how their friend, Susan, was in the “squished” position when the power went out and she had to stand there “for hours” in unbearable pain. Some even have the nerve to compare this experience with childbirth.

After hearing these atrocities, I expected the worst when I went in for my first mammogram at age 40. I stood there, breast posed on the tray as the robotic spatula piece slowly made it's way down, ready to squish my middle-aged breast into a flattened pancake. Goodbye, sweet breast. You served me well through many a grope. The robot does its squeeze, and I proudly note that my breast size has increased. It's a 2 dimensional shape now, but it's stretched out past the first marked curve, almost making it to the second one. (It reminds me of those stretching exercises where you sit on the floor and see how far you can extend your fingers.) The technician tells me to hold my breath. Here it comes...that unbearable pain... She snaps her X-Ray, and the mechanical arm comes up. That's it? That's the unbearable pain that experienced mammogrammers are talking about? What wimps!

Clearly these women that scare mammogram-virgins with their stories are not comfortable with experimentation and sexual openness. For those of us that are single and don't have access to men who regularly fondling our breasts, the annual mammogram can provide a sexual adventure like none other.

Yesterday was the day. No deodorant allowed. It's OK. Mr. Roboto and I enjoy our natural scents. I wore the hospital gown parted down the middle, just hinting of the breasts beneath. I opened the gown slowly and the technician gently cupped my breast, placing it gingerly on the tray as the robot enjoyed this bit of foreplay. He, of course, was immediately turned on and started coming down on me.

“Hold your breath so I can get a good picture” the technician advised. I did as told, keeping quiet, squelching my urges to moan. I whispered a quiet “oooh...that hurt so good” under my breath once the arm started lifting. Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto. We got into several different positions, doing “it” at different angles, the photographer guiding us through every shot. I worked the camera, knowing my breasts were being handled by a professional.

The session was over too soon. The technician went out to check the proofs while I had a quiet moment with Mr. Roboto. Still flustered from our sexy photo shoot, I was tempted to disrobe entirely and wrap myself around his steely pole. But I felt chilly and somehow, the machine seemed distant. It's funny how one moment he can be squeezing my breasts...the next he's just sitting there, uncommunicative and cold. I had a moment of melancholy. I was just another pair of breasts to him...he'll feel thousands before he touches mine again.

“Would you like to be my Mr. December?” I ask him. He sits there, saying nothing and I wonder if he cares about me at all. Machines....

The technician comes back and tells me the photos are good and I'm free to go.

Even though the robot is immobile, I know he is a complex being. It's not his fault that he has no life. It's not like he can run off to see the wizard like the Tin Man.

Even if I mean nothing to him, I will savor the sweet experience of our yearly rendezvous. He may not love me, but I know he's looking out for me and some day, may even save my life. Each relationship is different and we have to love it for what it is.

Goodbye you hunky robot. I'll see you next year.

Bed & Breakfast Magic at Chez Michele's

When traveling, Bed and Breakfast Inn's are my favorite type of establishment. I love the cozy accommodations...the homespun charm of quilts, teapots, flowers, and aromas from the kitchen. A library with books which range from familiar classics to books of art, a fluffy cat that drapes herself around you, an antique chaise in the parlor where you can lounge like a pampered queen...you just can't get this kind of romance from a Best Western or even a luxury resort.

I've never been to a Bed & Breakfast alone. That type of romance is something to be shared. Too bad men typically don't relish that “girly stuff” nearly as much as I do. In my feel-sorry-for-myself moments I pout, thinking I might never get the chance to experience the romance of a B&B again. Funny that I didn't realize I'd be visiting one over Thanksgiving right in my sister's southern California home.

I've visited my sister before, but this was the first time I was the only visitor to her lovely home, which meant I got the full attention of her hospitality. I spent two evenings of my visit traipsing the city with Mr. November, and when I arrived back at the “inn” quite late, I found candles lit and fresh flowers adorning the guest bathroom and a mint upon my pillow! In the morning I'd wake to the scents of coffee and Thanksgiving recipes in the works.

But what made this B&B more special than any other wasn't the candles or the food. One morning I got a lazy late morning 20-minute warning from my brother-in-law, set to go with me on a long run in the 70-degree perfect California weather. Usually a reticent fellow, we chatted the whole way, discussing religion, politics, and even relationships! Every day, I got more than just the cat that draped herself around me. I got the two golden retrievers begging to be petted, their chins in my lap, looking up at me with their puppy-dog eyes. I got random hugs of affection from my neices, nephew, and sister...not because I was saying 'hello' or saying 'goodbye'....just because they love me. B&B's usually don't come stocked with people who give you a quick hug and kiss as you walk by.

I, of course, revel in all the attention. On other Thanksgivings I've been busy with my own preparations...either cooking or parenting or...at least helping the hostess. This time my sister and her family insisted on fully spoiling me and I had to do nothing but lounge around and be served. And...get this...my sister actually seemed to be enjoying doing all this pampering! I'm sure if I had stayed a few more days, she may have gotten a little irked, once I started ringing a bell for service, but she didn't even complain when I shouted up to the front desk for someone to bring me shampoo. Instead she brought me an assortment of toiletries including the requested shampoo, hair conditioner, powder, hand cream and mouthwash! They were all unopened in their cute mini containers, just waiting for the perfect guest with dirty hair, dry skin, and bad breath. This place is like magic! Quick, what else can I ask for? I know if I yell up for love, the dogs will come bounding in along with the rest of the family, and seeing as I'm in the shower, its not really the right time.

I'm not revealing the address of this unique establishment. It's not open to the general public. But I discovered that I have enjoyed this B&B more than any I'd ever visited while I was married. My husband would indulge me with occasional romance, but he was much happier roughing it at a backwoods campsite than eating scones in a candlelit breakfast room.

So, once again, I learn that a man is not required to enjoy a romantic experience and sometimes it can be a bit more romantic without one! Romance comes in many different forms. The smell of a rose placed in a room by a sister who's thinking of you means more than strolling through gardens hand-in-hand with a man who really doesn't want to be there. It's fun to share the excitement at the unexpected surprises with the person providing the pleasures, someone who not only delights in the same flavor of charm, but appreciates being appreciated herself.

So, here's to my discovery of the romance of Chez Michele, a secret Bed &Breakfast Inn.

Now....where is she with that tea?

Mr. November

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was ready to bag the silly “Fall in Love” goal. After breaking things off with Mr. September/October, who lasted a record 2 months, I wasn't in the mood to meet any more men. I still have to finish The Laptop Dancer Diaries but I mentally debated finishing the book with some inspirational “love yourself” psychobabble chapters. (I'd throw in a sexy scene in the jetted bathtub to steam it up a bit. If you're going to love yourself, it's important to pamper yourself in every way.) I've become very tired of this dating game. But then it turned out, I had an opportunity to meet the man I've been openly cyber-stalking, Ian Usher.

If you want to find out more about Ian, check out the many links in google. He's a celebrity who's fame is only going to grow as the book and movie deals come out (I'm not kidding... He got the check from the agent yesterday when he was in Beverly Hills for the movie rights to his story!)

Though it had been a personal goal of mine to meet this like-minded goal freak*, I hadn't seriously thought it would happen, or that he'd end up being my qualified “Mr. November” . He lives on the other side of the world...or, I suppose now he lives all over the world, achieving his 100 goals in 100 weeks. When it turned out we were both in neighboring LA cities over Thanksgiving week, it was obviously a sign that Ian was destined to be my Mr. November.

I like my man-of-the-month to be a potential partner, and to include some bit of romance. “Potential” includes men that are single, attractive, intelligent, fun, and, if possible, available. (And, of course, it would be nice if they were interested in me, but I often don't necessarily let that stop me... It gives me challenge and I kind of like the chase.)

My trouble is with the adjective “available”. I seem to be attracted to men that are unavailable....either because they live out of state, are out of my “price range” (that's my friend Michael's way of saying “out of my league”), are still in love with someone else, or are commitmentphobes. And as I examine my behaviors, I realize that I am a bit of a commitmentphobe myself. I don't know if I seek out these unavailable types because of the challenge or my own fear of commitment...or maybe it's because those that are “too available” are unappealing for some reason. In some cases, thanks to my wily charms, I will manage to “catch” one of these borderline “unavailables” and he will give in to my seductive persuasions. It is soon after that, that I lose interest. This pattern of mine is very frustrating, undoubtedly requiring much therapy.

The last two evenings with Ian were better than I could have ever hoped for. You will have to wait for the book for the full account. The unavailability factor is sky high...but, as we've established, that only makes the chase all the more fun for me. And Ian's been a fun target to chase, whether that's been in cyberspace or chasing him into the freezing ocean (Who would have thought the catholic girl who hated to even shower in front of the other girls would one day be suggesting skinny dipping to a guy she'd just met? When I step out of my comfort zone, I do it right.) Ian is out chasing his dreams, achieving his goals, and finding fulfillment with each new experience, each new relationship. I so admire his attitude, optimism and openness. He is a very rare and unique person and the perfect Mr. November. I could easily see how I could love this man. His stories and thoughts move my heart. Of course, a long-term relationship is completely out of the question, and so I will savor my November experience and move on hoping to find a lasting love a bit closer to home. I suppose that will require me to pursue someone that is actually available, both physically and emotionally.

However, last night I got news of a new person that will be coming into my life. I know without a doubt that I will love this person deeply and unconditionally.

You see, I found out I'm expecting my first Grandbaby!

Side note:
*goal freak: I use this term with the utmost respect. For those people who think I go overboard once I have a "goal", I tell you I don't hold a candle to Ian Usher. I have never met anyone who takes his goals more seriously!

Exposing Yourself

The other day an email was sent out by to my "Rebuilder" network by a fellow "Rebuilder", Matt, advertising "Resingled a Divorce Blog" , a male perspective of the newly divorced life. I read it with interest. Relationships are my favorite topic, and, of course, my own blog is about being "resingled". That being said, besides being a female perspective (and 5 years past divorce), I'm not nearly as open as Matt is in his blog about thoughts around sex. Not only are my thoughts about sex ever-changing, it's a very confusing topic. And then there's the fact that sex is very personal. Describing how I feel about it on the internet feels a little bit like posting a nude photo of yourself. It's something intimate. It's kind of like one of those things that you work your way into as you get to know someone.

A male friend once told me a story about a woman he'd met from match.com. She was from out of state. He's a commitmentphobe and has this habit of meeting out-of-staters...Ms. Utah, Ms. Florida, Ms. California, he calls them. Anyway, he flew Ms. Something...I can't remember the state...out for the weekend. They had a nice day, strolling around Denver, and went back to his house (by the way he has this GORGEOUS house...) She "freshens up" and when he comes down to his entertainment room, she is lying nude on his couch. She proceeds to ask if he wants to see her "man in the boat". This, apparently, is a euphemism for asking if he wants to examine her female genitalia. She spreads her legs ready to give him a guided tour to her "boat" and the "man" within.

My friend, who I'll call "Hugh", since he I think he fashions himself another Hugh Hefner, was not prepared for this. He certainly has been around the block a few times, but never had he so abruptly been thrust into this kind of surreal sexual scene. Ms. Out-of-Stater was confused by his lack of eagerness to explore. It seems that other men have jumped (literally) at such an opportunity. I mean, it does sound like something that only happens in porn movies, and I guess her body (I'm not sure if that would be considered her "dock") was playboy material. But still "Hugh" was ready to run for the hills. Where's the mystery? Where's the anticipation? This almost sounds like a gynecology appointment, which I can tell ya, is not that sexy!

"Hugh" once advised me that if I was going to write very personal "stuff" in my blog, that I should never let anyone I'm romantically interested in, read it. He said that's like going "Open Kimono". And I suppose, the more personal it is, it can even be like exposing your "man in the boat" prematurely. On one hand, it feels wonderful to be able to express your innermost thoughts, especially when someone validates those thoughts. You get a feeling that you are not alone. Someone else has these fears, these insecurities, these hopes, these joys. But part of intimacy is to discover these things over time and together. You share a little, he shares a little, a touch, a smile, a bad mood, an embarrassing moment, a fear, a quirk, a hug, a kiss... let it grow. Don't rush to get to the "man in the boat" before you've even had the joys of experiencing the little stuff. There is nothing like those tingles you get from the light touch from a man you have a huge crush on. Though the ultimate fantasy is to have mind-numbing sex, if he whips out his penis and says "Wanna do it?" your infatuation is most likely going to morph to disgust.

There's a lot I'd like to say in response to the entries in Matt's blog, and I know he's looking for comments, but a comment is not enough to give justice to my female perspective about sex and singlehood. I would say that though it may be closer to "typically female" it's unique in that every one of us is different in how we feel about this topic. I commend Matt for his openness in sharing his thoughts. Though some I agree with and others I don't, it confirms my belief that we are all different, and discovering our inner thoughts (without necessarily exposing our "man in the boat") is how we get closer to love. Perhaps that's why reading blogs can be so entertaining. You get a glimpse into someones "real" personality and you feel a sense of closeness to them. But when it comes to "real" relationships, it must be a journey that you're walking together side by side. Whether your goal is sex or love, enjoy the small steps of intimacy along the way.

Hey, I'm officially published in a real magazine! I submitted the article I wrote almost 3 years ago to Colorado Runner and this month it came out in print! Watch out...the book is next!

Need Not Be Present To Run

You make a 4:30 a.m. phone call. You hear heavy breathing, moans, and squeals of delight as the person on the other end of the call is experiencing unseen thrills. While others have to pay for lewd 900-numbers for this kind of vicarious excitement, my family and friends simply needed to sign up for my Virtual Running Buddy program as I ran the Walt Disney World Marathon. That's right. You heard it here first! Once the readers of Colorado Runner hear about this, I'm certain that it will be the trendiest running fad since the walkman.

The beginnings of the idea took hold during one of my VERY long training runs; one which, unfortunately, I was running alone. Social runner that I am, conversation during long runs keeps me as happy as the Energizer Bunny. I just keep on going. On the other hand, running alone seems to have the power of causing time to go through some magical time warp. Suddenly, it's like running in some alternative world where clocks run at least 10 times slower. I was depressingly pondering the fact that I would soon be running a marathon for an estimated "real time" of 4.5 hours. Once I converted that, taking into account the magical slow-down factor, I calculated that, indeed, I would be running for what would seem like at least 45 hours. This could result in a very dangerous brain condition called insanity.

I tried to convince friends and family to join me in Orlando. They wouldn't have to run with me. Simply cheering me on from the sidelines might be enough to fuel my brain, hopefully enough to keep me from complete dementia. But, money, jobs, geography, life, and a fear of practicing sideline-brain-support without a license prevented anyone I knew from accompanying me on this life-and-death adventure.

How unfortunate that my Mom and sister, both of whom can talk on the phone with me for hours, were not runners. They certainly could send me a good burst of conversational brain fuel. Suddenly it came to me! I work for a company that promotes working from anywhere thanks to new technologies. In this age of laptops, PDAs, and cell phones, who needs to be physically present any more? We have virtual meetings. Why not virtual running buddies? Running with a cell phone and headset, auto-answer option enabled, I should be able to talk to friends and family throughout the whole marathon.

I emailed a wide distribution list describing my plan. Given the very early hours, especially considering time zone differences, I knew I'd need to use my powers of persuasion to get callers. I promised my potential VRBs 5-10 minutes of marathon experience without having to leave the cozy comfort of their beds. I appropriately set expectations, warning that I might not be doing much talking. There were some that welcomed that aspect of the program! I encouraged creativity, a comedy routine would be fine, thank you, but anything to distract would do. However, yawning, farting and burping were not allowed. I do have SOME boundaries. Normally, I would not have to mention such things, but my 11-year-old son was on my list, so I didn't want to take chances.

Responses were better than I could have hoped for. People from every chapter of my life signed up. Ages of my VRBs ranged from 11 to 70. Friends ranged from those I'd met in childhood to those I barely knew. There were friends I hadn't spoken with in years and those that I speak to daily. There were friends from school, friends from work, running friends, gal pals and flirt buddies, kids, siblings, and parents all ready and willing to be a VRB. As the email responses flew in, teasing me for my crazy ideas but supporting me with moving words of admiration, I suddenly realized I was in the middle of the biggest virtual party of my life.

My VRBs didn't let me down. Calling promptly at their appointed times, I was entertained throughout the entire 4.5 hours with songs, poems, quotes, quips, and even a sexy survey from Cosmopolitan. (For the record, I scored quite well.) For the first 20 miles or so, I described with high energy the sights and highlights as I passed through the theme parks and water stops. I delighted in proclaiming my perfectly paced timing... right on schedule at each mile marker! As I got closer to the end, my own ability to converse dwindling down to mere grunts of acknowledgement, I'm afraid my final VRBs didn't hear much more than the cheers from the crowds. There were times that I couldn't hear a word my VRB was saying, but I was loving that they were with me, whatever they were saying, hopefully feeling a fraction of the excitement that I was experiencing.

I realize now that there was no reason to fear the magical slowing of time during the Disney World Marathon. I didn't need my VRBs to provide entertainment. What they did provide was my own unique and wonderful cheering section throughout the race. I felt like I was experiencing some surreal version of "This is Your Life." They told me they were proud of me. They encouraged me to keep going. And they allowed me to share the wonders of an incredible experience virtually, but in real time. And in the end, four and half hours passed way too quickly.
- Yvette Francino