So … I needed a blogging break.
A ton has been going on since I’ve been gone. I went to my first bridal shower and back to my alma mater for homecoming. I’ve been attempting to deal with school loans (headache central) and investing in some more OPI (My name is Emily and I have a problem).
But most of all, I’ve been running. A lot. With three days until the Hartford half marathon, I’ve never felt better about my training leading up to the event. Completing 8, 9 and 10 mile runs throughout the last three weeks — I’m excited for Saturday. I’m taking my fish oil (the boy tells me it’s vital), eating bananas and upping my H20 intake. Oh, and planning a pre-race pasta party - nom nom nom.

Dad and me after the marathon in 2008
But my number one priority between now and then: Making the shirt for race day. Call me a sappy sorority alumna with a never-ending knack for making tees or just super creative, I’ve never been one of those Under Armour, Lululemon wearing chicas on race day.
I guess maybe now it’s appropriate to explain why I run in the first place.
In my about me, you get a sense of how frustrated I was with my weight my freshman year of college, and how running became a huge part of both my life and my journey through weight loss. But I’ve never really talked about my first marathon, or October 2008 for that matter.
Fall 2008 was sheer excitement. I had moved into my sorority house for the first time, had my car on campus (remember how much you wanted it when you couldn’t have it?), was super involved and the Associate Arts and Entertainment Editor for my school paper. All the while, I was running everywhere – preparing for my first half marathon after finishing off a huge phase (I had three) of my weight loss, nearly 25 pounds that summer.
As the week of the marathon came closer, I was sleeping more and tapering my runs. On Tuesday morning, October 5 at 3:16 a.m., I was woken up by a vibration under my pillow. I walked groggily into the hallway, looked at my caller ID and answered a call from my good friend telling me that our friend “Snowflake” (that was his pledge name in his fraternity) was in the hospital.
Within 24 hours, I was abandoning my schoolwork, training schedule and responsibilities, driving toward Queens as the news of Snowflake’s passing spread.
The wake was on Friday and the funeral was on Saturday. And Saturday morning, as hundreds came to honor a great man, friend, fraternity brother, relative, son and brother in his hometown on Long Island – I was back in CT, heading toward the starting line of the Hartford half marathon.
When I drove back from the wake the night before, I didn’t really want to talk. My friends were loving and welcoming, and I arrived back to a “we’re so proud of you” sign on my door. I walked in, hugged my roommate for a long time and then focused my energy elsewhere. I sat down on our floor with apink T-shirt and a black Sharpie marker.
As the years go on, the color of the tee may change, but the sentiment’s the same.
I cried for at least five miles during my first half marathon. When I didn’t think I could keep going – I thought of how positive of a person Snowflake was, and how badly I wished that I could of been there that day. I knew that I had trained for too long, and that this is what he would have wanted. And crossing the finish line, I knew that I would run that race, every year, in his honor.
Why do you run? What keeps you motivated?
If you’re interesting in donating, please feel free to email me for information. Donations will be accepted until Sunday, October 10.