I'm back. I returned to my reality on October 18th, one day after running 26.2 miles. First, I will give you a glimpse of what one looks like the day after a marathon...this should give you a realistic starting place.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-hCuYjvw2I
I'm going to break it down and give you the pros and cons (in my opinion) of the famous Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco.
Pros:
-the incredible energy of over 20,000 women (5,000 of which were with TNT) coming together in Union Square for the same purpose.
-this year's race raised $13 million for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society
-participants names etched onto niketown wall (Nike store in Union Square)
-cute sweatshirts/clothes to promote the event
-packet pick up was fairly easy
-the whole course had tons of drink and fuel stations (ghiradelli chocolates, bananas, oranges, water, Luna Bars, ShotBlocks, etc)
-it was a challenging and beautiful course
-tons of supporters (including my fabulous spouse) and cheer stations
-awesome music stations
-most of the runners were kind and encouraging
-lots of TNT support on the course (the coaches were all spread out)
-Tiffany's necklace as your finisher's medal passed out on a silver platter by Bay area firefighters in tuxedos.
-really cute finisher shirt
-bag check in was efficient and there was no problem picking it up right after the race
-the expo had lots of fun sponsors
-stretching station after the race with mats and rollers, free massages (if you wanted one), and free engraving for your necklace (if you wanted it)
Cons:
-the Nike Women's Marathon website. It is terrible to navigate!
-the congestion on the course. Most of the walkers started at the same time as the runners and didn't place themselves in the correct corral. The first 11 miles was spent weaving in and out of walkers who wouldn't move over (slower traffic move right rule!)
-people were stopping to take pictures right on the course...like coming to a DEAD STOP in the middle of the road and organizing group shots. RIDICULOUS!
-The cold pouring rain
-there weren't enough 2010 Tiffany finishers medals. Anyone who finished over 5 hours got either 2007 or 2008 medals. The 2010 is supposed to ship in 10-12 weeks. Disappointing!
-The food at the finish. It was pretty much gone by the time I got there, and I was hungry!
-The cold at the end without enough thermal wraps. NOT OK!
Overall, a really fun experience for me. This year was my "do over". Last year the 13.1 was TORTURE with my weak body and IT band issues. What a difference a year makes. After the marathon a friend said to me, "you have to BE a runner to run a marathon" and I actually get that now. I worked my ass off for a full year, weight training, core work, copious amounts of stretching. What a difference a year makes.
For now, I'm proud of myself. I did what I could do. My time goal was to complete it in under 6 hours. I did that with some to spare (5:43'37). That is an 13'07 average pace. I walked each and every hill to conserve energy. I figure a good HOUR was spent on dodging the picture takers and walkers, right?
Some of you have heard about the famous video of my finish line experience. I'm going to share it here to give you a good chuckle. You may have to cut and paste it into your browser becasue I've spent way too much time tonight trying to figure it out. Just make sure you note who finishes about 3 seconds after me...yes, a participant USING A WALKER! Well, it is actually a three-legged roller. It's a good laugh....actually, I'm glad I CAN laugh about it! It is hilarious.
http://www.brightroom.com/view_user_event_video.asp?EVENTID=62004&BIB=20506&LNSEARCH=1&PWD=
Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Betty - My Time
Last night (10/18) the Marathoning Mama's returned from San Francisco. I am happy to report that not only did we all cross the finish line, but more importantly we remained friends. We all have our own stories - enough to blog about for another month I'm sure - so I have decided to be the first to share the story of my marathon experience. I'm not posting my story first because I feel that mine is the best, worst or even the most interesting, but simply because I'm still working thru a lot of mixed feelings about that day. I hope that what I feel today will develop and evolve into something more, more, well I'm not sure, maybe just something more peaceful.
About 2 months ago I began having problems with my IT band (i blogged about it here). I began seeing a PT not once, but twice a week. It turned out that not only did I have an IT band issue, I also discovered that my lower back has as much strength and flexibility as my 90 year old grandma. Since then I have been doing multiple stretches and exercises to make it all a little bit better so I can get through this living nightmare called an endurance event without giving my body a complete smack-down so that I can run in the future again if I should decided to.
All was going amazingly well, which was proven to me when I was able to run 20 miles 3 weeks ago. This was the run that solidified that fact that, Oh my God I actually think that I might be able to pull this off. Juanita, K-dubs and I began making our plans about all the 'what if's' during the race - basically the 3 of us had been running together for the entire training and we wanted to finish this bitch together.
Fast forward to marathon day. I will let all the other ladies tell you about the fabulousness of the race ie: the start, the music, the energy, the scenery, the oranges, the fucking slow walking people we had to weave in and out of for 10 g-damn miles, etc. Anyway, much to my surprise my IT band starting hurting at about mile 5. fuck. Coach Jan caught up with us around mile 9-10 and when she left us at mile 11 she pulled me aside to tell me to listen to my body, listen to the pain. If i ever wanted to run again I needed to pay attention and that there was no shame in completing the 1/2. But I didn't want to do the half, so on I went. I was able to run thru the pain up until mile 14. At this point I had to stop Juanita and K-dubs and tell them to go on without me. It was the easiest and hardest thing to do - I knew that what was going on with me was not just that mental wall going up, it was purely physical and I was not going to be able to continue running. So in that way it was easy, this was my pain not theirs and they trained just as hard as I did and nothing should stop them from completing their goal. But, it was hard because I knew that that picture in my head, the one of the 3 of us holding hands crossing the finish line, laughing, crying and most likely throwing up, all at the same time was now gone. What ever was going to happen to me, I was now going to do it on my own.
So, I started walking. I was able to walk/run until about mile 17, at that point i knew that if i continued to try to run i might not even be able to continue walking. So, I walked. Oh, did I mention that it was cold, cloudy and rained for the last 2/3rds of the day? Yeah.
It was at mile 18 that the woman who was running with the last pace card went past. This is the person to signal that whoever crosses the finish line after her will technically not finish the race. No official time, no happy crossing the finish line photo, no Tiffany necklace (the 'medal' for this race). Here comes the mental struggle...I could easily turn around up til mile 19 (when we started going around the lake) skipping 4 miles and walk my way to the finish and still make it back to get the necklace. Or I could keep going, and get the satisfaction that I completed a full marathon. Hmmmm, this was actually a much harder decision than it appears. Did I mention the cold, wind and rain. Oh, how about the pulled tendon behind my right knee, and the blisters forming on the bottom of my feet from the wet shoes and socks. And all the lonely, all the by myself, all the time to think about all these things. But I kept going. I don't even know how. I just knew that it's what I had to do.
For all of these things, these obstacles that I overcame to finish, why am I still so, so sad? Do you know how awful it is to cross the finish line alone? And not only that, but to have to run around the ladder that's taking down the finish line while your crossing it? To not have anyone there to take your photo? To know that you really could have done this, actually run a marathon but this one thing stopped you from reaching that goal? To realize that you may never have this time again - the time to train, to be able to do it with such great friends, the support from your spouse that you so desperately need. It's gone, and it might not ever come back. At least, not for a while.
Everyone keeps telling me how proud they are of me. And every time I hear it, I feel nothing. And today I realized why...I didn't sign up for this marathon to make others proud, I signed up to make myself proud. And I just don't feel proud yet. I hope to get there but it just might take some time - and that is something I can make time for.
About 2 months ago I began having problems with my IT band (i blogged about it here). I began seeing a PT not once, but twice a week. It turned out that not only did I have an IT band issue, I also discovered that my lower back has as much strength and flexibility as my 90 year old grandma. Since then I have been doing multiple stretches and exercises to make it all a little bit better so I can get through this living nightmare called an endurance event without giving my body a complete smack-down so that I can run in the future again if I should decided to.
All was going amazingly well, which was proven to me when I was able to run 20 miles 3 weeks ago. This was the run that solidified that fact that, Oh my God I actually think that I might be able to pull this off. Juanita, K-dubs and I began making our plans about all the 'what if's' during the race - basically the 3 of us had been running together for the entire training and we wanted to finish this bitch together.
Fast forward to marathon day. I will let all the other ladies tell you about the fabulousness of the race ie: the start, the music, the energy, the scenery, the oranges, the fucking slow walking people we had to weave in and out of for 10 g-damn miles, etc. Anyway, much to my surprise my IT band starting hurting at about mile 5. fuck. Coach Jan caught up with us around mile 9-10 and when she left us at mile 11 she pulled me aside to tell me to listen to my body, listen to the pain. If i ever wanted to run again I needed to pay attention and that there was no shame in completing the 1/2. But I didn't want to do the half, so on I went. I was able to run thru the pain up until mile 14. At this point I had to stop Juanita and K-dubs and tell them to go on without me. It was the easiest and hardest thing to do - I knew that what was going on with me was not just that mental wall going up, it was purely physical and I was not going to be able to continue running. So in that way it was easy, this was my pain not theirs and they trained just as hard as I did and nothing should stop them from completing their goal. But, it was hard because I knew that that picture in my head, the one of the 3 of us holding hands crossing the finish line, laughing, crying and most likely throwing up, all at the same time was now gone. What ever was going to happen to me, I was now going to do it on my own.
So, I started walking. I was able to walk/run until about mile 17, at that point i knew that if i continued to try to run i might not even be able to continue walking. So, I walked. Oh, did I mention that it was cold, cloudy and rained for the last 2/3rds of the day? Yeah.
It was at mile 18 that the woman who was running with the last pace card went past. This is the person to signal that whoever crosses the finish line after her will technically not finish the race. No official time, no happy crossing the finish line photo, no Tiffany necklace (the 'medal' for this race). Here comes the mental struggle...I could easily turn around up til mile 19 (when we started going around the lake) skipping 4 miles and walk my way to the finish and still make it back to get the necklace. Or I could keep going, and get the satisfaction that I completed a full marathon. Hmmmm, this was actually a much harder decision than it appears. Did I mention the cold, wind and rain. Oh, how about the pulled tendon behind my right knee, and the blisters forming on the bottom of my feet from the wet shoes and socks. And all the lonely, all the by myself, all the time to think about all these things. But I kept going. I don't even know how. I just knew that it's what I had to do.
For all of these things, these obstacles that I overcame to finish, why am I still so, so sad? Do you know how awful it is to cross the finish line alone? And not only that, but to have to run around the ladder that's taking down the finish line while your crossing it? To not have anyone there to take your photo? To know that you really could have done this, actually run a marathon but this one thing stopped you from reaching that goal? To realize that you may never have this time again - the time to train, to be able to do it with such great friends, the support from your spouse that you so desperately need. It's gone, and it might not ever come back. At least, not for a while.
Everyone keeps telling me how proud they are of me. And every time I hear it, I feel nothing. And today I realized why...I didn't sign up for this marathon to make others proud, I signed up to make myself proud. And I just don't feel proud yet. I hope to get there but it just might take some time - and that is something I can make time for.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Betty - In search of the missing Chip
On several occasions, the Mama's have talked about 'the chip'. For those of you who don't know what the 'Chip' is (or call it by another name), it is the ability to say No to that next glass of wine, beer, tequila or whatever your drink of preference before you regret it the next day - or later that evening. There are some of the Mama's who have the chip, one who doesn't have the Chip so responsibly chooses not to partake in alcoholic beverages, and then there are two who openly admit that they do not have the Chip but belly up to the bar just the same. I fall into the latter category. As a Mama (both running and other) I do realize that I have to be responsible not only for me, but now also for 2 children. Therefor in lack of the Chip I usually don't drink. Well, at home anyway.
But here is the problem. I really enjoy having a drink or two. I always have. It's part of me, who I am and to be honest I really am a very happy and fun drunk. But here is the other problem - without the Chip, sometimes I get myself into trouble. Here is the point where I could tell you about all the crazy, funny, scary stories about my drunk nights, but that would take to long and I really don't have the time. Most of those stories thankfully are back in the days before children and adult responsibility, but occasionally there are one or two from recent times.
When I started training for the marathon, my ability to meet a friend and have a drink became even more difficult and I didn't want to mess up my exercise plan. At least that's how it started. In the past month or so, I have been out with friends more frequently and I have also started back bowling with my team. I don't know about you, but I find it really difficult to bowl and not have a beer. They just go together.
But without the Chip, one beer usually leads to one more, and then before you know it I've closed down the bar and I'm headed off to find the nearest place with karaoke and asking strangers for a cigarette. Because that's what I need when I'm training for a marathon, A CIGARETTE!!!
So if you see me dancing around your neighborhood bowling alley singing 80's pop tunes and asking you for a light, please stop me and say 'Hey, I see that your missing a Chip and I would love to share mine with you. So why don't you put down the tiara and lets head home." I promise I'll thank you in the morning.
But here is the problem. I really enjoy having a drink or two. I always have. It's part of me, who I am and to be honest I really am a very happy and fun drunk. But here is the other problem - without the Chip, sometimes I get myself into trouble. Here is the point where I could tell you about all the crazy, funny, scary stories about my drunk nights, but that would take to long and I really don't have the time. Most of those stories thankfully are back in the days before children and adult responsibility, but occasionally there are one or two from recent times.
When I started training for the marathon, my ability to meet a friend and have a drink became even more difficult and I didn't want to mess up my exercise plan. At least that's how it started. In the past month or so, I have been out with friends more frequently and I have also started back bowling with my team. I don't know about you, but I find it really difficult to bowl and not have a beer. They just go together.
But without the Chip, one beer usually leads to one more, and then before you know it I've closed down the bar and I'm headed off to find the nearest place with karaoke and asking strangers for a cigarette. Because that's what I need when I'm training for a marathon, A CIGARETTE!!!
So if you see me dancing around your neighborhood bowling alley singing 80's pop tunes and asking you for a light, please stop me and say 'Hey, I see that your missing a Chip and I would love to share mine with you. So why don't you put down the tiara and lets head home." I promise I'll thank you in the morning.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
What is wrong with me???
I'm not sure what happened a couple of weeks ago, but I'm sad and embarrassed to tell you that it wasn't my proudest moment. It was my first ever 18 miler and I was pretty nervous about it. My usual running partners were not in attendance and I was not real comfortable with the route. Thankfully I found a buddy to run with, one who talks a great deal, so I could sit back and listen to story after story. Nirvana.
We hit the 9 mile mark, which also happened to be a TNT designated "water stop". Now for those of you who have not trained with a group as fantastic as Team in Training, here is what a typical water stop looks like: a table or trunk of a car decked out with TNT gear. 2 large jugs of cold liquid and cups, one water and one a sports drink. Hard candy. A salty snack (like pretzels). Paper towels. Goo, energy bars, shot blocks, sports beans, etc. It is like a mini Super USA. I feel like the water stops every few miles are critical to the success of every participant. Much organizing goes into the water stops for the day...mainly getting the volunteers to agree to sit out for hours on end filling cups for participants and managing the garbage.
This brings me to the point where I will share my not so proud moment. As I was lounging at the water stop at Lake Harriet chatting with other TNT participants, a young woman ran up to the water stop (clearly not a TNT participant) took a cup, filled it with water and drank it. Now, I'm not heartless, I feel compassion for the thirsty like everyone else. But for some reason, I blurted out, "What event are you doing?". This question was asked in the hope that I might not have met this TNT participant yet and that I could take this opportunity to welcome her to the TNT group. Her reply, "No event. I'm just out for a run and I got thirsty". Then she asked, "Is that OK?" Now, I didn't answer her verbally. I did, however, give her the look of death. I didn't mean to though. I was just protecting "our" beverages like they were my children.
She backed away slowly, obviously scared that I might burn a hole through her body with my fierce stink eye. I turned back to the small TNT group who had gathered for their water break in the meantime and they were all silent and staring. A couple of them were absolutely shocked at my rudeness, as was I! What is wrong with me that I was so unwilling to share with this poor thirsty woman? I am going to go ahead and blame exhaustion and fatigue. I don't think there really is an excuse for my terrible behavior though. If I see this woman again I will surely apologize.
I just want to say, however, if you are running around the lakes (or anywhere) and you see a water stop that is so obviously marked for a particular running group, just ASK before just grabbing yourself a drink. Really now.....
We hit the 9 mile mark, which also happened to be a TNT designated "water stop". Now for those of you who have not trained with a group as fantastic as Team in Training, here is what a typical water stop looks like: a table or trunk of a car decked out with TNT gear. 2 large jugs of cold liquid and cups, one water and one a sports drink. Hard candy. A salty snack (like pretzels). Paper towels. Goo, energy bars, shot blocks, sports beans, etc. It is like a mini Super USA. I feel like the water stops every few miles are critical to the success of every participant. Much organizing goes into the water stops for the day...mainly getting the volunteers to agree to sit out for hours on end filling cups for participants and managing the garbage.
This brings me to the point where I will share my not so proud moment. As I was lounging at the water stop at Lake Harriet chatting with other TNT participants, a young woman ran up to the water stop (clearly not a TNT participant) took a cup, filled it with water and drank it. Now, I'm not heartless, I feel compassion for the thirsty like everyone else. But for some reason, I blurted out, "What event are you doing?". This question was asked in the hope that I might not have met this TNT participant yet and that I could take this opportunity to welcome her to the TNT group. Her reply, "No event. I'm just out for a run and I got thirsty". Then she asked, "Is that OK?" Now, I didn't answer her verbally. I did, however, give her the look of death. I didn't mean to though. I was just protecting "our" beverages like they were my children.
She backed away slowly, obviously scared that I might burn a hole through her body with my fierce stink eye. I turned back to the small TNT group who had gathered for their water break in the meantime and they were all silent and staring. A couple of them were absolutely shocked at my rudeness, as was I! What is wrong with me that I was so unwilling to share with this poor thirsty woman? I am going to go ahead and blame exhaustion and fatigue. I don't think there really is an excuse for my terrible behavior though. If I see this woman again I will surely apologize.
I just want to say, however, if you are running around the lakes (or anywhere) and you see a water stop that is so obviously marked for a particular running group, just ASK before just grabbing yourself a drink. Really now.....
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Suzy-Q - Completing a Minnesota Tri?
So last Wednesday I skipped out on team training. We were scheduled to meet and run 8-12 repetitions of a hill near a lock and damn on the Mississippi River. It was a fairly nice day - summer is waning and the air was cooler than it has been and the humidity was low. And I had intentions to meeting up with the team.
However, by day's end I decided that I'd completed at Minnesota Triathlon.
The first leg: By 7:45am I was on my bike and headed to the fairgrounds. At 8:03am I'd parked my bike, locked her up and made it through the entrance. Pretty uneventful, and not bad for time.
The second leg: I spent the next 11. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I said ELEVEN. Eleven hours walking around the fairgrounds, consuming mostly fried foods and dairy products. Three trips to the "All-you-can-drink-milk" booth, crab cakes, mini-donuts, a funnel cake, a Pronto Pup, and two boats of cheese curds later. So I'm likely no competition for Takeru Kobayashi, I'd say that 11 hours of walking and eating are formidable.
I did take the long way home on my bike. Not really to get more exercise, but because riding on Snelling Avenue seems like a death wish when there are so many motorists trying to make their way to the fair. The long way on a bike lane and through a city park just seems more sane.
The third leg: Calibrating my iPod. How many months are we into training now? I finally decided I'd calibrate my iPod in an effort to more accurately track my progress. Calibrating my iPod required me to run. I only ran about a mile.
My Minnesota tri - a bike ride, an all day eating affair at the Great Minnesota Get Together, and a run - took a mere 12 hours to complete. Thank goodness I expect Nike to take a fraction of that time.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Suzy-Q - I Scream, You Scream, We All Run for Ice Cream
I'm not gonna lie. Among the selling factors of joining TNT was getting a spot in the Nike Women's Half Marathon. It's a popular event. Finishers of the women's only half and full marathon don't get medals. San Francisco Firemen in tuxedoes and running shoes hand out Tiffany designed necklaces. The finisher t-shirts are Nike Dri-Fit women's shirts, not the boxy ones cut to fit men (oh, are they supposed to be unisex? whatever). Twenty thousand race entries are awarded though a lottery system. Or you can join TNT guaranteeing you a spot.
Here are a few other reasons I signed up in random order:
1: The location: San Francisco. Who doesn't love the city by the bay? And the race course isn't as hilly as everyone imagines. Its a nice run from Union Square, to the fairly recently renovated Ferry Building, along the Fisherman's Wharf, through the Presidio, around Golden Gate Park and out past the zoo for those doing the full.
2: The team within a team: the Marathoning Mamas. Who could ask for a better group of running partners and friends? These ladies are generous, gracious, comical, articulate, attractive, and intelligent to name a few of their more obvious attributes. I could go on and on but a lot of you know them anyway so you have a good sense of who these women are.
3: The ice cream. Yep. I confess and its true. I am tremendously looking forward to a chance to visit Humphry Slocombe Ice Cream (more than once, I hope). At our house we have an annual Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream Social Experiment when we invite guests to bring ice cream ingredients to flash freeze batches of creative flavors using liquid nitrogen. Flavors like peanut butter and crystalized ginger; black pepper, strawberry and balsamic vinegar; or cherry and bacon. But the likes of the flavors at Humphry Slocombe we've never produced. And I am not sure that I'd want to make 'em. But, I do know I want to try them. I read about the place in a NY Times Magazine article that a FB friend posted and my decision to "recommit" to TNT was sealed. And because of that my friends, tomorrow morning, come 7:15 am I will be panting along yet another metro-area recreational path so I can have an ice cream cone (or a few) seven weeks from now.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Betty - The Perfect Storm
There are many things that happen to everyone throughout the passing of the years that indicate you are no longer the spring chicken you once were. A child you used to babysit is now in college or (gasp!) just got married, the music on popular radio is no longer of interest and the commercials on some of your TV shows are clearly marketing to a different target audience. I, as possibly most of you, take these indications of aging quite gracefully because we all know, it's not about how old you are, but about how old you feel.
Clearly the brain child that thought up that load of bull shit never trained for a marathon.
Since I started training for this marathon, i have never felt so old in my life. The aches, stiffness and joint cracking are starting to make me think that the Hoveround (so cleverly advertised during The Price is Right) is looking like a great thing to have around the house. But nothing comes close to the overwhelming dread of age as what i experienced last week in the span of only 7 small days.
Last Sunday I had a birthday. Now I'll admit that ever since having kids I tend not to make that big a deal out of my birthday - because honestly, when you get to a certain age in your life you have to actually start planning your own birthday celebrations and sometimes it's just too much to think about, so going out to dinner usually amounts to a "fantastic birthday, thank you very much". Well, now that I have these fantastic Mama's in my life, they refused to let this excuse for a celebration go past without recognition.
Enter the wine.
We all got together for a casual evening of drinks and dinner. It all started simple enough until I forgot the fact that i am no longer 23 years old and decided that drinking 2 bottles of wine BY MYSELF was a grand idea. I had a really great evening with friends, laughing and sharing great stories and then...the morning came along and slapped me up against the back of the head. At least it wasn't bad enough to make me utter the traditional chant of "i'll never drink again" because really, who am i kidding.
Then the following Saturday on our long run with the Team, I was taken out of the game by my IT band. If you don't know what that is and don't care, all you need to know is that it hurts like a Mo Fo in my hip and knee. For those of you who want to know, it's called Google - look it up.
I think i caught it early enough so that I won't be out for too long, but it will require PT and multiple stretches and strength training (ie: weights) for my future.
Then just to top off the evening, I attended my 20 year High School reunion.
Enter the Beer.
I genuinely had a good time and enjoyed seeing lots of people who I had forgotten how much I liked. However, there really is nothing like a reunion of that status (20 YEARS!) that doesn't give you pause to realize that no, you are no longer in High School (thank god) you are not even close to college age anymore. You are just old. You could be older, but if you were you might not care so much because somewhere out there I hear there is a wave of peace that swaddles and warms you and protects the self from even giving a shit. I will let you know when that happens, but until then, I will just eat my chocolate, watch re-runs of Melrose Place and live in my own little world of thinking i'm still young.
Clearly the brain child that thought up that load of bull shit never trained for a marathon.
Since I started training for this marathon, i have never felt so old in my life. The aches, stiffness and joint cracking are starting to make me think that the Hoveround (so cleverly advertised during The Price is Right) is looking like a great thing to have around the house. But nothing comes close to the overwhelming dread of age as what i experienced last week in the span of only 7 small days.
Last Sunday I had a birthday. Now I'll admit that ever since having kids I tend not to make that big a deal out of my birthday - because honestly, when you get to a certain age in your life you have to actually start planning your own birthday celebrations and sometimes it's just too much to think about, so going out to dinner usually amounts to a "fantastic birthday, thank you very much". Well, now that I have these fantastic Mama's in my life, they refused to let this excuse for a celebration go past without recognition.
Enter the wine.
We all got together for a casual evening of drinks and dinner. It all started simple enough until I forgot the fact that i am no longer 23 years old and decided that drinking 2 bottles of wine BY MYSELF was a grand idea. I had a really great evening with friends, laughing and sharing great stories and then...the morning came along and slapped me up against the back of the head. At least it wasn't bad enough to make me utter the traditional chant of "i'll never drink again" because really, who am i kidding.
Then the following Saturday on our long run with the Team, I was taken out of the game by my IT band. If you don't know what that is and don't care, all you need to know is that it hurts like a Mo Fo in my hip and knee. For those of you who want to know, it's called Google - look it up.
I think i caught it early enough so that I won't be out for too long, but it will require PT and multiple stretches and strength training (ie: weights) for my future.
Then just to top off the evening, I attended my 20 year High School reunion.
Enter the Beer.
I genuinely had a good time and enjoyed seeing lots of people who I had forgotten how much I liked. However, there really is nothing like a reunion of that status (20 YEARS!) that doesn't give you pause to realize that no, you are no longer in High School (thank god) you are not even close to college age anymore. You are just old. You could be older, but if you were you might not care so much because somewhere out there I hear there is a wave of peace that swaddles and warms you and protects the self from even giving a shit. I will let you know when that happens, but until then, I will just eat my chocolate, watch re-runs of Melrose Place and live in my own little world of thinking i'm still young.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Miss Jeanne's Toes!
My feet have always been one of my best features. Really. My toes especially are long and slender and my nail beds are on the larger side which makes a pedicure look quite nice. There was a time, I think in Junior High, that my nickname was "bone toes". Although at the time I was probably mortified, I now take it as a complement.
As I age, my feet in general are looking a bit "weathered". The skin is becoming thicker on my heals and around the edges of my feet. Even the best pedicure in the world cannot cure the increasing size of the bunion on my right large toe. Also, the frequency of my pedicures is not nearly what it used to be. I guess if I have a bit of "extra time without kids" I head to the grocery store solo or try to clean up the house. All you Mamas can surely understand.
As some of you know, I participated in Team in Training last fall of '09 and struggled greatly with training and completing the half marathon in San Francisco. My left IT band (runs from the hip to the knee) was a mess. During the training and half marathon ALL of my focus was on that stabbing pain in my knee. Little did I know I had bigger problems. Immediately after the 13.1 miles I took off my shoes and noticed my middle little toe looking a bit swollen and the nail was BLACK! Yes friends, black. I will give you a minute to grab your vomit bags....
I spent the next few months making sure I had nice dark nail polish on hand. I had thought that time would heal this nasty toenail and maybe the nail would just grow out and things would be back to normal. Nope, that was hardly the case. What happened many months later will no doubt shock some of you...MY TOE NAIL FELL OFF! It is true. Even my husband who will go to many lengths to make me happy absolutely CRINGES at the thought of rubbing my feet. He doesn't verbally decline but his scrunched up face and look of sheer terror let me know that it is too much to even ask of him. Oh well.
Now it happens that the same week this toe nail fell off I woke up to an email from one of the Mamas. I'm not sure if she even knew yet of my "loss" but it evidently made an impact on her family. Her email is below:
Last night (kid) woke up at 2 am yelling, "Miss Jeanne's
Toes! Miss Jeanne's Toes!" (husband) and I were both like, WTF?
She was inconsolable, crying about how your toes were poking her. It took
me a minute to realize she meant "Mosquitoes" but didn't know the
word. Would you quit torturing my children with your toes at 2
am?
As I age, my feet in general are looking a bit "weathered". The skin is becoming thicker on my heals and around the edges of my feet. Even the best pedicure in the world cannot cure the increasing size of the bunion on my right large toe. Also, the frequency of my pedicures is not nearly what it used to be. I guess if I have a bit of "extra time without kids" I head to the grocery store solo or try to clean up the house. All you Mamas can surely understand.
As some of you know, I participated in Team in Training last fall of '09 and struggled greatly with training and completing the half marathon in San Francisco. My left IT band (runs from the hip to the knee) was a mess. During the training and half marathon ALL of my focus was on that stabbing pain in my knee. Little did I know I had bigger problems. Immediately after the 13.1 miles I took off my shoes and noticed my middle little toe looking a bit swollen and the nail was BLACK! Yes friends, black. I will give you a minute to grab your vomit bags....
I spent the next few months making sure I had nice dark nail polish on hand. I had thought that time would heal this nasty toenail and maybe the nail would just grow out and things would be back to normal. Nope, that was hardly the case. What happened many months later will no doubt shock some of you...MY TOE NAIL FELL OFF! It is true. Even my husband who will go to many lengths to make me happy absolutely CRINGES at the thought of rubbing my feet. He doesn't verbally decline but his scrunched up face and look of sheer terror let me know that it is too much to even ask of him. Oh well.
Now it happens that the same week this toe nail fell off I woke up to an email from one of the Mamas. I'm not sure if she even knew yet of my "loss" but it evidently made an impact on her family. Her email is below:
Last night (kid) woke up at 2 am yelling, "Miss Jeanne's
Toes! Miss Jeanne's Toes!" (husband) and I were both like, WTF?
She was inconsolable, crying about how your toes were poking her. It took
me a minute to realize she meant "Mosquitoes" but didn't know the
word. Would you quit torturing my children with your toes at 2
am?
Doesn't that say it all? Even the kids are afraid of my toes...
Friday, August 20, 2010
Kate: Five
My father is a fantastic artist. One of my brothers is a technical genius. Another brother has the strongest will-power of anyone I've met, while my mother is outrageously kind. I am not any of these things, but I admire them all.
When I start thinking about all the other things my family is - crazy, embarrassing, irrational, emotional - it's not surprising that I've rarely stopped to consider all the things that make them amazing. I don't often appreciate my family for what they offer because I'm too often focusing on what they lack.
Along with being incredibly kind, my mother has colon cancer. She's facing it head on and I admire her greatly for it. She was diagnosed late this spring and went from an active happy life to a near-death experience in two short days. Her cancer, it seems, was not caught early, which is, in short, a bummer as it's very curable in the early stages. My mom is no stranger to poor health. She's already faced other cancers, heart problems, a quadruple bi-pass, diabetes and glaucoma - she literally is a walking catalog of medical maladies. I have been summoned to the hospital to say farewell to her on three separate occasions. Yet she has lived through them all, recovering with a calmness of spirit that astounds me. If asked, she will tell you it's because her faith in God is absolute.
When I hear this I want to shake my fist and gnash my teeth. Despite all the different ways my mom has shown me the path to God over the years, I've never managed to actually knock on his door. Instead I rail and curse and wonder why her loving God puts her though crushing illness, bringing her to the brink of death before allowing her to live. How could he do that to her? That's not love. She calmly points out that he carries her back every time and if that's not love, then what is?
I am not convinced. I don't like watching her go through this and can't contemplate a world without her. Selfish to the core, I know that when my mother dies, so dies the very first and last person on earth who ever really, truly, deep down knew me to my blackest, yuckiest place and still thought I was amazing. I'm not ready to live without her and I told her so this weekend as we talked about death and what comes next. Typically she is at peace while I am a crying, sobbing mess. Part of her calmness comes from the fact that she knows she would be going to see people she loved, lost and misses. She's positive that in the next world they'll be no word for cancer . In that life she'll be able to vacation in Paris as long as she likes and eat Krispy Kreme donuts every day without gaining an ounce . She makes heaven sound like an all-inclusive adult disneyland and, still, I am unmoved.
Halfway through our conversation she stopped to empty the bag that now functions as her makeshift-portable bathroom. She does this with the slight exasperation of someone having to retie an unruly shoelace instead of a complicated, multi-step process that she'll have to repeat many times a day for the rest of her days. This procedure would have me complaining from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning until my head hit the pillow again at night. The gulf between our attitudes never seemed so great to me as at that moment and I asked her how she could love the God that did this to her. More to the point, how could she love the God that would take her away when he knew how much I needed her?
She held my hand and asked me, "Haven't you noticed that God gave you five moms this year? Just when you think you might be without a mom, he provided you with a bunch of them. How can you doubt that he loves you?"
And, of course, she's right. Like a miracle I've been surrounded by five women who are kind, generous, loving, supportive, caring and fantastic. It's now no coincidence to me that we're called the Mama's. I've always known that no person could ever replace my mother.
God knows, it takes five.
When I start thinking about all the other things my family is - crazy, embarrassing, irrational, emotional - it's not surprising that I've rarely stopped to consider all the things that make them amazing. I don't often appreciate my family for what they offer because I'm too often focusing on what they lack.
Along with being incredibly kind, my mother has colon cancer. She's facing it head on and I admire her greatly for it. She was diagnosed late this spring and went from an active happy life to a near-death experience in two short days. Her cancer, it seems, was not caught early, which is, in short, a bummer as it's very curable in the early stages. My mom is no stranger to poor health. She's already faced other cancers, heart problems, a quadruple bi-pass, diabetes and glaucoma - she literally is a walking catalog of medical maladies. I have been summoned to the hospital to say farewell to her on three separate occasions. Yet she has lived through them all, recovering with a calmness of spirit that astounds me. If asked, she will tell you it's because her faith in God is absolute.
When I hear this I want to shake my fist and gnash my teeth. Despite all the different ways my mom has shown me the path to God over the years, I've never managed to actually knock on his door. Instead I rail and curse and wonder why her loving God puts her though crushing illness, bringing her to the brink of death before allowing her to live. How could he do that to her? That's not love. She calmly points out that he carries her back every time and if that's not love, then what is?
I am not convinced. I don't like watching her go through this and can't contemplate a world without her. Selfish to the core, I know that when my mother dies, so dies the very first and last person on earth who ever really, truly, deep down knew me to my blackest, yuckiest place and still thought I was amazing. I'm not ready to live without her and I told her so this weekend as we talked about death and what comes next. Typically she is at peace while I am a crying, sobbing mess. Part of her calmness comes from the fact that she knows she would be going to see people she loved, lost and misses. She's positive that in the next world they'll be no word for cancer . In that life she'll be able to vacation in Paris as long as she likes and eat Krispy Kreme donuts every day without gaining an ounce . She makes heaven sound like an all-inclusive adult disneyland and, still, I am unmoved.
Halfway through our conversation she stopped to empty the bag that now functions as her makeshift-portable bathroom. She does this with the slight exasperation of someone having to retie an unruly shoelace instead of a complicated, multi-step process that she'll have to repeat many times a day for the rest of her days. This procedure would have me complaining from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning until my head hit the pillow again at night. The gulf between our attitudes never seemed so great to me as at that moment and I asked her how she could love the God that did this to her. More to the point, how could she love the God that would take her away when he knew how much I needed her?
She held my hand and asked me, "Haven't you noticed that God gave you five moms this year? Just when you think you might be without a mom, he provided you with a bunch of them. How can you doubt that he loves you?"
And, of course, she's right. Like a miracle I've been surrounded by five women who are kind, generous, loving, supportive, caring and fantastic. It's now no coincidence to me that we're called the Mama's. I've always known that no person could ever replace my mother.
God knows, it takes five.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Betty - Again, Again and Again....
Here's the thing you need to know about being a stay home Mom - your job never ends, your employees are constantly yelling and/or throwing hard objects at your head and there is rarely ever any appreciation for a job well done. Of course there are those moms out there who love their job more than anything else and could never imagine something more rewarding than staying home with your children. Yes, you will hear stay home moms saying this to those who have never performed this job, but we all know that when they are home alone with the wee ones and one is screaming because "she wanted to do the buckle herself!" and your son currently hates you because you made him turn off the computer after an hour and there is a sink full of dishes and you have to make dinner in 1/2 hour, they hate their job too.
Yesterday when i came home in the afternoon from a morning full of errands and park time, i had to first clean up the breakfast mess then throw together some lunch. There were dishes to do, laundry piling up and my shoes were sticking to the kitchen floor...again. It was then that i realized that this, all this shit, is going to happen everyday for the rest of my life. There will always be dishes to wash, laundry to do, meals to be made and cleaned up after. And lets not forget the sticky floors.
Some days it's just a little overwhelming, and it's very easy to understand why a stay home mom would hire a 'gardener/lawn boy' just to have a wild affair. If only I had the energy.
But here's the thing...when my husband does a good job at work, his boss will take him out to lunch and tell him how great he is and how much he/the company appreciates all his hard work. Or he gets a bonus, or a raise or at the very least some respect from his staff or co-workers.
When a stay home mom does a good job, like making sure the kids are eating healthy meals, getting some exercise, cleaning up the house and generally nurturing and improving upon the next generation, you know what we get? Unless you count and occasional 'suck it' from my son, absolutely nothing.
Yesterday in the midst of the self pity party (don't worry, next time i'll remember to send out invitations) I realized that it's because i do this thankless job that i really like running. I don't have to think about it, I don't have to cooperate with anyone or be part of a team and worry about everyone working together and no one getting left out, and there is an end. Whether it's once around the lake, 30 more minutes, or the finish line there is an end to the running and a feeling of accomplishment upon completion. Running gives me instant satisfaction. Of course, there really is nothing better than when your little ones spontaneously give you a kiss or tell you how much they love you. But in the mean time, I'll be out running.
Yesterday when i came home in the afternoon from a morning full of errands and park time, i had to first clean up the breakfast mess then throw together some lunch. There were dishes to do, laundry piling up and my shoes were sticking to the kitchen floor...again. It was then that i realized that this, all this shit, is going to happen everyday for the rest of my life. There will always be dishes to wash, laundry to do, meals to be made and cleaned up after. And lets not forget the sticky floors.
Some days it's just a little overwhelming, and it's very easy to understand why a stay home mom would hire a 'gardener/lawn boy' just to have a wild affair. If only I had the energy.
But here's the thing...when my husband does a good job at work, his boss will take him out to lunch and tell him how great he is and how much he/the company appreciates all his hard work. Or he gets a bonus, or a raise or at the very least some respect from his staff or co-workers.
When a stay home mom does a good job, like making sure the kids are eating healthy meals, getting some exercise, cleaning up the house and generally nurturing and improving upon the next generation, you know what we get? Unless you count and occasional 'suck it' from my son, absolutely nothing.
Yesterday in the midst of the self pity party (don't worry, next time i'll remember to send out invitations) I realized that it's because i do this thankless job that i really like running. I don't have to think about it, I don't have to cooperate with anyone or be part of a team and worry about everyone working together and no one getting left out, and there is an end. Whether it's once around the lake, 30 more minutes, or the finish line there is an end to the running and a feeling of accomplishment upon completion. Running gives me instant satisfaction. Of course, there really is nothing better than when your little ones spontaneously give you a kiss or tell you how much they love you. But in the mean time, I'll be out running.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Suzy-Q: The Tropics Come to the Great White North
When K-Dubs, Kate, and Betty all got the great idea for forming the Marathoning Mamas, there was a little voice inside my head whispering, "No need to attempt blowing out you knees. Its a big time commitment. This summer will probably be the hottest its been in years."
And wouldn't you know. This summer has been the hottest in years. My electric bill indicates the temperatures this year for the same billing cycle as last year have been seven degrees warmer. Its also been plenty rainy. Those two factors combined (not to mention juggling family stuff) have made getting runs in pretty interesting.
The other day, I got up before 6am to put in a quick 3 miles in an effort to avoid running tonight in 90 degree temps. Wouldn't you know I ended up running by a co-worker I don't know very well. He was headed to the bus stop. All red-faced and panting, I managed to eek out, "How come I knew I'd see you this morning?" Truth be told, I still looked pretty good. I had only run about a mile. My hair wasn't too frizzy and how red could I have been?
By the time I made it the full three miles I could feel moisture running down from my eyes. I initially attributed the sensation to crying, but it couldn't be tears. I was barely awake enough to register emotions. Then I realized my eyelashes were sweating! As I cooled down and downed a bunch of water I figured out my chin and insides of my elbows were dripping, too.
The up side: I no longer need to fantasize about travel to the tropics, I can just step outside to experience the same sensations they do in the rain forest...and I get to run while doing it. : )
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Kate: Math x Me (-skill)=I hate my (e)x.
I think it was Homer (Simpson) who said, "Brain, I don't like you and you don't like me. Let's just work this out so I can get back to killing you with beer." That's how I feel about math. When I try to do more than the simplest of mathematics, the right side of my brain goes on strike. I've always pictured it to be severely atrophied and, if ever get a CAT scan, assume I'll see a normal left brain next to a right side that resembles a chimpanzee playing the accordion. Friends of mine couldn't wait for tenth grade because it meant they could get their driver's license. I couldn't wait because it meant I could opt out of algebra. At the time I considered the fact that you could flat-out quit math half-way through high school as a tacit nod to the fact that no one needed it in the real world. Now I'm equally convinced that a generation of women like myself, wandering around department stores asking complete strangers what they think 30% of $175 comes to, persuaded the school boards of America to reinstate compulsory mathematics through the twelfth grade.
Math and I now exist like two divorced parents, occasionally and begrudgingly meeting to exchange offspring. Like any ex, I'll admit that he's of some use, but he never works out like I'd hoped and he goes out of his way to make things difficult, such as silently mocking me when my checkbook doesn't balance and smirking when I can't calculate the tip on a bill that's not in increments of ten. I was delighted to give math the heave ho and I don't like his implications that I still need him.
And I need him now, the bastard. Because to get through this running thing, I've resorted to, god help me, math.
It's all because I'm a huge baby about running. I do not like it when it's hot. I do not like it when it's not. I do not like it when I'm sweaty, I do not to get all wet(ty). I do not like it in the park, I do not like it in the dark. This means I run a lot on a treadmill at the gym. And for all you "real" runners out there, yes, I know treadmills aren't "real" running. They are so much better! The treadmill let's me know how painfully slow I'm running, then hides it at the touch of a button. It tells me exactly how many seconds I have left to endure and how many minutes I have already triumphed over. It doesn't smirk or mock me and it never takes me so far away from home that I contemplate calling a cab. In short, I Heart Treadmills.
However, treadmills present math problems to me, because I'm also technically impaired. Many is the time I've accidently hit the emergency stop button instead of the pause, causing me to come to a dead halt and my iPod to go skittering across the gym. But the worst part is that I then have to quickly calculate in my head exactly how much time I ran before I screwed up and then reckon in how much longer I'm going to run. Sounds simple, right? For most people. But then I have to factor in my willingness, at this point, to cheat. Consider: was me stopping the treadmill God's way of telling me to go home? Sure I intended to do another 45 minutes, but what about just 20? How many calories had I burned? Enough to negate breakfast? It all turns into one of those complicated word problems that kept me from attending a college without the word "State" after it. If Suzy runs 30 minutes + walks for 10 more (-minus five minutes of screwing around with her earphones) x 3 trips to the bathroom, exactly how many donuts will she be able to eat on the way home?
It's complicated, but in truth, it distracts me from all the running, which, for me, is a wonderful thing. So if you see me muttering while I run, it's not that I'm crazy. I'm just having a fight with my (e)x.
Math and I now exist like two divorced parents, occasionally and begrudgingly meeting to exchange offspring. Like any ex, I'll admit that he's of some use, but he never works out like I'd hoped and he goes out of his way to make things difficult, such as silently mocking me when my checkbook doesn't balance and smirking when I can't calculate the tip on a bill that's not in increments of ten. I was delighted to give math the heave ho and I don't like his implications that I still need him.
And I need him now, the bastard. Because to get through this running thing, I've resorted to, god help me, math.
It's all because I'm a huge baby about running. I do not like it when it's hot. I do not like it when it's not. I do not like it when I'm sweaty, I do not to get all wet(ty). I do not like it in the park, I do not like it in the dark. This means I run a lot on a treadmill at the gym. And for all you "real" runners out there, yes, I know treadmills aren't "real" running. They are so much better! The treadmill let's me know how painfully slow I'm running, then hides it at the touch of a button. It tells me exactly how many seconds I have left to endure and how many minutes I have already triumphed over. It doesn't smirk or mock me and it never takes me so far away from home that I contemplate calling a cab. In short, I Heart Treadmills.
However, treadmills present math problems to me, because I'm also technically impaired. Many is the time I've accidently hit the emergency stop button instead of the pause, causing me to come to a dead halt and my iPod to go skittering across the gym. But the worst part is that I then have to quickly calculate in my head exactly how much time I ran before I screwed up and then reckon in how much longer I'm going to run. Sounds simple, right? For most people. But then I have to factor in my willingness, at this point, to cheat. Consider: was me stopping the treadmill God's way of telling me to go home? Sure I intended to do another 45 minutes, but what about just 20? How many calories had I burned? Enough to negate breakfast? It all turns into one of those complicated word problems that kept me from attending a college without the word "State" after it. If Suzy runs 30 minutes + walks for 10 more (-minus five minutes of screwing around with her earphones) x 3 trips to the bathroom, exactly how many donuts will she be able to eat on the way home?
It's complicated, but in truth, it distracts me from all the running, which, for me, is a wonderful thing. So if you see me muttering while I run, it's not that I'm crazy. I'm just having a fight with my (e)x.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Wall
... no, it is not just a Pink Floyd song, nor simply something to keep undesirables out. It is a very intense physical and psychological barrier that I have run up against, no pun intended, several times during my very short running career.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I was never a runner. Last year was really the first time I ran by choice, not by chase. I went from running 4 miles once a week, to running nearly 10 on Saturdays and one other shorter run during the week. I successfully, and comfortably, completed Women Run the Cities, a gorgeous 10-mile race on a perfect fall day. I figured what's 3 more miles?
On Halloween morning, I embarked on my first half marathon with not one, but 2 of my besties by my side. What could go wrong? Well, for one, it started to snow. For two, it was hilly. And 3? The wall. There came a moment at about mile 10 where my body actually stopped moving. I wanted to keep going, and I tried to think my way around this "work stoppage" but it was as though my body had a mind of its own. I turn to my friend in tears..."I don't think I can do this." She kept me going for a few more steps with a pep talk. Then, I saw my kids. They cannot see mommy in pain, so I have to pull it together for them. After high-fiveing my little Yoda and Darth Vader (It was Halloween after all!) I saw what I thought to be a mirage... my neighborhood workout group had shown up in force and in sweats. They ran the last 3, longest miles of my life with me and I finished. I spent the remainder of the weekend on the couch!
2 weeks ago, the wall and I became re-acquainted. Running had been an entirely different experience for me this season. I had a year under my belt, cross-trained all winter, regularly practiced yoga, not to mention dropped a few lbs. It was incredible! I did not know running could feel this good. Then came our 12 mile training run, which started out just fine. Then, it wasn't. The biggest issue was that I began to doubt my ability to do it. And, if I couldn't do 12, how in the heck would I ever do 26.2? The following week began well yet again. Then, somewhere around 10, I started to fall apart. My coach practically dragged me to the finish. But finish I did. And I realized something. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Duh, right? It is not meant to feel good, or be easy, or quick. So why am I doing it? Because I can, and not everyone has that choice.
Next time I run up against that wall, that's is what I'll remember and as suddenly as it appeared, it will fall. But I will not.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Betty - A low-down on the 1/2 marathon
Ok, so this past Saturday I participated in my first 1/2 marathon. It was the Urban Wildland 1/2 Marathon in Richfield and it would be the longest distance running to date. The race started at 7am and we wanted to be there at 6:30, and i was picking up 2 fellow marathoning mama's, so that required me to set the alarm for 5:15am. I don't know if you know this about me yet, but I am not a morning person. Before children i would easily sleep until 10am every day and consider that getting up pretty early. Anything before 6am is just down right wrong. But I did it and we were at the race by 6:30.
Now blog, I am about to tell you something that no one else before has been willing to to tell you. Kind of like all the things that really happen during childbirth that no one warned you about because if you knew you would just go ahead and refill that Rx for your pills. Well, I'm here to let you know that the most foul smelling thing on this earth is the bathroom before a running race. And i'm saying this even never having been in the men's room, just the ladies. Here's the deal...it is very important that you poo before a race. if you don't it can be very uncomfortable and things might happen that could require you to immediately seek a port-a-potty or, you can get to a point when a nice big bush would do. SO, everyone tries to poo before a race and because you usually have to wake up at some godforsaken hour like 5:15! folks usually wait to go til they get to the race. There, that is your warning. Stay away. Far, far away from any indoor bathroom before a running race unless you need to contribute to the current stench that hangs heavy in the air.
Toxic air aside, i knew it was going to be a good day. First of all, when i got my race bib (the piece of paper with a # that runners wear in their shirt for races) my number was 699. My favorite number is 69. Enough said. Second of all, I not only met, but had an actual conversation with a celebrity! Well, only a celebrity if you watch the Biggest Looser, which i do because it is one of my favorite shows. O'Neil was there with his wife (Sunshine was in another state doing a triathlon or something like that) since he lives in Richfield - where the race was being held - and he was the official start guy. It was very inspiring to see and talk with him and it was such a great rush to see someone that you spent every Tuesday night watching on TV. And, he's a really nice guy.
The rest of the run was less interesting. We started out slow and pretty much stayed slow since we knew that we were still training for a full and we didn't want to get injured or burn out. The 3 Mama's all ran together and really had a great time. We had lots of therapeutic conversations and simply enjoyed each others company. The good and bad part was that it rained for the last 1 1/2 hours of the run. Good because otherwise it would have been really humid which would have been much worse, but bad because by the end of the race my feet were so waterlogged and heavy that it became difficult to pick them up.
It was also very awesome that my hubby was able to come with our daughter to watch and cheer me on. Despite the rain, the put the girl in the bike trailer and rode around to see us at various points along the race and snap some photos and give us some moral support.
But the best part of the race was when we rounded the corner and saw the finish line, K-Dubs reached over and grabbed my hand and we finished the race together. And that's what this is all about for me. Spending precious time with friends, and more importantly ourselves, to accomplish something that we never thought we could do. But here we are - doing it.
Now blog, I am about to tell you something that no one else before has been willing to to tell you. Kind of like all the things that really happen during childbirth that no one warned you about because if you knew you would just go ahead and refill that Rx for your pills. Well, I'm here to let you know that the most foul smelling thing on this earth is the bathroom before a running race. And i'm saying this even never having been in the men's room, just the ladies. Here's the deal...it is very important that you poo before a race. if you don't it can be very uncomfortable and things might happen that could require you to immediately seek a port-a-potty or, you can get to a point when a nice big bush would do. SO, everyone tries to poo before a race and because you usually have to wake up at some godforsaken hour like 5:15! folks usually wait to go til they get to the race. There, that is your warning. Stay away. Far, far away from any indoor bathroom before a running race unless you need to contribute to the current stench that hangs heavy in the air.
Toxic air aside, i knew it was going to be a good day. First of all, when i got my race bib (the piece of paper with a # that runners wear in their shirt for races) my number was 699. My favorite number is 69. Enough said. Second of all, I not only met, but had an actual conversation with a celebrity! Well, only a celebrity if you watch the Biggest Looser, which i do because it is one of my favorite shows. O'Neil was there with his wife (Sunshine was in another state doing a triathlon or something like that) since he lives in Richfield - where the race was being held - and he was the official start guy. It was very inspiring to see and talk with him and it was such a great rush to see someone that you spent every Tuesday night watching on TV. And, he's a really nice guy.
The rest of the run was less interesting. We started out slow and pretty much stayed slow since we knew that we were still training for a full and we didn't want to get injured or burn out. The 3 Mama's all ran together and really had a great time. We had lots of therapeutic conversations and simply enjoyed each others company. The good and bad part was that it rained for the last 1 1/2 hours of the run. Good because otherwise it would have been really humid which would have been much worse, but bad because by the end of the race my feet were so waterlogged and heavy that it became difficult to pick them up.
It was also very awesome that my hubby was able to come with our daughter to watch and cheer me on. Despite the rain, the put the girl in the bike trailer and rode around to see us at various points along the race and snap some photos and give us some moral support.
But the best part of the race was when we rounded the corner and saw the finish line, K-Dubs reached over and grabbed my hand and we finished the race together. And that's what this is all about for me. Spending precious time with friends, and more importantly ourselves, to accomplish something that we never thought we could do. But here we are - doing it.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Tweet Tweet
...not sure how the situation started, or how it spun so far out of control, but here is what happened...
It was a typical group training night last Wednesday. The team met, there were some announcements, a mission moment, the cheer, and we were off. This night's workout was the second installment of "Kenyan Outbacks". I actually like this particular workout and was looking forward to doing my best despite the extreme heat and humidity. First one, run out 20 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 16 minutes. The first one went fine. I didn't make it back in 16 minutes but I was just a bit over. I guess that is the whole point- to "go out slow" and to really monitor your pace. Next one, run out 10 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 8 minutes. So I ran slowly out 10 minutes, so slowly in fact that I almost tripped over a baby bird that was lying on the path cheating death. I stopped in my tracks, much to the chagrin of my running partner, K-Dubs. We looked for the nest. We looked for a mama bird. We looked for the candied camera just waiting to see what we'd do. Nothing. We debated about what to do with the feathered finding. I will tell you honestly that K-Dubs looked at me with a look of shock and horror as I picked up the baby bird. I think she also turned a bit white in the face. However, we both remembered our dear friend Sundog telling us that the smell of a human on a baby bird has no bearing on whether the mama will come back or not. I figure she would know- her mom works at the Raptor Center and is a serious bird person. I think I actually asked aloud, "what would the Sundog do?" and then the ball rolled...
Baby bird in hand, we ran back a mile or so back to the starting point. Needless to say we didn't make it back in the desired Kenyan outback time. Oh well. More important issues at this point! Save the bird! By the way, YOU try running with your hands cupped in front of you trying to be still! I thought I knew my plan of attack. I would put my new feathered friend in a dixie cup and drive it to the wildlife rehab center at the university. This was the awesome plan and off I went leaving my Popsicle eating, water drinking teammates by the cooler. I drove around the entire east and west banks of the campus and couldn't find the building. I also had trouble maneuvering the wheel one handed as I tried to keep the bird from leaving the cup on my lap. After quite some time, I started to look for some people that "looked helpful". I knew I couldn't go wrong with some young, cute, college coeds. I pulled over and asked two young men (freshman maybe?) if they could help me find the wildlife rehab building. They immediately got on their phones to find an address. I was not able to do this one-handed on my own phone, as I had the bird...
They found an address as my clock read 8:30pm. ROSEVILLE???? As I profusely thanked the coeds, I squealed my tires and was back on the road to saving the baby bird. On my way "out of town" I got turned around a couple of times and landed in some questionable areas of the city. Dodging a number of police cruisers, j-walkers, and highly intoxicated grown-ups, I took some deep breaths and continued on my mission. Cursing the bird, and myself at this point, I felt like cutting my loss and tossing the bird out the window. But just then the bird looked up at me and CHIRPED! Ok, so I found the highway and headed to Roseville.
As I entered the on-ramp, the sky opened up and torrential rains started coming down. This was most likely retaliation for thinking I may throw the bird out the window. It was seriously raining so hard that most people were pulled over on the side of the highway to wait it out. Like a lemming, I pulled over for a few minutes but then remembered that I was paying a sitter $10/hr at my house so I had to continue on. After hydroplaning a handful of times I finally got to Roseville. I found the "Wildlife Rehabilitation" building and pulled into the parking lot, which was full of cars. Promising! I quickly parked and RAN through what WCCO radio called a "severe thunderstorm warning" to the front door. Anyone want to guess what I saw? Yeah, that's right. A note...
"We are currently closed. Our hours are from (whatever time) to 8:30pm. If you have an animal to leave with us, please take it home, place it in a dark and quiet spot, and return in the morning during regular business hours. Please do not give the animal anything to drink or eat". The sign must have read my mind because when I continued reading it said, "Please do not attempt to access this building. The building is under surveillance". So I was a half hour late. REALLY????
What did I do? I found what I thought was a "dark and quiet spot" (despite the roaring thunder and sheets of rain falling from the sky), under the protection of the front walkway, under a bush, and left the baby bird there inside the tipped over dixie cup. I looked back a couple of times as I walked to my car hoping for some sort of sign that this bird would be alright. I didn't get one.
I really hope the bird made it. I'd like to think it did.
It was a typical group training night last Wednesday. The team met, there were some announcements, a mission moment, the cheer, and we were off. This night's workout was the second installment of "Kenyan Outbacks". I actually like this particular workout and was looking forward to doing my best despite the extreme heat and humidity. First one, run out 20 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 16 minutes. The first one went fine. I didn't make it back in 16 minutes but I was just a bit over. I guess that is the whole point- to "go out slow" and to really monitor your pace. Next one, run out 10 minutes at LSD pace, return to starting point in 8 minutes. So I ran slowly out 10 minutes, so slowly in fact that I almost tripped over a baby bird that was lying on the path cheating death. I stopped in my tracks, much to the chagrin of my running partner, K-Dubs. We looked for the nest. We looked for a mama bird. We looked for the candied camera just waiting to see what we'd do. Nothing. We debated about what to do with the feathered finding. I will tell you honestly that K-Dubs looked at me with a look of shock and horror as I picked up the baby bird. I think she also turned a bit white in the face. However, we both remembered our dear friend Sundog telling us that the smell of a human on a baby bird has no bearing on whether the mama will come back or not. I figure she would know- her mom works at the Raptor Center and is a serious bird person. I think I actually asked aloud, "what would the Sundog do?" and then the ball rolled...
Baby bird in hand, we ran back a mile or so back to the starting point. Needless to say we didn't make it back in the desired Kenyan outback time. Oh well. More important issues at this point! Save the bird! By the way, YOU try running with your hands cupped in front of you trying to be still! I thought I knew my plan of attack. I would put my new feathered friend in a dixie cup and drive it to the wildlife rehab center at the university. This was the awesome plan and off I went leaving my Popsicle eating, water drinking teammates by the cooler. I drove around the entire east and west banks of the campus and couldn't find the building. I also had trouble maneuvering the wheel one handed as I tried to keep the bird from leaving the cup on my lap. After quite some time, I started to look for some people that "looked helpful". I knew I couldn't go wrong with some young, cute, college coeds. I pulled over and asked two young men (freshman maybe?) if they could help me find the wildlife rehab building. They immediately got on their phones to find an address. I was not able to do this one-handed on my own phone, as I had the bird...
They found an address as my clock read 8:30pm. ROSEVILLE???? As I profusely thanked the coeds, I squealed my tires and was back on the road to saving the baby bird. On my way "out of town" I got turned around a couple of times and landed in some questionable areas of the city. Dodging a number of police cruisers, j-walkers, and highly intoxicated grown-ups, I took some deep breaths and continued on my mission. Cursing the bird, and myself at this point, I felt like cutting my loss and tossing the bird out the window. But just then the bird looked up at me and CHIRPED! Ok, so I found the highway and headed to Roseville.
As I entered the on-ramp, the sky opened up and torrential rains started coming down. This was most likely retaliation for thinking I may throw the bird out the window. It was seriously raining so hard that most people were pulled over on the side of the highway to wait it out. Like a lemming, I pulled over for a few minutes but then remembered that I was paying a sitter $10/hr at my house so I had to continue on. After hydroplaning a handful of times I finally got to Roseville. I found the "Wildlife Rehabilitation" building and pulled into the parking lot, which was full of cars. Promising! I quickly parked and RAN through what WCCO radio called a "severe thunderstorm warning" to the front door. Anyone want to guess what I saw? Yeah, that's right. A note...
"We are currently closed. Our hours are from (whatever time) to 8:30pm. If you have an animal to leave with us, please take it home, place it in a dark and quiet spot, and return in the morning during regular business hours. Please do not give the animal anything to drink or eat". The sign must have read my mind because when I continued reading it said, "Please do not attempt to access this building. The building is under surveillance". So I was a half hour late. REALLY????
What did I do? I found what I thought was a "dark and quiet spot" (despite the roaring thunder and sheets of rain falling from the sky), under the protection of the front walkway, under a bush, and left the baby bird there inside the tipped over dixie cup. I looked back a couple of times as I walked to my car hoping for some sort of sign that this bird would be alright. I didn't get one.
I really hope the bird made it. I'd like to think it did.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Suzy-Q - Let's Hear It For The Boys (and then some)
As we Marathoning Mommas know, it ain’t easy training for an endurance event, fundraising, being a mom and keeping up with all our other duties. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that our support network is really kicking in these days. Our husbands, friends, neighbors and extended family members have all been chipping in to help with childcare and what you might classify as “other stuff.”
The next few weeks will be filled with longer runs, more intense efforts to secure donations and planning for more events including the dinner at Gasthoff's (its soooo good! we would love to see you there) and probably another wee-ones event.
So a big shout out to everyone behind the scenes helping to make being a Marathoning Momma look like a piece of cake. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
KATE: Always Running . . .
As I write this I am running.
Late, that is. I'm embarrassed to say that if you asked my friends to describe me, "Late" would often come near the top of the list. Frenzied, harried and scattered probably wouldn't be far behind. Once upon a time I was a punctual gal. When people asked me to do things, I did them. When someone told me to be somewhere, I was there. Finding my car keys was a ten second affair and I almost never, ever canceled on people at the last minute.
Now I am ten to fifteen minutes late for everything, even on a good day. I forget to do basic things so often that I've taken to leaving myself shaming reminder notes around the house (i.e., Turn Off Stove!!!) in order to complete basic chores. The last time I made a dinner date with one of my best friends, I canceled on her eight times before we finally got together. And it frequently takes me half a day to locate my purse. For someone who says they hate running, I spend an awful lot of time playing catch up.
My husband would be the first person to say that my new-found (HALF) marathon commitment has made my lateness even worse. And he's right. Between the running, the fund-raising, the letter writing, and the blogging, we've been known to go several weeks without clean underwear or dinner that didn't come from a styrofoam container. The hilarious mommy-writer, Vicky Iovine, wrote in her Girlfriend's Guide, that her husband once compared her to a pie. And every time she had another baby or made a commitment to a new cause, it cut her up into smaller pie pieces until eventually he ended up getting no pie at all. I'll admit, between my kids, my clients, my aging parents and my running, it's been pretty pie-free around our house. Not just for my husband, but for me too. Because as every mother knows, there's no "Me" in "Mommy".
But the funny thing is, I've found running is starting to give me back some "me" time. This is something that real runners know, but probably gets pushed aside for discussions of that (mythical) runners high. Running is like cleaning the garage in your head - it stacks up all your mismatched mental sporting equipment, throws away the crumbly old ego-ridden boxes and clears a space for you to actually think about something other than grocery shopping, swim lessons and what having the air-conditioner on day and night is doing to your electric bill. Running is now less of a dreaded commitment and more "me time" then I ever thought it would be. And I'm grateful. Because, if running can make me a better wife, mom & friend, then that's all the more reason for me to stick with it.
Now, if I can only find my car keys, I think I'm going to go pick my husband up a pie.
Late, that is. I'm embarrassed to say that if you asked my friends to describe me, "Late" would often come near the top of the list. Frenzied, harried and scattered probably wouldn't be far behind. Once upon a time I was a punctual gal. When people asked me to do things, I did them. When someone told me to be somewhere, I was there. Finding my car keys was a ten second affair and I almost never, ever canceled on people at the last minute.
Now I am ten to fifteen minutes late for everything, even on a good day. I forget to do basic things so often that I've taken to leaving myself shaming reminder notes around the house (i.e., Turn Off Stove!!!) in order to complete basic chores. The last time I made a dinner date with one of my best friends, I canceled on her eight times before we finally got together. And it frequently takes me half a day to locate my purse. For someone who says they hate running, I spend an awful lot of time playing catch up.
My husband would be the first person to say that my new-found (HALF) marathon commitment has made my lateness even worse. And he's right. Between the running, the fund-raising, the letter writing, and the blogging, we've been known to go several weeks without clean underwear or dinner that didn't come from a styrofoam container. The hilarious mommy-writer, Vicky Iovine, wrote in her Girlfriend's Guide, that her husband once compared her to a pie. And every time she had another baby or made a commitment to a new cause, it cut her up into smaller pie pieces until eventually he ended up getting no pie at all. I'll admit, between my kids, my clients, my aging parents and my running, it's been pretty pie-free around our house. Not just for my husband, but for me too. Because as every mother knows, there's no "Me" in "Mommy".
But the funny thing is, I've found running is starting to give me back some "me" time. This is something that real runners know, but probably gets pushed aside for discussions of that (mythical) runners high. Running is like cleaning the garage in your head - it stacks up all your mismatched mental sporting equipment, throws away the crumbly old ego-ridden boxes and clears a space for you to actually think about something other than grocery shopping, swim lessons and what having the air-conditioner on day and night is doing to your electric bill. Running is now less of a dreaded commitment and more "me time" then I ever thought it would be. And I'm grateful. Because, if running can make me a better wife, mom & friend, then that's all the more reason for me to stick with it.
Now, if I can only find my car keys, I think I'm going to go pick my husband up a pie.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Betty: Head case
Ok, the reason I signed up for this whole marathon business in the first place was for 2 main reasons...friends and fat. Friends and fat are the polar opposites in my marathoning intentions, for example...
Friends - Love them, want to spend more time with them, look forward to having them in my life for a very long time (if not forever!), i never tire of being around them, and they bring out the best in me.
Fat - Hate it, wish it were gone, hope to never see it again, brings out the worst in me and refuses to show the world who i really am.
So the friends part of the training has been going really well. I get to see the Mama's more often and more importantly when we are running I get to see them with out all the kids in tow so we actually get to have a conversation, at least when i'm able to finish a sentence between beep gasps of breath.
The fat portion of the training however is not going as well as planned. When i began this endeavor i was convinced that i would loose a significant amount of weight and become the sassy svelte knockout that turns heads while elegantly gliding down the running path. Instead, i am the person who turns heads because you can hear my anguished breaths and plodding feet coming up behind you as a warning to get the hell out of my way before one of my hips comes swinging past and knocks you flat on your ass.
So here is the deal with those who are running to loose weight. First of all, running is a public sport. Unless you are at home on a treadmill you are either at the gym or out somewhere in the world where there is a good chance of seeing other humans and of other humans seeing you. Second, if you are running with a team (aka TNT) or enjoy the running paths of the various beautiful lakes and rivers that our lovely state has to offer, you will be encountering several other humans who are also out partaking in some much desired exercise. And third, running provides you with ample alone time to think and ponder about your state of being and if your trying to loose weight, lots of people to compare yourself to along the way. It can all get to be quite demoralizing. Almost everyone that passes by you is thinner, taller, more muscular, more perky and clearly more physically fit that you can ever pretend to be.
For some people the witnessing of such physical excellence is motivation. I however find it daunting. Even while running alone on a vacation on the Oregon coast, Mother Nature made sure to remind me of my own physical flaws by showing be natures version of my breasts post children...
Then just as i was beginning to feel at my lowest (and roundest) I decided to take my son to the Mall of America for some quality lego time. As i was looking around at the sea of tourists and mall dwellers i realized....you know, i'm not doing so bad. Thank you obese America for lifting my spirits.
Friends - Love them, want to spend more time with them, look forward to having them in my life for a very long time (if not forever!), i never tire of being around them, and they bring out the best in me.
Fat - Hate it, wish it were gone, hope to never see it again, brings out the worst in me and refuses to show the world who i really am.
So the friends part of the training has been going really well. I get to see the Mama's more often and more importantly when we are running I get to see them with out all the kids in tow so we actually get to have a conversation, at least when i'm able to finish a sentence between beep gasps of breath.
The fat portion of the training however is not going as well as planned. When i began this endeavor i was convinced that i would loose a significant amount of weight and become the sassy svelte knockout that turns heads while elegantly gliding down the running path. Instead, i am the person who turns heads because you can hear my anguished breaths and plodding feet coming up behind you as a warning to get the hell out of my way before one of my hips comes swinging past and knocks you flat on your ass.
So here is the deal with those who are running to loose weight. First of all, running is a public sport. Unless you are at home on a treadmill you are either at the gym or out somewhere in the world where there is a good chance of seeing other humans and of other humans seeing you. Second, if you are running with a team (aka TNT) or enjoy the running paths of the various beautiful lakes and rivers that our lovely state has to offer, you will be encountering several other humans who are also out partaking in some much desired exercise. And third, running provides you with ample alone time to think and ponder about your state of being and if your trying to loose weight, lots of people to compare yourself to along the way. It can all get to be quite demoralizing. Almost everyone that passes by you is thinner, taller, more muscular, more perky and clearly more physically fit that you can ever pretend to be.
For some people the witnessing of such physical excellence is motivation. I however find it daunting. Even while running alone on a vacation on the Oregon coast, Mother Nature made sure to remind me of my own physical flaws by showing be natures version of my breasts post children...
Then just as i was beginning to feel at my lowest (and roundest) I decided to take my son to the Mall of America for some quality lego time. As i was looking around at the sea of tourists and mall dwellers i realized....you know, i'm not doing so bad. Thank you obese America for lifting my spirits.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Juanita: Yes, I was a "DAPE" student...
"DAPE" is the title....and yes, I was a participant. What is "DAPE", you ask? Well, read on my friends...
It is a branch of special education that shares common beliefs, knowledge, and goals with physical education. Its focus is primarily on the psychomotor domain, but it also includes the cognitive and affective domain. DAPE involves itself with specifically designed physical education for learners with categorical handicaps that demonstrate a need for this service.
Still confused? Here is another good definition:
"Developmental adapted physical education: special education" means specially designed physical education instruction and services for pupils with disabilities who have a substantial delay or disorder in physical development. Developmental adapted physical education: special education instruction for pupils age three through 21 may include development of physical fitness, motor fitness, fundamental motor skills and patterns, skills in aquatics, dance, individual and group games, and sports.
Students with conditions such as obesity, temporary injuries, and short-term or temporary illnesses or disabilities are termed special needs students. Special needs students are not eligible for developmental adapted physical education: special education. Provisions for these students must be made within regular physical education as described in Minnesota Statutes, section 126.02. (M.R.3525.1352, subp 1)
So yes, I was in adapted phy ed and I'm currently training for a marathon. Does this make sense? Not so much.
What was my "diagnosis" you ask? Ready? Are you sure?
Weak ankles. WHAAAAAAAT????? Are you freaking kidding me??? Yes, it is true. I know "weak ankles" ranks up there with menstrual cramps, acne, and chronic bad hair. What I really wonder is this: who allowed this "sucking of the system" to happen? Now don't get me wrong, I had my fair share of mental problems. Who didn't really? But I was always completely able-bodied. I was always more than able to play dodge ball and capture the flag. Don't get me wrong, my arms most certainly did the "happy dance" when doing the flexed-arm hang, but whose didn't? I feel sad about taking advantage of this great program because there are kids who really need it. I feel lucky that I was never really one of them.
To the "real" DAPE students out there, I apologize. This sucking of the system should never happen. To all of the fakers out there...own up. I wish I had.
It is a branch of special education that shares common beliefs, knowledge, and goals with physical education. Its focus is primarily on the psychomotor domain, but it also includes the cognitive and affective domain. DAPE involves itself with specifically designed physical education for learners with categorical handicaps that demonstrate a need for this service.
Still confused? Here is another good definition:
"Developmental adapted physical education: special education" means specially designed physical education instruction and services for pupils with disabilities who have a substantial delay or disorder in physical development. Developmental adapted physical education: special education instruction for pupils age three through 21 may include development of physical fitness, motor fitness, fundamental motor skills and patterns, skills in aquatics, dance, individual and group games, and sports.
Students with conditions such as obesity, temporary injuries, and short-term or temporary illnesses or disabilities are termed special needs students. Special needs students are not eligible for developmental adapted physical education: special education. Provisions for these students must be made within regular physical education as described in Minnesota Statutes, section 126.02. (M.R.3525.1352, subp 1)
So yes, I was in adapted phy ed and I'm currently training for a marathon. Does this make sense? Not so much.
What was my "diagnosis" you ask? Ready? Are you sure?
Weak ankles. WHAAAAAAAT????? Are you freaking kidding me??? Yes, it is true. I know "weak ankles" ranks up there with menstrual cramps, acne, and chronic bad hair. What I really wonder is this: who allowed this "sucking of the system" to happen? Now don't get me wrong, I had my fair share of mental problems. Who didn't really? But I was always completely able-bodied. I was always more than able to play dodge ball and capture the flag. Don't get me wrong, my arms most certainly did the "happy dance" when doing the flexed-arm hang, but whose didn't? I feel sad about taking advantage of this great program because there are kids who really need it. I feel lucky that I was never really one of them.
To the "real" DAPE students out there, I apologize. This sucking of the system should never happen. To all of the fakers out there...own up. I wish I had.
Blog, We Need To Talk: A one-sided conversation between the Mamas and our Blog
Hi Blog. We're glad you agreed to talk. I think you know that things haven't been going all that well with you lately. I know you feel like we're ignoring you, but we'd like to state for the record that that's just not the case We should probably clear the air, don't you think Blog?
All right, we hear you. Let's just start out simple. We agree that this relationship is a two-way street and we haven't been pulling our weight. We don't keep you updated like we should, we'll be the first to admit. And we'll be the bigger people and say that the lack of updates is our fault. But remember when we signed our Blogger agreement? We had such big plans and dreams for how we would grow together? What happened Blog?
Whoa, no need to use profanity, Blog! First of all, if you haven't noticed, we're a little busy. As it says right in your header, we have eleven children between us. ELEVEN! That's one more than ten, blog. How many kids do you have? Exactly! Then on top of it we have lives to lead, you know? It's not all about you. There's the running we have to do and the fund-raising, which you promised you'd help out with and really, you've kind of dropped the ball there, just admit it. And some of us have jobs, Blog. Real live jobs. We think maybe we've got a little more going on in our lives that you do.
And Blog, you spend an awful lot of time on the internet. We're just saying.
Okay, okay, enough with the finger pointing. Peace, Blog. We're both at fault. Do you think we can we put the past couple months behind us and move on?
Aw, thanks Blog. You're always so willing to start fresh. We've love that about you.
So let's just say there will be a little more effort from the Mama's about keeping you updated. And Blog, you'll do your best to pull in the fund-raising dollars, right? Be extra sparkly and fun? Give it that extra added oomph? That's just great Blog!
What?!! No, we don't want you to hack into the Wells Fargo website to get donations! What gave you that idea? Can you even do that? Seriously, Blog, no felonies, okay? Let's just be the best we can be together. Agreed?
Is this where we kiss? Just a knuckle bump? Cool.
See you on Wednesday when we put up a new post, okay? Thanks Blog!
Love,
The Mamas
All right, we hear you. Let's just start out simple. We agree that this relationship is a two-way street and we haven't been pulling our weight. We don't keep you updated like we should, we'll be the first to admit. And we'll be the bigger people and say that the lack of updates is our fault. But remember when we signed our Blogger agreement? We had such big plans and dreams for how we would grow together? What happened Blog?
Whoa, no need to use profanity, Blog! First of all, if you haven't noticed, we're a little busy. As it says right in your header, we have eleven children between us. ELEVEN! That's one more than ten, blog. How many kids do you have? Exactly! Then on top of it we have lives to lead, you know? It's not all about you. There's the running we have to do and the fund-raising, which you promised you'd help out with and really, you've kind of dropped the ball there, just admit it. And some of us have jobs, Blog. Real live jobs. We think maybe we've got a little more going on in our lives that you do.
And Blog, you spend an awful lot of time on the internet. We're just saying.
Okay, okay, enough with the finger pointing. Peace, Blog. We're both at fault. Do you think we can we put the past couple months behind us and move on?
Aw, thanks Blog. You're always so willing to start fresh. We've love that about you.
So let's just say there will be a little more effort from the Mama's about keeping you updated. And Blog, you'll do your best to pull in the fund-raising dollars, right? Be extra sparkly and fun? Give it that extra added oomph? That's just great Blog!
What?!! No, we don't want you to hack into the Wells Fargo website to get donations! What gave you that idea? Can you even do that? Seriously, Blog, no felonies, okay? Let's just be the best we can be together. Agreed?
Is this where we kiss? Just a knuckle bump? Cool.
See you on Wednesday when we put up a new post, okay? Thanks Blog!
Love,
The Mamas
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Let me begin by saying....
Being a participant with Team in Training last fall season was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. I did not start out a runner, and to be honest, I still don't refer to myself as one. I had never done a 5k (and still haven't) and had run my first race ever with K-Dubs last May...a 10K that almost killed me. But I felt an overwhelming draw to TNT because of the mission. My dad died 4 years ago this coming July 28th from complications of a bone marrow transplant that was meant to cure him of Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL) and Myelo Dysplasia. The transplant actually DID cure him...the cancer DID disappear…and was that ever a happy day hearing that news...however, pneumonia set in a few days later. He fought and fought for a few more heartbreaking and tortuous weeks and he ended up dying July 28th, 2006. He had just turned 66 at the time of his death and was still working at a job he loved. My son, about 21 months at the time, was the light of my dad’s life and it was torture for him not be able to spend as much time with him as he wanted because of the risk of infection due to his compromised immune system. He never got to meet my second son, who was born about 3 weeks after my dad died. My dad would have adored him too! Cancer is awful and his death was an absolute tragedy for us.
I had never before heard of TNT. One morning a year ago this past spring I happened to see a running group on River Road having a great time. My friend and running partner said they might be the “Team in Training” group. Of course I looked up TNT when I got home and was shocked to see that these people were running and fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society! I felt it was a “calling”, if you will. It was fate! Anyway, perusing the TNT website and attending the information session brought me back to the countless hours sitting with my dad at the U of M Hospital. I vividly remember sitting and looking out the same window overlooking the Mississippi River watching the runners, bikers, walkers, etc, and thinking "do they have any idea that I am up here sitting with my dad who is suffering so?" I also thought, as I'd see many of the same people go by every day, "Who ARE these crazy people who RUN every day??? What on earth are they doing?" For some crazy reason I had always wanted to BE a runner. I envied people I’d see running on the sidewalks. At night I’d dream I was running. However, I had never exercised a day in my life, disliked sports in school because of the competitiveness and, to be honest, I loathed sweating. Since joining TNT I can honestly say that I know that "feeling" that running can bring...the feeling of escape, of challenge, and of appreciation that my body works. When I complete at run I feel absolute shock that I did it. Then I think, “Am I dreaming this?” Last season, one of the TNT runs was right under the same window at the U of M hospital. Of course I burst out crying and made a little point of giving a smile and a wave up to those windows for whoever was sitting where I was 3 years before. The TNT people I was running with that day were so great at listening to my blubbering. Every one of us has a story.
Joining TNT was so wonderful for so many reasons. It helped me heal both physically and emotionally. The team surrounded me with caring and uplifting folks ALL dedicated to the mission of helping people in need. During every team training I am reminded that there are good people out there wanting to do good things for others. Some people don’t know of anyone who has had a blood cancer, some people have lost friends or family to blood cancer, some people have battled cancer of their own, while others simply want to fulfill a goal of completing an endurance event. Whatever the reason for joining, everyone has a story.
I had never before heard of TNT. One morning a year ago this past spring I happened to see a running group on River Road having a great time. My friend and running partner said they might be the “Team in Training” group. Of course I looked up TNT when I got home and was shocked to see that these people were running and fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society! I felt it was a “calling”, if you will. It was fate! Anyway, perusing the TNT website and attending the information session brought me back to the countless hours sitting with my dad at the U of M Hospital. I vividly remember sitting and looking out the same window overlooking the Mississippi River watching the runners, bikers, walkers, etc, and thinking "do they have any idea that I am up here sitting with my dad who is suffering so?" I also thought, as I'd see many of the same people go by every day, "Who ARE these crazy people who RUN every day??? What on earth are they doing?" For some crazy reason I had always wanted to BE a runner. I envied people I’d see running on the sidewalks. At night I’d dream I was running. However, I had never exercised a day in my life, disliked sports in school because of the competitiveness and, to be honest, I loathed sweating. Since joining TNT I can honestly say that I know that "feeling" that running can bring...the feeling of escape, of challenge, and of appreciation that my body works. When I complete at run I feel absolute shock that I did it. Then I think, “Am I dreaming this?” Last season, one of the TNT runs was right under the same window at the U of M hospital. Of course I burst out crying and made a little point of giving a smile and a wave up to those windows for whoever was sitting where I was 3 years before. The TNT people I was running with that day were so great at listening to my blubbering. Every one of us has a story.
Joining TNT was so wonderful for so many reasons. It helped me heal both physically and emotionally. The team surrounded me with caring and uplifting folks ALL dedicated to the mission of helping people in need. During every team training I am reminded that there are good people out there wanting to do good things for others. Some people don’t know of anyone who has had a blood cancer, some people have lost friends or family to blood cancer, some people have battled cancer of their own, while others simply want to fulfill a goal of completing an endurance event. Whatever the reason for joining, everyone has a story.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
K-Dubs... Why I Run
I have never been a runner. In high school, I played tennis and rowed crew, for which I occasionally stumbled through a few painful training miles. They only served to deepen my dislike of running. Throughout college and my 20's, I would briefly flirt with running, the pinnacle being a 10K in 1999 at the urging of an in-shape friend and colleague who did not take no for an answer.
The early 30's brought my beautiful little boys, a career shift to at-home mom, and an additional 40 pounds that had accrued over the years and were going nowhere fast. Again, a motivating and fit friend served as my inspiration. In September 2008, she presented me with the "opportunity" to join a boot-camp workout group which met 2 mornings a week at 5:30 AM (!) for an hour of serious exercise. She also did not take no for an answer and 2 years later, I continue to get my butt kicked at boot-camp twice a week with my wonderful, supportive neighbors and friends.
Boot-camp was, and is, hard; made more difficult by being overweight and out-of-shape. Yet another highly motivated (and very persistent!) friend invited me to start running with her as a way to increase my fitness level, while simultaneously visiting with a fellow mom uninterrupted by our little ones. We ran together all spring, then she joined Team in Training to honor her father who lost his battle with leukemia in 2006, while I continued running on my own. I am proud to say we both completed half-marathons in October 2009.
Running those 13.1 miles brought me to my knees. I cried at mile 10, certain that I would fall short of my goal. The unwavering emotional and physical support of my friends and family pulled me across that finish line, actually smiling. I was exhilarated by the accomplishment, humbled by the amazing people in my life, and certain that I'd never try a marathon!
And yet here I am, 6 months later, writing to you about my running journey and asking for your support as I train for the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco on October 17, 2010 as a member of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's (LLS) Team in Training (TNT).
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Suzy Q - It Don't Hurt Anymore
Someone hijacked my iPod. Its red, I call it Ruby and its engraved with “Music is an outburst of the soul” on the back. But it doesn’t seem to be loaded with the music that is an outburst of my soul anymore. Somehow in the three years since I trained for NWM ’07, someone reprogrammed my “best friend.”
I couldn’t tell you exactly what was on it before, but surely it wasn’t the soundtrack from The Sound of Music, complete with exclusive interviews with the actors, country songs and the “best of” Johnny Cash. This summer is shaping up to be quite busy, so I’ve just taken what I can get from Ruby. Never bothering to set the old girl straight and restore the old mix that better represents my soul. However, I think it’s time to draw the line.
On Sunday night I drank a lot of water before bed to make sure I was properly hydrated. It’s not surprising that I awoke in the fours to go to the bathroom. What was shocking was to hear the ghost of Johnny Cash serenading me in his gravelly voice…”It don’t hurt any more… “ I love you Johnny. Wish I’d run into you at Noshville across from Vandy in the late 1990s. But truth be told I’d much rather be soothed by tales of Julie Andrews favorite things and how to solve a problem like Maria in the wee hours.
I couldn’t tell you exactly what was on it before, but surely it wasn’t the soundtrack from The Sound of Music, complete with exclusive interviews with the actors, country songs and the “best of” Johnny Cash. This summer is shaping up to be quite busy, so I’ve just taken what I can get from Ruby. Never bothering to set the old girl straight and restore the old mix that better represents my soul. However, I think it’s time to draw the line.
On Sunday night I drank a lot of water before bed to make sure I was properly hydrated. It’s not surprising that I awoke in the fours to go to the bathroom. What was shocking was to hear the ghost of Johnny Cash serenading me in his gravelly voice…”It don’t hurt any more… “ I love you Johnny. Wish I’d run into you at Noshville across from Vandy in the late 1990s. But truth be told I’d much rather be soothed by tales of Julie Andrews favorite things and how to solve a problem like Maria in the wee hours.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Betty - Just Press....Pause
So only a month into the whole training business and I'm already ditching the program. But wait, i have good reasons. It all started with a sore achilles heel....it came on slowly then little by little it became difficult not to do the hobble walk but strangely it felt fine when I was running, so no big deal. Well, i have come to learn that there is this little know fact about your body and it compensating for other parts that are hurt. So then my other leg (shin/calf) started hurting. But this time it's wasn't just a little - nothing unlike little gnomes hacking away with their pick axes at my leg while I was running. The pain would lessen after about 40 minutes and I could carry on with the rest of my run, provided that I was running more than 4 miles. So that lasted for about 2 weeks and THEN the hip on the other side decided to compensate for that leg and reared it's ugly head. I mean really. I have put many long years into the sole dedication of fattening up that hip so it could withstand any and all abuse that came it's way. The good news was all that work did pay off and the hip recovered rather quickly, but last night when me and some of the ladies headed out for a short run my legs screamed up at me in their best Jewish grandmother voice and hollered "enough with the running already!"
So i have made the decision to take at least a week (maybe two) off and just focus on some cross training and see how it goes. I have been reminded by several knowledgeable women that it's better to slow down now then really hurt something and have to be out for 5-6 weeks. I'm just hoping that I can run again soon and not have to be in so much pain so i can actually enjoy it.
So, today I went biking and tomorrow is the Latin Hip-Hop class at the gym. Yes, you read that right...Latin Hip-Hop. Which is an entirely different post that I will share with you at a later date. Until then...Broken Betty signing out!
So i have made the decision to take at least a week (maybe two) off and just focus on some cross training and see how it goes. I have been reminded by several knowledgeable women that it's better to slow down now then really hurt something and have to be out for 5-6 weeks. I'm just hoping that I can run again soon and not have to be in so much pain so i can actually enjoy it.
So, today I went biking and tomorrow is the Latin Hip-Hop class at the gym. Yes, you read that right...Latin Hip-Hop. Which is an entirely different post that I will share with you at a later date. Until then...Broken Betty signing out!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thank you for making our Garage Sale a Huge Success!
We are so grateful to everyone who came out and bought an old bike, DVD or brownie. You helped make our sale a wonderful event and raise over $2,500 for the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society.
The whole thing happened so darn fast, we never took any photos. It's hard to believe that not one of us snapped a picture of the MOUNTAINS of donated material we received. It was overwhelming - and not just because we had to unpack and display it all. Thank you to everyone who donated goods and their time. We had some amazing volunteers helping with the bake sale, childcare and just general helpfulness and to them I bow down and kiss their feet. We could not have done it without you!
An even bigger Thank You goes out to our "unofficial" Marathoning Mama, Sundog. Although she's not running the marathon, she's been our biggest helper, supporter and whiner-listener. I'm adding her to our Marathoning Mama's roster in hopes that you'll hear from her soon.
In lieu of a photo of the Gigantic Garage Sale, I'll leave you with this photo of Betty, being monstrously disappointed by her dinner at the MM's planning meeting last week. While we were all scarfing down burgers, she went the healthy route by ordering a "sculptural" spinach salad. She'd probably like me to add that she'd just run "Kenyans" for an hour and a half, prior to the photo. Doesn't she look pissed?
Again, big thank you to all who came out to support us. We'll be posting information about our next fundraiser ASAP!
The whole thing happened so darn fast, we never took any photos. It's hard to believe that not one of us snapped a picture of the MOUNTAINS of donated material we received. It was overwhelming - and not just because we had to unpack and display it all. Thank you to everyone who donated goods and their time. We had some amazing volunteers helping with the bake sale, childcare and just general helpfulness and to them I bow down and kiss their feet. We could not have done it without you!
An even bigger Thank You goes out to our "unofficial" Marathoning Mama, Sundog. Although she's not running the marathon, she's been our biggest helper, supporter and whiner-listener. I'm adding her to our Marathoning Mama's roster in hopes that you'll hear from her soon.
In lieu of a photo of the Gigantic Garage Sale, I'll leave you with this photo of Betty, being monstrously disappointed by her dinner at the MM's planning meeting last week. While we were all scarfing down burgers, she went the healthy route by ordering a "sculptural" spinach salad. She'd probably like me to add that she'd just run "Kenyans" for an hour and a half, prior to the photo. Doesn't she look pissed?
Again, big thank you to all who came out to support us. We'll be posting information about our next fundraiser ASAP!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Marathoning Mama's Gigantic Garage Sale!
(Click on above image to make larger)
That's right - a monstrously huge garage sale, full of all the stuff you never even knew you needed and at least five things you really, really did. Shop our amazing amount of donated goods and you'll be amazed at the bargains you find. All proceeds go to the LEUKEMIA/LYMPHOMA SOCIETY, so you know you're shopping towards the cure. Doesn't that make you feel all warm and gooey?
Speaking of warm and gooey, we're also having a Bake Sale! Now you can munch away on a caramel brownie while you browse our fabulous selection of paperbacks. Then take home the entire tray and pretend you made them yourself, while you were really relaxing in the shade reading one of your fabulous new novels.
This is a sale not to miss!
Details: 3838 Mill Run Lane, Eagan (Map)
- Thursday, June 24, 9:00-4:00
- Friday, June 25, 9:00-6:00
(Bloodmobile from 2:30 - 5:30)
- Saturday, June 26, 9:00-1:00
Featuring toys, games, puzzles, gently-used adult & children’s clothing, unique furniture, books, small appliances, household items and much, much, much more!
Plus scrumptious & mouthwatering homemade brownies, cakes,
pies, cookies & cupcakes!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
KATE - The High-Rise Road Less Travelled
If you looked through all the many pairs of jeans in my closet, you'd probably wonder if I plan on opening my own GAP. As a matter of fact, after peering in there last week, one of my friends did exactly that. Her voice took on that timbre you hear the psychologists use on Hoarders when they ask people exactly why they have a dresser drawer full of bread ties - incredulity tinged with horror.
I have 32 pairs.
If you closely examined them, you'd see that they run the gamut from a size eight to a twelve and are all in the dowdy style formally known to disdainful teenagers across America as "Mom Jeans". Truth be told, most of them were bought before I even became a mom and all were specially selected over the past ten years because they share a magical trait: They allow me to bend down without grossing out everyone around me.
The first time I saw low rise jeans in action was at the Nordstrom's shoe salon in Chicago, circa 2001. Sitting next to me was a stylish girl with glossy brown hair and a chic white furry coat. She asked to see an adorable pink Prada mule in a size six and when she bent down to try it on, I could see all the way to Uranus. Because this was the innocent early 00's, I thought there was a possibility she was having a wardrobe malfunction and immediately bent down to tell her. Then I stopped short, wondering what to say to someone whose cranny was on exhibition for all the Miracle Mile? Besides, it was approximately four degrees outside, so she must have felt an Alberta Clipper caressing her nether regions. I kept my mouth shut and instead vowed to never, ever wear a pair jeans like that.
Fast forward a few years into the future and the only jeans I can find in stores barely graze my pubic bones. My lower back is aching from having to curtsy every time I bend down to pick something up and despite my best efforts, most of the metropolitan area has seen half my backside. Daily I curse the manufacturers of low rise jeans and the final straw comes when my cell phone falls to the floor at a Starbucks and for a few moments I consider leaving it there instead of mooning everyone in an attempt to retrieve it.
That was the day I started my high rise quest, mostly on eBay, the graveyard of unfashionable clothing. Over the following years my collection expanded along with me. Size eight gave way to ten, which eventually led to twelves. I kept them all, with the exception of the pair I bought while pregnant with twins, which contained so much material that, if disassembled, I easily could have made a queen bedspread.
As unfashionable as they are, I won't be getting rid of them. They give me a sense of calm security in a world gone low-rise wild. But I AM looking forward to working my way back into the eight's as I run toward my (HALF) marathon goal. And I know I'm not the only one out there with a closet full of clothes in multiple sizes. It seems to be a common denominator for lots of women - we hold onto the hope that one day we'll have the time, energy and drive to reclaim our past, no matter how far-fetched.
After my friend looked through my closet and I explained to her my rationale she asked, "But would you even WANT to wear these clothes? Will they even be fashionable anymore?"
And that's the beauty of it. I don't have to worry about it.
Because they never were.
I have 32 pairs.
If you closely examined them, you'd see that they run the gamut from a size eight to a twelve and are all in the dowdy style formally known to disdainful teenagers across America as "Mom Jeans". Truth be told, most of them were bought before I even became a mom and all were specially selected over the past ten years because they share a magical trait: They allow me to bend down without grossing out everyone around me.
The first time I saw low rise jeans in action was at the Nordstrom's shoe salon in Chicago, circa 2001. Sitting next to me was a stylish girl with glossy brown hair and a chic white furry coat. She asked to see an adorable pink Prada mule in a size six and when she bent down to try it on, I could see all the way to Uranus. Because this was the innocent early 00's, I thought there was a possibility she was having a wardrobe malfunction and immediately bent down to tell her. Then I stopped short, wondering what to say to someone whose cranny was on exhibition for all the Miracle Mile? Besides, it was approximately four degrees outside, so she must have felt an Alberta Clipper caressing her nether regions. I kept my mouth shut and instead vowed to never, ever wear a pair jeans like that.
Fast forward a few years into the future and the only jeans I can find in stores barely graze my pubic bones. My lower back is aching from having to curtsy every time I bend down to pick something up and despite my best efforts, most of the metropolitan area has seen half my backside. Daily I curse the manufacturers of low rise jeans and the final straw comes when my cell phone falls to the floor at a Starbucks and for a few moments I consider leaving it there instead of mooning everyone in an attempt to retrieve it.
That was the day I started my high rise quest, mostly on eBay, the graveyard of unfashionable clothing. Over the following years my collection expanded along with me. Size eight gave way to ten, which eventually led to twelves. I kept them all, with the exception of the pair I bought while pregnant with twins, which contained so much material that, if disassembled, I easily could have made a queen bedspread.
As unfashionable as they are, I won't be getting rid of them. They give me a sense of calm security in a world gone low-rise wild. But I AM looking forward to working my way back into the eight's as I run toward my (HALF) marathon goal. And I know I'm not the only one out there with a closet full of clothes in multiple sizes. It seems to be a common denominator for lots of women - we hold onto the hope that one day we'll have the time, energy and drive to reclaim our past, no matter how far-fetched.
After my friend looked through my closet and I explained to her my rationale she asked, "But would you even WANT to wear these clothes? Will they even be fashionable anymore?"
And that's the beauty of it. I don't have to worry about it.
Because they never were.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Suzy Q - I Feel Robbed (So I am Running Away)
Listen, I don't really like the victim role. I mean who does? But it comes down to this: I am running because I feel I was robbed and I want something different for my daughters.
When I was in college, I had a roommate for two years. It took us awhile to 'get' each other. But she convinced me that hockey was worth my time to watch. And she began to think that dancing around and yelling, "Hey, I can't find nothing on the radio" was just the right way to start the day. She helped me study for accounting exams and I showed her around the museum. Eventually, we took a 1,200 mile road trip to watch the NorthStars in the Campbell Conference playoffs against the Oilers and she started listening to more 'alternative' music.
We graduated and pursued jobs in our chosen fields. She jumped at a job offer which required her to move to Colorado. A vibrant woman with her head screwed on and a sense of adventure, she headed west and began a job which also required lots of travel. She loved it. We kept in touch and I hooked her up with contacts in some of the cities she traveled to.
Then out of the blue, in late November 1997, she got sick and ended up in the ER. Her white blood cell count was really screwy. Her prognosis was bad, but she was always positive. She traveled to Seattle for some consultations, and was coming home for a consult at the local university medical center. I booked a flight to visit her. She never made it home and I never made it to see her in her element. In March 1998, she died as a result of her battle with leukemia.
After 12 years I still wish for rendez-vous weekends reminiscing about our college antics, dorm pranks, goofy crushes, big hair, rocking out, and stalking professional hockey players. I wish we had the opportunity to introduce our kids to each other and watch them jumping off the dock at her parents lake place. And I feel robbed. I hope by raising money for lymphoma and leukemia research I am somehow girding my daughters from the same loss I experienced as I embarked on my life journey. The act of fundraising empowers me to believe that if my daughters ever feel robbed, it has nothing to do with leukemia or lymphoma. And running, well it gives me the sensation of leaving the loss I feel in the dust.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Betty's Fundraising Home Page
Just wanted to add the link to my fundraising page since we seem to be having some technical difficulties over here at Matathoning Mama's. Any donation great or small is acceptable and highly encouraged!
http://pages.teamintraining.org/mn/nikesf10/jmarshaklz
http://pages.teamintraining.org/mn/nikesf10/jmarshaklz
Sunday, June 13, 2010
BETTY - Ibuprophen: How much is too much?
Hello Everyone! My name is Betty and first off, I'm just going to say that I like to consider myself a runner. Not because I've been doing it for very long (maybe 2 years if you put it all together) or because I wake up every day and excitingly plan my daily run. Mainly I like to tell people that I'm a runner just to see them try to hide the look of shock and horror as they imagine my not so lean and graceful body lumbering down a running path wearing a snug, yet sporty outfit that accentuates all that this lady has to offer.
I actually started running a few years ago by mistake. I was trying to loose weight (a subject I'm sure to expand more upon -no pun intended- at a later date) and I was mainly getting my cardio from the elliptical and walking on the treadmill. One day I got on the treadmill (after the elliptical) and wasn't able to keep up my heart rate so I decided to see what would happen if I started jogging. I bumped up the speed and continued to run/jog for 12 minutes before I stopped and thought "what the hell just happened!?" I have always been the person to say that I would never run unless someone was chasing me with an ax (but that could be just from watching too many Friday the 13th movies as a young and impressionable child). But I believe that I had something of an exercising breakthrough that day - I was running, it felt great and I was actually enjoying it! So I decided to continue and see what would happen. I slowly worked up to run a few 5k's and then became pregnant with my 2nd child. I stopped running when I was about 5 months prego and didn't start back up again until last summer. I have been slowly trying to run more regularly, but my motivation to eat fabulous food and sit on my fabulous ass has been taking precedence.
This is the part of the story that I tell you why the hell i decided to sign up for a marathon when i hadn't even run more than 4 miles at a time and really had no interest in including myself among the Crazies that "do that sort of thing". I decided to sign up for the marathon because my friends were doing it and wanted me to do it as well. I'm still a sucker for peer pressure. and i could probably be considered a "joiner". I know, you probably can't wait to get to know me now!! But hang in there people, it gets better...
The thing is, is that these friends, the ladies that you will all read about, are really fabulous, and I thought that there would be nothing better than spending countless hours hanging out with them. And i do enjoy running, and am constantly amazed at what my body can do. And if all of this time running and hanging out with friends includes loosing weight and making me look completely amazing, toned and tight for my 20th High School reunion this summer, well then that is just gravy! (mmmmmm, gravy....)
But apparently I didn't read the fine print on the application form. There is an actual 'running schedule' that your supposed to follow! And people, they want us to run like, 4-5 days a week! This past Saturday I ran 9 miles - more than ever before, thankyouverymuch - but now i'm hobbling around the house like Yoda and trying to figure out how much ibuprofen i can take before it causes me to vomit blood like that girl from the Grey's Anatomy episode that I saw a while back?
So seriously...why am i doing this??
Sadly, I was reminded last week when a friend told me she was diagnosed with lymphoma and that she was starting chemo this past Thursday. So my Yoda problems...not so important. Raising money and awareness about leukemia and lymphoma to help those who are fighting for their lives...important.
So i'm going to run.
I actually started running a few years ago by mistake. I was trying to loose weight (a subject I'm sure to expand more upon -no pun intended- at a later date) and I was mainly getting my cardio from the elliptical and walking on the treadmill. One day I got on the treadmill (after the elliptical) and wasn't able to keep up my heart rate so I decided to see what would happen if I started jogging. I bumped up the speed and continued to run/jog for 12 minutes before I stopped and thought "what the hell just happened!?" I have always been the person to say that I would never run unless someone was chasing me with an ax (but that could be just from watching too many Friday the 13th movies as a young and impressionable child). But I believe that I had something of an exercising breakthrough that day - I was running, it felt great and I was actually enjoying it! So I decided to continue and see what would happen. I slowly worked up to run a few 5k's and then became pregnant with my 2nd child. I stopped running when I was about 5 months prego and didn't start back up again until last summer. I have been slowly trying to run more regularly, but my motivation to eat fabulous food and sit on my fabulous ass has been taking precedence.
This is the part of the story that I tell you why the hell i decided to sign up for a marathon when i hadn't even run more than 4 miles at a time and really had no interest in including myself among the Crazies that "do that sort of thing". I decided to sign up for the marathon because my friends were doing it and wanted me to do it as well. I'm still a sucker for peer pressure. and i could probably be considered a "joiner". I know, you probably can't wait to get to know me now!! But hang in there people, it gets better...
The thing is, is that these friends, the ladies that you will all read about, are really fabulous, and I thought that there would be nothing better than spending countless hours hanging out with them. And i do enjoy running, and am constantly amazed at what my body can do. And if all of this time running and hanging out with friends includes loosing weight and making me look completely amazing, toned and tight for my 20th High School reunion this summer, well then that is just gravy! (mmmmmm, gravy....)
But apparently I didn't read the fine print on the application form. There is an actual 'running schedule' that your supposed to follow! And people, they want us to run like, 4-5 days a week! This past Saturday I ran 9 miles - more than ever before, thankyouverymuch - but now i'm hobbling around the house like Yoda and trying to figure out how much ibuprofen i can take before it causes me to vomit blood like that girl from the Grey's Anatomy episode that I saw a while back?
So seriously...why am i doing this??
Sadly, I was reminded last week when a friend told me she was diagnosed with lymphoma and that she was starting chemo this past Thursday. So my Yoda problems...not so important. Raising money and awareness about leukemia and lymphoma to help those who are fighting for their lives...important.
So i'm going to run.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
KATE - I'm sorry I have to run
As all the peripheral information on this blog indicates, I'll be running a marathon this fall. At this point I feel like I should spell out big letters, it's likely to be a HALF MARATHON as, unless I am bitten by a radioactive spider in a timely fashion, 26.2 miles is probably beyond my reach. A HALF MARATHON also might lend some credibility to my claims that I'll be doing it at all. Because, when you think about it, 13 miles? Probably anyone could limp through that. I know some people that can run 13 miles before they brush their teeth and to them I say that I'm both suitably impressed and sick with jealously. I admire anyone who can lace up their Nike's and casually announce they're going for a ten mile run without then breaking into hysterical laughter or a cold sweat. I do both.
And yet, I want to run. I don't know why and can't explain the impulse. Maybe it's because runners look so composed while they're flitting down jogging paths and around the local lakes. Their form says I'm casual enough to not need a gym, but tough enough to take it to the streets. They look so cool, I can't help but want that. Yet I'm painfully aware that when I run I resemble the Princess Fiona character from Shrek, struggling to remove a tree stump from her backyard with her bare hands. I am not cool, calm and self-possessed. I'm sweaty, gasping for breath and a color not occurring in nature. But since I blessedly can't see myself, I continue to pop on my iPod and pretend I look like Bo Derek running down the beach. Denial can be a powerful motivator.
And while looking cool while running is something I know I'll never achieve, I'm still going to keep on doing it. Not because I think I'll grow to like it or someday acquire that mythical runner's high (seriously, that has got to be an urban legend,) but because I believe in the cause I'm running for. This year I've known four people who have been diagnosed with Leukemia. It got to the point that I didn't even want to look at my email in the morning because I couldn't take seeing another link to one more Caring Bridge website of a distraught mother, sister, aunt or husband desperately archiving the illness of a loved one fighting for their life. In mid March I was notified by email that yet another talented, wonderful and kind person we knew had passed away from Leukemia and I shut my computer off and decided not to read those emails any more. Instead I took my kids to the park. But the yucky feelings wouldn't leave me and I realized that when you're diagnosed with a blood cancer, you don't get to walk away. You have to stay and fight it even when every part of you wishes you could pretend it isn't happening.
That's why I'm doing it. And that's why I say I'm sorry I have to run. It would would be nice if we lived in a world where the beautiful runners among us could simply flit about in their infinite coolness, the born couch potatoes like myself could hunker down with HGTV and a bag of Oreos and no one was ever told that they or someone they love will face a devastating diagnosis or a life cut short. But life's not fair, as I so often remind my kids. The most we can do is get off the couch and try to do something about it, big or little, half or full.
So if you see someone running around the city this summer sweating profusely, panting like a Labrador and faintly resembling an ogre, flag me down. I'll take any excuse to stop.
And yet, I want to run. I don't know why and can't explain the impulse. Maybe it's because runners look so composed while they're flitting down jogging paths and around the local lakes. Their form says I'm casual enough to not need a gym, but tough enough to take it to the streets. They look so cool, I can't help but want that. Yet I'm painfully aware that when I run I resemble the Princess Fiona character from Shrek, struggling to remove a tree stump from her backyard with her bare hands. I am not cool, calm and self-possessed. I'm sweaty, gasping for breath and a color not occurring in nature. But since I blessedly can't see myself, I continue to pop on my iPod and pretend I look like Bo Derek running down the beach. Denial can be a powerful motivator.
And while looking cool while running is something I know I'll never achieve, I'm still going to keep on doing it. Not because I think I'll grow to like it or someday acquire that mythical runner's high (seriously, that has got to be an urban legend,) but because I believe in the cause I'm running for. This year I've known four people who have been diagnosed with Leukemia. It got to the point that I didn't even want to look at my email in the morning because I couldn't take seeing another link to one more Caring Bridge website of a distraught mother, sister, aunt or husband desperately archiving the illness of a loved one fighting for their life. In mid March I was notified by email that yet another talented, wonderful and kind person we knew had passed away from Leukemia and I shut my computer off and decided not to read those emails any more. Instead I took my kids to the park. But the yucky feelings wouldn't leave me and I realized that when you're diagnosed with a blood cancer, you don't get to walk away. You have to stay and fight it even when every part of you wishes you could pretend it isn't happening.
That's why I'm doing it. And that's why I say I'm sorry I have to run. It would would be nice if we lived in a world where the beautiful runners among us could simply flit about in their infinite coolness, the born couch potatoes like myself could hunker down with HGTV and a bag of Oreos and no one was ever told that they or someone they love will face a devastating diagnosis or a life cut short. But life's not fair, as I so often remind my kids. The most we can do is get off the couch and try to do something about it, big or little, half or full.
So if you see someone running around the city this summer sweating profusely, panting like a Labrador and faintly resembling an ogre, flag me down. I'll take any excuse to stop.
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