Why, Lisette, Why?

To quote the infamous Jesse Thorn, people run marathons to go directly against the will of God. After running many miles over the course of six months and wanting to die a little on more than one occasion, I definitely agree. So why, Lisette, why?

A year ago, my life fell apart a little. And by a little, I mean I was a hot mess of a human being with mere shambles where a productive life used to be. My physical and mental health were absolutely nonexistant, after more than a year of being used and abused by the need to pay for college. I was logging 60+ hour work weeks and trying to keep my head above water in school, and I very nearly didn't make it.

When I finally got my life back together a little, I knew I wanted two things: I wanted to graduate from college, and I wanted to become something other people could recognize as human again. I wanted to sleep at night, not during two to four three-hour periods scattered throughout the day. I wanted to eat meals like other people do -- you know, the kind where people sit down with food on a plate and eat it. I wanted to wear clothes, not uniform or pajamas. These were things I had long give up, and I quickly discovered that the best way to get them back was to establish a routine, and include exercise in that routine.

It started as nothing: just me walking my dog one block farther than the last time every time we went out for a walk. And I liked that. That was fun. And I started feeling better. And then this charity weight loss competition came up, and both exercising and competition were a part of that, and I remembered that Person Lisette, that space alien we all once knew, loved both of those things.

So I lost the first ten pounds, and then I started taking step aerobics and yoga. And then I lost the first 50 lbs. And then, all of a sudden, Lara and Katy were gone! And the whole city of Kirksville was gone! Because I had gone and accomplished one of those stupid goals and graduated! And I came back to Iowa, and after getting over mono, I realized that I was, in fact, a person. A real live person. And that I wasn't done yet. I needed more goals.

And then one just came to me: I was going to run a mile. The last time I recalled having run a mile was in the seventh grade -- my gym teacher forced me to do it, and I didn't finish -- my asthma proved to Mrs. Modlin that no, I really wasn't going to run a mile no matter what she threatened. So I started by running continuously for 90 seconds before taking a walking break. And the next day, I ran for three minutes without taking a walking break. And a week later, I ran a mile. One glorious, sweaty, twelve-minute mile.

And the next week, I decided that I was going to run a marathon. Because I jump into things with both feet like that. Always have, always will. I was going to run a marathon because I knew I could: I could run a mile, what's stopping me there? Why not go directly against the will of God? Don't mind if I do.

Let me be perfectly clear: I'm running the Medtronic Twin Cities Marathon for myself. I'm doing it to provide myself with my routine dose of proof that I am capable of accomplishing things -- proof that's hard to find when you live in your parent's house at the age of 22 and the only thing your college degree is doing is taking up space on your desk. But in doing something for myself, I have to do something for other people. You've met me -- that's just who I am.

Going to college was the most important thing I ever did -- even if my bachelor's degree isn't really in use at the moment. It's also the hardest thing I ever did. Have you tried to pay for college lately? It's a doozy. It takes working two jobs and never sleeping. Especially if your baby brother had cancer. There's no spot on the form to say "My brother had cancer." Even if such a spot existed, most people wouldn't understand the ramifications of that sentence. Ramifications like your parents' credit score, and your family's ever-mounting medical bills, and your crippling anxiety and your unrelenting drive to try and make things work.

So I'm running to raise money for kids who need to go to college like I did, and whose list of reasons why they might not be able to swing it are the same as mine. I want more kids who need the "my sibling had cancer" box to check to not have to go through everything I went through to get fancy letters behind their names and go forth into the world to be more productive citizens than I'm currently being. These are kids who are uniquely qualified to do anything -- the stuff they have been through makes them contemplative, passionate, intellegent, perceptive, compassionate, driven, and every single other positive adjective I can possibly think of. And more than anything else in the world, I want them to be successful. I need to help them, and to help them, I need your help.

I have 26 kids for whom I am running, to whom I will be introducing you as I get closer to the big race. I can't wait for you to meet them. And I can't wait to hear about SuperSibs! in your life. Internet comments exist for a reason, friends. Let me know.