Good morning! Although this is funny, and I would love to take credit for it, I cannot. My friend, known in my posts as The Devil or even The Clown Wrangler sent this link and I just had to share: Truths for Mature Humans And that race report from Green Bay? It's coming, I swear.
So. Runners are curious creatures. We are particular, and for those of us for whom marathon running/racing is the preferred poison, our craziness is heightened during a period before the race known as "tapering." This is the critical one-to-two week period before the race where runners are encouraged to rest up for the big day. This is incredibly difficult to do.
For me, anyway. Some people love the taper. I would love the taper more if I didn't have to sit still so much, or gain an extra five pounds from being sedentary. Or if I weren't a runner at all.
Anyhoo, there are certain rituals I follow during the taper: increased carbohydrate intake, extra bicep curls and tricep maneuvers (so my arms look hot in my race photos), laying out different top/tank/skirt/shorts/capri combinations for race day attire (because 90% of feeling good on race day comes with the right wardrobe)...and then there are the medals.
Huh? Well, at the end of every marathon, this is what happens to a runner:
1) The last .2 miles are spent talking yourself into really finishing, and finishing strong, i.e. sprinting to the finish line. Or as close as you can muster a sprint-type movement.
2) In one smooth action, you smile, stop your watch, raise your arms victory-style, let out a sigh of relief, and cry as you cross the finish line. The raising of the arms & attempted smiles are important as your photo is being taken. Yay! You're done!
3) Cry more, but make it look like its exhaustion, not emotions taking over your brain. Sunglasses help.
4) Hear volunteers tell you "Congratulations!" and "Good job!" and "You did it!" while they simultaneously drape a mylar blanket over your shoulders and drape the finisher's medal over your head.
5) Find beer.
The medal is what counts here, as it is the actual proof of the race being run. Some people might think "Well, where did all of those t-shirts come from?" A t-shirt does not guarantee that a person has run the race advertised on said shirt. My "was-band" used to wear some of my race shirts, and as he stood outside of buildings- smoking a cigarette- complete strangers would ask him about the races. True story. Some races don't hand out the t-shirts even until the finish line ( Grandma's Marathon , I'm lookin' at you).
But the medal.
Some are pretty. Some are hefty. They are all, however, a memento of the day, the race itself, the training leading up to the day, the runner's life on that date. They are symbols of a biography, written in steps and sweat rather than words. I love my medals.
And so, during the taper, when I'm not running (but thinking about running all the time) I take out my medals and arrange them in chronological order, in the straightest line possible, edges just touching, ribbons folded just so. I count them, brush dust off of them with my shirt tail. Half-marathon medals are also there, in order, but inserted just above the full medals. Some days, I can't believe I've really run all those races; other days, I can't believe I haven't done more. Every day I'm glad that I'm able to run.
This weekend, I took out my medals. They've been living in a box since the Fall 50 , and were at my old house. I took them out, one by one, marveling once again at the sense of accomplishment I feel just holding them. I dusted them off, straightened the ribbons, and first grouped them by race. There are multiple years from the same race ( Chicago , Grandma's , Green Bay ), and I love tracing the evolution of the race with the logo and ribbon colors. This year, though, I noticed something was wrong. I was missing a medal.
The Detroit Free Press Marathon medal. 2004. I ran with my friend, Jennifer, her first (and to date, only) marathon. My father-in-law ran with my sister, Katie. He had flown in from Vietnam the day before after being gone for a month. Katie had a bird shit on her head while we exchanged high fives passing on & off Belle Isle. We got dizzy running through the Detroit-to-Windsor tunnel. I rode back to the Upper Peninsula smushed in the back of my in-laws' Jeep Wrangler, hugging a month's worth of backpacking gear that still smelled like Vietnam (or what I guessed Vietnam had to smell like). My legs ached for the last three hours of that drive.
And so, I've enlisted the help of Daughter #1 to find the medal. I know its in the old house somewhere. I hope she's able to find it before my race next weekend. While I'm not especially superstitious, I've always laid out the medals before a race, and I've always finished the races I've entered. Coincidence? Maybe. I'm not willing to mess with a ritual that has served me thus far; and I'm not sure that I'm willing to write a chapter in my autobiography of running about "That One Time I Didn't See ALL of My Medals, and The Universe Gave Me The Shaft on Race Day."
There's comfort in consistency, no? And while I'm all about embracing changes, this is one I don't think I can add to my plate just yet. Next week is my spring marathon- Green Bay - and so my next blog entry will be a recap of that day. Picture of medal to follow. Happy running, friends.
Have you ever noticed how many things in life are dictated or influenced or even spoiled by the element of time? We measure our days in increments named hour, minute, second rather than by how they make us feel, or what transpired to make it noteworthy in the first place.
My life these days is all about time, I'm afraid. Waiting periods, court deadlines, more waiting. And the running part of my life? Pace runs, speed work, long runs, just finding time to run. Graduate school, time for homework, time for research, time for class. And then there's work, as in "the job I get paid to do."
From time to time I get a case of the "What's the point?!"- itis. Like...these last few weeks. I'm not usually such a complainer, I swear I'm not. But there comes a time when a girl can't deal with all of the shit thrown at her. For instance:
1) Week-long business trip to Atlanta with seven- seven!- staff members where not only can I not get tickets to the Braves game, but my credit card gets nabbed, and we miss our connecting flight out of Minneapolis, causing an overnight delay.
2) Frantic planning of end-of-school year activities involving too much shopping (I cannot believe I just said that, but it was not *that* kind of shopping), and not enough support from other staff. I mean, after almost ten years of holding an event, dontcha think they'd be able to run it in their collective dreams? Yes, you would think so.
3) Realizing that my spring marathon is a mere three weeks away, and I have not yet secured a hotel room, much less made alternate plans for my daughter.
4) Waking up to 19 degrees in mid-April, starting my car, putting it into gear, and having the front end/wheel bearings drop onto the driveway when I am supposed to be taking my daughter to school.
You see? And that was just the span of one week.
And now, I look back on those events and have a different perspective. My bank has wonderful customer service. I only had to field one complaint during that big event, and it ran without a single hitch. Lunch on Good Friday resulted in catching up with a wonderful friend, who just so happened to have a hotel suite with an available pull out sofa sleeper marathon weekend.
And the car? Well, the car was never my choice, and I've always hated it. It was a piece of shit from the get-go, and I'm still a teensy bit bitter that it stuck around as long as it did. So, while there's no happy ending for that, the rest just kinda worked itself out.
Which brings me back to time.
With my race training and foray back to grad school, free time is as valuable as gold these days. I barely have time to shower, let alone find time for a quality run. My friendships have moved to the margins of my life, being reduced to rushed and fragmented text messages rather than conversations. This weekend- Easter weekend, a four day weekend- was my first real break from a schedule in I can't remember how long. My time has been micromanaged, and I have no one to blame but myself.
So, what have I learned from this? I have learned that I need to schedule my free time to be truly free from everything. I have learned that I cannot control fate. I have learned that if you take all of the bits and pieces, you can still see the "I love you and miss you" in the back-and-forth with your friends. I have learned that my running is an integral part of my life, and to ignore the twitching in my legs is to ignore a large part of what makes me, me.
As much as I have thought about how time is central to so much in our daily lives, I have come to appreciate the passage of time, too; I can do what I always admonish others to do: reflect, learn something from it, and move on. Evolve.
Once again, I've plundered my "From the Editor" pieces from my running club's newsletter, with this piece from 2009. Enjoy.
How do you know when something is over? I don't mean something like an event or a movie or a song; I mean something more abstract, like an era, a movement, a feeling? A season?
Don't tell me you haven't pondered this before. Everybody , at some point in time, has wondered "When will this be over?!" For us runners, we often find comfort in the concrete routines of our sport: the familiar local races year after year, the same runners crossing paths through the park or along the trail, the constant cycle of training/tapering/racing/resting for the marathoners in our ranks, and the smiling faces in the crowd, wishing us luck. Those things we can rely on, can't we? Take them one-by-one and mull over each awhile.
Local races: they seem to organize themselves, don't they? And yet anyone who has helped plan, organize, and direct a race knows this is most certainly not the case. Do we mourn the dedication of the race staff and volunteers when we search for a registration form, only to find a notice that the race is no longer being held?
What about the people we see along our regular routes? Or the same people we see on the treadmills next to us at the local YMCA? Do we notice when they don't appear around the playground at mile three, or do we only catch their absence once the run is complete? When do we realize and accept that they may have *gulp* stopped running?
I don't think I need to expound on the craziness that is the marathoner's life, but that constant motion is part of the collective memory we have in reference to certain friends, right? I mean, we all have a friend or acquaintance who qualifies for and then runs the Boston Marathon each year. What if...they stopped?
And those faces in the crowd! If you're lucky, you'll be running long enough to see certain shifts in the position of the crowd. The speedy middle-aged guy in front of you three years ago is now more comfortable pacing his buddy, and may even drop out of the race once he's confident in his charge's performance. Eventually he'll make his way towards the middle and then the back of the pack. Before you know it, he'll be relegated to collecting registration forms and fees and handing out race t-shirts.
Spring is a transitional season for runners: we move from bundled up freaks wearing face masks and shed our layers of gear to reveal the (hopefully) lithe runner's body underneath. Those bodies hidden in the dormancy of winter are just aching to go, to move, to be seen.
And then.
We are obligated to ponder the transitions around us, we are forced into the uncomfortableness of change. At what point does a runner become a non-runner? When does a passion become a chore? When does the relationship get so comfortable that it is taken for granted? When does the season really change? Who can pin-point that? Not I, said the cat. And yet, I'm not sure I'd want to know, lest I apply my runner's sensibilities to resurrecting something that just may be better off left to fade away.
Don't forget to give thanks for those daily markers in your life. Quick now, before they fade away.
1. Can I count all of the running around at work this week as cross training? Tuesday was an afternoon of bowling followed by dinner for 100+ people and Minute to Win It games. Watching people try to get an Oreo cookie from their forehead into their mouth and not being able to use their hands will always be entertaining.
2. Does the exhilaration of completing a really tough physical challenge ever get old? Man, I hope not. Wednesday was the day my department took kids to Northern Michigan University to climb the rock wall. While the kids shimmied like monkeys up the walls, I ran progressive 800's on one of the treadmills overlooking the wall area: 9:00, 8:48, 8:34, 8:20, 8:13, 7:53. THEN I went and conquered 1) my fear of heights, and 2) that rock wall. After that, I tried my hand at racquetball. Um...I *might* have some aggression issues; boy, it sure is fun to smack a small rubber ball around an enclosed room!
3. How much pride can you have in a group of teenagers before you explode? Thursday was my version of The Amazing Race . We had nine teams of two racing around the rez on bikes and then on foot completing challenges for the body & mind. Some of the kids are less than fit; some are obese. Everyone finished all of the challenges with smiles and high fives. No one even trash talked other teams- it was all about encouraging others and teamwork (ca$h prize$ help, too). It makes 12+ hour days worthwhile.
4. How horrible of an eater do you have to be- and for how long- before your insides fall out? Yesterday was quite possibly the worst food day I've had in awhile. I have posted before about my food/pickiness issues (go here and here for a primer), but yesterday my intake was just awful. I posted earlier about it on Facebook, but I will post my food diary here as well:
7 am Coffee with sugar free hazelnut creamer
11 am Banana
12 noon-5 pm Approximately 40 pieces of Laffy Taffy, or however many constitutes one third of a 5 pound bag.
10:30 pm One can (yes, the entire can) of Disney Princess shaped Spaghettios
5. When will my Spring Break with events & activities planned by and paid for by someone else start?
That last one is the only non-rhetorical question, and is geared towards all of my fabulously independently wealthy friends. Catch me on the celly, awwwriiite?
Size small, in the pewter. Please and thank you.Now, why on Earth would I ask everyone in blogger-dom to buy me this maxi sundress from Garnet Hill ? Blame it on a dream I had last night.I KNOW! Enough with the dreams, already!
But this dream was...more real. Does that make sense? Often times my dreams are of everyday tasks and activities, but this one was less everyday and more real. I'll ask again: does that make sense?
So, I'm wearing this dress, and I'm dancing with someone (can't tell who at this point). Slow dancing to a band. We're at a cantina-ish place, with the rough-hewn post & beam type patio space, lanterns hanging everywhere with warm light. It must be somewhere warm (definitely not in the Upper Peninsula!), because everyone else is dressed beachy. Okay, you know the scene in the movie version of Eat Pray Love where Liz first meets whatshisname at a party after doing all those shots of tequila? It was like that, minus the tequila. Back to the dream: I'm dancing, but all I see is the dress, all fabric and floating and swirling and twisting with the movements of my body, glimpses of my arms & shoulders. The music from the band is coming to an end, and I feel myself being put into a dip- bodies close, one leg hiked up, the works. I look up and see my partner for the first time in this dream: its Shall Remain Nameless from this post.
WTF?! Shall Remain Nameless hasn't made an appearance in my dreams since that first dream, and honestly, I've been too busy with oh, life to focus on anyone or anything other than what's in front of me at the moment (right now? Coffee.). But let me tell you this: it was in-tense. Just like that first dream. It felt like it was something that should really happen, you know? An omen, perhaps.
Whatever. All I know is that I now must have that dress.
Its funny how seemingly small things or events can help shift your outlook.
I know I've kinda been a whiner lately, but I've tried very hard to remain optimistic. Little surprises help, and so do good, solid workouts (well, for me, anyway).Like last weekend: I had a very busy morning on Sunday, but then met Tha Doctah and another friend, Pasquatch (don't ask) at our local arts center to help hang a new gallery show. It was so lovely to go back to my artist's roots for an hour or so, to debate why one painting should go here and not over there. And then a cup of coffee and catch up time? Nice. I thought for sure my day would end there, that I'd pick Daughter #2 up from her dad's house, and my weekend would be gone.
But NO!
I had originally planned to do a nice evening run with my friend, Fast Jessica. Then I had to cancel because I thought I was doing taxes. Then the taxes thing got moved, and I was able to run after all. So confusing!
Side note: Fast Jessica is named such because she is a much faster runner than I am. She has always been one of those runners at local races that people whisper about: Is Jessica here today? I wonder what her time will be. Or one July 4th Firecracker run, courtesy of my father-in-law: I just got chicked. By a pregnant lady pushing a jogging stroller. She is a force to be reckoned with.
Anyway, we got together for our run, and planned on an easy 7-miler out & back, uphills on the way out, downhill on the way back. Awwwww, yeah! The plan was to go out easy, then let the road speed us up after the turn around. Well, something that usually happens when Jess & I run is that we talk. I KNOW! As we talk, we sometimes- okay, all the time- go faster than expected. This is significant because, like I mentioned earlier, she is Fast Jessica, and I am me.
I've noticed something happening to me, though, since I've been running more with FJ: I've gotten faster, and I've been happier about running. The benefits of a running partner, right? Well, its something that I was lacking after my first running partner- my father-in-law- died during a local half-marathon. I have missed the camaraderie of a regular running partner, of regular routes and workouts, and of the push you receive from said partner. I'm so thankful for FJ.
Back to the run: we started out fast, and got faster. Downhill on the turnaround, remember? What was supposed to be a chill run turned in to an exercise in running strong whilst tired. We celebrated the good run- and FJ's birthday (25! Again!)- with pizzas and grocery store cake courtesy of Uncle Winga. An evening of great conversation and friendship was had, and my weekend was better than expected.
But that's not all. After Daughter #2 was home with me, we sat in my living room: me, nodding in and out of sleep on the big chair with HGTV on the television, and D2 tapping away on the computer. What happened next is what made the weekend move from pretty good to fucking awesome: D2 came over to me and kissed me goodnight. My 15-year-old. It was, to a mother who has never felt entirely maternal, heavenly.She has continued to do this every night since. It makes me happier than you could ever know.Good things usually come in threes, right? Mental checklist: awesome run/evening with running friends? Check! Kiss goodnight from formerly surly teenage daughter? Check! Coming home from work last night to find my new running shoes ? Check!See? Things are looking up. If you focus on the positive, I feel that will reflect back on you, and help change the color of your days from blue to sunshine yellow. Karma, friends. Give thanks for the good, and pay it forward.
Once again, I've plundered my "From the Editor" pieces from my running club's newsletter, with this piece from 2009. Enjoy.
1. Can I count all of the running around at work this week as cross training? Tuesday was an afternoon of bowling followed by dinner for 100+ people and Minute to Win It games. Watching people try to get an Oreo cookie from their forehead into their mouth and not being able to use their hands will always be entertaining.
Size small, in the pewter. Please and thank you.
Its funny how seemingly small things or events can help shift your outlook. I know I've kinda been a whiner lately, but I've tried very hard to remain optimistic. Little surprises help, and so do good, solid workouts (well, for me, anyway).
