Suck it up, Buttercup!

It's just one more race recap.  You can handle it.  I know I said I was done with the race recaps for a while, but, well, then I ran one more race.  It would be silly to just leave all the important to nobody but me details floating around in my head, don't you think?

Race #15- Suck it up Buttercup 5k, July 14, 2013
          H-E-Double Hockey Sticks! That's how we spell 'hill' in Florida!

A couple of people in my running group have made this phrase a mantra, of sorts, and everyone's favorite race director friend of mine decided to give us all something to suck up, so to speak.

Remember how I complained about the cold race day weather all those times?  This was not one of those times.  Florida.  July.  100% humidity.  In addition to being hot and sticky, the race course was definitely the hilliest course I've ever run, and likely one of the hilliest in the state.  One person called the hills "lung crushers".  Most people couldn't breathe well enough to get out any words.  Despite being a challenging race from every possible perspective, there were hundreds of entrants, all ready to suck it up and run.  The race directors actually ran out of finisher's medals a few days before the event, ~100 people still registered with the understanding that they were too late for a medal.

I, along with 25 or so other lunatics runners, ran a few miles before the race, and then ran to the race.  Yes, you read that right.  I purposely ran 5.5 miles (2 miles of which were on the very same race course hills) before running the race.  Then, of course, I had to run back to my car, so I put over 11 miles behind me that day.  (See, I'm training for a marathon.  I'm in marathon training.  I'm going to run a marathon soon.  Marathon.  Marathon.  Marathon!!!!!!!!)  Because of the extra miles, and because of the really-truly-significant-I-don't-care-if-it-is-Florida hills, I made it my goal to finish the 5k in less than 30 minutes.

I also made it my goal to sweat until I could wring out each article of clothing.  Congratulations, me!

My dad crushed his under 25 minute goal, and earned himself a 2nd in age group cowbell award.

The only bad part of this race, for me, was my stupid *#$%ing race-day brain.  Nothing makes me want to punch myself in the temple quite like the thoughts of, "Gah-hasp.  I've...ne-ver...pant pant...run...like...this...pant pant...eh-ver...before!" (Yes, I think out-of-breath when I'm feeling anxious.  You don't?).  The worst part?  I was thinking those stupid, breathless, nonsensical thoughts at the start of the race.  I wasn't fatigued.  I had just run the exact same course.  I have run many a race before.  Yet, there I was, slowing down before I even got to the first hill, thinking, "What...am...I...do-ing...pant...run-ning?  I...don't...ruh..huh..huh."  Yeah.  You wanna argue with me about deserving a temple-punch?

It just so happened that the article I had bookmarked in my 4-months-old issue of Runner's World to read last night was:

From what I understand, stupid *#$%ing race-day brain, or "The Blerch" is a bit of an epidemic among runners.  According to the article, it's super important to train and tame the brain and those ridiculous thoughts that pop up and turn swift feet into leaden ones.  I haven't actually finished reading the article yet (the magazine has been sitting next to my bed for 4 months, you think I can read a whole article in one night?) but I think it's good advice to teach your brain to think helpful, true thoughts.  'Specially when you're also training your body for a marathon (EEP!!!).

Result: 28:58

Do you ever deserve a punch in the temple?

Marathon training. (It's on my mind, couldn't help but mention it again.)

Brownies, Cheesecake, & Homemade Ice Cream

These three things have more in common than being delicious desserts.  For one, I'm really good at making all three.  I'm not usually one to brag, except when it comes to my kids and my desserts.  For another thing, this post is not about any of these three items.  Ha ha!  It was a trick!  I know how you non-runners operate, all, "Oh, great, she wrote another post about running.  I think the dryer just buzzed.  I'd better go fold laundry."  

I feel like a meaniac (combination maniac and meanie; also 6 y.o.'s favorite made-up insult to throw at his cousins) for posting such pictures and then giving race recaps instead of recipes, but I'm okay with being called such a thing.





Race #12- Blazin' The Trail 5k, March 9, 2013
               Superlative
As the sport of running grows in popularity, the number of available races in which to run on any given weekend is also increasing.  It seems like the 5k race is the new chocolate bar sale for non-profit organizations.  I was excited to learn that my son's school was up in the front of the bandwagon, and had decided to put on a race to benefit the physical education department.  Even more exciting was that they were using my friend's new race management company!  The race was less than a week after my second half-marathon, so I was not expecting to be in record-setting shape, and registered for it without even really expecting to run.  I figured I would volunteer for sure, run if I felt like it, and be okay with my time no matter what because I would be supporting my son's school.

Then, then 5 y.o. (Then 5 y.o. then?  Then, now 6 y.o.?  You decide.) made an announcement that he was going to run the 5k, also.  He had recently run a mile in just over 13 minutes, and really loved the whole racing deal, but had never come close to running 3.1 miles.  Husband and I talked it over and decided to let him run it after we set some ground rules.  We made sure 5 y.o. knew that it was not just okay for him to change his mind mid-race, or to stop running if he felt too tired, we would be very upset if he didn't let us know that he couldn't finish.  We explained to him that running that distance is hard, and that many people can't do it at all, let alone do it before their first double-digit birthday.  We also let him know that we believed he could do it, and that we would happily help him reach his goal.  He paid the registration fee out of his own money, and I signed him up.  Immediately, I realized that running with him would make it a perfect race for me, too.

Race morning dawned clear and cold (in the mid-40s), and I arrived at the school early to help with packet pick-up and registration, which went really smoothly for an inaugural event.  Husband arrived a bit later with the kids, and soon more family members arrived- some to cheer, some to run.  The Galloway racing method is a run-walk-run deallio that is gaining a lot of popularity among new runners, especially.  We had decided to put it to work for 5 y.o.'s race, and I had set my Garmin to alert us to run for 2 minutes, walk for 1.

I strapped my pretty, pink watch onto my son's wrist, and we were off.  He amazed me the whole time.  He remembered all of our advice, about not going out too fast at the start, about not whining when people passed us, about water stop etiquette, about listening to his body- I teared up with pride a couple of times, even.  On two occasions, he started walking about a minute before the watch indicated that it was time to do so.  All the other times, he followed the beeps religiously; running hard for 2 minutes, slowing to an easy recovery walk for 1 minute.  When the finish line was in sight, we let him know that, "Yes!  Now you can do a sprint!" and off he shot.  He placed 10th out of 20 boys aged 9 and under, and was the youngest one to run the 5k.  A few minutes after we finished, he joined in the couple-hundred-meter kid's run and did very well in that, too.

Finisher's medal for the kid's run (made by the school's art department- cool, huh?) and Youngest Runner medal that may or may not have been a planned award.  Maybe it's cool to have your aunt and your mom's friend be the race organizers.

He was the cutest and the youngest, and we were the proudest of parents.  With all those -ests, you can be sure he was a pretty happy kid.  26 years sooner than either of his parents ran a 5k, and in a far-from-shabby time frame, too?  Yep.  Probably the happiest kid I saw all day.

Result: 45:44

Race #13- Victoria Park 10k, March 16, 2013
            Hazy

I keep forgetting that I ran this race.  I'm not sure if it's because it wasn't a comeback race, an out-of-the-country race, or a personal record setting race...er.  Wait.  I did set a P.R. for that distance.  Hm.  Maybe I just run too many races, and can't keep all of them in my head?

My sister and brother-in-law registered Husband and I for this race as part of our Christmas gifts.  Is that weird, to give races as gifts?  We didn't think so, but it probably isn't the most common gift, is it?  Because of the problems I had been having with my IT band and all the knee pain, I hadn't exactly trained for this race, and my only goal was to finish without pain or further injury.

Merry Christmas!  Have some cavities!

Victoria Park is a neighborhood in a nearby city, and since our running group meets there on a regular basis, I was quite familiar with the roads.  There has been a race there for the past several years, but this year, they added the 10k distance for the first time.  Unfortunately, they had us run the 5k loop twice rather than coming up with a unique 6.2 mile course.  I'll tell you, it's not my favorite thing to run past the finish line and not be done running.

There were definitely a few notable pluses about this race:

• I was either related to or friends with about 40% of the racers.
• My sister and a friend of ours each earned medals in the 5k.
• My dad, brother-in-law, and his brother each earned medals in the 10k.
• Pancake breakfast.  Not that I ate anything, but pancakes always make 6 y.o. happy.
• No pain!
• Good music!  I had made a fabulous playlist the night before my half-marathon a few weeks earlier, but didn't actually add it to my iPod (doh!).  This race was the first time I was able to enjoy my perfect running song selections, and I definitely deserved my self-congratulations for choosing such great music.  My singing along might have slowed me down by a few seconds, though.
• Oh yeah, and I shaved more than 2 minutes off my previous 10k race time.  That's pretty good.

Result: 55:36 (4th in Age Group)

Race #14- A Mile For Boston, May 11, 2013

           The Final Mile

The Boston Marathon was memorable this year for more of us than usual.  Thankfully, all the people I knew who were spectating or racing came back safe and sound.  

Following a tragedy like the deaths at the Boston Marathon, most people want to do something--anything--to help.  The race director/running group president/Boston Marathoner friend of mine understood that desire and changed this 1-mile race from just a regular ol' race to a charity fundraiser benefiting the family of Martin Richard, the 8-year-old boy who was killed in the blast.  With nearly 200 runners registered and lots of extra t-shirts and such sold, the race generated a pretty hefty sum to give to the Richard family (I'm not sure how much, exactly, but it was a lot!)

I'm glad I was able to participate, and it was a fun race, despite the lingering sadness of the tragic events.  But... The course was actually 1.07 miles, according to my Garmin (and other folks' watches, too).  In a race that short, that near-tenth can make a big difference.  When my watch beeped at the real mile mark, my time was 20 seconds faster than in the 1 mile race I ran last September.  However, the posted, official result showed the same finishing time for both races.  Just so, you know, you know.  I'm faster now than then.

That was my final racing mile from 8/2012-5/2013!  Can you believe it?  The race recaps are over(ish.  For now.)!

Result: 7:47.6

Today's advice is a bit like the old standby re: book judging and covers.  Don't judge a blog by its title.  Unless, of course, its a really good title on my blog that makes you want to read the post and all the archived ramblings writings.  While we're (sorta) on the subject, I'll tell you my opinion-- it's perfectly fine to judge a book by its cover.  Or at least, by the title and the vibe.  And now that we're totally on the subject--

Cool cover, great book.  Zero bias.  Okay, some bias.

You should all read this book by my aunt, Sue Perry.  Cover art by my cousin.  Judge away!

What's your favorite fundraiser?  Bake sale?  Magazine subscriptions?  Candles?

Be honest.  You're a little bit sad about the end of the race recaps, aren't you?  

Second Half, Second Half

When last we met, I was describing how excited I was to be running in my second-ever half marathon race.  My first was the Women's Half Marathon, described in excruciating detail in that link.  My second was the Swamp House Half Marathon, and I was really looking forward to running it.  I was sure that I could beat the time of my first half (2:11) by a lot, and maybe even come in under 2 hours.  I had quieted the scaredy cat whiny baby in my head when I completed the whole 13.1 miles the first time, so all that was left to do was keep putting miles behind me between November and March, and to keep from injuring myself.

D'oh!  D'oh! And a double d'oh!

I didn't feel great after the November race.  I had pulled an abdominal muscle, which hurt for a few days, and when running all weird and breathing all wrong to make my abs not hurt so much during the race, I hurt my knee, too.  The smart thing to do was to take some time off, so I did.  The stupid thing to do was to take the rest of November and most of December off.  I ran a little, of course (If I don't, I start to feel like Old Yeller at the end of the movie.  Before he gets [SPOILER ALERT] killed, when he's all snarly and foaming at the mouth.)  I ran a 5k with Husband early in January, and a 5k leg of a 15k relay a few weeks later.  That day, I had decided to add some extra miles to get back into my planned training, so I ran home from the race site.  About a mile into the 3 1/2 mile trek home, my knee started hurting.  A lot.  I took a couple of walk breaks,  iced it when I got home, and rested, compressed and elevated it for a couple of days.  A really annoying, super frustrating pattern developed:  Run.  Ouch.  RICE.  Run fewer miles.  Run more miles.  Ouch.  RICE.  Run fewer miles.  Run more miles.  Ouch.  RICE.

I figured out that the source of pain, felt mostly in my knee, was actually my IT band.  Quick summary- the IT (iliotibial) band runs from around the hip to the outside of the knee.  When running (like I run), friction is created between the band of fascia and the bones, which can cause pain.  Although I pictured a rubber band when I first heard the description of the problem, to me, it felt like the opposite of a rubber band (whatever that may be).  When it would start to hurt, it was like my whole leg, starting from my hip, was getting shorter; getting pulled too tight.  I found some relief when I learned some stretches and went to some yoga classes.  I practiced improving my running form, I set a personal record in a 5k race, and I figured out a racing plan.  I realized that my form breaks down when I get fatigued, and bad form = pain, so my plan was to feel fresh for as many of the 13 miles as I could.  I decided to run for 10 minutes and walk for 1 minute.  I had my masseuse friend SpectacularLeigh work out any extra tension at the fabulous salon where I also got my hair done, and I felt like I was ready.  Since I had injured my knee, I had not logged nearly as many miles as I had originally planned, so I adjusted my goal from finishing under 2 hours to just having a good-feeling race.

I subtitled this race "Psychological Prowess", and here's why: I had some pretty significant mental hurdles to plow through in order to have a great race-

My best friend and biggest fan, Husband, was out of town for work.

It was really, really cold on race day.

I hadn't run more than 4 miles without pain in months.

Still nursing Baby had wakened me in the night, giving me <4 hours of sleep.

Sing with me!  Free your mind and the rest will follow.

My dad picked me up on race morning and left my mom with Baby and then-5 yr. old.  We met my sister and the three of us arrived at and parked in the super-easy-to-find field near the start line.  Did I mention that it was really cold?  37F, which felt like 32F with the wind.  We stayed in the car to keep warm until the last possible minute.  We didn't even get out to line up at the port-o-lets.  The race directors had planned well, so the lines weren't too long, but there was no line at all in front of the bushes.  

Just watered, not fertilized.

We lined up at the start (my sis and I had some of our husbands' socks on over our shoes to try to keep our toes warm- it worked!) just before the National Anthem.  The race started promptly, and we set off through the quiet neighborhoods.  My first mile was a 9:12 pace, which was right where I wanted to be.  The first time my watched beeped to indicate that I should take a walk break, I barely slowed down.  Mile 2 was a 9:11 pace, and I did slow to a walk after another 10 minutes of running.  Mile 3 was 9:01, and I felt great.  I wasn't in any pain, and I felt like I was taking the race easy enough to keep the IT band pain away for a while longer.  

We turned onto a main road, and cars were backed up as far as I could see.  My mom was planning to bring my kids to the finish line after giving them breakfast and bundling them up, and I couldn't see how she was going to get there with the traffic and road blocks.  Before I let myself get too worried, though, I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths.  I thought about how beautiful the sunlight looked coming through the trees, and how good the cold air had started to feel, and how grateful I was to be able to run.  I realized that I would really be okay with it if my mom had to turn around and go back to my house with the kids; that I was going to have a great race no matter what.  Mile 4 beeped in at a 9:09 pace.  I walked when my watch indicated it was time, and then I walked through a water stop so I could wash down my gooey, sticky fuel chews.

I cut them into quarters and still had trouble chewing them.  The energy boost without feeling barfy was great, though!

The extra walking made mile 5 a little longer, 9:54.  I was starting to feel some twinges of pain, especially when going uphill (probably only Florida natives like me would even call this course "hilly" with a straight face, but whatever) so I let myself slow down and tried to concentrate on my form.  Mile 6 was 9:51, and I was still feeling physically okay when I saw my brother-in-law and his parents at mile 7, which was 9:49.  My friend and training buddy and sister's sister-in-law (all the same person) stayed with me, even as I slowed down further.  She didn't make fun of me when I tried to convince her that 7.5 + 4.5 = 13 (we saw a very confusing sign about free beer in 4.5 miles) and she walked with me when the pain really started to set in.  I was still able to run for the majority of miles 8 and 9, which put them at 10:20 and 10:16.  Right around the 15k mark, we turned onto a road with a different sort of pavement.  I'm not sure what it's called, maybe Hellcrete?  Satanment?  GRAVEL?  I've heard that some people love running on it, but it was hard on my hips and other joints.  Most of the next miles were spent walking, because every time I started to run, it felt like my right leg was being pulled up and held in a vice.  It was hard to bend it, and hard to straighten it.  13:26, 10:14, & 12:22 were my next 3 mile times.  

I had tons of energy, was in great spirits, and was still enjoying myself, despite realizing that I was not going to beat my first half marathon time.  (I did try to convince my friend at mile 12 that it was possible for us to finish around 2:05, and she didn't make fun of me for that math error, either!  She's so kind.)  I started running again when we got back on a normal road, and soon saw my dad, then my sister's oldest son ("Umm, do you know you're not running very fast?"  Thanks for the motivation, kid.  "No, I'm just saying, I mean, you're like, a runner, and I'm keeping up with you!  I'm not saying you're slow, but I'm not fast, and I think I could beat you to the finish line.  Oh, and everyone else is already done."  Yes. Thank you.), and soon after, I saw my mom, son, daughter, and other nephews cheering and clapping (Would that have been so hard, dear, oldest nephew?).  Mile 13 was at a 10:27 pace, and I improved to a 9:43 pace for the last bit.  (Maybe I did need the rough talk from my nephew?)

Well practiced at cheering for runners, these boys are.

I crossed the finish line, got a water and my medal/bottle opener, then turned back to look at the clock.  I may well be the only runner to feel this way, but my slower-than-planned, really painful race was G-R-E-A-T.  It reminded me of my third College Algebra class.  Nope, not the third class meeting of the semester, but about 1/4 of the way through the third time I had enrolled in the class (I actually only failed it once, and barely.  The teacher didn't like me [may have had something to do with how often she had to wake me] so I literally failed by 1 point.  The other time, I dropped the class after 2 meetings because I couldn't understand anything the instructor was saying.  I'm pretty sure he thought he was teaching astronomy.).  During that Algebra class, and during that half-marathon, I actually heard heard a click in my brain.  After the click in Algebra, I was awake, interested, and passing all the tests with flying colors (and as you can all now attest, I'm not really a "math girl").  After the race click, I realized that racing isn't about numbers for me.  It's about my own accomplishments, my strengths, and getting as much out of the experience as possible.  The time on the clock is just like icing on the brownies. Yes, I know it's usually 'cake' in the saying, but I contend that icing on cake is not an extra bonus, it's a necessity.  Icing on brownies, though, is an unexpected treat.

Result: 2:14:57

After the race, I changed clothes, fed Baby in the car, and re-joined my family.  The little boys got to wrestle and jump on each other in the bounce house, my sis and dad got age group awards, I snagged a free beer, berry danish, bagel and banana, and enjoyed the festivities for a while before we left.  The traffic had never actually been as bad as it looked from my perspective during the race, and getting out was a breeze.  My family and I stopped to get lunch at:

Where the sauces are the only thing hotter than the order-takers.  Imagine Hooters girls with happily married parents, and you'll have a good picture of the T.F. employees.

The (really pretty) girl who took our order had actually been volunteering at a water stop during the race, so I felt like a bit of a star, wearing my medal and accepting her, "Wow, I don't know how you guys run that far" with a smile.

Today's advice was going to be deep and important, but then I got caught up looking at taco pictures when I was searching for the Tijuana Flats logo image.

Is my mouth the only one watering right now?

So, you get this: take advantage of their Taco Tuesdaze deal.  2 tacos, chips and a soda for the low, low price of $4.99.  If you live somewhere without the addictive, delicious, worth every gram of fat tacos made by T.F., I'm very, very sorry for you.  You should probably move to Florida.  Ooh!  Then, you could run the Swamp House half marathon with me next year, too!

What do you like on your tacos?

Have you ever heard "the click"?

Not Even Half Of My Second Half

I took a poll, and discovered that my blog readers are ready for another race recap.  Okay, so, yeah, the poll was in my imagination, but I did think about it very thoroughly.  You can rest assured that your vote counted.  Yes, yours!  Those of you who did not vote for a race recap, stay tuned.  I'll write about your topic of choice soon enough.  Except for those of you who foolishly voted for "golf."  You could check out my scratch handicap shooting brother-in-law's blog for that (I don't know if I worded that right or not.  He's really, super good at golf, though.)  If you're new here and didn't have the chance to vote in my head, you may want to familiarize yourself with some of the options, like rock concerts, really cute kids, things that annoy me, and, well, racing.

A little over a year ago, at the prompting of my dad and sister, I joined the West Volusia Runners group.  I was reluctant, at first, to do so.  It wasn't the dues ($10/year-not a typo, it's really that cheap) or the commitment (none), it was just that I was intimidated by the other runners.  I had seen some of them at races in the past, wearing their cool matching shirts, finishing before me, and talking together about shoes and pace goals and courses.  I feel my face getting hot as I type.  It's embarrassing, how silly my reluctance was.  Especially now, when some of my favorite things to talk about are shoes and pace goals and race courses.  My dad was the first of our family members to join the group.  My sister and I scoffed, at first.  "We don't need to join a group.  We can always run together.  We love to run; what do we need with motivation?"  Then, my sis moved out of reasonable running distance from me.  Then, I stopped running with any regularity because of the Baby growing in my belly.  Then, she took Dad's advice and joined the group.  Once I returned to running, postpartum, I squashed my fears and nervousness and brought my $10 dues to a group run.  Just like that, I was part of the group.

The most recent of many group pictures without me in them.

To say that I'm glad I joined would be putting it mildly.  So many of the people I've met are truly inspiring.  There's M, who ran her first 5k in August, her first half-marathon in December, and her first marathon in February.  I literally didn't recognize her when I saw her for the 2nd and 3rd times after a couple of months, because she had lost so much weight and had increased her speed by so much.  (Sorry, M, that you had to keep introducing yourself to me!)  There's P, who is so kind and sweet and encouraging and persistent.  She constantly motivates others to improve, and seeing her finish her first marathon was nothing short of beautiful.  There's W, who races in the 70+ age group and is the friendliest morning person I could have imagined.  He's usually one of the last people to rejoin the group, but his dedication is unmatched.  Another M whose pace went from normal to jaw-droppingly fast over the past year.

Group founder/president/chief motivator/proof that good things come in small packages.  See why I'm embarrassed now, that I was intimidated?  

There are people who run while battling cancer, and dealing with tragedies.  There are young runners, old runners, married couple runners, single and looking runners, really fast runners, really slow runners, walkers, ultra-marathoners, trail runners, triathletes, runners that push their babies in strollers, runners that joined to exercise as a family, people trying to lose weight, people trying to improve their overall health, people running to cross items off their bucket lists, people running to meet people, people just running for the love of running.  I could go on, but I'm sure that you get the gist.  It's a great group, and getting to know some of the members over the past year has been wonderful.  Erm.  Maybe I should clarify- I just mean that I don't know all of them, only some.  Not that I only like some of them.

Race #11- Swamp House Half Marathon, March 3, 2013
              Psychological Prowess
When I was less than 2 weeks from delivering Baby in 2012, I volunteered at the running group's inaugural race.  Of course, the individuals had raced before, and many of them had run races together, as a group.  But this race was actually organized and put on by the WVRs.

At that point, I had run a half-dozen or so 5k races, and had briefly considered training for a 10k, but growing a tiny person had taken my focus far off of my running goals.  Many of my family members had signed up to volunteer at the half-marathon, and I agreed to get up at 4 a.m. and help with packet pick-up for reasons that I can no longer really remember.  I do recall thinking that my giant belly was a perfect, obvious excuse for the fact that I wasn't running in the race, and when people said things like, "See you out here next year!" I could just smile and nod and feel confident that they wouldn't recognize me the next year.  (I was right, you know.  Nobody recognized me.)  One year later, the race would be directed by our group president's new race management company, and I may have been more surprised than anyone to find myself so excited about running it that I wouldn't risk volunteering again and messing up my race.

Now, this post is already pretty long, and the fact that I've just now gotten to the beginning of the race might be a little discouraging.  Therefore, I will leave you with some teasers, continue this recap soon, and let you get on with your day.

Teaser #1-

Teaser #2-

Teaser #3-

Teaser #4-

Of course, I also listened to your mind messages about how much you love that I give a bit of unsolicited advice in each blog post.

Great saying, right?  Although that relates to today's post, it actually just served to remind me of something I feel very strongly about advising on: DO NOT pay money to see "Fast & Furious 6".  I haven't seen it, and I won't, unless at some point in my life I have some valuable information and someone is trying to torture it out of me. The fact that a movie like that made $120 million last weekend makes me want to take my family and move to a tiny village where there is no time or money or resource wasted and there are no televisions or people whose names start with "The".

Ever been intimidated by something/one embarrassing?

You only pay for quality entertainment, right?

Mission: Impossible

I've got to say something about it, even though I feel like I don't have the right words.  Horrible.  Tragic.  Sickening.  Maddening.  Scary.  Motivating.  Unifying.  Gut-wrenching.  Nothing new, I know.  I was thinking that I needed to know more details about the who, how, and why before I could write about it, but then I realized that I kind-of already have those answers.

Who?  A coward.  Someone sick, and I mean that in the most literal way.  Probably, he (in my head, he's definitely a he, not a she or a they) isn't the most hateful person you would ever meet.  He's never picketed outside of a sporting goods store or worn a sandwich board condemning runners at a race.  He's probably never even been in a fight.  I doubt he pointed fingers at the race directors or wrote letters or made angry phone calls to protest the running of the marathon.  He's too cowardly for all of those things, I think.  Instead, he stewed and seethed and plotted against the physical representation of  his nemeses- power, strength, stamina, hard work, accomplishment, joy and unity.  The goodness that is evident when watching runners at a marathon, he can't find within himself.  He has probably never had people- strangers or loved ones- cheer for him.  He has probably never had to dig deep within his soul to find the strength to overcome pain, fatigue, and mental anguish to finish what is impossible for the majority of people on the planet.  And he made the rest of us suffer for his inadequacies.

How?  If someone offered me money, I'm quite certain that I could make a bomb.  (Please read the rest of my blog for context clues, Big Brother and airport security folks, and know that I wouldn't do it).  There are how-to videos on you tube, right?  Or is that just on how to cook meth?  I couldn't tell you right now, this minute, how to do it, but I think anyone with enough desire and time could do it.  I hate hearing these words, and I am a tiny bit disgusted with myself for typing them, but here goes: it could have been so much worse.  For the people injured, the families of those killed, I apologize, and I grieve.  But I think we can all agree that if the bomber had been more experienced or had been more determined to wreak havoc, he could have killed and hurt a whole lot more people.

Why?  Whatever the reason, it can't possibly make sense to us normal, healthy, sane individuals.  I won't say 'nonstop', but I've been thinking about this for a good portion of every hour since 3:ish on Monday, and I simply cannot come up with anything that would justify, even slightly, this action.  Was he trying to make a statement?  Well, nobody is going to agree with his point of view, now.  Was it political?  If so, it's seems counter-intuitive to protest against certain laws, regulations, or political figures with law-breaking actions that couldn't possible change anything for the better.  He accomplished hurt, pain, and destruction.  If I were to venture a guess, I would think that's pretty close to the definition of terrorism.  All of the "why" goes back to the "who".  He's sick, and his incapacity for normal human feelings has led him to terrorize.

For once, an all-over-facebook, fairly-sappy-messaged image that I felt the need to share.

I'm more proud than ever to be a runner.  Becoming a runner changed my life, and I'm far from able to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I can say with confidence that as a community, runners are stronger, more unified, and tougher now than before.  And we were all pretty stinkin' strong, unified, and tough on Sunday, April 14.  We'll remember the victims whose lives were cut short, and we'll do all that we can to help their families, and the injured, to recover.  He scared us, yes.  Saddened us, to the core.  But stopped us?  Impossible.

A Day In The Life Of Me

Are you ever so pleased with yourself that you are inspired to write bad poetry about your good decisions?  I was, yesterday, and even started a (terrible) poem on this very page.  Then, I was needed in the playroom as a Trouble referee, and had some time away from the computer to re-think my decision to wax poetic here.  Once I determined that I would just write a regular blog post, instead, I was again inspired, as I had made another great decision, and nearly burst into joyful song.  Quickly, I remembered how much better my singing voice sounds in my head than in my ears, though, and quietly sat down to just type like a normal person.

Rantom picture of my feet, Husband's back.  It's better than no picture, and better still than my poem would have been.

My day started at 4:20, when my alarm sounded and I found myself wide awake, barely even trying to talk myself into staying in bed.  Our running group meets for 5 a.m. runs 3 times/week, usually, and although I often tell myself I'll join them, it had been 6 months since I had actually found myself yawning in a dark parking lot with several other flashlight-wielding runners that early in the morning.  I was out of the house by 4:38, and at the meeting spot at 4:50.  (I didn't beat my always-early-for-everything friend there, though.  I thought I was golden, getting there 10 minutes early, but I guess I'll never beat her.  She even had to deal with her 4 yr old's potty accident before she left the house, and still got there first.  I mean, not that I care.  Whatev.)  Not only did this run start at 5 a.m., it was a speed workout.  We did a warm-up mile, then started Yasso drills- 800 meter (1/2 mile) 5k-pace repeats with 400 meter (1/4 mile) recovery walks between.  Most of the runners had done this workout in the preceding weeks, and had worked their way up to 6 repeats, but Kim and I decided to do 3, as this was our first speed training session.   

My friend Kim, after her first speed workout yesterday morning.
Okay, that's a lie.  This picture was taken 2 years ago.  

I must admit-even if it's annoying to read- I was really proud of my run.  My first 800 was 3:46, or a 7:31 min/mile pace.  Second one was 3:52, third was 3:50, fourth was 3:55.  My slowest pace was still well under 8 min/mile.  Which, it turns out, is my 5k goal pace.  And yeah, after 3 repeats, we started to sound like the drunkards I used to have to listen to when I was tending bar, "One more!  Just one more!"  We both had to get home to get kids to school and such, so we had to cut ourselves off after 4 instead of our planned 3.  I went home, stinky and sweaty and feeling like I could take on the world.

A few hours later, I had completed my usual morning tasks, showered (yes, that's separate from a usual morning task), remembered to put moisturizer on my face (which makes me feel so grown-up), and Baby had awakened from her morning nap.  She and I went to the produce market, where I remembered everything I wanted to buy, found the very best apples for a very low price, and I managed to keep her from grabbing and throwing any of the "bah"s ("Ball?  No, Baby, that's a lime.  And that's a potato.") she was so keen on pointing out.  

"Bah?"
"Yes, that's a book."
So what if I captioned a different photo in almost the same way the other day?  These are our conversations.

Before Husband left for work, I made beef stew (recipe below) and put it in the slow cooker.  Then, I washed and sliced the strawberries and put them in a container for easy access, threw out all the rotten old produce in the fridge to make room for the new stuff, gave Baby a snack, and cleaned up the kitchen.

I got a great parking spot at 6 y.o.'s school (if you arrive too late you have to park next to the very slow-moving line of cars, and there's no easy exit from those spots), was happy to see him write "green" in the air as soon as he exited the classroom so that I would know he'd had a good day, and convinced him to leave the snail he found on the curb without any tears at all.  Baby and I had lunch when we got back home, 6 y.o. achieved a new high score on the Subway Surfers app on the Kindle, I completed step 2 to make No Knead Bread, and then Baby and I both had a nap.

The next few hours were filled with the delicious smells of bread baking and stew stewing, the delightful sound of children playing without fighting, and the continual self-congratulations, mental applause, praise, and back pats that I so deserved.

After dinner was thoroughly enjoyed and almost entirely cleaned up, I took Baby and 6 y.o. to Office Depot.  6 y.o. needed a blank notebook, he said, and I was happy to oblige.  Maybe it's like this for everyone, maybe it's just for me (and now, my son), but I find something so exciting and wonderful about having a blank notebook.  It's like the feeling I get when I finally have, in my hands, the last book of a really good series.  I don't know what's going to unfold as I turn the pages, but I know I'm going to like it.  I can't wait to get started, but I also don't want to be rid of that best kind of anticipation- the kind which will never disappoint.

Blank pages, sharp pencils, and fresh markers.  Almost as blissful a scene as the secluded beach picture above.

Baby had a bath, 6 y.o. drew some pictures in the first section of his notebook ("Section 1- science experiments, section 2- drawings, like of animals in their habitats, and section 3- sentences about what I'm feeling." Boy, do I love this kid!), they both went to bed with no trouble, and I settled in on the couch to write this post.  

Since I like to focus on the positive side of things (you should, too!), I will pretend that the day ended as wonderfully as it began.  The hours of Baby screams (teething?  sick?  hungry?  gassy?  all 4?) and soul-crushing weariness that followed are not the important things to remember about the day, or about life in general.  I see nothing wrong with my detailing the triumphs, big and small, and skipping over the failures, like being unable to slice the bread because it was stuck to the baking dish, or turning my back on Baby for her to hit her face on the floor and bite her tongue bloody, or not finishing this post until 14 hours after I started.  It was a great day.  I have a great life.  In general.

Let me congratulate you on a triumph!  What are you proud of today?

Beef Stew

I'm not going to try to figure out exact measurements, since this is not a cookbook or a contest submission.  If you need them, though, let me know.

1 lb. beef chunks                                    

3 Tbs. butter                                                    

1 cup flour, seasoned with salt and pepper                                                      

Dredge the beef chunks in the flour, brown in melted butter over medium heat for approx. 8 minutes

2 cups water

8 oz can tomato sauce

1/2 bottle of chocolate bock or other dark beer (what you do with the other 1/2 of the bottle before noon on a weekday is your business)

Lots of salt                                                       

Pepper

Minced garlic

Rosemary

Parsley

Oregano

Stir together in a slow cooker, add the browned beef chunks.

Carrots

Celery

Potatoes                                                          

Peas

Mushrooms

Onions

Chop and stir in the vegetables (except the peas, you don't have to chop those).

Cook over low heat for 5-6 hours.  Serve with rustic chunks of bread you've pulled off the loaf by hand.

Why Was 6 Afraid of 7? Because...

Okay, so, I know I said I was going to be too busy to write very much this week, but I'm running out of ways to avoid cleaning the house done with more preparations than I expected, so here I am.  What's that I hear?  Applause?  Don't be embarrassed, I'm excited, too!  

Let's have some more race details, shall we?  The last race I recapped was held in November of 2012, and I didn't race again until early January, 2013.  As much as it bothers my OCT (Obsessive Compulsive Tendencies-I don't have a disorder ["I'm NOT crazy!  My mother had me tested."- Sheldon Cooper]) to skip a race when I've been recapping them in such a nice, ordered-by-date fashion, it seems ridiculous, or rude, even, to re-recap a race.  But, just in case you don't feel like clicking the above link, here's a summary:

Race #7- DeLeon Springs 5k, January 6, 2013
Result: 31:50

Which brings us to...

Race #8- Cure PSP 15k Relay, January 20, 2013

I almost didn't sign up for this race.  I wanted to do the relay, but my super speedy sister was on a super speedy team, and my training buddies had conflicts and couldn't participate.  I really liked the idea of a 3 person relay, though, so I bravely put it out on our running group's facebook page that I was looking for teammates.  I connected with Dawn, who I had seen at the club's Christmas party, but not actually met.

Weird how people didn't come up and introduce themselves to me at the party.

Brian offered to be our third.  He's another running group member that I hadn't met, but he and Dawn are friends.  I came up with our team name, "Faster Than We Look", and I guess, sub-consciously, thought I had contributed enough.

Race day was cold enough for a bonfire near the start line, but not miserably, freezing cold.  I found and introduced myself to Brian and Dawn, and we agreed that Brian would take the first leg, 1-week-since-her-2nd-marathon Dawn would go second, and I would be the anchor-or not.  I always forget whether the "anchor" in a relay is the fastest one or the slowest.  It seems like it would be the slowest one, but when I hear people talk, the context leads me to believe that the anchor is the fast one who goes last.  Anyway... The race course was set up as a 5k, that we would each start and finish in the same spot.  Brian lined up with all the other 5k-only runners and relay first leggers, and they took off.  I wandered around a while, stood by the bonfire for a few minutes, took advantage of there being no line at the port-o-potty, and then just waited.  Dawn and I cheered as Brian came into view and handed her the baton.  After she started running, Brian and I chatted a bit about the course, he got some free beer and warned me about the hand-staining quality of the baton, and I went off for a warm-up run.  I had been having some pain in my left calf which usually seemed to subside once I was a mile or so into my run, and with the cold temperature, I knew my warm-up was important.  Plus, it was nice to have something to do to prepare myself for the race.  When Dawn ran into view, I was ready.  Really, really ready.  Bouncing, pacing, running in place ready.  She passed me the baton, and off I went.

Here's what blows about going last in a small relay race: running alone.  I only saw a handful of people the entire time I was running, which made it really easy to zone out and run like it wasn't a race.  My calf wasn't hurting.  I wasn't too cold or too hot.  The scenery was lovely.  The course was flat.  But, instead of running my fastest or trying my hardest, I just ran.  And, let myself get really bothered by the distance discrepancies between my Garmin and the mile marker signs.  My time would have made me very happy in August, but after all the months of training, and after my near-PR in October, I was hoping for more out of myself.  Unfortunately, hope doesn't take seconds off of race clocks.  Running faster does.

Our team came in 10th, with the respectable total of 1:26:58.  I met new friends, got a nice long-sleeved tech shirt, free beer, and anchored our team.  Or didn't.  Whatever.

Result: 27:57*

Race #9- Healthy Groovin' At The Grove 5k, February 9, 2013

It should be clear by now that I run races fairly often.  Not as often as some, but I certainly know my way around a registration form.  Several months before this race, I decided that it would be My Race.  The timing was right for me to run a fast 5k, and even though I didn't know the course, I knew the area fairly well and was sure there were no surprise Piers of Doom or bridges or even large hills.  The race was also a fundraiser for my nephew's school, so I was happy to register and pay for it.

Race morning was cold.  I type those words waaaayyyy too often for someone who lives in Florida.  It was in the 40s, though- that's cold for everyone, right?  We (Husband, 5 y.o., Baby, my dad and I) arrived with plenty of time to zip tie our chips to our shoes, shiver together, and then for my racer dad and I to warm up a bit around the parking lot of the school.  I had been having knee pain, this time, and was worried that it would slow me down.  However, I had been to a great yoga class just the Thursday before, and felt pretty limber.  At the start line, I talked to a couple of running group friends whom I knew usually ran at about my pace.  Once we started running, I decided to just try to keep their backs in my sight.  The first mile went by faster than I expected.  I looked at my watch and saw the number 7 in the first spot, and actually said, "Holy Shit!" out loud.  I don't curse, generally.  I find it unnecessary, unladylike, and a bad habit.  But sometimes, when I'm racing...  Anyway, my next thought was, "I can't run this fast!", followed by, "I am running this fast!  I'm just going to keep running like this until I have to have to slow down."  Mile 2 was about 20 seconds slower than mile 1, and I started to feel tired.  The sun was shining, the breeze was lovely, and I thought about what a lovely treat it was to be running on such a beautiful day.  I closed my eyes and breathed, deeply.  After that, every time I started to feel like I wanted to slow down, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths like I was in yoga class instead.  I was able to keep the backs of my running group friends in sight, and the math I was doing in my head was pretty darn exciting.

When I saw the clock at the finish line, and realized my math had been correct, I zoned out in a different way.  It was as if I was in a movie- people clapping, silently, my body moving in slow motion, but also as fast as I could sprint, I may have heard some very typical triumphant soundtrack music playing in my head...  I've never experienced anything like it.

I also won "Most Fashionable", according to the race director.  I'll take it.
'Specially 'cause it's the ONLY time someone will call me 'fashionable'.

Second place for my age group, personal record by more than a minute.  Yes, thank you!  Oh, and all three of my running friends whose backs I was concentrating on also set PRs.

Result: 25:24

Remember: less hoping, more running.  Less cursing, more deep breathing.  And, if you can't be the fastest, at least be the one person in purple when everyone else is in orange.

When is the last time you surprised yourself?

Figured out the title?


*Course distance, according to everyone I talked to, was actually over 3.2 miles.  

"I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me!"

Think for a moment about how you came to be friends with your dearest friends.  I may be special in this way (I certainly feel special), but some of my friendships have lasted almost my entire life.  Anna and I don't talk as often as we used to, and we don't write long, loony letters to each other any more, but we ran together recently when I went back to her hometown for a race, and she's very dear to me.  I first laid eyes on her when I was 2 days old and she, 2 months.  During a Baby-Sitter Certification course held at our local library almost 25 years ago, I met Danielle and Lauren, and soon after, Stacey.  A few weeks ago, the 4 of us met for lunch.  They're the kind of friends that you would call for a status update if there was no facebook, and the kind that you never need to tag in those stupid "a true friend is someone who blah blah blah" facebook posts, because you all know that you're true friends already.

It's really saying something that the company was more of a treat than the cheesecake dipped in chocolate/crunchy peanut butter fondue.

Most (all, maybe?) of my other close friends, I met at work.  I love the fact that even though our jobs and lives have changed so much, we still have no shortage of things to talk about, and take every chance we have to get together.

Not the last time we got together, but probably the prettiest.

If someone had told me several years ago that the fellow servers, standing next to me cutting croissants at Hops (for what felt like eternity) would one day stand next to me at my wedding, I would have believed them, been happy about it, and tried to find out who the lucky groom was going to be.  But I would have been surprised, nonetheless.

Maybe it's because I've been blessed to be close to such wonderful people my whole life.  Maybe I'm just socially inept.  Maybe everyone else is the same way.  Whatever the reason, I find making new friends to be very awkward, in most situations.  If you're having an enjoyable conversation with someone, at what point do you stop talking and introduce yourself?  My name is fairly unusual, and is mispronounced almost every single time someone says it for the first time.  Once you introduce yourself, and correct the pronunciation of your name, do you then shake hands?  Go back to talking?  Ask for last names, correct spellings, phone numbers, and email addresses?  I met Kelly (Kelley?  Kelli?) at the Y when our sons were playing T-ball.  Our sons also attend the same school, in different Kindergarten classes, so we see each other most days when we drop off and pick up our boys.  She and I seem to have a lot in common; we talk often, and I think it's safe to say that we like each other.  But I don't even know her last name, and she probably doesn't remember my first name.  I haven't been able to work up the courage to ask her out, even though I think she would be fun at dinner or a movie.

It's easy to have conversations with people in the running group I joined last Spring.  For one thing, we all know that we have running, if nothing else, in common.  For another, it's usually hard to tell who it is that smells the worst after several miles, so nobody has to feel bad about being sweaty and stinky.  Also convenient is the fact that people's names and pictures are on the group's meetup site, so it's a lot harder to forget who you met.  The only awkward moments are those when we see each other showered and clean and dressed like regular people.  I think we've all gotten used to a pattern of double introductions- once in running shorts, and once again in jeans.

Literally, the only picture of myself in jeans that I could find.

Last week, my sister/running group officer informed me that an old "friend" of ours from high school had just joined the group, and had already paid her dues and met for a run.  My first thought was, "Well, I guess I'm done with the running group, then", followed by many creative imaginings of ways to avoid this person at every run and every race.

I'll just never make eye contact with her.  I'll tell her I don't remember her at all, and act really surprised when she knows my name.  I'll change my name! 

I tried explaining to Husband how disgusted and upset I was that she had joined the group, and couldn't find the right words.  "Well, see, I just don't like her because... You know, we used to be good friends, but then... I mean, yeah, I think everyone should be a runner, but not her."  

A few days later, I finally remembered why I instantly felt nauseated when I thought of her, and couldn't believe that I had ever forgotten.  During the first few years of high school, she and I, along with each of our older sisters, were almost inseparable.  Sleepovers, parties, shopping trips, hanging out and talking about boys- all of it, we did together.  Then, late in my junior year, she suddenly started avoiding me.  We had always sat together in Marine Biology, but then she moved her seat away from mine.  After a couple of weeks of this confusing behavior, I confronted her one day after school.  I asked if I had made her mad or done something to upset her, although I couldn't imagine what it would have been.  Her response, (with no attempt to break the news gently) "See, the thing is, I just don't like you anymore."  

I won't add a link to the Cee Lo song that starts running through my head when I think of her words that day, because my mom might read this and be very offended by the language.  But you all know what I'm talking about, right?

So, here we are, all grown up.  As surprised as I was that I hadn't remembered her hurtful words right away, I realized that I was also proud that I had forgotten the incident.  I've forgiven her, even though she never apologized.  I may not jump at the chance to interact with her in my daily life, and I don't think you'll ever find me slowing my pace to stay with her during a group run, but I also don't harbor any anger toward her.  I have so much happiness and joy in my life, holding a grudge could only cloud my inner sunshine.  I treasure the friends that I have, and I value their opinions so much, that I feel I can't also care whether or not high school douche likes me or not.  And you know, I think I might just ask Kelly out some time.  What's the worst she could say?

I'm sure you've heard before to forgive and forget, but I'm going to advise you a little differently.  Forget, and then forgive.  Because if you can forget something that wounded you, it means that you've already let go of the anger and resentment that would get in the way of your happiness.  Plus, forgetting is usually the hard part, and it's always better to get that out of the way as soon as possible.  

Would you rather go back to high school for a day, or run a marathon?