So you're probably wondering about the NYC Marathon.

I flew to NY on Friday, October 30th.  Stayed with my beloved Dasha and Sonora in their spectacular Upper West Side pad.  We went to see ROCK OF AGES (thanks to Jillian Armenante and Constantine Maroulis).  Met up with my buddy, Yvonne for cheesecake.

Woke up the next morning to do an "easy"  run with Lance at Niketown.  And ONE BLOCK from Niketown, got stopped by a commercial shoot.  Lance and the runners took off.  

(You can't tell in this picture, but that's Lance getting into a cab after the run.)

Picked up my present from Livestrong.  Walked back through Central Park.  Saw the finish line.  Met up with Dave Holmes at the expo to collect our packets.  Walked around Chelsea.  (There's a three hour story about trying to find Gu... but whatever.)

Saw my friend Greg Endries and his new place in Chelsea.  Saw the amazing photos he shot of my friend, Michelle Clunie.

Made it back to the upper west side.  We went down to the Village, where we met up with my dearest Laura Berrios and her husband, Sean.  Great fun at a party.

Went home.  Got a great night sleep.

Woke up.  Got dressed.  Went to the train station, where apparently subways don't come as often on the weekends.  A HALF HOUR LATER the train came and took me to the ferry.  I walked in, hopped on the ferry and off to Staten Island I went.

It was extremely emotional all morning.  I cried on and off for the better part of three hours before the race.  It was exactly a year to the day that I had discovered the lump and now I was running a marathon.  And I was going to finish it by any means necessary.

And it was DAMN COLD.  I was blue - like Rebecca Romijn in X-Men, blue.  Like a giant Smurf, blue.

And we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And somehow I wound up next to Sal Masekela from E! Daily 10 for two hours.  I would go to the port-o-potty, and somehow his camera crew was right there.  For the first three miles, I couldn't shake him.

But finally we started.  And I couldn't stop tears for the first two miles.  I was so happy to be here and doing the marathon.  And before I knew it, I had clocked 3 miles.  I kept my pace.

Next thing it was 8 miles down.  And my right foot started to ache.

Then 9 miles... and I thought... you know, something's not right with my knee.

Then came 10.  And that was it.  My left knee and my right foot turned against me.  With 16.2 miles to go, I knew I wouldn't finish it.  I could walk it, but I would seriously injure myself.  I knew that I had to fly back to LA the next day and the flight would kill me and I knew that IF I did attempt to finish it, I wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

So I quit.  It was the hardest thing I did all year, but my body just would not allow me to finish.

In the medical tent, (where you had to check out, or be expelled from any future ING Marathons), the medic said my IT band had snapped and he was surprised I was still walking.  He wrapped it (which is awesome, having a leg you can't bend... going up and down stairs in subways all day long...) and I was on my way.

After showering and resting, we cabbed it Cafeteria in Chelsea, where my body decided it wanted a bacon cheddar burger, fries and macaroni and cheese.  Combined later with a red velvet cupcake (or two), my body would decide later it did NOT want all of that.  And blessed be, that was 3,500 calories I didn't have to work off

The next morning, Laura invited me to the set of 30 ROCK, where I saw my old friend from high school days, Jack McBrayer (who plays "Kenneth") and his co-star for the day... an up and coming young talent named Al Gore.  I met Tina, who was so kind and sweet.  And I met Cheyenne Jackson. 

Eventually I made it back to finally see the Bethesda Fountain, after many failed attempts over the years, then did the subway, to the train, to the airbus, to the airport to the bus, to the terminal to the gate.

I was wide awake on the plane.  Landed.  And then went straight to the hotel and worked for 8 hours.

All I did this week was work, sleep, and pass out.  There was some eating at times.  On Friday, I gorged on a large bacon pizza from Pizza Hut and discovered my body processed that amount of food much easier after vomiting all day from chemo.

I got a text message from Pauley after the marathon "the sermon was about you today!"  Which had me nervous.  But I finally heard it this week (on-line here.. the sermon on 11/1) and I'm so honored and flattered.

Again, I can't thank everyone enough who sponsored me and Team Livestrong.  I gave it my all. I did the best I could do.  My body just didn't want to go any further.  And finishing the additional 16.2 miles wouldn't have really changed the journey.

I discovered today that the documentary I worked on last year apparently premiered tonight in San Francisco.  I would be lying if I said I was pissed that a) I was not invited and b) I didn't get credit for it.  I did my job.  I fulfilled my duties.  But for whatever reason, the producer/ director decided to withdraw my name and credit.  Whatever.  Onwards.  Upwards.  Karma is a bitch.

I'm really looking forward to this next chapter in my life.  I'm not sure what it is just yet.  But I'm looking forward to finishing my script (the producers read the first act and love it).  

I'm looking forward to new adventures.  I made a conscious decision earlier this year to rid my life of drama and complicated people.  Amazingly, those people fell from life like water, dripping off a sleek raincoat.

Maybe it will be casting in Atlanta.  Maybe it will be casting in Los Angeles.  Maybe it will be something all together new.

But for this week, I'm all about the rest.  The naps.  And the quiet.

At one point Sunday, Jillian Armenante grabbed my hand during the performance of THE LARAMIE PROJECT: 10 YEARS LATER.  It was a nice, calming moment, because with this brilliant woman, the help of Pauley Perrette, but most importantly, the support of the entire staff of Hollywood United Methodist, we had pulled off a miracle.  We had pulled off a full scale production to benefit the Matthew Shepard Foundation in under three weeks to a sell-out audience with a tremendous cast.

She grabbed my hand and I thought, "this year has really sucked."  I looked over and I saw two men in nice suits and sunglasses, staring out at the crowd.  

On Sunday, it will be a year to the date - 365 days or 525,600 minutes since I was lying in bed and found a large lump on my testicle.  

For the weeks leading up to discovery, I wasn't feeling "right."  I had pain "down there," which I assumed was from lugging camera equipment during the documentary shoot.  I couldn't run as fast as my marathon training group.  I felt sick.

Finding that lump in the wee hours after Halloween scared the living crap out of me.  My heart started racing.  I leaped out of bed, grabbed my laptop in the living room, returned to bed and googled to WebMD.com (which one should NEVER, EVER do to self-diagnose) and discovered that whatever this "thing" was, it most probably was cancer.

Just a day or two later, I went to visit my friend Ryan Green.  He was one of the first people I told and told me that most probably it was a cyst.  

All of my friends tried to cushion it.  There isn't a class to take on "what to say when you know someone who might have cancer."

I was put on antibiotics that made me sick, attempting to reduce it.  (It did not.)  I was sent for second opinions and told "I'm 95% sure it's cancer" (which would be the first time I would hear the word "cancer").  I was told the only sure fire way to know was a biopsy, which would mean removing "Henry" (the sad little testicle)  from my scrotum and cutting him open.  Whatever it was, it was a tumor.  If it was cancer, they would take the testicle, otherwise, if not, they could stick it back in and I would just have a "lumpy" testicle.  (That could turn to cancer.)

I had been training to do the Honolulu Marathon with the AIDS Marathon folks and the only reason I did that was because Ryan was coaching.  Of course, three weeks before I was set to do the marathon I knew I wouldn't be able to participate.  I had surgery exactly 7 days before my friends collecting their finisher medals.

I opted to evict Henry, kicking him out of the scrotum, and of course, but it turned out to be what I thought it was in the early hours of November 1st - cancer.

I walked with a limp for three months (even hiking weeks afterwards... because I'm stubborn), went home to Atlanta for Christmas, and discovered that the oncologist who missed my initial phone call, should have started me on chemo weeks weeks earlier.

Chemo.  That was fun.

I quit/ "the job ended"/ my presence was no longer wanted on a documentary that I had been producing for the past six months.  On cancer.  

I began writing a script the day after Henry was extracted for a producer who would end up not paying me for services rendered.  And hurt me in ways no other person ever had, personally, because I was friends with this person.

I wrote for a website that never seemed to be able to pay me on time, even after breaking stories for them - which recently went under.  I was considered a "loose canon" because I wanted my money.

I was on unemployment for six months.

My pilot deal died.

I fought weekly with insurance companies.

I was nearly hired for two shows as a writer, but because I wasn't in their fellowships (which pay for the low level writers) ended up not getting hired.

I was up to cast VAMPIRE DIARIES in Atlanta.  Practically promised the job, then not hired.

I had another cancer scare.

I lost a few friends to deaths by mysterious circumstances.

I was practically told I would be in the Warner Bros. fellowship, and then didn't make it past the first level.

I (thanks to Catie) finally found employment at a hotel.  That has turned me into a vampire.  But I have a job and for that, I am grateful.

And then three weeks ago I got what Pauley calls "the God tap" to produce THE LARAMIE PROJECT: 10 YEARS LATER.  

And here I sat.  Amazing cast on stage and I watched as two men in suits scanned their eyes right passed me.  They were here, because of a potential threat from the outside.  Because Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptists decided to come play.

We prepared for them.  We assembled the congregation with umbrellas.  We built angel wings into the wee hours of the night before.  We were going to face down this hate from the outside in the biggest, baddest, silent way Hollywood had ever seen.

And they didn't show.

Part of me was relieved.  Part of me was pissed.  No one likes confrontation, but I wanted these people to face off against my people.  The media was ready for it and no one would ever question that on October 25, 2009 - three days before the Matthew Shepard Act was signed by President Obama, that we silently, profoundly and eloquently blew these idiots to the other side of Franklin Avenue.

They didn't show.

The pictures sent to me and the message "remember these pictures" of Matthew Shepard's funeral were considered a threat.  Everywhere I went, people followed me.  I felt safe, but at the same time, I felt uncomfortable that people were following me for my protection and the protection of my cast.

And as I sat there, watching Zachary Quinto and Helen Shaver reenact a moment as Moises Kaufman and Judy Shepard - in that moment when I thought, "this year has really sucked" - I realized I started off the year with my body trying to kill me and now there were Baptists trying to kill me - physically, emotionally, psychologically - whatever.

And for the first time, I started crying.  Couldn't stop.  Helen's performance, mixed with the men in suits and the fact that every time my blackberry started vibrating during the performance, I feared it was the text, "Westboro is here."

If I can make it through today, I'll be fine.  Then I remembered... "WHY DID I EVER SIGN UP TO DO A MARATHON!?"

On Sunday - 365 days or 525,600 minutes after discovering a lump, I will run.  I will run for 26.2 miles through the street of NY.  I will run for Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Organization - which was a huge support and education for me over the past year.

Not long ago, I went back through my 12 of 12 pics in January and I remember telling Zen, "I can't believe I tried to hike Runyan a month after major surgery and I was pissed that I had to stop three times to catch my breath" and she told me that all of my friends knew that they wouldn't be able to stop me, so they just let me do my thing.  I remember dragging that right leg (where they cut into muscle for the removal) for three months and on Sunday, it's going to be running all over New York City.

I haven't trained properly.  We had fires.  We had heat.  We had rain.  I had a crippling cough.  I work at night and couldn't sleep due to the heat.

If you haven't followed the entire story - read in reverse, HERE (though, I actually - out of concern for my family and friends, didn't start talking about it until mid-November).

I'm thankful and grateful to everyone who has supported me financially to support Team Livestrong and emotionally.  I couldn't have done it without you.

And come Sunday, come hell, come high water - if I have to crawl over that finish line, I'm going to finish it.  I'm going to finish and as God as my witness, next year is going to be the best year of my life.

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I will update when I can... it could be Wednesday.  I'm in the middle of producing a reading and working on a script.  Please check the comments for links.  Please do not e-mail me links.