So the St. Jude half-marathon is over. It’s a bit odd to see the back side of something that’s seemingly taken over my life for months. In many ways, it’s all been like a pregnancy. Practice, preparation, odd swelling, support, advice, fear, regrets, dread, and then the big day, the event, prayers, perseverance, accomplishment, screaming, begging for mercy, elation, afterglow. And soreness. Oh yes, soreness.

Here are the numbers for Team JDW:

Most important number of all: Money raised is $4054.19*

Suzanne Leslie, finished in 2:39:58, with an average pace of 12:13

Allyson Smith, finished in 2:40:20, with an average pace of 12:15

Amy Bradley-Hole (moi), finished in 2:55:36, with an average pace of 13:25

Lori Stratton, finished in 3:11:11, with an average pace of 14:36

Julie McEachern, finished in 3:20:31, with an average pace of 15:19

Our ages: Creeping up on 40. We’re no spring chickens.

And a number that means a lot to me: 1,359 people finished after me, which means I beat over 1,000 people. Hell yeah. What can I say? I’m slightly competitive, but running is certainly not my thing, so I’ll take whatever accomplishments I can get.

I AM SO PROUD OF US. But really, I am SO UNBELIEVABLY PROUD OF MYSELF. I don’t think I’ve ever been so satisfied with an accomplishment in my life, even when I kicked the ACT English section’s ass. I think there was always a big part of my subconscious that didn’t think I could do this. Especially after I started having major kidney problems and had a car wreck. Because of those two things, I had almost no training time during the month leading up to the race. Granted, I think a week at Disney really helped my stamina. But cardio-wise, and mentally, I was not in good shape.

During all my training, I was obsessed with numbers. How far am I supposed to go? What should my pace be? How quickly can I make it to that next intersection? Can I sprint through this commercial break? It was incessant, and it was unpleasant. But my kidneys and my accident made all that grind to a halt. Instead of being obsessed with numbers, I suddenly became obsessed with failure. My mom and I had a few conversations about this. She helped me realize I am not the kind of person who enjoys the process. Rather, I only enjoy the result. So even if I had trained hard and had gotten into better shape and had raised money for a good cause, well, none of that would have mattered to me if I hadn’t finished the race. For me, there is no success in failure.

But lo and behold, I didn’t fail. In fact, I succeeded beyond what I could have imagined. During my last mile, when I realized I was going to finish in under three hours, I was astounded. My last thirty minutes were kind of a haze of dumbfounded silliness. With each footfall, I considered the fact that I had done something I never wanted to do. Something I never thought I could do. I had just traveled 13.1 miles, and I had done it at a better average pace than I had ever run before. PLUS, I did it without my music, which I had also never done before, and which I thought was an impossibility. Hell hath no fury like a woman with a carefully cultivated playlist that she can’t even enjoy. When I say I threw a temper tantrum Saturday morning when I realized I’d forgotten my headphones, I mean I pouted and whined to rival any hungry, sleepy toddler. And most impressively, this was my first race ever. No kidding. I’ve never even done a fun run or a 5K.

So not only did I finish the race, I finished it upright, not crawling towards the finish line. And feeling good. My pain was minimal. I had a little discomfort in my right hip, but I think it was just a wonky psoas muscle. I’ve got crazy flexible hips, so my psoas muscles have always been a little out of line. Psoas muscles are easy to tweak, but also easy to stretch. I took about three good, long stretch breaks during the race to work on my feet and major muscle groups, and each time I did, I felt incredibly refreshed. My kidneys also behaved themselves. I was under strict orders not to take in ANY fluids at all during the race unless I was sure I was also outputting plenty of fluids. About a third of the way in, I start swelling a lot, but thankfully, I soon started going to the bathroom a lot, also. This meant I could actually drink something, which was a lifesaver. I made three trips to the port-a-potties, so I got to have two cups of water and one cup of Powerade. Sorry, this is probably TMI for most of you, but hyponatremia is dangerous. It’s deadly, in fact. It strikes people who are in excellent physical condition, so for me, a person with an excess of ADH and kidneys that don’t function properly, it’s something to definitely pay attention to. The past month has been all about taking in just the right amount of salty foods and fluids, at just the right time of day, weighing myself before and after every run, and making sure my urine output is a certain amount, and a certain color. It’s been pretty tedious, and I haven’t let anyone know the extent of what I’ve been dealing with. Race day was kind of a test for me — had I been getting my formulas right? Had I suffered through enough ramen noodles and beef jerky to account for my cellular balances? Would my kidneys process my waste, or would my body try to hang on to the bad stuff? I’m pleased to say that, other than some pretty painful gout symptoms in my left toes (which I’m used to and can work past), my kidneys behaved themselves very well.

The best part? Just as soon as I crossed the finish line, Allyson and Suzanne were there to greet me. They’d heard my name called over the loudspeakers, so they were waiting for me. At this race, as soon as you enter AutoZone Park where the finish line is located, you cross a timing pad, and the announcer calls your name out over the PA system. Just a few seconds later, you cross the almighty finish line. The one you thought you’d never see, and that you swore they kept moving on you at about mile 9 or so. Just after crossing, I got my heat wrap, then my medal. I desperately wanted more water, but I refrained. Instead, I headed into the outfield with Allyson and Suzanne to wait for Lori and Julie. While there, I took my shoes off, laid down, and made myself comfortable! Once we’d all crossed the finish line, we looked around in giddy contemplation, half astounded at what we’d managed to do, half drunk on endorphin cocktails. It was a satisfying, intoxicating feeling.

As soon as we were all done, we hit Beale Street for lunch. I saw someone today use the term “rungry” in a tweet. Oh my word, there is no kind of hunger to compare with the hunger after a long run. We went to Dyer’s and overloaded on grease, carbs and good beer.

Of course, we celebrated Saturday night with a rich, fantastic meal, lots of wine, and even more laughter. Besides toasting to the race, we also toasted to Allyson and Julie’s birthdays this week. We had the best time at Flight, and I HIGHLY recommend this restaurant if you’re in Memphis. In fact, if you’re ever within a 100-mile or so radius of the city, you owe it to yourself to eat there. It was incredible. It was, by far, one of the most fantastic meals of my life, and I’ve eaten at some of the best places around the world.

This morning, we all woke up sore but satisfied. I’m pleased to say I’m less sore than I thought I would be. Other than a killer case of waiter’s bum, the only thing really bothering me is my feet. I have pancake-flat arches and absolutely no fat on my feet, so I basically run on concrete slabs. That doesn’t make for a good morning after. But again, it wasn’t much worse than what I dealt with after a week of hardcore Disney tripping. My thighs, calves, quads, etc. were all just fine. This was another boost of confidence, because it makes me feel like I must be in OK shape overall.

Someone today asked me how I did it. I really think it was because, for once, I ignored the numbers. I ignored the goals, and the pressure, and the little mind games I played with myself during training. During the race, it wasn’t about a time or a pace or beats per minute. It was about my instincts. It was about how I felt. When I wanted to run, I ran. When I wanted to walk, I walked. And when I wanted to cry, I cried. When I ran through the St. Jude campus by myself, and looked up to the window of the room that Denise died in, I broke down. As I heard the cheers of the parents who were in the midst of the toughest days of their lives, I felt justified. As I looked at the faces of the few patients who could come outside to cheer me on, I remembered why I was there. For once, salty fluids poured from my body, and I wasn’t worried about measuring them. Instead, I flipped down my sunglasses from their perch atop my head so the spectators wouldn’t see my sobbing. I thought of all I’ve lost and won in my life, and I just kept going. Because really, what else can we do?

People say running is addictive. And people are partly right. Running isn’t addictive. Running sucks. It’s no fun. Running is only for potential muggings, hot asphalt and unexpected shoe sales. And running extreme distances isn’t natural. At times, it’s downright unhealthy. But racing is addictive. The camaraderie, the shared goals, the challenge, the accomplishments, the cause — they all combine to give you a feeling like nothing you can imagine. It was awesome.

And I can’t wait to do it again.

* In just two short months, we raised more money for St. Jude than we ever dreamed we could. But we’re not stopping yet. We have until January 2 to accept donations on behalf of our team. And I’m still just a little shy of my personal goal of $1000. If you’re looking to offload a few bucks before the end of the year tax deadline, if you believe in helping sick kids and their families and the people who take care of them, or if you’re just damn proud of me, you still have time to donate.