Remember This in Your Head ...

There's an Indigo Girls song with this refrain:

don’t you write it down, remember this in your head
don’t take a picture, remember this in your heart
don’t leave a message, talk to me face to face

I love this lyric because I am (dare I say "we" are?) so often wrapped up in capturing stuff on film, or writing it down (ahem), that I (we) often miss the moment of actually being there.

Take, for instance, yesterday's 18-mile training run.

Our coaches encouraged us to bring cameras because 18 miles is, well, pretty momentous, and convential wisdom says if you can finish 18 miles, you can finish the marathon. So one gal in our pace group brought a small camera to capture the run. And she took a few photos of several of us along the way, in front of the Capitol, on the trail, etc.

By about mile 7.5 we have our usual bathroom stop at Thompson's Boat Center, right across from the Kennedy Center, along the Potomac River.

All the high school and college crew kids are there taking out their rowing shells to practice on the river. I always love watching this, since Number One Daughter rowed in high school, and in college last year, so it brings back good memories. What a glorious, difficult, and beautiful sport.

Anywho, I went to the bathroom at Thompson's, and did my thing, along with many other AIDS marathoners. I must have taken a wee (he he!) bit too long, though. When I got back, my entire group, along with Divine Miz M, was having their picture taken in front of the scenic Potomac River. I said, "hey wait for me!" Too late. I missed it.

Later, Miz M told me someone in the group said "Wait, Jeanne's missing," and our Pace Group Leader said something to the effect of "Jeanne's out." As in who the hell has time to wait for Jeanne?

Now, when I heard this I had a choice to make. This could have really gotten my knickers in a twist, and I could have definitely spent the rest of the run bitching and moaning about how unfair, and what kind of people, etc. (This is the group who won't wait for someone to tie their shoe.) But I had 11 miles ahead of me. I wanted to have a good run. I love this part of the run because it 's on the Capital Crescent Trail, a paved, divided trail with tons of gorgeous foliage that runs along the Potomac all the way through West Virginia. It's gloriously beautiful, and on an early Saturday morning is filled with people running, biking, walking. I adore it.

So, I said a few nasty things about Miz Pace Group Leader to Divine, mostly just to get it out of my system, but really more in jest and sympathy for her, than out of that dark, spiteful, and ugly place deep down inside. Then, I made a conscious decision not to dwell (ah! becoming a grown up!!) on this ridiculous incident. PGL is just not a natural-born leader, which she can't help. Plus, I noticed she actually tried really hard to stay on pace yesterday. So, I decided to give her a pass.

It was right after this, (after the group photo that I'm not in), that the pace group ditched me and Miz M again. Or maybe we ditched them. I'm not completely sure, and it doesn't matter anymore. So it was me and Miz M from mile 8 to mile 18.

A short recap on the 18-miler: I think I really love long runs. (I know I will eat these words another day.) Yep, my feet starting hurting around mile 11, but this run is so beautiful that I just tried to focus on that. Getting back to base was hard but I did not stress (too much), and given that there is really no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, I just did it. I didn't kill myself either.

We actually ran from D.C. all the way across the Maryland line, where the coaches greated us with "Welcome to Maryland." Very cool.

And, on the way back, exactly when we needed it, one of the water stop guys (let's call him "Mr. Big") was handing out freezing cold towels which this guy, who did I mention is a volunteer? voluntarily buys and hauls around in a big container of ice cold water, simply for us to drape on our necks, exactly when we need it. I'm telling you, this, on a steaming hot day, at mile 11, I can honestly say, from what I remember, is better than sex.

So this is a sort of meandering post, without a punch line. But I think the punch line is that 1) I have reached some peaceful place with the whole group thing; 2) I actually seem to enjoy these long runs, despite the discomfort, and 3) I will remember this run in my head. I don't need a photo to remind me.

****

Bonus:

NOD and crew taking boat out of water after a regatta last fall. Let's just be glad we don't have to lift an eleventy-million pound shell out of the water and then carry it 20,000 miles after our race .

Scientific Analysis of My Running

(This is the actual text of an oh-so-sad attempt on my part to get my work colleague (a very fast, very very young runner) to tell me how great and fast and smart and clever I am.)

Here is the e-mail exchange verbatim (names have been changed to protect the innocent):

-----Original Message-----
From: Jeanne
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 8:41 AM
To: Young, Fast Work Colleague
Subject: What do it mean?

So I've been running an average of like 11:38 minute pace, except:

Monday:
11:22
11:10
11:23
10:39
Average: 11:08

Today:
11:30
11:00
11:22
10:35
Average: 11:07

----Original Message-----
From: Young, Fast Work Colleague
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 8:42 AM
To: Jeanne
Subject: RE: What do it mean?

I think it means....you're consistent :)

-----Original Message-----
From: Jeanne
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 8:43 AM
To: Young, Fast Work Colleague
Subject: RE: What do it mean?

Not that I'm getting faster? [ED.'s NOTE: I actually do realize how totally pathetic continuing this line of questioning is. Now. I now realize it now.]

-----Original Message-----
From: YFWC
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 8:45 AM
To: Jeanne
Subject: RE: What do it mean?

Ok, it means that the first mile you are kind of like...."Oh man I have three more of these, ugh"

The second, you are like, "This isn't so bad, I am almost half way done,"

The third, you are like, "Oh kill me now. Why am I doing this,"

And the last, you are like, "I'm awesome, this feels great, yay I am almost done, I kick a&*!

-----Original Message-----
From: Jeanne
Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 9:07 AM
To: YFWC
Subject: RE: What do it mean?

That's hilarious! And so freakin' true! [ED.'s NOTE: See, I knew if I kept at her long enough, I'd grind her down and eventually receive the adultation I apparently so desperately crave. And, it worked.]

My Favorite Topic

Many thanks to Susan and Stephanie for keeping me from having to think up anything original tonight!

On to the good stuff:

1.What are you training for now?
Marine Corps Marathon, Oct. 30, 2005, Washington, D.C.

2. If you are raising money for a cause, what is it and why is that cause important to you?
I'm training with the National Aids Marathon Program, and as part of the deal, I agreed to raise $1,700. Money raised goes to D.C.'s local HIV/AIDS clinic, rather than some impersonal research facility. I like that this money goes directly to those in need. Amount raised to date: $1,775!!!! (Signed, Mother Theresa.)

Why AIDS? There are so many good causes out there, I dunno, I picked this one. Maybe because (even though I know this is not a "gay" disease, so don't even bother writing to tell me that), some of my best friends (no, really) are gay.

Also, I knew someone (acquaintance) who died of AIDS.

3. What is the farthest running you've done in training and what is the farthest running you will run before your event? Ever?
Sixteen miles two weeks ago with my training "group," (who I believe I might have just briefly mentioned before), but the longest training run before the MCM is 26.2 miles, a few weeks before the actual marathon. That last training is, apparently, just a pretend marathon.

4. What is your favorite flavor of gu (or other sports gel) ?
I think they are all pretty disgusting and do nasty things to my digestive tract, but if you put a gun to my head and forced me to pick, I'd say tri-berry GU.

5. How many days a week do you run?
Oh this is a good question! Three days per week, because that's all we're allowed to run. Because we mustn't upset the Schedule.

Mondays and Wednesdays are maintenance runs, four miles each (or 45-minute runs of any length, take your pick). Tuesdays and Thursdays are cross-training (=horrid elliptical machine of death), and Saturdays are "group" runs, (which I believe I may have touched on in a previous post), alternating between long, longer, and ridiculous.

6. Are you injured in any way right now?
What, are you trying to jinx me?? No way I'm answering this! That'd be just asking for it.

7. What is the one type of running clothing/gear (shoes don't count) you can't live without?
Ok, I'm gonna lie on this one, and say Title Nine's incredible Frog Bra^tm. (Yeah, I know that's a boring answer, but you've already read waaay more than you ever wanted to know about me and my bodily functions.)

8. Do you have a talisman you are planning to take to your event? If so, tell us.
You mean like a lucky rabbit's foot? Or a favorite coin? A magic four-leaf clover? No. No, I don't have a talisman. Should I?? I should, shouldn't I. That's it, i'm doomed. Now, on top of everything else I have to worry about, I can add "find a freakin' talisman" to my list. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

9. Share one thing about yourself we don't know.
I sleep with an enormous, life-sized stuffed bear that I bought for my daughter when she was 8-years-old. He, I mean IT, keeps my back flat at night since I sleep with my legs draped over it. That's my story anyway.

Bonus fact: I sleep in what I like to call my "crib." A three-sided affair. Kind of cozy, like you're sleeping on a ship. It kinda looks like a crib, doesn't it? Without the fourth side.

I find that amusing. As no doubt would Dr. Freud.

Had enough?

Margaret, ncmunchkin, and Erin, tag, you're it.

The Poop, the Whole Poop, and Nothing But the Poop

It's Friday. So you all know what that means.

It means my stomach is twirled up inside of itself like tomorrow is, oh, I dunno, my wedding day, or the day I sit for the bar exam, or perform my first brain surgery.

What tomorrow really holds, of course, is nothing more than a short eight-mile run, after last Saturday's 16-miler, and per usual (god I love italics), I'm a total, nervous wreck about it (see above similes).

But 'nuff said about that, because I've run out of ways to describe freaking out.

So I thought I'd introduce a new topic: All About Poop.

The problem: Wake up early Saturday morning, jump around, eat a little something, drink lots of water (not a big coffee drinker these days), and um, that little business doesn't seem to want to happen.

Until.

Until I'm in the car, oh, 15 minutes from the running site.

Until I get to the running site. By which time it has gone away.

But where I then have to force myself to go to the nearby Safeway, where they let us use the single grody bathroom.

Where I know there are 10 people waiting in line for said bathroom.

And where, knowing that 10 people are waiting, peristalsis knows it too, and just stops dead.

So nothing happens.

Until about 10 minutes into the run when all of a sudden ... well, you don't want me to paint you a picture, do you? The hunt is on for a porta-pottie.

Last week I successfully forestalled this problem by following mom's advice and eating lots and lots of roughage! And it worked!

Today I am trying for a repeat performance: veggie sub for lunch, brown rice and veggies for dinner, eighteen gallons of water, (and, oh yeah, a mars bar after lunch, but only because I was stuck in a dark training room with someone babbling on and on about CSS, and it was right there free for the eating), plus about eight oatmeal cookies after dinner.

(This from the girl who gave up sugar. But I digress.)

If that ain't enough roughage, I don't know what is.

Point being, I am doing everything I can do except standing on my head (which would no doubt make it even more difficult) to make this thing happen before tomorrow's run. Because, people, I am on a Schedule, and this thing is just not cooperating.

So I thought I'd shed a little light on the subject, bring it out into the open, so to speak, where it can be faced and conquered.

After all, if Michael Stipe can sing about it, why can't I write about it?

      But me.

We Return You Now to Our Usual Programming

I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted by that last post. I cannot believe the number of words I spent moaning about not having a "fun" group. I can't even believe I actually wrote those words—except yes, I can, because I have actually met me.

And before we get back to me, I do want to mention our running family friend Stephanie, who has been relegated to the elliptical due to what it turns out seems to be a minor injury. Yippee!! (I mean not yippee that she's injured, yippee that it's not serious. Oh, you know what I mean.)

So, not to get all sloppy or anything, but yeah, you ALL reminded me, one way or another, that I actually already have a fantasticamally fun group I run with. All of you. Only we don't run together all the time. Or ever. But still. You're all there, bringing me back from Planet Jeanne.

So meanwhile, today it was twenty-seven-eleven-hundred degrees out. No, really. Topped 100. And I ran at 7 a.m. But the spectacular part is that I ran—are you ready for this?—WATCHLESS~!

That's akin to saying I ran topless.

I thought I had my watch in my backpack and then I remembered, no it was home, so that I could diligently enter all its little numbers into my training log over at cool running (cool, my ass. Do they know what's going on out there???)

This was my first time (the virgin metaphor again!) going watchless, and I felt, well, kind of naked.

I ran my usual four miles and I have absolutely no idea how fast or slow I went. Ok, I'm exaggerating. I have some idea. I did look at the clock before and after, but that's including cool-down and warm-up and stretching.

But whatever.

Point is, after all the whining and moaning about the whole pace group thing, I think it's slightly ironic, if not downright Freudian, that I forgot the watch.

It was very freeing.

Imagine how freeing if I actually did run naked.

And with that scary thought, I bid you good night.

More About This Later

Welcome! to your weekly bitchfest.

I've been promising myself that I would write about my reasons for running this marathon, just to get really clear. Which they haven't been so much.

But on Saturday's run—and in fact, the entire week leading up to Saturday's run—one of my goals got crystal clear: I wanted to be the kind of girl who belongs to a big, fun, relaxed group of people pursuing a common passion. Like, um, say, running a marathon, for instance.

Everyone I'd met who did this training said, oh you'll have so much fun with your Group. The staff at the info session back in cold, bleak, dark February held out Group bonding as an incentive to get people to sign up. (And apparently, it worked.) Bloggers raved about how they'd found lifelong friends. Some even posted Group photos pre-, during, and post-Saturday morning runs (p.s. those are shots of the actual training site I run at on Saturday mornings. Cool, huh?).

And in the 7 gazillion Galloway articles and books I read, he never failed to rhapsodize about the power of the Group.

So, here I am, it's week 11170^th and do I have a group? I do not.

The first pace group I was put in sort of fell apart.

I tried another, slower group the next week, let's call them "pace group 'B.'" But when I had to stop and pee (yep, that word again), off they went. By then I had met the Divine Miz M, and she ran with me, and waited for me while I attended to those sorts of things. PGB was not into waiting; well let's just say if you dropped dead on a run, I'm pretty sure they'd step over you. (Ooh that's harsh.)

So, I spent the next few weeks running with Divine. We have a grand time running together, but we have different paces. Plus, I was worried (what me, worry?) that I was becoming dependent on her. If one of us got injured, or ill, we'd be screwed. And I wanted a freakin' Group already...

So last Saturday I decided to give PGB another try, even if it meant not running with Divine (and thank god she is not the drama queen that I am, so she completely understood). So, off I went with PGB.

Now B's pace leader (as in the "one who sets the pace") refuses to set the pace, instead letting the fastest runner set the pace. Apparently all 10 people in this group agree with her, because I talked with pretty much all of them, until I'm sure they were ready to slap me silly to shut me up, about the point of sticking with the pace your group is assigned. One of them finally told me "hey, you really aren't gonna be able to get 10 people to do what you want them to do."

She had me there.

PGB trains this way: they charge out hard and fast, and die on the way back, like it's a race.

And they did this on Saturday despite being specifically told by our coaches that day to add a minute to our pace. Instead, I think they took 3 minutes off (for the first few miles).

So the long and the short of it is: I don't have a fun group, I'm not in synch with them, I'm not gonna bond with these people, even though I'm sure they're perfectly nice, I did run 16 miles with them and came out fine, I know what they're doing is dumb, and well, i I'm not sure what exactly to do about it. And yeah, I already talked with the coaches, who pretty much shrugged. I mean, really what can they do? We're all grown-ups.

And yeah, I know 40 kazillion people will be running the marathon, so I'm sure i'll find plenty of people to talk with and pass the time with, but ya know what? I'm just disappointed. Which sucks, because I just ran 16 miles! So I have nothing to be disappointed about!

In church Sunday, our priest talked about the "Melodrama of the Self."

So that's what this is, probably in spades. Everyone is happy but me, and I'm gonna go eat worms and die.

Like I said, we're all grown-ups.

16 Miles and Whaddya Get ...

another year older, and deeper in debt. (That's probably too obscure a reference for you young 'uns, so just click the link and you'll actually hear the real song.)

And why would I be singing, you ask?

Because I just ran 16 miles!! And it was good! And I stayed with my pace group! (More about P.G. (pace group) angst-dramafest later; mostly my doing, i think.)

And I did it somewhere between 3:33 or 3:35 minutes!!! (I love using exclamation marks.)

Which is around a 13:19 pace or 13:26, whatever. Oh let's say I ran 13:19-minute miles, just for fun.

I'm deliriously happy because I kept up with this pace group—the 13:30 pace group—(more about that later), even though they were supposed to be running 14:30 today, due to excessive heat, etc., only they decided they didn't need to (more about that later).

I kept up, I was fine at the end, a little achey, nothing major, took an ice bath when I got home (aiyeeee!!!).

And, as a bonus this week: I beat my icky 14 mile run by like 15 minutes!

It's all good, people.

Optional?? What Means Optional???

So, we get a weekly uplifting e-mail from the D.C. National Aids Marathon Program training rep, giving details and reminders about the upcoming weekly run, along with motivational stuff, fundraising and running tips, and etc.

I really look forward to these e-mails because they are funny and fun and motivational and make me feel part of a group, and part of a bigger purpose in life. So, I like live for these e-mails!

This week's run, on Saturday, is 16 miles—16 long, hot, miles, but not really any hotter than any other Saturday. In fact, by 9 a.m. it's supposed to feel like 83°F. Which in this town? That's tepid, balmy, practically lukewarm for July.

But today's weekly e-mail had these very odd words in it:

It looks like it is going to be a hot one this weekend.
(Ed.'s note: Duh.)
Because of the potentially high heat and humidity, we are making this weekend’s run optional. If you don’t feel like you should be running in the high heat/humidity this weekend, then please don’t push yourself.

Huh?

Come again?

"Don't push yourself??"

"If you don't feel like it??"

"This week's run is optional??"

I don't even know where to begin with this. Yeah, I know they are only concerned about our safety, but come on! I have enough problems being motivated without my coaches telling me things are optional.

And it's not like I can't do enough freaking out about long runs on my own. Now I have my coaches painting a picture of heat stroke and heart attacks and other dire outcomes for me.

This is a slippery slope, my friends.

And speaking of slippery (this is related, stay with me here), after having had a relatively sugar-free house for several months, ice cream made its way into my freezer, all because of NOD having her wisdom teeth out last week, after which she was told she couldn't eat anything but soft foods, and she was soooo sad, I had to run out and buy her all kinds of high-fat content ice cream, which I was certain I could safely ignore the presence of. In my freezer.

Um, not so much, it turns out, since I just downed a few bowls of ben and jerry's...um yuuuum! And I'm positive that that has nothing whatsoever to do with evil e-mail from running people.

To that e-mail, I have this to say: Am now putting hands over ears and la-la-la-ing, and ha ha I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!

Bless Me Father ...

It occurred to me this morning that I need to get something off my chest to you, dear diary.

So here it is:
The blogs I really enjoy reading the most are the ones from runners who are slow. Not enjoy in a "thank-god-there's-someone-as-slow-as-me" kinda way, though I have to admit, since I'm in a confessional, that there is a bit of that in it.

No, mainly why I seek out blogs from slowpokes like me is because I want to be reassured that it's ok to be slow. And there are a few bloggers out there who are slow, but are totally ok with it. It's so not an issue. And friends (I mean Father), these days, that's what's really inspiring me. Because there's a goal I can embrace: my inner (well, and outer) slowness.

New runners who start out slow and then are soon flying up mountains in the desert are inspiring, too, just in a different way. The way Lance Armstrong is inspiring. Or Neil Armstrong, for that matter. Other-worldly inspiring. But just outta my league. And then after they inspire me, I start feeling bad, like I should be able to do that. And then I get jealous. And then I have to go to confession. Which sucks.

I can relate to slow runners. And the ones who are totally fine with it, are just, well, heroic.

Is this a bad thing? It's so un-American. I know I should be striving to get better, right? But does better always mean faster?

Eh, whatever.

In any case, this week on my two four-miler maintenance runs, I made a deliberate decision, after three weeks of successively running faster, to just slow down. To about a 11:35 minute mile.

And so far? No pain, no guilt. (Well, except I started this post as a confession, for god's sake. So I might be lying about the no guilt part.)

Amen.

I'm Famous!

Check out the "Rundown: A Runner's Carnival," hosted this week by Dawn, the Pink Lady, where your's truly merits a short entry, along with some other runners who have a few stories of their own to tell. Like Russ, who claims he slept with 1,500 women a few nights ago.

And here I thought running was a wholesome pasttime.