Thursday, February 5, 2026 – Day 531

Thursday, February 5, 2026

Super Bowl Squares Pool 
• Pool #1 is sold out
• Pool #2 is open — ~45 squares remaining
Same deal: $25 per square ($10 goes to ALS United)

In the notes section of Venmo or Zelle, please write Super Bowl Squares and your name, and send to:
• Venmo: @Nicole-Snarski
• Zelle: nesnarski@gmail.com
• Phone number to verify: 847-687-3312

Once the squares have numbers assigned, I’ll post a photo on the blog. I don’t have it… yet.
——————————————————————— Good morning, everyone.

Today is my quarterly ALS clinic visit. Same destination, same purpose — but something new this time.

For the first time, I’ll be getting a ride that allows me to stay in my power chair. No, we didn’t buy a van. This is made possible through a grant to the clinic, and I’m grateful for it. Any change that removes one more transfer, one more physical hurdle, is a win. As much as you can “look forward” to a clinic day, this feels like progress.

Let’s talk about running.

I started running seriously in the early 1980s, mostly as a way to keep weight off from drinking beer — and because it was a social activity that somehow encouraged more beer drinking once it was over. Funny how that worked.

One of my favorite races was the Lake County Half Marathon held every April. It started in Zion and headed south on Sheridan Road, running right past my parents’ house before continuing through Lake Bluff. The marathon leg finished down in Ravinia. It was a great course — flat, fast, familiar — and close to home.

Tim and I used that race as an excuse to compete with each other. We were highly competitive back then, sometimes to a destructive degree. Eventually, we learned how to coexist — but in those early years, we were both out to prove something.

Tim was naturally faster, which forced me to train harder. Early on, he owned most of the bragging rights. Later, things evened out a bit — helped along by the fact that I quit smoking and Tim ignored the warning labels entirely. Somewhere in our late twenties, that started to matter.

One year, though, I ran that race with little to no training. I was back in school at NIU after returning from Oregon, and that winter had been brutally cold. I didn’t have the right cold-weather gear, and the training runs just never happened.

I showed up anyway.

Somehow, I finished the race without walking, crossing the line a little over two hours. I remember feeling proud — mostly because I had survived it.

That night, my legs ached relentlessly. By morning, I could barely walk. I hobbled around for most of the week before things finally returned to normal. Another idiot moment in life that I managed to get away with.

That race disappeared sometime in the mid-1980s — a victim of municipal permits and logistics across too many towns. But I’m glad I ran it. It was the beginning of something good — decades of running, pushing, testing limits, and learning where stubbornness helps… and where it eventually catches up with you.

Life has a way of changing the course. The running stopped. The stubbornness stayed. I do miss those days when I look at the photos. I’m happy that the kids get out and run on my behalf.

Get your football squares and support ALS United.

Have a good Thursday. Love you guys. ❤️