Logorrhea.

Ok. So I've been sharing this new dream of mine with many of you. And now I'm going to blog about it just to make it that much more concrete.

I not only have a life goal of running a marathon in every state before I die, nope, I've decided I now want to become the youngest female to run a marathon in all 50 states. The current record sits at age 28 yrs 9 months.

I've already killed 8 states. I feel like I can massacre the next 42 without even breaking a sweat. Ok. That was a lie. The breaking a sweat part. Not the masscre. I really think I can do this. And so I've begun experimenting with this phenomenon known as "networking." I've always considered networking a business term, something far too important for me to partake in. And yet, here I am...talking it up. Telling anyone and everyone what my hopes and aspirations are for this endeavor.

I want to run 50 marathons. 50 states. 50 weeks. I know I've already hacked 8 states off the totem pole, but I figure if I want to sound that much cooler, I better just start over. Right?

So there it is. I want to take a year of life to run marathons. Scoff. Laugh. Maybe spit a little with the flabbergast that's hanging on your face. You think I'm absurd. I just know it.

So let me tell you a little bit more. A year of life is a lot to commit to running. Here's the locomotive that's pulling this train along...I'm not just gonna run, I'm gonna run for a cause. As people often do.

What's my cause you ask?

I'm thinking of starting my very own version of a Break the Cycle Campaign. I want to be an advocate for children of addicts. Considering I am one, I think this is a rather relevant cause, something I'm most passionate about, something not many people fly their banners for.

My thoughts are like drunk chickens running around in my head. They all want out at the same time but they're disoriented with all the commotion, so be patient with me as I try to relay all the raucous in a relatively coherent way.

Addiction is frowned upon, yes? Addicts are scorned. They are shamed. They are denied.

Addicts are forlorn. Forgotten. Regardless of what they're addicted to, once they're labeled an addict of any kind, they are catapulted into the land East of Eden, where they dwell in their demise.

They're left to lie in a puddles of unworthiness, disgust, depression. They wade in murky waters clogged with "not good enoughs," "not pretty enoughs," "not important enoughs," "not responsible enoughs."

They are addicted. And they try to remember how it happened. How their world fell apart for lack of a better cliche. They try to figure it out until they realize just how elusive those memories have become. The lucid waves of once happy days slowly fade into the bleak visions of naked egos lying on damp newspapers, their frail papery skin stretched over the jagged bones that cage their broken hearts. Their broken hearts full of frozen emotions. As they try to remember how it happened, they plummet back to reality, the reality they can't possibly cope with. And so they get high. Get high to avoid the void they've become. They feast on whatever they're addicted to until they feel their fingernails scratching the surface of that ever so familiar rock bottom.

I'm passionate about this topic because it riddles my life. I've been fighting to figure out what addiction is, where it comes from, where it leads to, how it's rooted and running through my veins. So many blood relatives hooked on everything but phonics.

So back to my campaign. Break the Cycle. It's rather cliche as well. I'll come up with something cooler later. But until then I'm breathing proof that, indeed, the cycle can be broken. Just because my mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins all fell into the clutches of addiction, doesn't mean the sick cycle must continue with me and my family to come.

So I'm going to run my little heart out all over this country, to befriend and belove the children born of addictive parents. Prayerfully, the Lord will provide the avenues for me to achieve this. Marathons are every Sunday. I plan on spending my Mondays through Saturdays serving kids in any way that I can. I'll be volunteering all that I have, all that I am, wherever I am needed. Sharing my story. Sharing my faith. Sharing my hope and my redemption.

Again you say, oh Sabrina, you're so silly. Always dreaming far too big for your own good.

Well I told you I've been networking. Well I'm meeting with the man, the myth, the legend, Mr Dean Karnazes, next week and I have high hopes for our time together. If you don't know of Dean, well let me just get you in this loop. He's an endurance athlete. An endurance athlete to the 10th degree. He's run 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days people. Yeah, wrap your mind around that one. After reading his book, Ultramarathon Man, I knew I wanted to be the female version of him, or at least cripple my body trying. Ok maybe not cripple, I promise I'll stop before then. But you're pickin' up what I'm puttin' down.

Back to Dean. He's rad. He runs hundreds of miles at a time. He traverses all terrains. He runs marathons before breakfast. He doesn't sleep. Or stretch. He's ludicrous. And yet, I strive to be like him. Because he's incredibly inspirational. He speaks at conferences around the world telling people just how capable they are. Which is what I want to do. I want to relay the message to kids across this country, that they matter, that they are capable, that they are worthy. And I will run through their neighborhoods shouting it.

And there you have it, another dream of mine, siphoned into a puddle of words. Hope you enjoyed splashing in it.

I'll let you know how my convo with Dean pans out. Until then, pray please.

In the real world, not the dreamworld I like to dwell in, a poltergeist just blew threw the building. Yeah, I'm sitting alone in the Muddy Creek Lodge, one of the buildings at camp, and I'm just minding my own, when all of a sudden, the lights flicker, the vents start wailing, doors are slamming, and my heart jumped right out of my chest and scurried behind the couch in the corner. When anything slightly eery happens here at camp, my mind hurdles into rajneeshy land and I can't control the adrenaline surging through my veins. Crazy evil deeds went down in this place long ago and my humanity gets the best of me momentarily when stuff like this happens and then I remember that God is more powerful than any red-coated man with a snake pit and some Rolls Royces.

Turns out we just lost power for a second.

Also in the real world...

...my mom is coming to visit. She's going to enter into this campy world of mine for just over a week and the emotions in my heart are muddled. I know that God is in the midst. I feel Him moving in my heart, and yet, I am apprehensive. I'm excited. And nervous. Pray that God would guide my words. My deeds. My facial expressions.

...the Trazzler editor's liked my article, so much so that they're currently deciding on possibly hiring me as a freelance writer.

...I'm crushing on another boy. In the words of Fat Joe, "I'm not a playa, I just crush a lot."

...I get to visit my brother in a week.

...been binging on music. Spending lots of time alone listening to it. I think I'm more of an introvert than I'd like to be at times.

...learning about conflict resolution...and how to remain brave.

...trying to invite God into the depths of my weary life. Just when the road seems straight and kind, I hit a heavy heart day and feel like I'm careening off the pavement into blurry oblivion. I'm learning that God doesn't only send trials to punish but to pave the way to lands of learning lessons. I'm always learning lessons. Every day of life leaves a lesson learned.

My lesson today: sheet checking for stains may seem futile, and two hours of repetitive parachuting motions may be taxing, and the monotonous sounds of a laundromat may be enough to cause hysteria, but serving campers through spotless laundry, although uncanny, is serving nonetheless. I think I forgot my servant's heart at home today, which is why my attitude was weak and insubstantial, and my body likewise. Me lesson is to never leave home without my servant's heart. Suffering ensues lest I forget.

Say hello to word vomit.

The end.