I wish that was “Champagne”, but for now, we’re dealing with the other Champaign … that one that happens to exist in Illinois.

Brother and I are off this afternoon to go represent. Well, it’s more like I’m representing and supporting, as they – that would be Brother and our Uncle, run a half marathon tomorrow.

I know, I know. You don’t have to remind me, because, I used to be that crazy person.

Hi, my name is LC, and I’m a recovering runneraholic.

I’m just going to pretend that a bunch of you said, “Hi, LC”, back to me.

I’ve completed a couple fairly good distanced races, including my own half marathon … I actually was in training for a marathon, my longest run was 19 miles. Yep, I was there. SO there.

That marathon. Ha. Oh, that? That was going to be nothing. A walk in the park for me. At 19 miles, you can handle busting out another 7.2. Easily.

It was my final training run. Till I was notified that I’m an alien and have extra bones running across my arch. I knew it! There is a reason I continuously feel displaced here on Earth.

All alien-ness aside, it was either run and have surgery, or rest the foot. Like that was a hard choice. I might be crazy, but I’m not that psychotic crazy — however I completely get other people who are and do not judge.

Exercise endorphins do strange things to us.

Really I tell you all this running info so I can feel better about myself. And remember that this derriere, this big one sitting down here infront of my laptop, once ran 19 miles like it was freaking nothing.

So I can bask in my post congratulatory amazement and bust out the half marathon tshirt when I’m feeling like I especially need a little boost, so I can then pretend others are so impressed by me when I walk by with it on.

That maybe, just maybe … they might talk about what a total femme fatale I am. That girl over there, holy shit, she ran a half marathon.

See. It’s for cool points. Some more street cred. To help the insecureness.

Because if there’s one thing that gets my insecurities — it’s being around a shitload of ridiculously in shape people about to run 13.1 miles, as will happen tomorrow.

I find that I start comparing myself. It’s just ridiculous. So ridiculous. But isn’t that what we do as women?

I try to stop it, I really do. And I am all for banding together with my fellow females to kick some girly ass, à la Beyoncé. Because we’re running this mother, yo.