For as long as I can remember, high school was a dress rehearsal for medical school. I [...]]]> So I realized it would be extremely silly for nurses week to go by without a single post about it on Nurse with a Purse. So here’s how I came to be a nurse, in a nutshell

For as long as I can remember, high school was a dress rehearsal for medical school. I didn’t know what kind of doctor I wanted to be (though a pediatrician sounded fun), but I knew a doctor was what I wanted to become. There was never a question. However, when junior year rolled around and college tours began, things started to shift. The turning point was during one of my first school visits. While at University of Michigan – Flint (I should stop right there ) with my parents and our neighbor, I had the opportunity to sit in on a med professor giving a lecture. To put it lightly, I was terrified. I left that lecture hall with a pit in my stomach. From then on out, I wasn’t sure I had what it took. So I started throwing out other options. At one point, nursing came up. And to say I picked that idea up and ran with it would be an understatement.

I woke up one day and decided I wanted to go to Michigan State University. And so I did. They had a reputable nursing program and I knew I’d be in good shape with an MSU degree. I’ll never forget orientation weekend, walking down the sidewalk with my Dad, and how excited he was for me and my new adventure. Nursing was the profession of never-ending options. The second I got bored with one area, I could move on to the next. What a grand concept for an indecisive girl such as myself!

I was accepted into nursing school the summer after my first year at State. 1 out of 80 people. I was ecstatic to receive that letter. I definitely didn’t want to rethink my major anymore. This was it. As of fall 2001, nursing was life. I took to my physical assessment books like a champ. I had my first clinical rotation ~ in a green polo shirt and white pants (yeah, you nursing students nowadays have it SO much better – scrubs!? I only wish). My first patient was an 80-something lady with subcutaneous emphysema. It took an army to get me into that room. What do I say? What do I do? What if I don’t do my assessment right? Come to find out, patient care was the least of my worries. When it came to the death of nursing school, it can be summed up in two words: care plans. Hours upon hours upon hours of looking up meds and diagnoses and blah, blabbidy blah stuff. Pure torture. I somehow made it through all the book work, clinicals, and exams, and in May 2004, I walked away with this gem.

Briana Moceri, RN-BSN!

My first post-college job was at William Beaumont Hospital on the orthopaedic unit. [Side note: This, my friends, is where I would later meet my orthopaedic intern/ soon to be husband. So very Grey's Anatomy ] I learned so much on 9 North/ 9 South. I was a full time afternoon shifter, 3-1130p. I took care of up to 6 patients per shift, which included doing multiple physical assessments, passing medications, and ambulating postoperative ortho patients. Calling doctors. Dealing with uncontrolled pain. It was a grueling, yet rewarding job. I met so many fabulous people, many of whom I’m still in touch with today.

Obviously still in touch with this guy.

After less than a year of staff nursing, I put in my application for nurse practitioner school at Oakland University. Once I decided to become a nurse, becoming an NP was the natural trajectory for me. It comes as no surprise that I didn’t want to “wipe ass” for the rest of my life So no time was wasted on achieving my goal. I started NP school in the fall of 2005. I eventually dropped down to part-time 12-hour days on 9 South in order to get my necessary school work complete, bi-weekly clinical rotations included. NP school was basically a ramped up version of nursing school. And honestly, I found it much easier the second time around. Not to say it was easy whatsoever, just topics that were less “new.” The focus was also different, as being an NP is more of a provider role, as opposed to the supportive role of an RN. I was now in charge of diagnosing and treating, where as an RN I was more or less in charge of following directions. I did rotations in internal medicine, pediatrics, and OB/GYN. 3 years later, with my cap, gown, & golden hood, I received my Master’s degree as a Family Nurse Practitioner.

Baba, Grandpa & I pre-ceremony

2008 Family Nurse Practitioners!

Since becoming an NP, I’ve dabbled in many different specialties: orthopaedic spines and joints, retail health care (aka “doc-in-a-box”), and my most recent role as a Hospitalist. It’s amazing though. The fear I had on the first day of nursing school has morphed into a completely different monster. Sure I still worry about saying the right things and relaying the right messages to patients and families. But now I am weighed with the responsibility of diagnosing and treating. A much heavier burden. There are extremely high standards in healthcare nowadays, and fortunately/unfortunately those won’t go away. However, with all that responsibility comes satisfaction. I am now responsible for making people well. For keeping them informed. For changing their day. And if bringing out a smile in a terribly sick patient is all I can do, then that’s what I’ll do. But that won’t stop me from trying day after day. I love making a difference.

Every time I’m asked if I’m happy I became an NP, the answer is always a resounding YES. I continue to say that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, even though at the age of 30 you would think I’d have an idea. But that’s the beauty of nursing. The sky is the limit. And for now I’m content. And I couldn’t be happier with the path I have chosen.

So do me a favor and hug a nurse this week. They’re a special breed. And they deserve to be recognized.

And clearly I can’t end this segment without a little humor Happy Nurses Week!!

After my decision not to run the Carmel Marathon, I made an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon for some sort of diagnosis or direction. After xrays and some poking and prodding, I was told that [...]]]> So it’s been awhile since y’all have had an update, so I shall start from the beginning.

After my decision not to run the Carmel Marathon, I made an appointment to see an orthopedic surgeon for some sort of diagnosis or direction. After xrays and some poking and prodding, I was told that there were no bony problems (yay!), but what I was most likely dealing with was a piriformis/ gluteal strain (boo). No drugs, no need for surgery, but he did tell me that not running was my best option and that physical therapy would be of some help. So after a teeny tiny bit of pouting but tons of determination, I set myself up for my first PT eval the following week. My (physical) therapist, Bob, has been fabulous from the moment we met. In so many words, he told me that I’m a “last minute” pronator, which has caused some tightness in my TFL, which, with high-mileage marathon training, has finally led to some strain. That first session, he popped my hips back into place after noticing some leg length inequality (ouch), did some maaaaajor stretching to see where the pain was at (ouch), and proceeded with a little something called ASTYM. ASTYM is essentially breaking down the scar tissue to allow regeneration of tissues/ ligaments/ muscles so that I will run a little more “properly” and pain free. Think of it as a mini foam rolling session, only with cocoa butter and a small plastic torture device. Hurts. So. Good. I have bruises to prove it.

After my first session, Bob told me that as long as I wasn’t in terrible pain, that running on flat surfaces should be just fine. So I took his advice and went for a test run on the Greenway last Sunday. Though I could tell the hip issue was still there, it was much quieter than on previous runs. So at a steady pace I ran, taking as many walk breaks as needed, and finished off with 4.4 satisfying miles in 44 satisfying minutes. To say I was happy would be an understatement. Me minus running equals a grumpasaurus.

I continued to take things easy, but after a few more painless runs during the week, I decided that I was going to give this weekend’s Mini Marathon a go. I knew good and well that I could be miserable, but I also knew that I could push through the pain. And after this weekend, I knew I’d have plenty of time to rest before my next running engagement (Ragnar!).

Dad and I signed up for this race together at the end of last year. Little did we know that we’d both be cripples come race day. After his PR in Chicago a month ago, his knee has been acting up. Swelling, discomfort, etc. He also went to an orthopod, who sent him for an MRI on Monday with the thought that he may have a meniscal tear. His doc called him the next day to tell him that there weren’t any tears, but he did have a small effusion that he needed to monitor. Since hardheadedness runs in the Moceri family, we decided, ah what the hell ~ let’s run 13.1 this weekend

The hubs and I swung by the Mini Marathon Expo on Thursday while taking care of some business downtown. I think we spent more time parking and walking to and from the Convention Center then we did actually inside. But I was so happy to get our packets and not have to make three trips downtown like last year.

The rents arrived on Friday night and we endulged in some pre-race pasta while storms rolled through Muncie. I was hoping some of the rain would wash away the projected heat/ humidity, but more on that later. We did some brief strategizing, but decided that our main goal was just to finish the race upright. Though a 2-hour finish would be alright if the stars happened to align

The zipper pocket: not so much appropriate for wallet-holding!

Our alarms went off at 445 Saturday morning and we sluggishly got ourselves geared up. My Weather Channel app said the rain was heading south of Indy, but the humidity was already about 97% with temps in the 70s. Ugh. After slamming some oatmeal n’ PB and grabbing my fuel belt, we were on the road downtown by 530a.

With nearly 40,000 runners, the energy during Mini Marathon weekend is always nothing short of amazing. Like cattle, we crawled up to the corral where the Perfect Strangers were meeting pre-race. I had gotten some texts from Meggie saying her, Karen and Christi were stuck in traffic and were going to be a few minutes late. As we approached letter E, I literally stumbled into Jaime, Kelly and Meghan. Those turquoise #perfectstranger tank tops are hard to miss As the announcers were already telling everyone to get in their corrals by 7a, we snapped a few quick pics before heading our separate ways.

B, Kelly, & Jaime

Red hat = Ready to run!

Back in corral K, Dad and I tried our best to suppress our pre-race jitters. After some more discussion, we decided that we would try to run as much as possible over the next couple of hours, as starting and stopping can be just as painful on already sore joints. After applying Breathe Right strips, watching a few fireworks and listening to the national anthem, we set off on our 4th half marathon as a duo.

Ahhh, he can breathe!

As soon as we took off, the soupiness of the air was more than palpable. Ugh, it was THICK. I was very happy I brought my fuel belt so we wouldn’t have to battle the masses at every water stop. Within the first mile, while running past the Indianapolis Zoo, we passed a HUGE elephant who was watching quietly from the sidelines. So cool.

Dad and I started off strong. Our first couple miles were at a fast pace (for us) – 9:11/ 9:16/ 9:10/ 9:22. We passed belly dancers, cloggers, and a couple PITAREAS. Around mile 4, we saw Meghan, Jake, et. al. on the other side of the median. “FREEMAN!” I yelled. We commiserated about the conditions for a few minutes before we took off ahead. Dad was cruising at this point, and I didn’t want to hold him back

We decided to “gel up” about three times throughout the race. Just before we headed into Indianapolis Motor Speedway (IMS), we took down gel numero uno. Again, so glad I had my fuel belt with me so I always had water accessible. The “Yard of Bricks” is cool to start, but as time goes on, the monotony gets old. And the beating sun/ humidity did not help one bit. We held our own for miles 6-8 (9:48/ 10:06/ 9:55), but mile 9 just wasn’t happening. Dad’s upper back was cramping for some reason and he told me he needed to walk for a bit. So we did, logging an 11:17 mile, picking things up just before heading out of the Speedway.

Miles 10-12 were slow and steady but VERY hot and humid. The sun was relentless. And Dad’s knee was hurting. Fortunately, my hips were eerily quiet. We were walking through every water stop, which we had been doing all along, but the last few were a little longer than those past. Our splits were reflective of our misery, but still consistent (10:07/ 10:34/ 10:18). Possibly the best part of the race was at mile 11.5. Kelly had informed us that her friend, Brenna was going to be out on the corner with a PS poster and a bag of ice cubes. All my focus was geared towards finding this girl. And sure enough, as we made the turn onto White River, there she was. “Perfect Strangers!” I screamed. And Dad and I trotted over to grab a handful of the cold cubes. One in front, one in the mouth. I didn’t care how many hands had been in that bag already.

As we approached the final stretch, I looked at Dad, gave him a fist bump, and said “let’s do this.” We opened things up and pushed as hard as we could, weaving in and out of everyone in our path. I could tell Dad was not feeling great, and people around us were literally dropping like flies. We saw IV bags, EMTs, and even a person being hooked up to a defibrillator. Definitely not a race for the weak. But we prevailed. And in that last 800m, we locked arms and crossed the finish line together.

High W at the finish line!

Official times, 2:10:44 and 2:10:45 (Dad FTW )

As we approached the medal hander outers, no one seemed to want to place one around my neck! I finally made eye contact with a nice-looking boy and said, “Can I have my medal please?!” He said, “Of course you can! Congrats Briana!” For the love.

Mom and Nick met up with us as soon as we started making our way through the food area. After getting our official post-race pic, we moseyed on into the post-race party in Military Park. We met up with the rest of the Perfect Strangers on the grassy knoll, who were already 1 beer deep. Dad and I got our bevs and the laughter/ picture taking ensued

Cheers!

Dad & Mom

The PS Mini Crew (minus Karen)

Hubs Love

Then this happened.

It's hard to tell, but I used to be a cheerleader.

After a bit more celebrating, we took off in search of food. Dad & I enjoyed a nice Roxy ride successful in wiping away some of our swass. We found ourselves at Scotty’s Brewhouse where we partook in the bloody mary bar and heaps of dill chips. Mom and I made another stop at Gigi’s Cupcakes to pick up some sweet treats for later. The rest of the day consisted of napping, drinking, and eating. A perfect Cinco de Mayo.

I’m so proud of Dad and I for knocking out yet another race, especially in the horrid weather and the physical conditions he and I were in. And I’m happy to say: my hip feels fantastic! Dad’s knee on the other hand is not in tip top shape, but as noted above, we have quite a bit of time before our next run. I’m so grateful for every race we can run together. And as long as we can, we will.

Bring on #5

With love,
Your girls

Many months ago I [...]]]> If you would’ve asked me 4 months ago what I would be doing on 4/21/12, playing Carmel Marathon cheerleader was the last thing I would’ve told you. But as it turns out, being a cheerleader was the best thing I could’ve been on that day. {long post ahead}

Many months ago I had requested Friday off so I could take care of pre-marathon things (i.e. packet pickup, carb load, etc). Though I was no longer running, I still took advantage of the day away from work. I started things off at the gym, getting in some much needed elliptical time despite my strong urge to stay in bed. I then ran some errands, cleaned house, and put together some little treats for my running girls. Hey, if I wasn’t going to run this race, the best way to get out of my head was to go over and above the call of duty: Boppy Fairy style.

I picked up Jaime just before 6 and together we made the rainy trek to Bazbeaux Pizza in Carmel. Kelly (+ fam) and Christi were there when we arrived. Meghan and Jake swooped in next, followed by the husbands of J and I, who had spent the day on a golfing blind date. I popped a squat next to Kelly, who was planning on being my cheerleading partner-in-crime following her half marathon finish. The rest of the girls, Christi, Jaime, and Meghan, were all running the full. Kelly had already begun plotting out who would be where on her pre-printed race course map to ensure that someone would be standing post at most, if not all, of the important mile markers. Especially miles 21-24; AKA the “deep dark miles.”

26.2-ers: Meg, Christi, & Jaim

13.1 Kel, Laney, & I

After tending to business, we immediately carried on with our usual routine. I have to admit, it was nice having the men along for a change. And I think my husband appreciated finally being able to put faces to names of the girls I constantly babble about I presented the girls with their goodie bags full of nutritious race-day essentials: Pixi Stix, Jolly Ranchers, Clif Bars, and salt packets. Though they loved their goods, I don’t think they loved them quite as much as I loved what they had for me. Before I could fully prepare myself and after a short little speech, each girl proceeded to hold up a felt sign with the phrase “Go On For It For Bri” next to a blue-skirted runner girl. As if the signs weren’t enough, they then informed me that each of them would be wearing said signs during the race in order to bring me along with them on their journeys. I was stunned. And amazed. And emotional. For the most part, I held it together for the sake of carb loading. But as soon as I got in my car to head home after dinner, all was lost. My biggest fears were being left behind, and these girls made it 100% clear that that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Tears over pizza

My Artist

Saturday morning was a comedy of errors, the details of which I will tell you about next time. But due to the aforementioned errors, things were a little “off-kilter” in regards to timing. I ended up arriving in Carmel by about 715a. The weather, which I had hoped would’ve been perfect, was slightly sub-par. Cloudy, windy, and about 40 degrees. I had worn my Perfect Stranger tank under my long sleeved zip-up, but at no time during the day did it make an appearance. I decided to keep on my puffy vest, threw on a hat and gloves, and took off by bike to find the girls at gear check. As I arrived, the national anthem was already being sung and there was literally a fly-by meetup before the girls had to jump into the start corral. I teared up a bit knowing I had missed the chance to hug and love on them pre-race, but I sucked back the waterworks and instead continued on to get a good view of the start.

At 730 on the dot, they race begun. I screamed loudly for my Perfect Strangers and they, along with 2,500 other runners, started their hilly journey. Despite the previous day’s discussions, I stil wasn’t sure where I was going to plant myself for the first meetup. So I kind of winged it. After brief consultation with my course map, I decided to bike over to mile 5. Down Rangeline, left on 116th, and up to the corner of Hazel Dell. Once I arrived, I found some other cheerleaders manning their posts. One lady from Baltimore was waiting for her marathoning husband, whom she said would be with the 4-hour pace group. I wish I had found out more about them, but I was too caught up with watching the oncoming crowds. A few elites passed by, as evidence by their brigade of bikers and official race cars. I then saw a curly dark-haired girl that was charging ahead fast and strong. At the last minute I realized it was Adriana! Girl was running her very first marathon and I couldn’t believe how strong she looked at 5 miles in. I screamed her name, she screamed back, we hugged, and she went on her way. She ended up finishing in an astounding 3:52. Noroc girl!!

A few minutes later I saw a group of turquoise and white coming at me. It was my girls. I started skipping down the side of the road and yelled “it’s colder than s**t out here!!” I ran with them for just a few minutes. They all looked incredible and unphased at the task ahead. As they rounded the corner of 116th, I snapped a pic of their bums. Love love love.

After they sped by, I once again consulted my map and proceeded north on my cheerleading trek. I knew that my best bet was to get back to the start/finish area so I could be there when Kelly finished. I set myself up on the median of the road and cheered loudly as some seriously fast people whizzed by me. I even got to see some of my dailymile friends, Jenny and Chanthana [Congrats on your PRs, girls!!]. Before I knew it, a vision of turquoise was heading towards me. As she came speeding up the way, I could see the emotion all over Kelly’s face. Maybe it was the sight of a friend. Maybe just pure exhaustion. But I told her to keep going and she did just that. She charged ahead with a strong 2:00:25 finish and a pretty Earth medal to show for it

After piling on some layers, we grabbed our bikes and got on our way. First stop, however, was Soho Cafe, for some much needed hot chocolate. Dude, it was COLD out. As we drank, we continued to strategize our next stops. We determined that if we headed north on the Monon we would likely find our threesome around mile 16. After soaking up a few more minutes of warmth, we were off.

2nd Half Cheer Squad!

Riding in style

As soon as we approached 136th street, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be our girls. I said to Kel, “is that them??” and we sped up to find out. Indeed it was Christi and Jaime, both of whom were maintaining a pace of 10 min/mile. And looking amazing while doing so. They told us that Meghan had fallen back about a mile or two prior, so she wasn’t far behind. On our bikes, we rode along side of the girls, asking how they felt and what they needed. They said they were feeling good – no complaints. With the exception of Jaime’s cold hands, for which I forfeited my gloves. After a few minutes, we determined that our chattiness was getting a too little annoying for them, so we wished them well and rode on ahead

We didn’t make it far before we realized we should hang back and find Meghan before moving on to our next spot. In no time at all, there she was, coming down the stretch with her friend Callie in tow. Again, we chatted with her for a minute or two before biking on, only to find another pack of Freeman Followers, with whom we hung for a bit.

Our next stop was mile 22. This was familiar Perfect Stranger territory, just next to the infamous Monon Center. Instead of biking along the course, this time we set up camp and waited for our runners. At about 1115, Christi and Jaime were finally in sight, and once again, looking amazing. Nowhere close to dark and dreary like the mileage would indicate. They were still maintaining their 10 min/mile pace and were on track for a 4:20 – 4:25 finish with only 4 miles to go. After a cowbell ring and some screams, we wished them well, and told them the next time they’d see us would be at the finish line!

As if biking and cheerleading wasn’t hard enough, I made sure to keep up my other role as informant for the missing Perfect Strangers, Meggie, Amy and Karen. Throughout the entire morning we had been in constant contact via text, giving updates and sending action pics to keep them in the loop. We certainly missed their energy but they were most definitely there in spirit.

Around noon, we once again set up camp on the median, waiting with baited breath for our girls. At this point, the official race clock was reading 4:20, so we knew it wouldn’t be long. Sure enough, not even a few minutes later did we see our turquoise tanks coming down the chute. We screamed. We cried. I smacked Jaime’s butt as she ran past us with sheer determination in her eyes. The blondies had done it. Not only had they finished their 7th and 3rd marathons, they did it with their second best and best times respectively. Official chip time: 4:22:57!

Here they come

There they go

We hugged. We cried. We bundled up our marathon babes (dude, it was STILL freezing out!). They grabbed celebratory beers and we patiently awaited our final Perfect Stranger’s arrival.

Winners!

All along the way, Meghan’s boyfriend Jake had kept us updated as to her progress. Where she was, how fast she was going, and when we should expect to see her at the finish line. We knew all along that she was going to crush her first marathon time of 5:05. This girl had been doing work. She was faster than ever, and we could tell this was her race. So when she rounded that final corner as the clock read 4:45, we all lost our minds.

 Not just a PR. A 20 MINUTE PR!! 4:46:40 chip time. Unbelievable, Meghan. So proud!

After grabbing snacks and beers and bundling up, we huddled near the gear check and reminisced. All of us, cheerleaders included, were flat out exhausted. Marathons are hard work all around. Clearly the runners have the worst of it, but spectating ain’t easy either! So it wasn’t long before we each gave out our final hugs, returned to our cars and made our way home for a much deserving hot shower. What. A. Day.

In some strange way, being a cheerleader seriously helped ease the pain of not being able to run this race. At times it was super emotional, but for the most part I was at peace with my decision. I was just so happy to be out there rooting for people who appreciated me. These are people who deserve my cheers. My time. My efforts. Because these are people who love and root for ME even when I am down and out. So far be it for me to not return the favor.

Kelly, Jaime, Meghan, Christi,, I couldn’t be any more proud of y’all if I tried. You all went on for it. With smiles. And cute pictures on your bums Love you so much!

,,, I get injured.

Just when I think I’m on the road to recovery,

,,, something else starts hurting.

Just when I think I’ll be off for just a [...]]]> Just when I think I’m invincible,

,,, I get injured.

Just when I think I’m on the road to recovery,

,,, something else starts hurting.

Just when I think I’ll be off for just a short while,

,,, I get told 4-6 weeks.

Just when I think I’m alone in my sorrows,

,,, this arrives in the mail.

Just when I get to thinking too much,

,,, I realize that it’s time to shut up and start listening.

You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t been running very much lately. After the Sam Costa 1/2 Marathon at the end of [...]]]> I’ve been scripting this post for about a week now and I still have no idea what to say. Bear with me. Hold my hand. I need all the support I can get.

You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t been running very much lately. After the Sam Costa 1/2 Marathon at the end of March, my body was feeling good. I had conquered my left leg IT band issues and was ready to resume training. That was until a few days later when I realized I couldn’t run for more than 2 minutes on the treadmill because of some little devil in my right hip. It was likely overcompensation from my left leg injury that had subsequently affected my right side. Since that day, I’ve scaled way back. I didn’t run with my Dad in Chicago. I’ve missed plenty of Perfect Stranger Saturday long runs. And I’ve honestly been doing a whole heck of a lot of nothing with the exception of stretching and foam rolling. To say that I’ve been in a bit of a depression about my setback is an understatement.

A week ago Sunday, I received an email from Meggie with cc’s to Jaime and Christi. She told me that they were worried about me. That they didn’t like seeing me like this (aka sad). And that I needed to decided if Carmel was a race I HAD to run or not. If it wasn’t, it was time to back out. And that doing so wouldn’t disappoint anyone except for myself. The other girls concurred. I spent an hour that night trying to gather my thoughts to formulate a response. After tons of tears and many re-written sentences, I came to a conclusion: I shouldn’t run the Carmel Marathon.

The decision not to run 26.2 was not an easy one. I have been working HARD towards this. The Run Less Run Faster method was not a training schedule for the weak. There were speed intervals. There were many long runs. And there were days of cross training that I HATED, but got done. I felt so strong at the beginning of my training. I was knocking out 20 milers like they were nothing (I ran 3 total). My speed intervals were paying off huge. I was going to rock Carmel. With possibly a new PR. And I was going to do it with some of my favorite girls by my side.

After my first setback, I was worried. But it wasn’t until my second setback that things crumbled beneath me. I was constantly reassured that my body would bounce back and that my underlying endurance would allow me to finish the marathon, if that’s what I ultimately decided to do. But with 24 miles logged since 3/22, I’d be foolish to think I could run 26.2 well. Not to mention safely.

Until this morning, I hadn’t yet decided on whether or not I would remove myself completely from next weekend’s race festivities, or if I would try to do one of the other available races. I knew I wasn’t ready for another 13.1 miles. But the 8k may have been feasible. So I got out of bed this morning, strapped on my pink super sneaks, and headed outside to test the waters. I left all my gadgets at home. Just me and the road. And a few minutes in, like clockwork, the right hip reared its ugly head. I can’t even explain the sensation. It’s like a deep discomfort, starting in my groin/ greater trochanter. As I kept going (cause I obviously wasn’t about to turn around), the discomfort continued, but it morphed into a type of numbness radiating around to my butt. Ugh. With a heavy head, I walked  the rest of the way in after about a mile and a half. It was finally clear. I can’t risk further injury. It’s time to [temporarily] hang up the sneaks.

Being injured is isolating. It makes you feel left out. It makes you feel less accomplished. It makes you feel like you’re spinning in circles going nowhere fast. And worst of all, the isolation is something only you can understand. If I could explain to you how banged up my heart feels after coming to terms with my injury, I should’ve won the Mega Millions. The frustration, the anger, and the sadness are just overwhelming.

As I sit here at my kitchen table, I’m not sure how to put my current emotions into words. I spent all day yesterday with my Perfect Strangers, cheering them on during their 10 mile race followed by lunching/ drinking/ laughing with them in Broad Ripple. It felt good to push them along, to give them the support they deserve. And my belly hurt so good from all the laughing we did. But all the while I felt empty. I wanted to be a part of the celebrations. Not just a person viewing from the sidelines. No matter how many times I’m told I’m doing the right thing by resting, it still doesn’t feel good. And I know my quiet behavior didn’t go unnoticed.

After this morning’s run, I finally sat down and composed my withdrawal email to the Carmel Marathon race director. Not 10 minutes later I received a response. And that was it. I am no longer a participant. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Since I usually do this post-race, I feel it is important to do it now while the feelings are fresh. I want to thank EVERYONE who has supported me during my training this winter. This includes the following:

• My family, who inspires me, believes in me, and most importantly, tells me when it’s important to take a break.
• My husband, who doesn’t even bat an eye when I head out the door at 5-6a on Saturday mornings to run in the big city. Who supports every decision I make. And who will love me regardless of whether I’m a runner or not.
• And my Perfect Strangers. Who have given me the clarity to make decisions like these. And stick with them. And lend me their shoulders to cry on. I couldn’t have gotten through this without any of you.

And so, I look ahead. First of all, I’m going to figure out exactly what is wrong with my hip. Then I’m going to make an appointment with a physical therapist to figure out what needs to be done in order to ensure I heal correctly. At minimum, I’ll be taking a few more weeks off, with the hope that my body will be race-ready for the Mini Marathon (I so don’t want to miss another run with Daddy).  If worse comes to worse, and my body needs more time to heal, I will be patient and not push it too early. And last but not least, I will try my best to not be a sad-sack and do everything that needs to be done. No more tears. I can’t stay in this funk forever. And I’m ready to bring back the Boppy Fairy. It’s time to go on for it.

It’s something you should watch.

And make plans to do something similar someday.

I am.

My mind is already reeling.

It’s time to make it count.

Starting now.

How are you going to #makeitcount?

Ricky was the first to arrive on [...]]]> I had been looking forward to this weekend for quite awhile for a couple of reasons. First, it was a 3-day weekend – always a bonus. Also, my entire family was slotted to come into town for the first time in a couple of months. The occasion: Easter!

Ricky was the first to arrive on Friday evening and we took to the streets of Ball State University for some good ol’ fashion college fun. We met up with our friend Chad for dinner at Scotty’s then moseyed across the street to The Locker Room for a few beverages. We had tons of fun laughing, drinking, and rocking out old school tunes on the new-age jukebox.

Rums & Brums. Always good times.

Saturday morning we took things easy. In the afternoon, Ricky and the hubs played 9 holes while I got things in order for the next couple of days, food-wise. This included a very expensive Target run followed by a fair amount of kitchen prep. The rest of the fam was due in later that night, so I wanted to make sure I had dinner ready for them upon arrival, as well as food & bevs for Easter Sunday.

I whipped up some Alton Brown ambrosia salad and ranch redskin taters (made famous by my best S) and as soon as Addy the Caddy pulled in, we threw the sausages and asparagus on the grill. Everything was flame-kissed, Ricky’s specialty We spent the rest of the night catching up, laughing our heads off, per usual. Never a dull moment.

All of us decided to take advantage of the beautiful sunny weather on Sunday morning. Mom, Bean, the pups and I took a couple mile walk down by the river while the boys hit up the golf course for another 18.

The hubs was on call all weekend, so his availability to relax was slightly limited. Luckily the hospital took it easy on him on Sunday, so after a round of golf and a well-deserved nap, he was able to partake in Easter dinner with the rest of us. Mom and I spent a good portion of the day concocting some delicious treats, including homemade guacamole, cheesy potato casserole, and pretzel jello. With a bit more asparagus and the holiday Costco ham, dinner was served!

(Don't act like you're not impressed with the elegant place settings!)

Oh, and obviously,, the butter lamb! A Moceri family tradition!

We ate ourselves silly and digested horizontally while watching The Masters. Oh, Bubba. How I loathe thee. Though I do think highly of your delicious pink driver.

I picked up a pair of pink bunny ears from the dollar spot @ Target the day before. I had worn them briefly while preparing dinner, but decided that the real photo-ops would take place post-meal. I mean, you can’t have Easter without an Easter Bunny!

The Guys

The Girls

The Pups

Gator and I also had a little Easter bunny photo session. She quite enjoyed playing rabbit and I enjoyed my bath

 At least we secured one good pic!

After golf was (finally) over, Ricky got on the road back to Chi. The remainder of our night in Muncie was more of the same. Snacking, drinking, and games. PS, if you haven’t played Bananagrams, you’re missing out. It’s similar to Scrabble, but with banana terms, such as “peel” and “split.” Dad tends to struggle with his spelling skills, but his efforts never fail to elicit a good belly laugh and/or cry. Nebulis anyone? Don’t forget your zhears! Bean, pass the fizyy!!

My day off on Monday was glorious. I propose that all weekends are 3 days in length. Starting this weekend. Any takers?? Mom, Bean and I spent most of the afternoon shopping at Hamilton Crossing while the boys played another round of golf (are you keeping count of the hole-age?!). After lunch at Paradise Bakery & Cafe, we decided to see a movie matinee and jumped into the 2pm showing of American Reunion. Good flick! Can you believe it’s been 13 years since the original. I’m so old.

Yes. We. Are.

We met up with the boys around 4, had a drink and apps at Mo’s Irish Pub, then made our way back to Muncie by 7. I had made it clear that dinner was NOT going to be a la Bri tonight, so we opted for the ever delicious and nutritious – Pizza King! We snuggled on the couch, watched The Voice, and passed out fairly early.

Though simple and easy, this was without a doubt a very wonderful holiday weekend with my favorites. Family/friend visits don’t always need to be chock full of activities. It’s the laughing, the conversing, and the smiles that seal in the memories. It’s being present that counts. And by golly, we’ve got that in the bag.

I decided to spend Friday evening at home and focus on RICE-ing and relaxing after a [...]]]> First of all, thank you all so much for the constructive comments on my last post. Though an overwhelmingly humbling experience, everything went beyond great this past weekend, thanks to your recommendations. Now here’s the recap for y’all!

I decided to spend Friday evening at home and focus on RICE-ing and relaxing after a busy workday. After an early wakeup call, I was on the road to Chicago by 920 the following morning. It felt a bit strange driving through Indy knowing my girls were all on the Monon rocking insane mileage in adorable outfits. But I knew I would’ve been chastised if I showed up to run. I compensated by listening loudly to some of my favorte running tunes and grabbing my own drinkable endorphins. I sent a little Instagram love their way to let them know they were in my thoughts.

Sometime around 1030a, while ear-deep into Shoop and Midnight City, my phone started to ring. Meggie? I thought. Why is she calling? Surely they aren’t done running yet. I hope everything is ok. I answered the phone jokingly with “Shouldn’t you be running?!” after which I heard, “Hi Bri! Youre on speakerphone!” Next thing I knew, I could hear the voices of nearly every one of the Perfect Strangers. They were on mile 13 of their 20 miler and called to check in to see how I was doing. They asked where I was, how my leg was feeling, how I was feeling, etc. They reassured me that I was doing the right thing by deciding not to run the following day in order to save my body for my upcoming marathon. I was nothing short of elated to hear their voices. In fact, as soon as I got off the phone (after telling them to go on for it), I cried. Not tears of sadness, but those of joy. Missing these long runs has been giving me the feeling that if I don’t show up, I’ll eventually be forgotten. I know this is far from the truth, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t worry me. That phone call made my heart smile so big. It also spawned the creation of the Perfect Stranger Rulebook, on which you can educate yourselves here.

I arrived in the windy city around noon CST, and moseyed over to Ricky’s apartment, purple foam roller in tow. I figured if I wasn’t going to run, I would at least be diligent with my stretching. I was starving upon arrival so we headed straight over to The Southern for lunch. I scanned the menu and immediately ordered up a maple bacon manhattan. Whiskey lover or not, this drink was all the proof I needed that everything tastes better with bacon.

A hunk of burning love

After a little shopping and a Binny’s run, we went back to the apartment to rest up before Mom and Dad’s arrival. Activities included Hardcore Pawn, The Bodyguard and wine in individual plastic glasses. Oh, and snuggling with Chuck Liddell.

Once the rents arrived later that night, we hit up downtown for drinks and dinner at The Purple Pig. Though we waited forever to be seated, the food was incredible. That is, with the exception of some pork bone marrow closely resembling trach loogies that I could NOT stomach. Our goal of filling Daddy’s belly chock full of carbs and protein for the following day’s race was attained. After getting race day supplies in order, we all hit the sack.

RACE DAY

At 645a my alarm sounded. The race started at 815, but since the line at packet pickup was so long the day before, we decided to pick things up before the race, prompting us to leave the apartment around 715. Dad and I cabbed it to the Lincoln Park Zoo with plenty of time to get our goods, take some pics, and discuss race strategy.

This was my Dad’s 4th half marathon. He has done amazingly well at each of them. Hell, he killed his very first half coming in at 2:01:50. Since then he has run a 2:02:12 and a 2:07:49. All of these races we have run together and each time we go into one, we set our goal at a 2-hour finish. This year I set a goal for us to finish at least 2 races together, one of which coming in under 2 hours (proof here). Unfortunately, I had to relinquish the first part of that goal, but I urged Dad to do what he had to do to achieve the latter.

Anyone need a bib?

We continued to talk strategy while killing pre-race time. I told him his pace needed to be between a 9:00-9:10 min/mile to finish sub-2. It was at that point he realized he had left his Garmin at home and a minor freak-our ensued. Luckily, the race had pacers so I encouraged him to take a deep breath, and just make sure and stay with the 9:30 pacer and move up from there as able. I encouraged him to eat his Sport Beans around mile 5 and again around mile 10. I also told him to make sure to stay hydrated and most importantly, save some energy for the finish.

At one point the announcer said that it was time to line up with your running buddy, after which we both looked at each other and both stuck out our bottom lips. I’m not sure if he could tell, but I was definitely choking back tears. I knew he would be fine. He’s always fine. I just so badly wanted to run with him. But I couldn’t. I knew this. I had to let him do his thing.

After he took off, I speed-walked back to the apartment to meet up with the rest of the fam. My goal was simple: cheer Dad on to victory. And to do that I knew I had to find him as much as possible. I gave him the heads up to look for us around miles 5 and 10.

Mom, Ricky, Samantha, Chuck and I hopped a cab to Montrose Harbor for meetup #1. After cheering for randoms for a few minutes, we spotted the red hat. There he was looking amazing – and holding steady with the 9:10 pacer!! After about a second of hesitation, I decided to jump in and run with him. I couldn’t help myself. I had to talk to him. See how he was doing. He told me he was feeling strong, only a little achy, but maintaining his pace without difficulty. At that time the pacer spoke up and told us they were actually running close to an 8:55 min/mile pace – woo woo! He would be golden if he could keep this up! We ran through a water station and as soon as I got back to the family cheering section, I wished him luck and fell out of line.

The 4 of us grabbed another cab to the 9 mile marker around Diversey Harbor for meetup #2. Time was flying by and before I knew it, Dad and the 9:10 pacer were coming up the way! I still couldn’t believe how strong he looked. I once again hopped back into the race and ran with him for about a half mile or so. Long enough to distract him with some random chatter and remind him that his main goal was to save enough energy for the end to ensure a strong finish. I wished him well and off he went to finish his final 5K.

I had started my iPhone stopwatch at the beginning of the race so I could predetermine where to find him on the course. From what I could tell, based on my stopwatch and the strength with which I had previously seen him, he was right on target to finish under 2 hours. I set myself up at the finish area with a good view of the oncoming runners. I cheered for some more randoms, but my sights were set on finding that red hat. As soon as I spotted it, I started freaking out. The closer he got, the louder I screamed –

“GET ITTTT!!!!”

“RUN FASTER!!”

“YOU’VE GOT THIS!! GO GO GO!!”

I could see the determination on his face as he ran past me and at that point I knew how bad he wanted it. As he crossed the finish line, the clock read 2:05:xx. I knew he had started well after the gun had sounded, so I turned to my phone for a more accurate chip time. It read 1:57. He had done it – at least I think he had.

After he got his medal and took his post-race pic, we made our rounds to pick up snacks in the form of bagels, fruit snacks, and 5 Hour Energy. Off to the side I noticed a throng of sweaty racers. Come to find out, they were all looking at a board that supposedly had the official chip times. I tried to make my way in, but no dice. I then saw that there was a website that also was giving up to date timing information. I pulled out my phone and got to work on searching for Big Rick’s name.

Drumroll please,,,,

1:58:40!!!! PR baby! Sub-2!!

We hugged. We high-fived. We joked that I had been holding him back from his true potential this whole time We opted to take yet another cab back to the apartment and the whole time I was all smiles.

We spent the rest of the afternoon together as a family – first recovering with a pizza/ Starbucks lunch, then with a shopping trip down to Michigan Ave. We found some random trophies and I made him pose with every single one. Though he didn’t win any age-group awards, he finished with a 3-minute PR and stronger than I’d ever seen him before. And he did it all on his own. Treadmill training. Minimal long runs. But sheer determination. I couldn’t have been prouder.

Though I’m still bummed we didn’t get to run this race together, I know that not running was the absolute right decision for me. Having said that, I’m so glad I was able to be there to cheer him on. Not that he necessarily needed me, but I think any motivation or support you can get from others goes so far. Especially in that kind of setting. Whether it’s kind words from an unexpected phone call or whoops and hollers from the sidelines. Every little action confirms that there is someone out there rooting for you. And I’m so glad I could be that someone this weekend.

Love you, Dad. The inspiration is mutual. Always