Celebrities, Parties, Thrills, Chills and Spills

I'm home.

It was fun visiting Austin, although what I mostly saw was the inside of the world's largest convention center. And it never failed, no matter which end I was at, I needed to be at the other end.

I left Austin late Wednesday (just as the music festival was gearing up, not that I minded missing MICHAEL STIPE! RICHARD THOMPSON! BILLY EFFING BRAGG!), which left time for one quick run, a morning movie, a drive to the hippie-dippie part of town, and brunch.

The first celebrity (not counting Dooce):
(Bex getting hit on by a Microsoft guy at the Microsoft party.)

Yes, Bex was my first celebrity meet-up, looking terrific as usual. She was there working, as was I, so we had limited time together, but met up most nights to trip the light fantastic.

More celebrities:
(R-L: Billionaire Mark Cuban interviews billionaire Michael Eisner about his new venture, Vuguru.)

Vuguru is some kind of internet-video thing that produces shows that no one (well, no one outside of that room) has ever heard of, like Prom Queen, and the soon-to-be-launched All-for-Nots, which I think is a show about a real band, called, curiously, the All-for-Nots.

Later that night, I went to the All-for-Nots coming out party:
(L-R: An all-for-not dude, maybe an all-for-not chick, and Michael Eisner.)

After hanging around for 1 1/2 hours, chatting with some lovely people, I left before the All-for-Nots made their appearance, because, well, I was bored silly. (Kind of like you are at this point.) Oh, and it was raining. And we were in a tent.

Wednesday morning dawned with blue skies and temps in the 50sF. I was determined to run in Austin before I left, so drove down to the River, which in Austin is called a Lake, and ran on a lovely bike and hike trail:



Where, halfway through my 3-mile run, I fell.

Sigh.

Time for a movie! I saw the premiere of "Throw Down Your Heart," about "banjo virtuoso Bela Fleck on his journey to Africa to explore the little known African roots of the banjo and record an album." I like Bela Fleck. Plus? It was the closest screening. (I give it a thumbs up.)

After that, I drove to S. Congress Street, which my new Austin friends (shown here at the famous "All-for-Not" party)


had assured me was the place to see and be seen.

I headed for brunch:

(A cheery welcome sign)

(World famous Magnolia Cafe. Yum, french toast and eggs!)

The perfect way to end my visit.

Now if only someone would explain this statue to me (I didn't have time to get out of the car to look):



And I leave you with this, a SXSW street scene:


Now I am off to learn how to change a tire—a bike tire, stay with me here—courtesy this guy.

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

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.

Lose a Friend ...

... gain some furniture!

My good and extremely generous friend, coach, and younger-than-me-but-wiser mentor, Bex, is heading west. Before she left though, she asked if I'd like to take a lovely armchair and ottoman off her hands.

Rule #1 here at Not Born to Run Headquarters is: Never say no to free stuff.

After Saturday's run in the sun, I asked this charming fellow if he would be interested in picking up an armchair and ottoman from Bex, and delivering it to me, across the river, a million miles away. It was 105F on Saturday, remember? "Of course!," he said. "Happy to!" (Let us state for the record that I offered to help load the truck, but was refused.)

Oh, the perils of owning a pickup.

So I went on home, showered, and whiled away the afternoon sipping iced tea while gazing at my upside-down screen door, anxiously awaiting the arrival of my new chair and ottoman. Until Bex called, interrupting my reverie, asking would I be interested in a matching loveseat? How about a side table?

Rule #2 in the Not Born to Run household: See Rule #1. Meaning that Peter and Bex and E. now had to fit everything into Peter's trusty red pickup. In 105F.

Mmmmm, this lemonade tastes good!

So, that's the story of how a good man got roped into moving a whole lotta furniture in 105F. (Did I mention it was 105F?) And why my living room looks like Ikea met Crate and Barrel—and then threw up.

(Note tin can on side table labelled "France Argent." We (supposedly) put all our change in there, saving up for a big trip to France. Somehow the balance seems to be going down.)

Rule #3 in the Not Born to Run Household: Something new comes in, something old must go out.

Anyone in the market for a raggedy old exceptionally heavy couch? No?

There's this kid in Philly I know ... just got her first apartment ... now if I could just find a way to get that thing up there ...

Farewell, Bex! I hardly knew ye.

Eats, Drives, and Runs

Saturday was an action-packed day here at Not Born to Run headquarters.

At 8 a.m. I met the D.C. Road Runners Ten-Mile group at the Lincoln Memorial. Since our group's coach was out of town, I had agreed to take the slow runners out for a 3- mile loop around the Washington Monument and the reflecting pool.

I was kind of dreading it because I thought if I run slow, then I'll be running slow. And will never get fast. One slow run will do that to you, you know.

But! It. Was. Awesome. Turns out, I know stuff about learning how to run. 'Twasn't so long ago that I was walk/running (hmm, actually I think it was last week!) My group ran probably between 11-12:30 min miles. I ran back and forth and kept up a non-stop litany of advice, encouragement and jokes. My reward? Everyone ran, no one walked, and one deranged person actually told me that I gave great pep talks.

Who knew?

Around 9:30 I headed back to the car to drive home (yes, same car with the cracked thing that's going to blow any minute) and called Bex to doublecheck that we were leaving town at 11:30 to visit Susie and David in Fredericksburg. Ding! Wrong. Turns out we (and by "we" I mean "Bex") had planned to arrive in F'burg at 11:30. F'burg is about 45 minutes south of D.C., which meant we had to leave Bex's by 10:45. I'm about 30 minutes north of Bex—by car. Do the math.

We were a little late.

But we had a great visit with Susie and David, had lunch, chatted about this and that, Bex's move, weddings, travel, jobs and kids. A good time.

(L-R: Bex, Susie, moi. Photo, unbeknownst to her, courtesy Bex.)

We had planned on getting back to D.C. by 3, but that was looking iffy since we didn't leave Fredericksburg 'til 3:30. Bex dropped me at the King St. Station and two Metros and a bus later, I was home by 7 p.m.

Which was a really good thing, since the Rockville Twilighter 8k started at 8:45 and registration closed at 8 p.m. and I had cleverly not pre-registered.

By this point in the day I had eaten: oatmeal (plain!) for breakfast, a veggie burger for lunch, followed by a double iced espresso mocha something. (Did I mention I haven't had caffeine, in oh, 12 years or so?) This was my doping scheme.

For the rest of my nutrition, I ate two pieces of bread and drank some water. Oatmeal, veggie burger, espresso, bread, water. Got it?

The Race

The first and last time I ran this race was July 17, 2005. It was one of my first races and I remember being a nervous wreck for about a week beforehand. What a difference two years makes. I also remember a Giant Hill that I had to walk up not once but twice.

Since I was early I milled around and noticed a Starbuck's cart handing out some strange espresso concoction with raspberries on top. Score! More caffeine.

Blah blah, we were off! I had my usual race goals: Don't be last and don't walk. Oh, and this was going to be simply a training run, with no racing at all. Of that I was certain.

This is such a fun race. You're surrounded by a few thousand strangers running with you through a quiet suburban neighborhood. The neighbors line the streets, cheering, and spraying the runners with garden hoses. The runners get to watch the sun set, and then run in the dark.

I hooked up with a guy (wow, I never thought I'd be writing that in a race report!) for miles 1 and 2. He worked in a bike store, so we talked bikes for a while. He was laboring but I wasn't. The course is gently rolling and I kept waiting for that big hill, thinking I should hold back for it. I remembered Peter telling me during our 5k to "glide downhill" and pump my arms on the uphills. I FLEW on the downhills and maintained on the uphills. I kept waiting for the Giant Hill that I just KNEW was waiting for me and would reduce me to walking.


I lost Bike Guy after a nice downhill somewhere around mile 2, right around when I decided I was going to race this thing as if my life depended on it.

Mile 3 I thought I could pick it up and I stopped dreading the Giant Hill. I started passing people. What a great feeling! People started walking.

I don't know what happened in mile 4. Apparently my watch stopped. Or, possibly I got worried about finishing strong and slowed down. And there was no Giant Hill. Anywhere.

Mile .97 I flew. I pushed myself. I'd been playing cat and mouse with an older gentleman (yes, my competition consists of old men, people in casts, and children—I take what I can get), and I decided I was taking him down if it was the last thing I ever did. I remembered Laurie saying it's supposed to hurt. I passed the geezer. I passed one chick who was starting to fade and I felt myself wanting to encourage her, but instead made the decision to focus on ME. Screw her! I felt bad for about 1/2 second, but I wanted to give it all I had and I thought this was no place to be thinking about anyone else. Something inside me just clicked.

A volunteer called out: "only 200 feet left, just like halfway around a track" and I picked it up even more, and flew through the chute.

I was elated. I had no idea what my time was but for the first time, I. Loved. Racing. Loved it!! I wanted to call up everyone I knew and tell them but alas, no one was around. Or no one who would actually care.

Except you guys:

The stats:

Rockville Twilighter 8k, July 21, 2007, age 50
Unofficial time: 53:08 (10:41 min./mile) 51/76

mile 1: 11:00
mile 2: 10:52
mile 3: 10:31
mile 4: 11:11 (no no no no no)
mile .97: 9:32 (yes yes yes yes yes!)

Rockville Twilighter, July 17, 2005, age 48: 58:18 (11:44 min./miles) 60/69

PR: St. Patrick's Day 8K, March 12, 2006, age 49: 52:28 (10:34 min./miles) 80/113

It's Not Me, It's You

Before I commence with the whining, go congratulate Mark who just ran an amazing marathon! And aj, who just kicked ass in her first duathlon!

OK, enough about them, back to me:

It's week ten of no running, and I see the doc on Thursday to either hear "all cleared for takeoff," or "you're benched for another two weeks." Or ten. Or whatever.

I'm having a great ol' time being depressed. (I am well aware that there are people with real problems. Honest. But I'm going to bleat for a while here.)

My 10k group ended, where I wasn't a runner but played one every Saturday. So I'm feeling rudderless on Saturday mornings. I should revel in being able to sleep til noon, but I kind of got in a routine. I kind of got in a routine of getting up and running and what if I lose it? What if these two years just vanish? What if I let my newfound fitness slip away? (yes, I know: other people, real problems. war, famine, cancer, etc.). Do you know how many years I was unfit?? Many. It's scary.

I've pretty much convinced myself I'll either a) never be able to run again, or b) have to start with the walk one minute/run one minute thing, or c) my doctor will tell me on Thursday that I am benched for another two weeks. I call it "premature depression." I like to get depressed about stuff that hasn't happened yet. It saves time.

I have put on a happy (sort of) face for ten weeks, but time's up and now I'm feeling good and sorry for myself, unlike some people I know, who can laugh through anything, and bring the rest of us along for the ride.

Other crap that is happening:
A friend from another department got promoted and is now working under me. It's tough when a friend becomes an employee. I'll just leave it at that. Really tough.

My highly underpaid coach will be moving to the west coast soon. Some of you know that until a few weeks ago, in real life Bex and I worked together (in different departments, so I could freely bitch, moan and complain to her. Oh the joy!) So that's another loss. We were also in the same bell choir, where she had the pleasure of elbowing me every time my ONE note rolled around. Two weeks ago she played the prelude and postlude at my church.





She's a classy dame.

There have been some other radical changes at work: 14 people were laid off, some of them good friends for years.

And, as a side affect, my workload has increased. So I'm working 10-11 hour days again (bleat bleat, moan, bitch). I can't keep up with the fun stuff that I do. Cannot. Keep. Up.

Like I've been trying to update my match.com profile for weeks and I can't even get that done. (Not like I care!) So I'm sure I'll die alone, surrounded by cats. (Of course that would require getting a cat.) So I'll be 49 on match.com forever, apparently. (Eh, maybe not entirely a bad thing.) Of course, you have to actually pay to play over on match.com, and I haven't been willing to shell out the big bucks after all the fun I had with e-harmony, not once but twice.

Plus, my bathroom ceiling is falling down because of my upstairs neighbors who haven't fixed their leaky pipes in two years, requiring me to confront the owner who doesn't even live there. His MAID and her family live there, rent free!! As if!!

I just need a little help:

Breaking Through

I know you are all on the edge of your seats wondering: Did Jeanne do it? Did she actually run six entire days in a row? Or maybe you're wondering: What's for dinner?

So yes, I did it. I ran six days in a row. I ran when I had no time to run, I ran when it was icing and snowing, I ran when it was colder than a gravedigger's heart. I also ran in some of the loveliest weather we've had all year.

It was as though someone flipped a switch in my brain. No whining, whinging, or worrying. I just laced up and ran, and worked life in around it. I. Enjoyed. Running. I can't tell you why, or what made the difference. Some people have a theory that it was all mental—that my enjoyment came from the fact that I was suddenly free from any pressure to perform.

Maybe.

Thursday I ran three miles when I had two planned. Friday it was freezing and icing and I ran hard on the treadmill for two miles—something which, during a normal week, I would just have skipped, because (say it with me now) I hate running, and the only thing I hate worse is running on the treadmill.

And then there was Saturday, Day Six.

I met my running group, led by the speedy and highly capable Coach Peter, at Roosevelt Island:

(Roosevelt Island)

(Peter, holding forth with a captive audience. Or, maybe holding his audience captive. Not sure what Bex is reacting to. Maybe one too many doughnuts?)

a lovely sanctuary in the middle of the Potomac River. We parked there, and ran down the Mt. Vernon trail towards Alexandria, Va,, along the Potomac, and back, a 4.25 mile roundtrip. A small but (obviously) HARDCORE group of us met in the parking lot and took off in three groups: advanced, intermediate, and run/walkers. It was seriously cold. 32F, 17F windchill, but beautifully sunny, the D.C. skyline in the distance, the water sparkling, the crew teams out in force despite the wind, their coxswain's voices fading in the distance.

I took off with the intermediate group (I think there were five of us) and I had the honor of having speedy Coach Bob running SOLO with me. After I got over the part about feeling stupid for being too slow to run with this speedy speedster (his goal for the National Marathon this coming Saturday? 3:15), I started enjoying myself.

Coach Bob took off after hanging with and encouraging me, and Coach Peter stepped in out of nowhere. I swear the man has a transporter. He just materializes. He ran with me to the bridge (the other four in my group were far ahead) and then ran with me all the way back.

Running with someone faster than you turns out to be a Really Good Thing. (Maybe this is not news to any of you, but it hit me like a lightning bolt on Saturday.) I've spent the past two years avoiding running with faster runners because ... well, it's embarrassing! I'll hold them back! I don't want to be that person!

Saturday's run reminded me of playing tennis with someone better than you, or dancing with a better dancer than you are. When I occasionally go to the local jitterbug hall, it never fails to amaze me that the expert dancers will dance with me. And that they are patient, kind and encouraging. Dance with a highly skilled dancer and he can make you feel like you're a good dancer, too. (Geeze, all of a sudden, I feel like dancing.)

So Saturday's run was like that. Like a really good dance with a really good dancer. So thanks, Peter! You sure can dance.

But, no dancing for me for a bit. I'm off to have this done tomorrow. (The irony is not lost on me that the minute I get the hang of running I have to stop!) and then I'm going to be a really excellent spectator and cheerleader (without the jumping around stuff) for a few weeks.

Peter, Bob, and Bex are all running the National Marathon next Saturday (Bex is running the 1/2). Bring your dancing shoes, people!