Around the National Marathon in Winter Park on a Bike for 65 Miles Bay Race

Too much is happening tomorrow!

First up: Bex is running the first (and her first) annual National Marathon, and I will not be there to see her. "Some parts of the course are flat and fast, other parts are hilly and challenging," says the Web site. Bex, my friend, mentor, and coach, I hardly knew ye. Go, Bex!! That's what I'll be shouting (hopefully in my head) as I ferry over to Bainbridge Island tomorrow morning.

Next up: Jon, who is running Around the Bay, just like this little (imaginary) kid did:

Unlike Ralph, Jon does have a prayer, due to his extreme Lenten regime of self-denial.

Then there's our favorite 21st Century Mom who is riding 65—that's sixty-five—miles tomorrow! Rock on, 21st C!

And then, there is David, out tomorrow for his first race since his Miami marathon.

I'm sure I've forgotten a few people.

Good luck everyone! And thank you for saving me from having to think up something clever for my blog tonight.

Seattle=Hills

Seattle, March 23—After spending too many hours in the middle seat on each leg of my journey from D.C., with my knees under my chin, and two largish people on either side of me (yes, on both planes) for many, many hours, only to be followed by standing for hours in the Science Fair at the Nonprofit Technology Conference (all, I might add, in hopes of winning one of the many I-pods or Nanos we were promised the vendors would be "handing out like candy") whaddya know, my back hurt. Plus, I didn't win a single stinkin' thing.

I've become convinced that running makes my back feel better. The hotel actually has a little laminated card with a three- and a five-mile route on it. Cool. Except the concierge told me to "forget that," she knew a much better route. I was very excited! (This was around 6 p.m.; I had to be back in the conference saddle by 7:30.)

So off I went, having put all my faith in the non-running concierge. (Clue: Don't take running advice from non-runners.) The route concierge gave me first went up a big-ish hill and then down the biggest-ass hill I've ever seen. ( You know that crazy twisty street in San Francisco that goes up the side of a mountain? This was that. ) How hilly was it? I had to walk down this hill. In the rain. And, once you are at the bottom, you are so not at the bottom. At the bottom of this hell—oops, I meant hill— there are about 10,000 stairs down leading to a tunnel that goes underneath the freeway so that you can get to the sidewalk on the other side that runs along the Puget Sound. I felt a slight twinge when I realized that what goes down must come up; but countered it by busily feeling superior to all the other conference participants who were locked up in the hotel workout room, forced to watch Fox News, or worse.

Out I ran, to the start of a park that was under heavy construction. Um, not so scenic. And oddly, there were no other runners about. After 20 minutes or so, I got spooked and decided to run back. Cuz it was creepy. So, I ran like the wind. Like the wind who had forgotten completely how it had arrived where it was and so completely missed the underground tunnel, and the 10,000 stairs back to the bottom of the giant hill.

I had to backtrack. Tick-tock. God knows how, but I finally found my way back, cursing loudly, side stitch in full bloom, to the bottom of the 10,000 stairs which took me up to the bottom of the big, bad hill. Crawled up hill. Ran back to hotel. Where I really wanted to advise the concierge of the error of her ways. But, she was busy.

Tonight: Big geek party at the Space Needle!! I gotta go get my groove on. (I wonder if they'll have karaoke—?)

My Perfect A**!

This morning. Went out—with great trepidation— for a wee 35-minute run. Kept going. Legs like the wind. Felt fantastic! Could have run longer. Ended up with 52 minutes, 4++ miles. (All while listening to Episode 7 of the Ricky Gervais podcast, wherein our hero Karl uses the word "cobbler," to much ridicule. Seriously, when is the last time you took your shoes to the "cobbler"?)

What was all that moaning about in the previous post? Oh, the angst of the runner.

Coach says "keep track of what you ate and how you sleep before all your runs." So, dutifully, here's my report of last night's dinner, 9:30 p.m.:
One small bowl of gross canned half-cold (God, I am lazy) vegetarian barley (ha, i almost wrote "barely") soup; cheese and crackers.
Sleep: Went to sleep around midnight; woke at 6:45.

Run well, run badly; there's no sense to it! Bob says I hadn't yet recovered from my Big Race. OK, I'll buy that! "Load and recover," says Bold. OK, done!

Perfect, My A**

I don't know who let Pollyanna take over my blog, but I kicked her butt outta here, and now I'm back, with a vengeance.

Saturday's easy 50-min run. Could. Not. Do. It. Apparently, I can only run well once per year, and I had used up my allotment last week in the race. Also, apparently, I can no longer run. Ever.

I met up with my group at 8 a.m. and I instantly knew it wasn't going to work. It was a simple out and back—25 minutes each way. The weather was perfect. A bit windy, perhaps. After the first 20 minutes my heart rate shot up to 198. And that was during a walk break!! (An unscheduled walk break, of which I took several. Because of the not being able to run ever again thing. See above.)

I got back first to base—Fletcher's Boathouse—and as the others came in, one speedy little girl told me, "Great job!" I thought she was kidding, but later learned that she thought (ha ha ha ha) that I had come in first. I told her it's easy to come in first; you just turn around before everyone else! (In 25 minutes I didn't go as far as she did, hence the getting back before her.) I guess the good news is that at least I finished. And I kept making myself run. The bad news is: WTF happened???

Sunday I had to prove to myself that I could indeed still run, so set out for a slow 35 minutes. Did it. Did it with legs like lead. Again, I say: WTF??

After consulting every single person I know (mailman, building maintenance, Blockbuster clerk) about WTF happened, the consensus is: I stay up too late reading all your blogs, composing witty entries, and just putzing around. Add to that not drinking enough water, and oh, how about we throw in eating crap. Apparently (that word again) you cannot just live la-de-dah, and expect to go run in the morning. Who knew?

In other not-so-perfect news, my perfect NOD had a run-in with her crew coach. Something about staying out til 1 a.m. and then going to practice at 5 a.m., and not, um, being totally on her game. I don't know where she gets her insane training habits.

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P.S. I am off to Seattle for a few days for a conference. So you won't have me to kick around (or maybe you will; I hear they have the Internet there, too). Thanks to Anne and jeff for their suggestions on running in Seattle. Let's see if I get my MOJO back on the other coast.

Perfect

Do you ever have the feeling that you wish things could just stay as they are, exactly as they are, right this minute?

I've been feeling that way lately.

My job is great because ... it has a great running trail behind it (God help me if that's the primary reason) ... I love the people I work with (most days) ... it's good work. I've made peace with where I live. It's small, which I've grown to appreciate. It's close to work, to a great city, and to nature. I have good friends who are loads of fun. I love my bell-ringing class (go ahead, laugh). I love my meditation class, my Bikram class. I love my church. It's filled with people who care about me deeply. I love my demanding training schedule (sort of). I have one of the greatest kids on earth.

Things are perfect right now.

Of course, the reality is that my life is far from perfect. I have the elderly parent situation; I am in too much debt. I'd love to meet someone to share my life with. I struggle with anxiety and depression, and I'm always one step away from major back problems.

Still, I want to hang on to the way life is right now. Because even though it's not perfect, it's feeling pretty damn good.

So, of course, I have this subtle uneasiness. Because, of course, life is ephemeral and the truth is, of course, things won't stay the same. How could they? People move on. Jobs change. I'll fall off the training wagon.

I feel like if I could just hold my breath hard enough, I could make the world stand still.

It's not a bad feeling, this whole gratitude thing. You should try it.

Ricky Gervais' Podcast

I don't have HBO, so I never saw "The Office." Still, on a whim I downloaded The Ricky Gervais Show podcast from the Guardian, and I gotta tell you: it's hard to run while laughing so hard. I must look like a maniac, running along, doubled over, drooling. (And that's before I start laughing.) This is the funniest podcast (and apparently, recently voted number one most popular. Who knew?) Unfortunately, they just started charging for it, but you can still get one or two episodes for free. These guys are seriously hilarious, if insane.

St. Patrick's Day 8K Race Recap

The race started at 9 a.m., so I got there at 7 a.m. Parked. Picked up packet. Peed. Pooped. (I really like the alliteration! Sorry, can't keep it up.) Sat in car and waited. I had printed out Bex's directions and read and re-read them like I was sitting for the bar exam, and these questions would be on it. Next, I worried about where to pin my race bib: on the outside of my fleece? But it was going to heat up fast, so what if I want to take my fleece off? Or on the inside? Then how would the race photographers get my bib number? And I can't take my fleece off because it has the cute little pocket that holds my Shuffle. These were important issues.

So that held me until around 8:15, when I got out of the car and went to "Freedom Plaza"


to meet Madame X who was coming just to cheer me on (thank you Madame X!).

By then of course I had to pee again, but by then, so did 5,999 other people. I really hate long lines. I looked around. We were not exactly in a wilderness area. On the other hand, seek and ye shall find. Yes! I found somewhere else. Not exactly somewhere inside either.

I saw my friend A. from my marathon pace group; A., who consistently ran faster than me last year from April right on through the marathon. (Not that I'm competitive or anything, but ya know? I really wanted to beat her. Badly. Plus she's 10 years younger and 20 pounds lighter. I'm just sayin'.) Some junior ambassador from the Irish embassy said a few lilting words ("Good Luck," I think was the gist) and we were off!

There was supposed to be (note foreshadowing) water at two and four miles. So, no need for a water bottle. My, it got hot fast! I cranked up the Shuffle, and A. and I ran together for a bit. Down Pennsylvania Avenue, up a bit of a hill towards Union Station, past the Capitol, then (yippee!!!) down, down, down that freakin' hill back towards the start. Many detours here and there.

I tried hard to follow Bex's directions. I really did. But it was really hard to speed up at 3 miles when there are NO miles ... grrrr. No matter, soon there would be a water stop, you know, at Mile Two.

Except: no. No water stop. On I ran, trying to figure out by time what mile I could possibly be at. The funny thing was, they had plenty of volunteers at this race, holding up big orange flags hither and yon. Would it have killed them to write some numbers on those flags?? Would It Have Killed Them?? No, I think it Would Not Have Killed Them.

Anyway, finally a water stop. Was this halfway, or mile 4? Who knew? I only knew I wasn't stopping. I was passing people, not yet killing myself, but I had definitely sped up, per the Little Dictator's instructions. I was running strong, with the Little Devil (must be the Little Dictator's evil twin) on my shoulder constantly whispering that I could just walk any ol' time I felt like it. From which I distracted myself by thinking that this was just another Sunday morning run, no big deal, I've run this long many many times. Or several.

I had ditched Marathon Pace Group Pal A. rather quickly, somewhere around mile two. (Who knows?) It was really hot.

As we were nearing the end, which was right in front of us, we had to take a left turn (away from the end: cruel) onto 10th St, run a few blocks, double back, turn left onto Pennsylvania, where we were now just a few blocks from the finish.

I had decided that I would turn "it" on at that left turn onto 10th. Right then, Sean Paul's "Temperature" came on (thanks Elle!), (what can I say? that song has a good beat). Whatever "it" is, I finally figured out how to turn it on full blast, and prayed I wasn't turning it on too soon.

I ran hard and fast. My work colleague, C., was on the corner (he had already finished the race, damn him) cheering for me! I remembered Bex's instructions to keep running even after crossing the mat. I thought I was gonna die, but just like giving birth, it's funny how soon you forget the pain.

Here I am, pouring it on, (photo courtesy Madame X):

Note, please, that one leg is entirely and fully off the ground. Note also: bad form.

I ran across the mat and kept going. And here are my unofficial splits (and for once it was not my fault):
Mile 1:
Mile 2:
Mile 3:
Mile 4:
Mile .97: (my watch time) 52:32 (avg. 10:34 min./miles)

Update: Official time: 52:28 10:30 min./miles

Oh joyous day!!!

Let's take a ride in the WayBack Machine, to July 18, 2005, my first 8k:
58:18 (avg. 11:44 min./mile).

I was happy. Madame X and I found each other, high-fived, I kept looking at my watch like a maniac, trying to figure out the average (like it matters; oh, it so matters). Water, banana, stretching, walking, Irish dancing girls. Or Irish girls dancing. We said farewell, and off I went to church, smelling like an Irish dance hall. I changed in the bathroom, and made it in the nick of time. The sermon was on: "Letting Go."

Ha.

And Speaking of Dreams ...

(I dreamt last night that I weighed 127 lbs. Not 126. Not 128. 127. Which of course I would kill for. What is it with the odd numbers? But I digress...)

The Little Dictator, though in the midst of taper madness, continues to take time out of her busy schedule to scare the crap outta coach, train, and encourage me. I'm telling you, without her, I would curl up on the couch and never run again. She has so much faith in me ... more than I do ... and apparently, she honestly likes this coaching thing. So, just to be nice, I let her practice on me.

Here are some excerpts from a fun little e-mail she sent just today, giving me advice on how to run my 10K-turned 8K on this coming Sunday morning (I've noted my comments in red, just so you can distinguish between the two of us, you know, to avoid any confusion):

Miles 1-2.5: Start at a pace, say 10:45-11:00/mile or so, (See, that's already hilarious! Such a kidder!) that you can sustain for the WHOLE race.

Miles 2.5-4.0: From here on out, you're going to get faster, not slower. (This is where the dreaming really starts.) Don't just maintain your pace, as others will start to slow, giving you the illusion of speeding up. Quicken your pace to around 10:30 (OK Bex, I gotta tell ya: you're FREAKIN' me out!!) (or even a bit faster IF you can hold good running form) . Breathe evenly, one breath in for every two strides, one breath out for the next two strides. Repeat ad infinitum. (Well, she got that infinitum part right.)

Mile 4-5: Tighten your focus and speed up even more - say 85-90 percent of your capacity - probably about 10:15-10:20/mile. (La la la la, sorry, I can't hear you!!) Listen to your body for any abnormal aches, but remember that when racing, you will feel some discomfort/pain. (See, right here is the problem. I really dislike pain. And discomfort. Really. Dislike. There must be some way around the pain/discomfort thing.) Try to run in a controlled but relaxed manner. Think, "As the race gets longer, I get calmer." Remember to breathe and keep your head up and focused on the middle distance. Hold back just enough energy to sprint the last 500 feet.(It's possible I can do this part, because I will have been running so slowly for the whole race.)

All kidding aside, can you believe my luck in having the Little Dictator as my personal coach?? This is excellent, just excellent! Bex, you're the greatest. (Thank God she'll be away this weekend so she won't be too crushed by my 11:30 min/mile pace. If I make it that fast.)

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In other news, does everyone know that Naomi of 26.2 Miles vs. Naomi fame has flown the coop, vamoosed, high-tailed it outta here? And is now in Senegal? Dakar, to be exact? Yep. And she's updated her blog several times. She has some amazing stories to tell, and a Naomi-style (per usual) take on the people and the place. You should really stop reading this drivel right now and go read her instead.*

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*This has been a paid public service announcement brought to you by the Committee to Repel and Attract People .

Yeah, But This Is More Interesting

I ran my first 60 minutes on Sunday morning with no walking. That's my longest time continuously running, like a bad Broadway musical. How far was that, you ask? Um, could have been one mile for all I know (miles are so last year, people), but I think passing the two mile markers (the ones that I noticed), indicates that it may have at least been four, probably (please, dear God?) closer to five. Not that it matters.

Monday is my recumbant bike-riding day, but I went totally wild and took the day off from training (not, sadly, from work). I went home and got in bed at 7:30 and slept til 7 a.m. (I guess that's the result of running sixty minutes straight, huh? Or watching the Oscars til all hours of the night.)

But whoa, Nellie, back up to Sunday night. Where I wasted way too much time watching said Oscars, which I swore I would never do again, but I got sucked into, and felt like I was in a time warp (thank God for my man Jon, even if he did get skewered for no good reason by Tom "Get a Life" Shales), what with the cheesiest of cheesy production numbers, and then what with giving the wrong person best actor, (yes, Philip whatshisname was great, too), along with the wrong film (yes, "Crash" was great too. Just not as great.) I can't be everywhere at once, you know, telling everyone what to do. It's hard enough giving orders to my friends and family. My beloved "Brokeback" which should have won EVERYTHING, did not get best picture. So that's it: Oscar and I am parting ways.

Later that same night, I think I had what might be euphemistically called a marathon wet dream (can I say that in a family blog?) Oh well. I qualified for the Boston Marathon by running a marathon in 2:30. In. My. Dreams. Literally. So now when I say I could qualify for Boston in my dreams, I'll be telling the truth.

Next up: Monday night, my bed, me in the midst of my 12-hour sleep-a-thon. I dreamt that Number One Daughter had inheirited $189 million. Not $190. Or even $188 mil. (It's times like this I wish I believed in numerology.) I awoke the next morning oh- so-disappointed to find this was only a dream. In my dream I remember thinking: NOD can give away $20 mil and not feel a thing! Also in my dream I remember thinking: I gotta get NOD a financial advisor, pronto. So my happy dream quickly turned into an anxiety one. Isn't that always the way?

Cue Tuesday: Well I slept 12-ish hours so I was kind of wide-eyed awake at 7. I fiddled around with the shuffle until I broke it. Damn. Damn bcs today's schedule called for a 50-minute run. And thanks to most of you and my other running friends, I must have the Shuffle! So I fiddled for another hour until I fixed it, which meant I got to work late, didn't get to run til 1 p.m., and generally did not earn my keep today. But hello! I ran 50 minutes!! With no walking!! I did want to stop about 50,000 times, but I didn't.

It's entirely possible I'm getting this running thing down.

Here's the rest of the week's schedule:
Wed: 45-min run (with some speedwork thrown in, and I use the word loosely);
Thur: 35-min run in the a.m.; 90-min Bikram in the p.m.;
Fri: Strength-class with the ass-slapping Monsieur M.;
Sat.: 3-mile run with running group; capped off by
Sunday: The 10k-turned-8k St. Patrick's Day 10k!!

Hey, you: Wake up.

Isn't That Interesting?

Yesterday: Strength class day with the highly ripped and all 'round hot Monsieur M, who (though not on my team, sigh) likes to slap his ass during class and tell us to "give it to him." Yes, indeedy, we are always happy to oblige!!

And the rest of yesterday? I: a) ate crappy food (dried fruit? ALL DAY??? take my word for it: don't do this); b) had a discouraging thing happen at work; c) came home to a discouraging letter; d) checked e-mail late at night, reading one from my "new" step-brother that sent me thru the roof; and e) capped it all off by phoning my extremely old, sick, frail mother and yelling at her. All of which led to f) a nice, insomniac night, full of guilt and scary dreams.

So, when 6:30 a.m. rolled around, I was in no mood. But, the key, the KEY, people, as always, is not thinking, which I happen to excel at. Off I went to week three of my 10k training program with my running group, the D.C. Road Runners. I was planning to try running with the next group up from the one I'd been running with, which, it so happens, is the inimitable Coach Bex's group. Which actually has quite a range of runners in it, including some even slower than me. We ran 45 minutes, up and down some nice big hills, and I ran the whole thing, and ended strong, and I was hell freakin' proud of myself.

Then it was off to Starbucks, with my posse: Madame X and her sidekick, Mistress Y, and my personal trainer, Bex, where we proceeded to laugh our asses off.

And then it was off to see the mother I yelled at. Smartly though, before I went to what was supposed to be sleep last night, I cruised the Internet looking for something, yea, anything that would calm me down. Someone recommended this yoga teacher to me (and I am all about the yoga these days), so I looked her up and you know what she said to me? She said this:

Whenever I can, I try to observe what is happening within me and around me using the curious mind of a sociologist. I observe what others say and do; I observe what I say and do, all with an open heart and non-judging mind. I sometimes use this phrase silently to myself, “isn’t that interesting?” as I observe.

Here are the results of my first attempt:
Mother: "I'm leaving the nursing home and moving back to West Virginia, the place I hate, even though I can't walk yet or take care of myself."
Me: "Isn't that interesting?"
Mother: "My husband is checking himself out of the hospital against medical advice and driving himself and his ostomy and his heart attack home on Monday."
Me: "Isn't that interesting?"
Mother: "Can you write checks for these 30 overdue bills for me today?"
Me: "Isn't this (I had to mix it up a little) interesting?"

"New" step-brother who I specifically wanted to see today, because he is leaving for California tomorrow, and who, when I called him at 1 p.m. from the nursing home, was still in bed: "I think I have food poisoning so I can't see you today." (Why is it that whenever I hear "food poisoning," I always think "alcoholic?")
Me: "Get the eff over here so we can figure out what to do with your father."

Isn't that interesting?