What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

(I am totally stealing this post from Andy Carvin's "Morning Edition" interview this morning.)

What are you doing New Year's Eve?

and

What do you wish you were doing New Year's Eve?

Is It Physically Possible to Eat More Chocolate?

Apparently, this is the science experiment I am currently engaged in.

The good new is: I hit the motherload of presents!

I can see! I can see! Goggles with corrective lenses! Thanks E.!

Number One Daughter picked out this fabulous new nightie ... OK, maybe it's a little big, but I'll be filling it out in NO TIME at the rate I'm going.

A new work accessory, It's a MAJOR AWARD! given to me by NOD, who knows me like a book. I think it will bring just the right note of decorum to my work life.

I spent a relaxing afternoon crying underneath my new ELECTRIC BLANKET while reading this fabulous book about Terry Fox by Douglas Coupland, one of two sent to me by none other than your Running Blogfather. You just never know when he'll show up.

As usual we finished off gift giving with a yummy breakfast of homemade french toast made with homemade bread. Yum.




Oh and NOD got a few trinkets, too:



I hope your Christmas was as peaceful and happy as ours was.
Midnight Mass

Thought o' the Day

Since changes are going on anyway, the great thing is to learn enough about them so that we will be able to lay hold of them and turn them in the direction of our desires. Conditions and events are neither to be fled from nor passively acquiesced in; they are to be utilized and directed.

—John Dewey

I'm for that!

Pondering Presents

So I'm thinking about presents. And here's what I'm thinking: I think when you get a present, there's only one response you get to make, and that's this: Thank you.

I read all these letters to Dear Amy and Carolyn Hax complaining about getting crappy—or just the wrong—presents, and asking for advice about how to tell the gifter that their presents suck. You know, in a nice way.

And I don't get it.

I mean, of course I DO actually get it. Everyone hopes that their loved ones will know them well enough to know what would please them. But don't these people get how lucky they are that someone remembered them at all??

I decided—because I'm a saint? um, no—to be happy that someone thought enough to remember me. Period.

I know people will disagree with this philosophy, but really, it saves so much angst. Granted, I don't have a big, extended family, so I don't have anyone to fight with, impress, or feel bad about. And, aside from Number One Daughter, there are no kids awaiting presents from me. So I know I have it easier than most.

Still.

I also totally don't get what's bad about re-gifting. I gave a friend of mine a hardcover book that she saw me reading on vacation, and admired. I enjoyed the book, but knew I wouldn't re-read it, so gave it to this person for Christmas. I honestly saw nothing wrong with doing that. Yet she was offended.

I guess it's easy for me to be sanguine about the whole gift-giving experience since there's really only two people who give me gifts (and hey, thanks to both of you!)

Oh, I realize that giving presents often has nothing to do with the actual giving of presents. It's so symbolic—of what I mean to you and vice versa. I guess if year after year I give you presents that seem to imply that I know nothing about you, or have never actually met you—well, I guess that could get on a person's nerves.

To illustrate: One year I came home from work to find a box outside my apartment door, in the hallway, leaking some red fluid. A Christmas present! But what's that red...wait...is it blood? Is this some weird reprise of Se7en???

Oh no, it was just a Christmas present from me mum. She'd sent a box of frozen steaks.

I'm a vegetarian.

So yeah, I get the disappointment that someone who should know you—at least a little!—doesn't. But you can't make that happen.

We all have so much crap already. I mean really. Think about it. Don't you have everything you really need? Who wants more stuff?

Well, unless it's something like this. A girl can't ever have too many of those.

I Was Soooo Not Last!

Perspective is an amazing thing. I'm so glad I did this race. I'm not kidding. Look I got 776 Grand Prix Points, for pete's sake!

So I was 10th from last. I was 7th from last. I was 8th of 10. But I was not last! And you know what? I was running my own race. OK, it happened to be in the middle of an actual, you know, race. But I was giving it my all and doing my best. Not always typical of moi. So I'm happy!

In other happy news, why do I always have things growing out of my head in Christmas photos?

(My best boys B. and D. Happy Christmas!)

The Many Moods of Susie

Fun-Loving
Happy-Go-Lucky
Pensive
Sassy

That's Susie!

*Apologies to Matt Groening

Ten Miles

(Addendum: Oh, oops: total time: 1:52:55 (11:17 min. mile))

I should have been home making eggnog quick bread for my hairdresser (don't ask) but I dragged —and I do mean DRAGGED—myself out of my NICE WARM HOUSE to run 10 miles in 39F (REAL FEEL 31F).

I'm trying to hit 10 miles in 1:50 so I can qualify for the National Marathon. Not that I want to run it. I just want don't want anyone telling me I'm not allowed to.

So during last week's wonderful hilly half, when I felt like I could run forever, I hit 10 miles in 1:55. Today, at three miles I was thinking that somebody moved the wall. From 22 miles to three. I really wish someone would explain to me why running is easy one day and misery the next. WHY? WHY??

Here's how I've been running my 10 miles: Drop off car at work. Pop up to the trail, run 1.5 miles out and back = 3 miles. That puts me back at work. Run two miles past work = 5 miles. Two miles back, and I'm at work again, and now at 7 miles. Run out 1.5 miles and back = 10.

See? It's brilliant. I have about four chances to quit! And I'm never farther than two miles away from work.

Today

Mile 1: 11:15
Mile 2: 10:49 (kill me, really, I can't run another foot, I hate this and I want it to stop. OK, Jeanne, if you really want to, you can stop at mile 3. Then, you can write about that on your damn blog.)
Mile 3: 11:09
Mile 4: 10:18 (whee! downhill!)
Mile 5: 10:26
Mile 6: 11:57 (and back up)
Mile 7: 12:46 (might have been a stoplight and traffic here)
Mile 8: 12:00 (or maybe it was here)
Mile 9: 10:43 (please make this end. i'm begging.)
Mile 10: 11:30

Nothing says consistency like "Jeanne"!

It Can Only Mean One Thing

When your spinning instructor? Promises to bring in a CD for you next week? And then he actually does? And not only brings in the CD? But brings you a MIX CD of the great Lila Downs? With songs from like more than just one CD? And then tells you where he went to high school (Barcelona)? And what year he graduated (1976)? And answers your questions about whether he speaks Spanish? And you have an ENTIRE conversation? About whether or not he still uses Spanish? And he says yes, but only with the gardeners, and with "OUR" housecleaners?

It can only mean one thing.

He's definitely married.

Smokin' Photos

(O.G. (Orange Girl) and TSG (Track-Suit Guy) think they have a chance. Ha!)

(Have shaken off hangers-on. I figure I'm doin' a 6-minute mile here.)

(The giant crowd is right there behind the ... err, um ... did I say the word behind??)

(Happiness is ... Susie and David.)

(Does my head look pointy?)

Born to Be Worried

UPDATED:
Fredericksburg Blue and Gray Half-Marathon, Dec. 9, 2007, official results:
8/9  Jeanne L McCann   02:34:59   02:34:26   11:47

Yes, I was.

Fredericksburg Blue-Gray Half-Mary Recap:

I wish I could show you the topographical map. Just picture the Swiss Alps, and that's kind of what this was like.

Two things happened Saturday night that helped: Susie and David invited some friends for dinner; the woman, V. is a very serious runner. Both she and her husband talked running and strategy and speed work, and even took time to give me some tips. "Not a good idea," said V. of my plan to walk the hills. "Once you give in to walking, your brain gets the idea that it's ok. Just pick out markers and try to get from one to the next."

The second thing: David called to wish us well. I don't know what you said to me exactly, David, but you made me feel that I could do this.

Oh, and a third thing: training in Tahoe with Bex. Even though she had only taken me on a three-mile hilly run, her no-nonsense approach resounded in my brain.

So, those were my secret weapons, and after a fitful night's sleep, I awoke at 5:30 to down oatmeal, coffee, water, and worry about what the best outfit was. It was overcast, misty, gray, and about 42F. Tights, a turtleneck and vest.

The race started at 7:30 a.m. As is my wont, at 7:20 I was in dire—DIRE—(if you get catch my drift), need of a portapotty. Line too long. So out I trotted to the back of the strip mall. TROTTED being the operative word.

Here's how it went:

I decided not to run conservatively (for me). I decided not to walk. I mentally broke the race into two six miles runs, with some more miles after that.

Sidebar: I was using the Ironman Timex iControl for iPod—the last time I use it. I couldn't get it to recognize my splits. You have to hit the split button just so or it thinks you're trying to control your iPod. The watch gets confused. Does this command mean rewind? Or play? Or SPLIT??? I thought it would just know. It didn't. And it wasn't even hooked up to my iPod.

My thoughts at the start: I was out for a training run, I wanted to enjoy the race and the scenery, and I was going to try not to walk. (Along with the ever-wistful hope of PR-ing.)

Mile 1: 10:47 I started at the waaay back. I was hanging with two women, one I dubbed Orange Girl, who were chatting up a storm. I knew I would have to either get in front of them or someone would get hurt. I sped up.

Mile 2: And then took a break. Like some mythical building rising from the ashes, there was my portapotty, right when I needed it. Time: 12:38

Mile 3: 10:52: I was now pretty much in last place. I could just see the tail end of the race far in the distance, including the two women. I wanted to start picking off people, but I knew it would take miles to catch up.

Mil2 4 & 5: 22:14: I caught up with the last girl as she started walking. We chatted. She said she'd never been last before and I said me neither. She was, like me, from D.C., where we are used to pretty big races with loads of people who are "last." I quickly passed her. Getting the watch to record splits was costing me a few seconds each time I tried it. Very annoying.

Mile 6 & 7: 24:00 As I passed the intersections with the fantastic volunteers who were holding back traffic (no roads closed) I'd say, "Hey, I must be first since no one is in front of me!" Ha, ha. I crack myself up. I'd caught up with the two women I'd started with. One was doing a lot of walking, the other, Orange Girl, would run for quite a while, then walk. I passed her. Yay! We were on a short but steep incline to a muddy track we had to run around. I was still feeling fine.

Mile 8: 11:17 O.G. passed me.

Mile 9: 11:31 We're running through the streets of historic Fredericksburg. I think I saw one spectator. But God bless 'em, the volunteers stuck by their water tables for all of us stragglers. Unlike say, the ARMY.

Mile 10 & 11: 23:02 I hit mile 10 in 1:50 1:55, my fastest 10 miles ever. I started thinking maybe I had a chance. Mile 10 turned onto a paved trail that went by a canal (river?). Melancholy in the weather, but beautiful. I passed Orange Girl.

It was just the two of us now, vying for what felt like last place. Just past mile 11, we turned off the trail and walked up some stairs to get to the bottom of the mile-long hill. I walked the 20 yards or so from the 11 mile marker to the stairs.

Orange Girl passed me.

Mile 11 is the start of a mile-long very steep hill. I was prepared for it. I walked for another 20 seconds, and then started a slow, slow jog, remembering what V had said the night before.

Mile 12: 00:00:98 Whatever.

Mile 12: 14:23 Um, there's more hill here. Some guy who had been in front now fell back. The line-up for last place is now Orange Girl who is walking the hills, Track Suit guy and me. TSG tries to talk to me. "Can't talk," I have to grunt not once, but twice! Hello! You wanna pick me up? NOW IS NOT THE BEST TIME.

Mile 13: 12:33 I'm now close to Orange Girl again, and following her. The orange cones seem to go to the left but she goes straight so I follow her. About 50 yards on, she stops and says, "Where's the finish?" %$$@!!!

The race starts and ends in a strip mall so I know where we are, but we've gone too far, and have to backtrack a bit. I'm calling it 50 yards. This is where I decide I'm going to GET HER if it's the last thing I do.

Mile .1: 1:20 I smoke Orange Girl AND Track Suit guy both in a photo finish. Pfft.

Susie and David were expecting me at 3 hours, so were surprised (hey, I was surprised too!) They cheered me into the chute and I think Susie even ran with me, but I couldn't talk.

You'll have to read Susie's report to see how they did. :)

After the race, I bumped into V from the night before who asked how I did. I was only too happy to babble for 10 minutes (see above) before it occurred to me to ask her how she did.

"Oh," she said. "I won."

:)

La-De-Da, PR

Unofficial: 2:34:xx (11:45 min/mile pace)

Whoooo hooooooooooooooo!

The "M"* Word

My (and your) favorite coach, the Little Dictator, seen here demonstrating her favorite carbo-loading technique,


is running the Honolulu Marathon tomorrow as a "training run."

Go give her some comment love!!

And yours truly is running the Blue/Gray Half in Fredericksburg, Virginia, with Susie and David tomorrow. I'm in fine fettle. I've been PMS-ing all week long, (boys, avert your eyes) only to wake up this morning to find out that the "pre-" part is OVER. Now I'm just bleeding to death, feeling undertrained, nursing a sore foot and a headache. I'm gonna be some kind of company!

My goals for tomorrow (not necessarily in this order):
1) Try not to take out frustrations on members of the opposite sex
2) Finish
3) Don't irreparably inflame the PF
4) Finish under three hours
5) Meet or beat my September 16, 2007, Philly time: 2:38:06 (12:04 min/mile)
6) Beat or meet my first 1/2: Montgomery County Half Marathon, September 24, 2006: 2:38:15 (12:05 min/mile)
7) Learn how to flip turn (oops! wrong sport. ha ha)
8) Ya know? Anything really
9) Have fun tonight with my hosts.

That last one is a given. The rest of my goals? No promises.

So, one of us is doing a marathon in 90+F heat as a tune-up for her REAL marathon. One of us is fooling around in Fredericksburg tomorrow. I'll leave you to ponder the implications of that.

*Madness

Conspiracy

I have a half-marathon to run on Sunday. Have I mentioned that (I mean, you know, like more than 20 or so times)?

In preparation, I ran four miles this week. F-O-U-R. Well, it's too late now! My personal mantra. It's. Too. Late. Now.

Swimming? Did someone ask about swimming? I LOVE THE SWIM! I'm swimming twice a week. So far just doing the same old 1,000 yards in the gorgeous outdoor YMCA pool. When I went this week, on Tuesday, snow flurries were floating down. The steam was rising from the water. I caught glimpses of the moon still high in the sky. As I swam, the light slowly broke. It's seriously gorgeous. Sometimes I think I'm actually getting better. Sometimes, I feel a twinge of regret when my last few laps come around and I wish I could swim longer, but work beckons.

I can honestly say I have NEVER wanted any run, EVER, to last longer. This is because somebody obviously does NOT want me to enjoy the run and does everything in their power to make sure I suck at it. (I'm really liking this explanation.) It quite obviously has nothing to do with my lack of training. Obviously.

So, this week, I ran F-O-U-R miles on Monday, swam on Tuesday, nothing on Wednesday (it snowed! dreadmill at work is broken, like I'd use it anyway), Thursday, spinning (another religious experience where I engage in a rich fantasy life), and here we are are today, Friday. Should I run today? Will it make any difference on Sunday whether or not I ran today?

Maybe it would be smarter to rest? Resting sounds smart, doesn't it? Especially since the PLANTAR FASCIITIS in my right foot is getting harder and harder to ignore. I've been ignoring it for months. Now, somewhat suspiciously, all of a sudden, it's screaming at me when I walk. Sometimes, when I sit.

I took the morning off from swimming so I could run. But then I couldn't run because I had to take the car in to get new tires. (This is the third time I've had tire problems just prior to a visit to Susie. Coincidence? I think not!) So, no swim, no run. Of course I could run later today. That's a possibility. But then there's the PF to think about. (This is why I don't twitter—I mean, could you imagine the endless stream that is my thought process going out over the Internets?? Well, yes, I'm guessing you actually could imagine.)

I don't know exactly who is in charge of running, but I am officially registering a complaint. Just so you know that I know exactly what is going on.

Need Some Holiday Gift-Giving Inspiration?

Runner Susan has a most excellent post up at CompleteRunning, giving a host of ideas for gifts for runners.

And it's only Part One!

That woman can seriously shop.

(P.S. I'll be most happy to supply my snail mail address, you know, just in case anyone needs it. For any particular reason. Having to do with presents.)

My 22 Best Design Tips Ever - Part One*

*From Brian Gardner

10. Avoid writing really long posts.
One thing I personally don’t like doing is spend a lot of time reading one post - if you have that much to say about something, try breaking it into a few posts, or make it a series. Although people are attracted to good content, you may also lose your visitors’ attention by making them scroll down the screen a hundred times.

What can I say? I'm a rebel. On a word bender.

Bell-Ringing and Running and Their Relationship to Mood

It feels weird not to blog everyday. But I figured you people deserved a rest. I mean, you have lives to lead.

I'd like to share and reflect on some recent happenings at NBTR headquarters:

1. Last week I made a pretty bad mistake which left me in the depths of despair and crawling on my belly like a worm.

2. Saturday, I ran 10 miles. I walked a lot of it, so I don't have any idea how I ended up with a time of 1:57. I had to get 10 miles in because of the POSSIBILITY that was still just a POSSIBILITY that I would be running a half marathon on dec. 9.

3. If I just run slower, won't that stop me from walking?? I remember my first 10-miler, the Cherry Blossom, in 2006, the first time I'd ever run 10 miles ever, and I did that without walking. And I remember telling myself that all I had to do was slow down if I got tired. SO WHY DO I HAVE TO WALK NOW???

4. During my 10-miler, I tried out the Timex Ironman iControl for iPod watch—with the iPod—that was sent for me to review. I'm pretty sure the Timex/iPod people don't want me to review it—yet. Because if I reviewed it now? It would not be a good review.

5. After making my e-mail mistake last week, I was pretty miserable, but seeing David & Co. helped. A lot. Friends are good. Especially when they make you believe you are not the heartless bitch you think you are.

6. But of course I've been replaying my error over and over again, cuz I hear that's great for one's mental health.

7. Sunday night my bell choir was part of the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols, a big extravaganza at our church involving all our exceptionally good choirs. The "house" was packed.

8. We had three pieces to play. The first one went OK; we played it on our own. For the second piece, we accompanied the Little Boys and Girls choir. We had rehearsed the start with them—the start being the crucial part—once about 15 min before showtime. The first two notes were mine and mine alone. Which, ok, I admit, made me a little NERVOUS. Like I'm not the calmest person on the planet to begin with. I had to watch the choir director from across the room for my cue. I watched. Saw her mouth "Three, four," give a nod of the head and I was off and running, with the rest of the bell choir "chiming" (get it?) in after my start.

Here's the thing about playing bells: It's really easy to lose your place. Plus, you kind of have to keep counting the beats per measure to know when to play your notes. Plus, it's not like you can take the bells home to practice. I practice a lot with spoons. Or pencils. At work. Behind the walls of my glass office. (Paint that mental picture.)

So it's not so easy to watch a conductor from across the room and glance up and down at your music. (Well, I'm sure it's quite easy for someone who KNOWS WHAT THEY ARE DOING.)

I thought something sounded off after the first four measures, but I kept going, until around the 8th measure or so when I got a poke in the ribs from the bell-ringer to my right and a whisper to "look up." I looked up and the choir director had STOPPED. We were re-starting. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

Well, of course we were. I had screwed it up. I knew that with the certainty that I know my own name. The Little Boys and Girls Choir had NOT screwed anything up. No, it was the great big NBTR (Run, Ring, choose your verb. Must start with "R" though).

Let me ask you: How many concerts have you been to where the choir had to start a piece again??????!!!!

Right.

There was nothing for it but to start again. So I did. As with most trauma victims, I have no memory of what happened after that. I do remember sitting down afterwards, doing some yoga breathing, trying to figure out how to tell our bell choir director that very obviously I was not improving, getting worse if that were possible, blah blah, I SHOULD QUIT, better for everyone, etc., and how to say it without sounding pathetic and whiney.

I was back in despair mode, coupled with the horrifying sense that I had done something so awful it was beyond words, when a miracle happened.

Our bell director, who was sitting next to me after the debacle, leaned over and said, "That little mix up? That was not your fault. It was because of blah blah blah."

9. Euphoria!!! Not my fault!!! Don't care what happened, it wasn't me!!! Want to kiss bell director. Restrain self.

10. Had been trying to find a replacement bell-ringer for Sunday, Dec. 9, so I could run the Blue/Gray Half-Marathon with David and Susie. Called a million (or several) potential replacements, left messages, no go. Monday night I came home from bell practice to a message that a bell-ringer from another choir would be happy to substitute for me.

11. Yay!!! Now can run 1/2 marathon on Sunday!!!

12. Oh shit. Now have to run 1/2 marathon on Sunday.

13. Bell-ringing is a lot like running. I'm not so good at it, it makes me a nervous wreck, it requires practice, there's lots of numbers involved, they both use the word "tempo" and you can't (usually) stop until you are finished.

14. It's a short ride from despair to euphoria.

Thirty Days

When I'm old and gray (um, old-er and gray-er), I'll look back on this November and be able to conjure it up in great detail.

Is that a good thing?

To expand just a bit on yesterday's post, my DSL connection has been dodgy lately, with me calling EARTHLINK just about every day and EARTHLINK having me go through the same routine every single time, even though we both know that the problem is that my DSL modem is 5 years old. So I've been calling EARTHLINK (located somewhere in Asia) every night and every night they forced me through the same idiotic routine of checking cables, unplugging this, resetting that, computer off, computer on. All of which would work for five minutes. Then I'd have to call them again. So that's been fun.

The new modem is now in the mail.

Back to last night: I met up with David, his lovely wife Mrs. David, her sister and sister's S.O. (who drove down from Jersey) in Baltimore for a fantastic and enormous dinner in Little Italy. Baltimore is about 45 minutes from here and there was no way I was allowing David to set foot in the great state of Maryland without seeing me.

Although I was a bit hesitant about going out with two couples. Cuz it's always fun being the fifth. But my fears were groundless. From the minute we met, it was as though I'd known these people my entire life. I laughed til I cried. And ate way too much. Which I am now regretting as 10 miles awaits me. And I'd better get off my ass and off the computer and out on the trail...alright already David, I'm going!

But the rest of this fascinating story: So last night I HAD to post so I could win FABULOUS PRIZES and of course? My DSL was down. I tried my usual practice of "borrowing" a neighbor's wireless but the $#@! had turned it off!

So I did the modem reset dance a few times and got a wee window of time in which to post that fabulous photo of David and Mrs. David.

So now you know.

David as You've Never Seen Him

DSL Connection not working...last day of NaBloPoMo!!!!

Sedaris Fever

One more day ... and then? Fabulous prizes!!! Then I can stop this day-by-day recitation of my life and times. At least until next week.

I just got back from seeing

(Amy Sedaris, sister of my fav author David Sedaris, of Santaland Diaries fame. (Which if you haven't read, you must go buy immediately. Or e-mail me, I'll send you a copy. THAT'S HOW GOOD THIS BOOK IS.) Amy is a very funny lady. Although since I don't get cable, I've never seen her show.)

Spinning was on the menu this morning. Class starts at 6:30 a.m. I left the house at: UPDATE:5:22 a.m. (So that made no sense. I left the house at 6:22 a.m.--See, that's why I need a medal.) And I still had to drive to work, change into workout clothes and drive to the gym. Arrival time at spin class? 6:34.

Why don't they give medals for races like that?

Though I must say that the song selection is slipping. This morning was eh. Only one Talking Heads.

In other news, David and Mrs. David are coming to a town near me this weekend and we're trying to arrange a place to go to dinner.

I have absolutely nothing left to say.

Good night!

Moving On

Is always the hardest part, but move on I will.

I woke up at 5 a.m., and was out the door by 6, and on the trail at 6:30. Always beautiful at that hour, and fairly quiet. I've been listening to The Sunday Philosophy Club: An Isabel Dalhousie Mystery and trying to take my mind off the events of yesterday, and the upcoming events of today.

Today was a hard day, and there will be more hard days to follow. But it was a good lesson for me to learn, though unfortunately it was at someone else's expense. Believe me, I learned. I learned that words can seriously wound. A lesson you'd think I'd know by this age.

In other hard things, I'm trying hard to find a bell-ringing replacement for Dec. 9 (if you know one, contact me!) so that I can go to Fredericksburg and see whose butt I can kick. Plus, I just loooong to see Susie and David.

Meanwhile, let's entertain ourselves with the thought, which is really just an inkling of a minor inclination, really just a momentary synapse, nothing more, that I just might possibly, maybe, really not sure just yet, be interested in doing, which is to say, this.

The Longest Month

Is it me, or does this seem like a never-ending (NaBloPoMo) month??

Maybe it's just me.

Something unfortunate happened today at work. By mistake, I sent a snarky e-mail about someone. I thought I was sending it to my friend, someone with whom I occasionally snark about work, and other things, but no. Instead, in my dazed state, I send it to the person himself.

This person immediately called me, was furious, yelled at me (rightly so), and will likely never trust me again.

But worse, I've hurt his feelings.

What's the solution? I apologized via e-mail, and I will again in person. But the damage has been done and I fear it's severe.

I can only hope I've learned my lesson about being snarky about other people. I can be a real ass sometimes.

Locked and Loaded

Because I cannot tell a lie, I must report that apparently 4.2 + 3.1 ≠ 8.5.

Who knew?

So, instead of doing 9 miles at altitude, or even 8.5 I did 7.3. But 3.1 of them were with the Little Dictator, so right there that = 6. Toss in the altitude, and I'm claiming 10!!!

Sigh.

Number One Daughter and I had a great weekend with Bex, but were jerked back to reality far too quickly. There really should be a re-entry, detox program for people returning from California to D.C. Honestly.

We landed at Dulles International Airport at about 5:30 a.m., ahead of schedule, and stood in line to take the bus to the parking lot that's about as far from the terminal as you can get and still be in Virginia. Like, really, really far.

When we left in the wee hours of Thanksgiving Day (last Thursday for my international readers) as NOD and I were climbing into my car (the one without a working radio) we cleverly made a last-minute tactical decision to take her car (that would be the one with the working radio) instead of mine (that would be the one without the working radio). We decided this in the parking lot. NOD's keys were upstairs in her room, but I had an extra set to her car, so all was good. (Yes, you know exactly where this is going...)

All was good right up until we de-boarded the bus to the extremely far away parking lot (if you de-plane, why can't you de-board???), wandered around looking for the car for a few minutes, found the car, unlocked it, threw our bags in and ...(The Club^TM is a really, really, REALLY, good anti-theft device. Like ridiculously good.)

Not until we were in the car did we look at each other and say, "Oh, $@!!." That's when we realized that the key to the the Club was safely at home in NOD's room, nestled cozily amongst her other keys.

But no problem! It's for situations exactly like this that I pay my yearly fee to AAA. We called and they sent a locksmith after about a 40-minute wait. He pulled out his handy lock picks.

(On sale now for that special someone.)

I watched, fascinated, because this is the part that is REALLY EASY IN ALL THE DETECTIVE NOVELS. He tried this, he tried that. He picked this way, he picked that way. And then? He gave up. He said the only thing to do was saw it off, but also said 1) he didn't have a saw, and 2) that could lead to the airbag deploying.

There was nothing for it but to re-board the bus, go back to the terminal, get more coffee, hire a cab back to Bethesda ($65, in case you're wondering), pick up my car and NOD's key to THE CLUB, and drive back out to Dulles, back into the extremely cheap and far away parking lot, back to NOD's car, where she UNLOCKED the $#!~!@ CLUB, and after more coffee, we were on our way home.

Time from getting off the plane de-plane-ing until we arrived home—for good—=5.5 hours.

Time from SFO to Washington Dulles airport? 5.5 hours.

And that, my friends, is how you do that.

No Ski But Run

Sadly, we'll be leaving beautiful Lake Tahoe later today. We had hoped to get some skiing in (like I ski) but alas, no snow, although the resorts are doing their best pumping out the fake stuff. I had hoped to spend a day falling down the bunny slope, but you will have to wait for those photos.

I woke up at 6 a.m. Eastern Time today, and am sitting in front of a nice warm fire sipping tea with Nelson at my feet while the rest of the house sleeps. This is my favorite time of day. It's about 30F outside, and feels like snow.

(Mr. Nelson, a fine, fine dog.)

Yesterday, I ran about an hour on my own, out and back. Altitude was not a problem, except for the breathing part. After an hour Bex met me and took me another 45 minutes on a rolling course, and tried her best to teach me how to run. "Match my cadence," she intoned. Many a time she was walking while I was running. That's a real upper, let me tell you. But somewhere in the middle there I got my run on and did as I was told. "Pick it up, you're slowing down!" I think Bex should start a podcast, where she barks commands into her listener's ears. I'd subscribe! I think I did maybe 8.5 miles, but I ran them instead of plodding them. I surprised myself. At one point my heart rate hit 200 bpm. But I felt fine. Except for the breathing part.

(Bex and Mr. Bex, our most gracious hosts.)

As Nelson would say, could he talk, we shall return.

Training at Altitude

We have a winner!!! Technically, it's 21st C Mom, since she guessed California a few days ago. Of course, that's kind of like guessing the East Coast. So 21st and D.C. Spinster can duke it out for the fabulous prize (TBD).

I'm here at beautiful Lake Tahoe with Number One Daugher visiting the charming Bex family. We spent a lovely Thanksgiving crashing the Bex husband's family's celebration, then drove up to Tahoe on Friday morning. It's now about 11 a.m. Eastern Time, or as I like to call it, Real Time, and the Bex entourage, and NOD, are all fast asleep.

Yesterday we hiked up to Eagle Lake, and took way too many photos. Every vista is scenic, and it's hard to resist.

(Trying to get the Christmas card shot just right.)

(Bex in the lead, as usual. It was a big-ass hill.)

(Donner Pass, where we resisted the urge to nibble.)

Today I hav 9 miles on the schedule, and Bex said she'd push me along. I've heard, correct me if I'm wrong, that training at altitude is actually good for you.

What doesn't kill you ...

Pain is just weakness leaving ...

Jeanne Is Here!

(Number One Daughter and friend)

And we have a winner!

Where Is Jeanne?

( Albert Bierstadt)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Four Things

This tagging thing is great! During NaBloPoMo at least, so that I don't have to keep thinking of fascinating things to blog about. But after November, all bets are off.. (Oh, and the contest is still on, but one person was very very close. Results disclosed tomorrow!)

First: Five miles this a.m., took about 57 minutes. Hard slog, but I kept at it. CANNOT imagine doing this for 13.1. (I do believe I've said that before. Several million times.)

On to the tagging, for whom I have LBTEPA to thank:

Four dishes I like to cook:
Well, this presupposes I like to cook. Actually, I do like to cook, but cooking for one is a drag, and cooking for me and NOD not so much fun either (one of us a vegetarian, one is not....)

But...onward!

1. Homemade yeast bread (NOT made in a bread machine). Nothing smells finer.
2. Nigella Lawson's LemonDrop. Only to be used during the off-season. Whenever that is.
3. Baking complicated desserts, such as Nigella Lawson's Chocolate-Coffee volcano cake, which she claims in her book, How to Be a Domestic Goddess, is "infant-school easy." My butt.
4. My father's lasagna.

Four qualities I love in people:
1. Must adore me.
2. Laugh at my jokes (wait: is this a single's ad???)
3. Must tell the truth.
4. Must love surprises.

Four places I have been:
1. Ireland
2. Spain
3. Canada
4. England

Four things in my bedroom
1. Books
2. Books
3. Bed
4. Clothes (really, mostly books)

Four dirty words I like to use:
1. The eff bomb
2. As in, WTF?
3. Or, simply, TF?
4. Or, F***!!

And, as is my humanitarian practice, the tagging stops here. Although if you are participating in NaBlowPoMo, feel free to consider yourself tagged.

Early Swim

It's 5:49 a.m. and I'm off to swim.

And since this is a running blog, here's yesterday's stats: 5 miles in 54(ish) minutes.

Last night at bell-ringing practice I discovered our group is slotted to play on Dec. 9. Too bad I'll be running a half-marathon that day with my good friends Susie and David. Am I the only one who consistently double-books myself??

I'm tired and grouchy. And I can't swim 1,000 yards. It's simply not possible. What was I thinking???

NaBloPoMo, you suck.

UPDATE, 6:30 a.m. Of course, my goggles broke the minute I set foot in the water. After all, I had used them a total of FOUR times, so I guess they were due. I debated—what to do? Breast stroke? Surely not for 1,000 yards. I bit the bullet and did the crawl, eyes wide open. I know look like I spent the night sobbing. If my day continues to be this fun, I might just keep updating!

Why Why Why

When, when I know how badly donuts make me feel, do i feel COMPELLED to eat one—or two!—every production day (once a week) when our exec managing editor brings in THREE boxes of them!!!! On his own dime, bless his heart! And then of course, he does not eat a single one.

I eat it, it's not that good, I feel bad.

Next week? I do it again.

It's inexplicable. Someone, please explain it to me.

(No, no not Aruba. Come on people! Next hint: The person I am visiting is an RBF member.)

Day of Rest

This morning my church's choir, and assorted musicians, played/sang Gabriel Fauré's Requiem. If you like spectacular choral/orchestral pieces, you would have loved this. The music program at my church is incredibly strong, with nary a guitar mass to be found. (For the record, this piece is also known as the "Mass for the Dead.")

My little bell group, the Celtic ringers, played three non-Fauré pieces for the prelude to the service.

At our practice just before the service, our bell director, staring directly at me, suggested, in the kindest possible way, that we "practice our decorum." Meaning that, if for instance, say you play 10 wrong notes and then totally lose your place? Try not to grimace, shout sorry, and perhaps it would be best not to utter any curse words before a packed house of oh, 800 or so.

Who, me?

I took many deep breaths and managed not to drop a bell on anyone's head.

Success.

I'm a woman of wide and varied musical tastes.

So Peter, for you, since you asked, here's a look at the late (the group is late, not David) and oh-so-great, ever-so-ironic, brilliant David Byrne and Talking Heads, which the other Peter played just before he played some Stones, sending me head-over-heels into ... a spinfest o' happiness:



(Just be glad I didn't embed Fauré's Requiem.)

(Hint to yesterday's quiz: Yes, it will require an airport.)

Running

OK, so maybe I'm not totally over my time addiction.

But you can blame the kind people at Timex IronMan iControl, who sent me this to review:



I had 8 miles on the schedule this morning, and I was hooking up with my 10-mile training group who are unofficially training for a half. Only their half—cleverly—is in March—2008. While mine is in three weeks. And next week, I am going to an exotic secret location—to be revealed later—where I somehow don't think I'll be doing any running.

So, let's do the math, cuz we know that's my strong point:
Week of November 18: Will run 4 on Monday, 4 on Wednesday, then travel to exotic secret location, returning Monday morning, November 26.

Week of November 26: Will do a 9-mile long run.

Week of December 2: Long run will be 13.1 miles.

I want to curl into the fetal position and suck my thumb.

Anyhoo, as I was saying, the Timex peeps sent me their iPod watch thing to test. I was running late this morning, and managed to get it out of the box but didn't have time to set up the iPod bit (yes, I know, that's the EASY part).

So I ran my 8 miles using their trusty watch. And I can report that the watch worked fine, but the buttons were a little unresponsive. Plus I couldn't figure out how to save my workout. Maybe it gets saved automagically?

The group was doing 6 miles today, and they were running along the C&O canal towpath, which is flat and pebbly. We met where the C&O towpath connects with my beloved Capital Crescent Trail. When I asked if anyone was up for the Crescent Trail, I was met with a round of "no's"—because the CCT is every so slightly uphill, all the way to its end, a million miles away in Silver Spring.

What to do?

I went with my instincts, and the group went with theirs. Yes, the CCT is uphill going out, but it's oh-so-gloriously downhill coming back.

I've been feeling good lately. Feeling strong. Eating well. Training every single day. Yet I woke up with a slightly upset stomach. By .5 miles into this I wanted to quit. My legs felt like lead. I was hot in the 41F cold. I cursed the day I started swimming. To get better at running, I asked myself, you need to do what again? Could the answer possibly be RUN???

Sigh.

5.5 miles of today's run was dedicated to Ryan Shay, so that got me through most of it. Steve Runner got me through the rest.

And the Timex Ironman iControl (full review to come!) got a workout. Thankfully I had no stomach issues on the run, and equally thankfully, I took wore the damn belt and carried my own water.

So here's the breakdown:
Mile 1: 11:20
2: 11:20
3: 11:07 (I always say it takes your body 3 miles before it realizes it's even out of bed)
4: 11:18
5: 11:25
6: 11:17
7: 11:22
8: 10:55

Total: 1:30

I was pleased because no bathroom issues, I didn't puke, and I only took two scheduled walk breaks. And I think maybe, just maybe, all my swimming, biking, and spinning are making me stronger.

And, I didn't quit. Even though I felt like it many, many times.

I did end up with Runner's Headache, a malady I have apparently invented, and spent a good part of the day sleeping. I think I have Excessive Exercise Syndrome (EES).

Anyone care to guess where I'm headed next week?

Being Unreasonable

I went to a "wealth-building seminar" last night, though I tend to stay away from those kinds of things, because, you know, generally? They're bogus.

But this was put on by my mortgage broker (hmmm, this is sounding worse and worse).

And it was actually—not bad. The guy who presented it reviewed a lot of basic stuff, like how to make a budget. You know, stuff that I have no desire to learn and will probably never actually sit down and do. Although he claims that a budget is KIND OF KEY to building wealth.

Whatever.

But the guy said one thing that actually stuck with me, in amidst all the crap about assets and liabilities and income and expenses (that last part is where it all seems to fall apart).

Someone in the audience said to the presenter, who is now a gazillionaire, "It's important to be practical." Meaning, "Don't aim too high."

And the gazillionaire, who claims to have been $60K in debt in 1996, and not only climbed out, but over and up, said that he disagreed. He repeated that old saw about if you aim low, you can be pretty sure you'll hit your target. He said that it was important to "be unreasonable."

When he was $60K in debt, he set a goal to retire on $100K a year. And then he met that goal.

Naturally, I applied all of this financial info to fitness, triathlon, running. (The whole money part? Yeah, that blew right over my head.)

I'm taking a stand for unreasonableness. I would never in my wildest imagination thought that I could run a marathon, and certainly never ever ever thought I could swim 1,000 yards (yes, it is yards) at one go. Ever. Nevermind get on a bike after that and then run (of course we have yet to see...but that's not the point!)

The point is to take a risk. Push yourself. Go out on a limb.

Maybe your version of being unreasonable is asking for what you need. Or taking an unpopular stand.

Or signing up for swimming lessons.

I don't know.

For me, trying to become a triathlete, even my teensy version of one, is totally and utterly unreasonable. Running a marathon, or a half (upcoming!), is totally unreasonable.

For me, three years ago, running one mile was totally unreasonable.

Who knows where this little game could end?

Point is: I liked the guy's point!

Spin Me

So this morning at 6:30 was spinning. With the very well put together Peter.

Remember my love affair with spin instructor Jeff? No?? Well Jeff made me laugh my head off. It was like spinning with, oh, I don't know, George Carlin. So that alone made me fall in love. But he stopped teaching, to focus on his triathlon career. Selfish bas****!!!

Then came T, a chick who was a no-show one morning at 6:30. Which is so against all the rules it's not even funny. And then the next week she showed up 20 minutes late. Mysteriously, she doesn't work there any more.

Next up was Peter. I was still jonesing for Jeff, but Peter would have to do, despite the fact that there was a RING ON HIS LEFT hand.

Peter doesn't make me laugh. But he plays the best music. Plus, he's a yoga instructor, so he's all about peace and he's all about stretching the spine, keeping the torso long, yada yada. He keeps the lights off while puts us through 45 minutes of pure, sheer hell. But his soft voice makes it like yoga spinning. Or Spinga. Yoging?

This morning he played TWO Rolling Stones song, plus a Talking Heads! I mean really. Where do you find a man like that?!!! I told him I only come for the music, which made him laugh. Afterwards, he actually talked to me. He said "It seems like we have the same taste in music." And like the suave and sophisticated woman you have come to know and love, I stammered, "Um, yeah, we must be the same age." (Which dear God, I hope is true, otherwise I just insulted him.)

Sigh.

That man has taste.

Run, Swim, Bike, Run

Monday: Ran 4 miles

Tuesday: Swam 1,000 (feet? yards? what?!) I did 5 LAPS (25'=1 length) x 3= 15 lengths, or 30 (10 laps x 3) x 25' = 750'. Plus 50' warm up and 50' cool down. So that = 850'. So I had to do another 150' to make it an even 1000'. Except that I can't do math, so someone please point out the horrific math error I am making.

I didn't crash into anyone. The sky was overcast, rain falling softly, pool mostly empty at 5:45 a.m.

Wednesday morn: Up early, rode bike to work while the sun rose. I had to keep stopping and looking at my directions since I'm taking back roads so that I don't get killed. Two other bikers opened the door for me at work, so I made my entrance to applause. That was nice. (The applause didn't last though.) I carried my work clothes all rolled up in a ball in my backpack. (It's the grunge look.) It only took me one week to ride my bike back to work. (You'll be happy to hear that I am taking the bus home tonight because it is too dark to ride, E.)

Wednesday night: First hill workout in months. One mile warm-up, 2x .25 mile hill, one mile cool-down. My iPod stopped right in the middle of the first hill. It's a cruel, cruel world.

So my week so far? I would sum up thusly:

I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR

Stay tuned for:
Thursday: Spinning class!
Friday: More swim!
Saturday: Long run!

Tag, I'm It

Here are the Rules:
• Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
• Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
• Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
• Let them know they are TAGGED by leaving a comment on their blog.

Here are my taggers (at least the ones I know about):
Juls of Keeping Pace and Peter of D.C. Spinster

I considered doing a silly one, and believe me, I've got the material, but wasn't in the mood. So here are five maybe-not-so-interesting random facts about me:

(You know I vaguely recall doing this before. Several times. But here we go again because I am SUCH a good sport!)

1. I've wanted to be a writer since I was in kindergarten.

2. I tried pot a few times in college (1970s, people, a long, long time ago), and the only thing pot ever did for me was make me puke. (Which when you think about it is odd, because isn't pot what's sometimes prescribed for cancer patients who are nauseated?) Except for that one day I was determined to find out what the attraction was, and I think whatever I smoked must have had a little something extra in it, because I literally saw little cogs turning around inside Eugene Tyrell's head. And then I puked. In the men's room.

3. I was married to a blind man (that would be Number One Daughter's dad). We talk when we have to but I'm seriously thinking of inviting him and his new girlfriend over for Christmas dinner. (It's just an idle thought so far.) Don't ask me why; I have no idea.*

4. I dated a guy in college (Boston University) whose older brother hotly pursued me until he convinced me to visit him in NYC. I did and it was a total disaster. I ended up stuck for the weekend with this guy (the brother) who treated me like crap. To top it off, just before I boarded the bus back to Boston at Port Authority, my ticket and wallet were pickpocketed. And I had to call that creepy guy to bail me out. (I have NO idea what made me think of this!)

5. My mother left home when I was 12. I had a tempestuous upbringing to say the least. I remember the paddy wagon coming to arrest my father shortly thereafter, in the middle of the night, and the police leaving me and my brother alone after they arrested my father. That's how the did it in those days. They arrested him for harassing my mother. But that's not why she left. My father started harassing her after she left. She left because she was seeing another man. I grew up in an upper middle-class family in New Haven, just in case you were picturing the Bowery.

Too much info?

I'm going to break the rules and not name the next five people, so if you just read this, consider yourself tagged.

*Turns out, I already told this tidbit in another tag. I'm including it again for the benefit of my new readers, cuz you gotta admit, it's kind of interesting!

Addicted to Time

Your lights are on, but you're not home
Your mind is not your own
Your heart sweats, your body shakes
Another look is what it takes

You can't sleep, you can't eat
Theres no doubt, you're in deep
Your throat is tight, you can't breathe
Another glance is all you need

Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the garmin,

oh Yeah

It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough,
you know you're

Gonna have to face it, you're addicted to time*

Are you, dear friends, addicted to time? To timing your splits? To keeping track of every single minute of every single run?

I can relate. I used to be one of you.

Until Number One Daughter's BF—you know, the future Olympian rower—suggested I toss the watch. He gave me some mumbo jumbo about how checking the watch was messing with my psychological functions. (How could he tell?)

His theory is that when I see how long I've run, it makes me more tired and I lose my will.

Plus, he pointed out that it's not like I'm an elite athlete who needs to know every detail of every run.

And FINALLY, he said he thought my addiction to the watch was interfering with me ever having any fun while running.

My trusty $35 Ironman quit on me shortly after this speech. So I didn't replace it. Hence, I've been running sans watch for several weeks.

And I have this to say: I love it.

I KNOW this is purely psychological, but curiously, without a watch, I haven't had to walk once. Not even on my LONG 6 mile run. I have no idea how slow I am but my goal at the moment is just to finish without walking and without plodding.

I think I'm doing both.

Now I'm lucky enough to run on a trail with mile markers, so I can at least track my distance. And I don't own a garmin and wouldn't know what to do with one if I did have one. And one day —soon, like really, really soon, I promise!—I'm going to need to hit the track. And there I'll probably need a watch. Maybe.

But based on my experiment of one, I'm claiming that running without timing miles is a success!

The proof, of course, will be in the Blue-Gray Half on December 10, when I drag my sad and sorry butt over the finish line. But until then, I'm addicted to running NEKKED.

Now for your viewing pleasure, let's all take a trip on the wayback machine:

I bet those girls are really good musicians!

*Apologies to Robert Palmer, R.I.P.

Peace

Some images from Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY. Your regularly scheduled NBTR posts will continue on Monday (and I hope you noticed that thru the magic of the calendar, I didn't miss a day!)

Being Quiet

It's that time of year again.

The leaves are still turning, a chill is in the air. And by the time you read this, I will be safely ensconced in the wonder of Holy Cross Monastery for my parish's annual silent retreat.

It's funny how much comfort the silence of this retreat brings me, considering I already pretty much live like a monk. It's pretty silent at home. But I'm not home all that often, except to eat, sleep, and do endless loads of laundry. So it feels luxurious to be surrounded by people who are also keeping silent, allowing ourselves to be drawn in by the rituals of the Daily Office (the daily services kept by the monks).

It's not for everyone. But it's for me and I look forward to it every year.

I'll see ya on the flip side, Sunday night.

In Memorium: Ryan Shay

Our own amazing hip came up with the idea to honor the memory of Ryan Shay, who died at mile 5.5 of the U.S. Olympic Trials on Saturday, Nov. 3.

Jeff's idea is this: On Saturday, Nov. 17, we all dedicate 5.5 miles of our runs to Ryan's memory. Completerunning.com is publicizing this (virtual) event, along with Steve Runner in podcast #122.

If you plan to participate, please leave a comment over at CRN. We hope this effort will give some small measure of comfort to the Shay family.

Read more about Ryan over at letsrun.com, where they've collected a lot of stories.

What Makes Good Blog?

How do you decide what blogs you follow?

I have about a gazillion in my bloglines, and then another few hundred in a standalone reader at work.

So, the other day I was trying to tidy things up by deleting some blogs from my readers (my FEED readers, not my people readers!) so that my life didn't feel so completely and utterly out-of-control. Seeing a loooong list of bolded blogs in bloglines that you just know you will never ever read is dispiriting. But I couldn't do it. It felt like a betrayal. Nevermind that I barely know what some of these blogs are about.

I started thinking about which blogs I like and why. And then I thought about NaBloPoMo. And then I thought, hey, this will make a good post!

So, here are some of my criteria for what makes me love a blog (I purposely left out blog names to protect the innocent):

1. Friends. If I know you, either in real life or virtually, I'll be a reader. Unless you are the absolute worst writer on earth. Or extensively use constructions like, "WOULD OF," instead of, "WOULD HAVE." (Am I the only person driven insane by this??)

2. Make me laugh. I don't care if I barely understand what is being discussed—say, for instance, incomprehensible bike crap (you know who you are) if you make me laugh, I'm all yours.

3. Clever. I love cleverly written blogs. Those written in a voice, or with attitude, or style. I also aspire to be

4. Inspired. Though I will say, because I am shallow, I usually go for funny over inspirational. A good inspirational post every now and then is good for the soul.

5. If you're a worse runner than I am, though I am loathe to PUBLICLY HUMILIATE MYSELF BY ADMITTING THIS, I'll probably read both of you.

6. If you are a kick-ass, take-no-names runner, and you are STILL nice and encouraging to me, I'm also all yours, no questions asked.

7. You write about stuff I care about. Obvi.

8. You post more than once every six months. (Although I'm seriously considering revising this one. Every six months might be juuuust fine.)

9. Are you from another country? Yep, shallow-meter kicks in.

10. You give good comment? I'm reading you!

11. You have great stories, and tell them well. Preferably illustrated.

Now I fall waaaay short of my own list. Heck, I don't even live in another country! So I realize this is a potentially snobby exercise.

Still. We all must have some set of rules to read by.

So, what are YOURS? Why do you read who you read? How do you decide when to take someone off your list?

(You people participating in NaBloWmeIcantposteverydayMO will thank me for this post.)

Maiden Voyage

You are looking at a woman who just rode her FANTASTIC NEW DONATED by SUSIE^TM BIKE home from work for the first time, in the dark, using directions cobbled together from the internets, in 46F, and who did not fall off (it was close), get run over, mauled by an errant post or fireplug in the middle of the freakin' sidewalk, or gored by a "deer with horns," as one kind driver rolled down her window to tell me was awaiting me up ahead on the sidewalk of the six-lane highway I had to ride on for about 1/4 mile. That's when I started singing "I Whistle a Happy Tune, So No One Will Suspect I'm Afraid."

It was a BLAST.

Riding through nearly deserted (car-deserted, anyways) darkened neighborhoods, with the wind blowing, the leaves rustling, the smell of fall in the air, the sights and sounds coming from cozily lit houses along the way—where all the normal people live. Ya don't get that in a car!

In fact, it really starts to pain me when I think of how many years I've spent killing this planet by driving when I could have been riding.

I followed this map, which came with directions and which I read by the light of my bike lamp. What was tough to read were the street signs. The route went through many back streets, except for that 1/4 mile of hell where the deer, antelope, and insane drivers roam. It was so fantastic being out in the cold, with my makeshift bike clothes and my new bike pedals thank you aj. I was toasty warm.

Here's the route I followed from downtown Bethesda to my home sweet home.



If there are any Bethesda riders out there who can tell me how to avoid Old Georgetown Road to get to Montgomery Mall, without ending up on Democracy Blvd., I'm all ears. Tonight I took this route only to Old Georgetown, where I diverted and rode up Old Georgetown, past the Giant and up and over 270.

But whatever. I can't wait to do it again. But there are a few precautions I'm going to have to take such as learning how to change a flat and carrying all that crap with me.

Oh, and trying to retain feeling in my butt would be nice too.

I'm In! Again!

After some severe arm twisting, I decided against the $5 Dec. 1 DCRR Gar-Williams half-marathon, because why choose the cheap option when you can pay $30 more? And participate in a small race with fast runners? Oh, and did I mention this course is "rolling," a.k.a, "all uphill"???

It's the Fredericksburg Blue-Gray Marathon! Which I fondly remember from the window of a warm car last year. I'm doing it mostly primarily SOLELY so I can visit with the lovely Susie and David and see all the purty "It's a Wonderful Life" decorations that downtown Fredericksburg pulls out during the Christmas season. You'll remember this event from last year, when I did such a stellar job taking photos of Bex and Susie and David.

I told Susie I'd do it as long as she could give me some reasonable hope that I would not be last.

Here's how it went down:

me: do you want me at your place again, hogging the bed??? [ED.'s NOTE: Apparently all four of us shared a bed last year. ha ha, just kidding!]
what if i'm the LAST ONE IN????
oh well.
Susan: Yes, absoluele!
me: that would be a first.
Susan: Geesh, I can't type
You won't be...let me check the times. hold on
me: k
i mean, it has to happen sometime.
now is as good a time as any!
Sent at 5:44 PM on Sunday
Susan: I see some 2:36, 2:48....they don't have them by age group.
Besides, it doesn't matter, right? I'ts your effort. We would LOVE to have you come and stay with us [ED.'s NOTE: DOESN'T MATTER??! EASY FOR HER TO SAY!!]
me: ok, i'll take a look.
it doesn't matter! [ED's NOTE: I'm lying.]
like i said, it's bound to happen sometime.
might as well be now!
do they have water on the course? [ED'S NOTE: ONLY THING I CARE ABOUT...]
Susan: Now I'me excited again!! I have been so blah about this race. I think I'm tired of running in the dark and col...
Susan: Yes, they do. Last year, it was well staffed. The only pain in the ass is that HILL at the end
me: i well remember that hill.
Susan: I'll bet.
me: not the same way YOU remember it.
Susan: LOL

So she reluctantly sent me the finishers' list from last year.

After perusing it, all I can say is: Let's all hope that Paul H******* is running in a cast this year. That way, I'll be SECOND to last!

All I need is blueberry pancakes afterwards and I'm good.

Forewarned is forearmed, Susie. Or something like that!