Any amount of encouragement to keep moving is much appreciated. I might even bang knuckles with you if the particular words you use make me smile when I’m really hurting.

Well, I’m not rushing out to jump through the new fire lit hoops they’ve set out as the tougher qualification standards only to be on the invited list again. Some day, I may be happy to play that game, but not now.

As you know, I don’t do well with the “not good enough” message. I’d rather go where I’m wanted. The question is: Where is that?

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t care. To be perfectly honest, I am truly disappointed. Last year, after pushing myself harder where I ever thought I could, I BQ’d with the knowledge that I’d have a shot at not one but two Boston Marathons. It’s the magic of timing your race within 18 months of two Patriot’s Days. I never dreamed that the rules would change.

I know what you’re thinking and, yes I did run in this year’s race. Call me greedy, but I want to run again…on the same BQ used to run this year.

I’m okay with the BAA changing the qualification standards for 2013 and onward. I understand their need to make some changes. It’s the tiered registration process that I have an issue with. No, more accurately, it’s the sifting through the registrants who have jumped through all the hoops set out before us (the BQ, waiting our turn to register based on the amount of cushion in our BQ) to find the cream of the crop. It’s a race; it’s not the Olympics.

Well, what do you think? You can be honest. Tell me if you think I’m FOS. Just give me the rationale for your thoughts too.

Having never before run two marathons so close together, my pre-marathon feelings were a mix of contrasting sentiment. I was apprehensive yet confident, excited but also calm.

With YaYa heading off to Science Camp the day after my return home, packing efforts were focused on gathering the items on his list which we did not currently posses. My packing needs came last.

My suitcase was only partially unpacked between races, and I guess I thought this was better than emptying everything out completely and starting anew. Items were washed and returned to the collection of necessities with the exception of my race day attire. This would need to be different as the weather in Monterey can really warm up.

Of course, true to form, I threw in all possible options (just in case): long-sleeved, short-sleeved, and sleeveless shirts; shorts, tights, and skort. I even made a list of Bare Necessities to ease in the process.

But with all the laundry and packing for YaYa and me, I failed to check my own list of required items against the contents of my suitcase. Thus, I left behind my jogbra, earbuds (for my newly created playlist), and sweatpants and thanks to arriving late to the expo, dinner, and the hotel, this was not discovered until race morning. Yeah, not good.

Wearing my PJs over my shorts, I arrived at the starting line looking like I’d just rolled out of bed. To tell you the truth, at the time we had to get up, I’d wished that I’d just rolled out of bed. We huddled together making small talk with the other runners and trying to stay warm. Mother Nature was having none of that. It was COLD.

Forever and a day later, it was finally time to pee-once-more, peel off my PJs, then join the lineup.

The first mile was run at an easy pace with care to find the smoothest sections of the roadway as my feet remained numb from the morning cold. I picked it up only after the feeling returned to my feet.

Many runners congratulated me on Boston as they passed by me, after reading the back of my Boston to Big Sur training shirt. How cool was that? As is always the case at Big Sur, runners were all were treated to the sights and smells of seaside and forest. Each mile was clearly marked. Volunteers were encouraging and plentiful. The music along the way was uplifting and fun. Everything seemed to be thought of in spite of the last minute change in course due to the March 16th landslide. Better still, everyone was cheery – even when greeted by the dead skunk in the road.

By the time I reached Rocky Point, I was feeling signs of wear. Returning ankle pain reminded me that I’d run the Boston Marathon 13 days prior. The cambered road wasn’t helping.

At mile 16, I was in dire need of a cheery “hello.” I called my right-hand man and jokingly told him that I would “not be qualifying for Boston.” We both laughed. I whined a bit and then returned to the business at hand.

A bit further down the line, I could see the Cliff Pace Teams passing by. Knowing that my friend, Debbra would be leading the 5:30 group, I waited to duck into the potty until after I caught a glimpse of her in doing her thing. Debbra, having completed the B2BS Challenge in 2010, when there was only 6 days between Boston and Big Sur, was the inspiration behind my signing up for the challenge. I greeted her with a “Debbraaaa! You ROCK!” because she does. Then, I snapped a photo as we passed. Her smile was refreshing and energizing.

But of course the pain persisted and I fought back the urge to walk. “As long as you keep on running,” I told myself, “this pain will soon end.” More than that, I knew that in the final mile there would be a cowbell-ringing spectator yelling my name. I forced down another GU and picked it up (or tried to.)

When I I reached the Carmel Highlands I sucked it up, tried not to puke as I sucked down my final GU, and pushed harder. It was truly beautiful but, at this point, I no longer cared about the scenary.

Thankfully, the final miles were at hand. Like clockwork, my right-hand man was right were he said he’d be — ringing his cowbell and smiling beautifully. I stole a kiss, and left him with a sweaty hug and my B2BS training shirt before making a b-line for the finish.

At that glorious finish, I was rewarded with the famed BSIM clay finishers medallion, and a fast-pass to the food and beer tent where I received a 2nd B2BS medallion, and a sweet B2BS jacket. Oh and, get this, there were tables and CHAIRS.

Of course, it wouldn’t have been complete without sharing it with other amazing B2BS runners and my cowbell-ringing right-hand man. I wanted to invite Lil Sis & the gang in as well but they were already back at the hotel. Which, sadly, is where I needed to rush off to as well.

Boston to Big Sur: 2 marathons, 2 coasts, 13 days

BSIM: 4:46:24

After dropping off my bag, I joined the crowd and we walked toward the start. Although it remained blisteringly cold, the sun shone bright and energy was high. I held back my tears as I thought about what a long journey it has been to get here. Approaching the start, I looked all around me. Along side, in front, and behind were runners from all over the world. Lining the course on either side was a sea of spectators. They were hootin’ and hollering for us!

My eyes began to well up again, and once again, I pushed back the emotion. It would not be the last time I’d hold back the flood of emotion. This occurred many times along the course.

Reflecting on all that I’ve been through in the past 9 years. A combination of good, bad, and ugly…a new home, numerous injuries, and dying loved ones. And through it all, I somehow managed to continue on.

The heat from the sun and the warmth of the spectators helped me leave the chilly feeling of the morning behind. The tearfulness continued to pop up here and there: In the scream tunnel of Wellesley, while leaving the hills of Newton, when the famed CITCO sign came into view, and as I made the final turn onto the straightaway to the finish. Different from the tears of marathons’ past, these tears, brought on by the cheer of the crowd, were tears of a different kind.

All through the journey from Hopkinton to Boston, I fought back a mixture of sadness and joy. When I finally saw YaYa and Kurt, standing front row just 50-100 yards from the finish, I lost it for a minute. YaYa’s hug, as it always does, helped me to pull myself together so that I could continue onward. That’s what this is about anyway: continuing on the journey of life.

On the course, whenever my emotions would rise to the top, I would tell myself “Not now, Julie. Not now” I knew that sooner or later, I would have to let those tears come, for there would be no holding them back. Thankfully, that time did not come until I was sitting on a dark plane, beside my slumbering son, with my head down. It was then that flood gates opened and an endless flood of tears came pouring out. Along with the tears came a flood of painful memories. In full surrender, I let it all come.

At some point, I fell asleep. All signs of my tearful ending to an amazing journey to Boston (and weekend) were gone by the time the plane’s wheels had touched down and the lights were turned on. I woke YaYa, gathered up my belongings, and walked off the plane. I was greeted by a handsome man waiting with flowers and hug for me. Once again my eyes welled up but, these tears were not held back. These tears were ones of a joyous and happy ending — or beginning (depending on your vantage point).