Category: Running

TNT

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TNTThe Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training organization contacted me again this week. There is a part of me that almost outwardly groans “why can’t you leave me alone?” while another part of me thinks I really should reconsider another half marathon. I’ve already proved I can run five miles without issue. What’s another eight? Yeah, right. Eight point one. Tell that to my knee. Better yet, tell that to my husband! I’m sure either would love to hear that I could be saddling up for another 13 miler. No, I don’t’ think so. I’m seriously considering that Grand Canyon hike LLS mentioned earlier. I know I need to do something!

I ran Wednesday. Another four miles. I like four. It’s a good number. It’s a good number for my knees. This time my legs took me to a different cemetary and somewhere I haven’t been in a long time – the park. Running around Look was a blast from the past. It’s where I hurt my knee. It’s where I fell to earth. To ward off the demons I ran in the opposite direction of how I used to. I think I conquered the past pain. It felt good to glide around elderly couples holding hands and walking slow, past young mothers pushing strollers and gossiping, and giving dog walkers a wide berth. Ducks in the stream, parties at the picnic tables. It felt good period.

Dear you

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I know the run today was hard. Only 4 miles and it hurt like hell. Hang in there. Seriously, there are a hundred hooks to hang your blame on – it was too hot, allergies were kicking your butt, too many cars backing out of driveways without looking, too many busy intersections to cross, you never got your breathing settled, and all you could really think about was the humility of going up an underwear size…I know, I know. Let it pass. The important thing is you got out there. You gave it your best and your best is all you’ve ever got, right? Am I right?

Think of it this way. You inhaled lilacs on the bridge; you saw angels in the yard; Christmas is everlasting at house #57; you avoided the dog crap at the maples; that guy finally had his Lab on a leash; instinct told you to stay away from the man with the motorcycle on the bike path; you didn’t smile at unknown kayakers and, and, and you ran 4 miles.
Enough said.

The Great Training Lie

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I used to tell people I trained all by myself for the LLS half marathon. All alone. While it was true that I never made it to a training session (45 minutes away), I never met my coach, and I never ran with a group of like-minded individuals to say that I trained alone is a huge lie. It’s my all-time greatest training lie. So, here for the first time I would like to publicly thank the people who pulled me through 13.1 miles exactly one year ago today.

  • My mother. Her story of losing her mom to cancer (at MY age) broke my heart and built resolve in its place. I would not have even considered the venture if it hadn’t been for her. One of my favorite “mom” stories is not only did my mother research hotels with gyms so that I could train on the road, but she diligently tried out every exercise machine in said gym to keep me company while I ran for 90 minutes. One of my favorite mother-daughter conversations came out of that training session.
  • My sister. Race day she brought her whole family to NH stand in the pouring rain while I tackled the thirteen. She has friends who run more important, full marathons yet she made me feel like my run was a big deal to her. Running was that much easier knowing she was waiting at the finish line.
  • My husband. He got donations from coworkers to help with my fund raising efforts. He stuck to my diet better than I did. He stuck to my training schedule better than I did. He became my Miyagi after I got hurt, taping my knee before every run, coming with me to PT appointments, riding along side me when I ran, all the while asking, “how does the knee feel? Talk to me.”
  • Dr. John. Even though my knee was blown, he kept saying “We’ll get you through this.” My weekly sometimes twice weekly visits with him made me feel better about how I was taking care of the patella “issue” (because as John says life is one big issue).
  • Sarah. Her endless enthusiasm for my endeavor was infectious. She remained supportive even after I showed signs of giving up. Her attitude kept me positive every literal step of the way.
  • Gregory. I asked a bunch of people for music advice. I needed driving beats that would carry me through the harder miles (okay, the hills). Greg was the only one to come through. It the end, it was his drumming I heard the loudest and loved the best.
  • Bessie & my dad. Their ghosts were the angels that sat on my shoulder, whispered to me in lucid dreams and fueled my waking imagination.
  • Ruth. Her pragmatic approach to my bellyaching was to say simply, “you can do this.” Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, that’s all I needed.
  • Honorable mentions: Nick, Rebecca, Carolyn, George & Joanie. All of them picked up running because of me in some weird way. Rebecca and Carolyn went on to run in some pretty important races and Nick (the guy who hated running) could probably kick my butt in a distance race these days. I am proud those still running. You guys rock! My knee has crippled my ability but not my spirit and I run through your endeavors.

So, while I SAY I trained alone, really I didn’t. I had an army of support. I am proud of what I accomplished one year ago today and I have every person mentioned here to thank. Couldn’t have done it without you.

Happy Birthday

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I have been thinking of you all day. You are 70 today, or you would have been if 9/21/92 didn’t mark another kind of day. Happy Birth Day. But sadday, too. Can I tell you I miss our breakfast table morning talks? There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of something to tell you, something to ask you. Am I living this life right? Where’s the Chilton manual for that? While I question this life, I speak of you often – telling stories of navigation lessons gone awry and near disaster driving lessons. Remember when I almost put the land rover in the ditch? You live on in my fondest, most cherished memories. Just today I told the Clean Your Room Story. My audience laughed and said you were right to throw the bed through the ceiling. As usual, you were proving a point. I was a rebellious, bratty child.
You ran with me today. You were in my head as I tackled five miles. I think that’s the thing that would shock you the most, dad. I’m a runner. Me. The child with her nose in a book, inside on a beautiful sunny summer day. I still can hear you telling me to get my butt outside. I can still remember how “put out” I felt by your insistence of “get some fresh air.” You probably knew that while I begrudgingly obeyed…I brought my book with me. Anything athletic was out of the question for this book worm – slug. But, now I run.
Dad, I need your help with so many things lately. I’m in denial about a friend’s cancer. I’ve just spent three days with like-minded professionals and somehow I can’t put myself in their league. I feel like I’m in the kiddie pool when I know I can swim. I really can’t but that’s neither here nor there. I worry about so many different things to the point of heat blisters and bald spots. I get lost staring at kisa playing Guitar Hero II. It’s distracting. You would not believe this world we live in. Kids have wheels in their shoes. You would want to trip them. There’s a guy on the Internet, his name is Justin and his whole life is on the web…Dad, his whole life. Then there’s Twitter and something called Second Life. So many things I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain to you.

But, forget all that. If you were here we’d make meatloaf and have angel food cake for dessert. Happy birthday.

Needing This

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Such a long day. MLA & running in the same day. Yahoo tells me I have 167 new emails. I don’t have the heart to even look. I have to wonder what Gmail says. Can’t bear to look there either. Not today.

The day started out innocently enough. Fill the tank with gas, fill the wallet with toll money. Directions in hand. Good to go. MLA was a mix of What Am I Doing Here and Here I Am. The Massachusetts Library Association annual conference is geared more towards public libraries and at times I felt sorely out of place, but…But, with things headed the way they are, I’ve needed to tell myself I’m one of them. This conference is called “Branching Out” after all! The coolest part? I got to see The Nancy Pearl! In the flesh! Rock Star Nancy! She’s exactly like I thought she would be. Did I introduce myself? No. Did I even talk to her? No. Too star struck. I won’t be tomorrow, though – Tomorrow I’m bringing both Book Lusts for the geek of all geeks request for autographs. Today, today I didn’t even have a pen. I sat in each presentation knitting. Yes, knitting. More accurately, knit, pearl, knit, pearl, knitting. I drew attention and eventually enjoyed showing off my blossoming scarf (pics coming soon). It’s coming out better than I expected. I really, really like it.
Note to self: Greatest Salesman and Jill Stover.
The best quote of the day: “I enjoy the scenery more when I know where I’m going. Or, the scenery looks better when I don’t know I’m lost.”

Driving is the best way to get psyched for a run. After being cramped in the car I really long to stretch the legs and move them out from under me. Despite a killer headache and a detour to work I surprised myself by still wanting to hit the streets when I got home. I further shocked myself with where I went. For those of you who know the route: Look Park, Get Head Jesus, Jackson Street, Child Park, Killer Hill (by the Porch People), Home. Fun run. I just wish I had someone to run it with me.

It would have been a four mile run, but I inadvertently flirted with a truck driver (thanks to the nonexistent SPB), but that’s a letter for another day. Thanks to uncontrollable giggling and an urge to race away from my embarrassment it turned out to be a 5.2 miler. I felt like I could run forever. I really like running right before the sun sets. I love how my long shadow leads the way. I love how the colors of dusk give off a glow. I want to carry a camera. I want to bottle the smells – someone doing laundry, someone turning soil for a garden, someone mowing a lawn, something on the stove or in the oven – either way, something for dinner. I passed the heady smell of spring, some unidentified bloom that smelled amazing. I almost stopped in my tracks. I have no idea what it was.

Now I need a hot tub. I need a glass of wine. When the red is off my face I’ll remember the man in the truck. For now I need to keep that to myself.

Difference between Pranayama and Gasping

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PranayamaI got a chance to experience different breathing techniques over the weekend. Some by choice, some by force. The first was an IntroEducation to Pranayama. This was the by-choice inhale/exhale portion of the weekend. Sponsored and led by Ruth of Now & Zen Yoga I was introduced to the four different breathing techniques of Pranayama. The thing that stuck in my head (after it hit my heart) was the thought process behind Pranayama. I will paraphrase what was said to me – breathing is life and Pranayama is the control of this life force. Your first action after birth is a deep inhale. Your last action of life is a slow exhale. Life breathing from beginning to end. Ruth said it much more gracefully but you get the point. I learned that breath can be controlled after years of taking it for granted. Different from the box breathing (something I learned about in a different class), we were introduced to four different techniques of inhale/exhale but Ujjayi had to be my favorite – noisy and satisfying, it made me come alive.
Later, I felt like I was dying. By choice. Sunday beautiful sunny afternoon I decided to take Miss You for a run. I’m not used to running in sunshine, running in shorts. By mere mile one I was gasping for air. I had forgotten to pace myself, forgotten to find the steady breath. Funny thing about breathing – you don’t think about it until you are short of it. I remembered the imaginary eggs I should be cradling in my palms. I remembered the angels on my shoulders to keep my back straight. I remembered the pacing of footfalls…but not the pacing of breath. 1.8 miles later I ran across kisa (almost literally) and I called it quits. I wanted my inhale and exhale to quiet to talking and walking. The run was not what I wanted it to be, but the company was. I’ll do it again tomorrow.

Hell or High Hail

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Me, myself & moi, we were the exact opposite of this as we went running in the rain, hail, snow. I had an on again, off again relationship with indecision. Should I run? Looking at the weather I thought not. Looking at my state of mind I thought yes. Finally, I settled on taking a chance with yes.
I took BG out with me and he told me stories about being the next “whatever.” His joking kept me going. Rain soaked me through and I needed something to put one foot in front of the other. Laughing always works. I look insane, but it works. By the time I hit the bike path the rain was going right through me. By the time I hit the first stop sign it was starting to bounce off me and it hurt. Hail. It looked like the tiny beads of styrofoam they fill beanbag chairs with. Small, round, white…and pelting.
I had a small conversation with my knee. Not happy about the run, not run attitude I have had of late, she protested a little. I moved to the dogs’ side of the path and immediately started watching my feet. Broken pen, neon green barrette, empty bottle, dirt crusted button, a scrap of torn paper, another pen, dog sh!t, rusted bottle cap, shards of bark, broken glass, the debris from lives carried on without thought. I thought about the neon green barrette and wondered if it was worn in the hair of a little girl too young to tell her mom it dropped from the stroller’s height. I pictured her staring back at it lying in the dirt, watching it get smaller and smaller as she is pushed away. I thought about the pens. Who would write on a bike path? Was this a shortcut for a business man? A source of inspiration for a budding poet with bigger aspirations than paycheck?
The hail started to mix with snow and it was time to head for home. I learned an inspiration trick from a running magazine – run a bath right before heading out. The faster you get through your run, the warmer the bath will be. As the hail pelted me and the snow chilled my skin to red I thought about the hot bath waiting for me. I couldn’t wait to climb inside. Come hell or high high I made it through.

Chuck Lelas Memorial

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chuckIt dawned on me in the middle of my lasagna that the Chuck Lelas Memorial 10k walk/run is next month almost to the day. I haven’t run an inch since March…early March. If you do the math, a 10k isn’t a stroll in the park. It’s over six freakin’ miles. That’s many, many, many inches.

The background (my background) on the CLM walk/run is this. My friend S asked me to walk it with her two years ago. I think we came in dead last. At least, after we crossed the finish line they shut the clock off…what does that tell you? No matter. We were having too good of a time gabbing to really worry about PRs and beating the clock (as if!). I skipped last year’s walk due to a little 13.1 miler I was running for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, but this year I’m back…and stressing about half that distance.

Briefly, the Chuck Lelas Memorial Walk/Run is dubbed the “You Gotta Have Heart” event and this marks the 4th year of it’s existence. The money goes for scholarships in Chuck’s name. My personal tie to this charity event? S and the fact that Chuck was a coach where I work.
For more information go here. In the meantime, I’m off the to the gym!

Running with John

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                                                                                                                       JM

Kisa found me MSG so I went running with BubbleGum yesterday. I call it my revenge run because it was at this time a year ago that I injured my knee. I didn’t know it yet. It was at this time that everything started to crumble, tumble down and my beliefs on running were compromised.  Last year I had been robbed of the nice weather and reduced to “running” the eliptical. Doctors orders.

This year I took John out and we made it through the streets of where I call home. Running on the road I couldn’t help but wonder how soaked my feet were going to be by the end of it all. Snow was subsiding into streams and running alongside me. I dodged as best I could, ran through when I had to. On Bridge I had companions – two very loose dogs, one gray, one brown. I don’t remember their breed but I recognized them from the calendar my sister gets every year for Christmas. I should have asked for autographs, but then again, that would have required stopping. John said something about waking up and forgetting for five seconds all the sh!t that bothers you. Nice idea. When I got to the graveyard I thought I would run by Get Head but realized I would rather run among the souls. It ended up not being as intimate as I would have liked but it made for a good shortcut in the end. Down by Kisa’s chiropractor appointment I thought about stopping in and only decided against it when I realized I didn’t know the way in. Plus, I didn’t want to stop my uphill battle. I ran on and only stopped when John did.

Bottom line: 3.8 miles

risparmi me

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Today I painted my office. Calming barely-there blues and into-the-void-nothing-nothing white. I needed to be swallowed up by the paint and have it spit back out a whole new me, myself & moi. Someone said I was being boring with the brushes. Someone else asked about my blood pressure. Was I surviving the seething? No. Not really. 24 hours and I-Can’t-Come-In-Because-It’s-Raining hasn’t help.
But, painting helped. Somewhat.
What I really want is to be back among the lupines. I want to lay belly down in the tallest of purples and pinks and drink in their scent. Inhale their unconditional love. I want the sun to go down, the fireflies to come out and the diplomatic darkness to douse my fire of fury. I want to hold hands in the descending twilight, close my eyes and talk about houses, hula hoops and hope. Drink wine and laugh about nothing just to laugh outloud.
Just to say we could.
I want to tickle AT and hold SR close, just to be comforted and cocooned by their innocence.
I don’t know if I’ll survive the conflagration in the coming weeks. I am afraid of what my barely contained electric anger is capable of sparking. My hands shake when I think about the voltage of revenge I could unleash. I’ve got it all right here and like I said, barely contained. I fear I might lose control.
I tried running last night and it was a mess. I was a mess. I dropped my music, lost my groove, fell out of step, choked back vomit, and barely made it through 31 minutes. I wanted to sweat more so the tears could come and be camouflaged. Nothing felt right. Nothing is right right now.
Bottom of the barrel: 2.96

Believe Me Or Me

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I ran on Friday and this is what I thought about while I was the gerbil.
I am of two minds. I feel mentally ill. On one side of my life I should be upset about the things that were said. About me. On the other side of life, that relationship is behind me and the importance of that person is no more. I’m beginning to think I sided with the wrong side when sides were being taken.
I don’t like insecure people. No, I take that back. I don’t like the way insecurity makes people do and say outrageous, mean things. Bragging to be something they’re not. Lying to lay claim to something they don’t have.
But, on the other hand, maybe I’m jealous of them. When I’m less than confident I shirk from importance. Stay in the shadow of someone more superstar. Keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something stupid. I want to be able to say, I got it going on. I know it’s not true. It’s definitely not me. Maybe I would like to brag about something, anything. But, then again…maybe not. Bottom line, I am who I am. Bad mouthed or not.
Run like a girl. It implies a negative. But. I know better. I run like me.
3.6 miles

High

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drugsI started last night not knowing where I was going. When you’re on a treadmill you never know where you are going to end up. We are all gerbils going nowhere, but the emotional, mental end of the journey is a different story. Luckily for me it ended up being my best run in nine months. I rediscovered the elusive runners’ high. I was drowning in the electric buzz for hours afterwards.

It started out like any other run. The Cage was busy so I had to exert energy just to block out the bad music overhead and the bad conversations overheard. My KISA to the left of me & some teenage boy to the right of me. I’m drawn to competition so I kept a lazy, easy eye on both boys (more on that later).
I’m trying something new with the warmup – instead of walking for a few minutes I’m immediately jogging at a gentle pace right out of the gate. Something just shy of speed walking (4.2 for you treadmill junkies). I find that it gets me in the right frame of mind that much sooner. I can get to a good runner’s pace that much easier. Before long I found myself chugging along at a 9.5 minute mile. Feeling no pain. At one point my KISA pointed out our comparative calories burned and competition kicked in again. I upped the incline and pressed on faster. He laughed and I gave up. But, here’s what I learned from this run: when I push myself beyond my limits I reach a mental ecstasy. There is a spreading warmth all over my body; a warmth that hugs me close and lasts for hours. I’m hugged by the high. I literally walk around in a haze, a protective bubble of buzz. I feel like I’m floating and well, euphoric. I can’t explain it any other way: the euphoric groove. I realize there is nothing wrong with treadmill running. The belt below me forces continuous motion from me, myself and moi. I can’t slow down, I can’t even think about quitting. But the thing is, I’m not chained to the gerbil cage. The wheel is not my only running place. It’s not my prison. I realize I have the open road, the great fresh-air outdoors. I am not a wimp. I am not a baby. I will not limit my run to the coddled comfort of indoor containment. There is nothing wrong with getting my butt outside to chase that elusive high. I want it back.

Bottom line: 3.48 miles

Drumazing II

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I found another drum beat I want to run to. Carlos Santana. Supernatural. Track Eight, especially. Migra is the best. Love It. We were driving to work. The sun was in my eyes so I had them closed. There, the in the self-induced dark I was introduced to something new to run to. I could feel exactly how it would work. The beat was exactly to my best tempo. I was running in my mind. I wish I had a way to extract Billy Johnson, Carter Beauford, Horatio Hernandez, Rodney Holmes, Greg Bissonette and Jimmy Keegan (and everyone on percussion) from the horns, vocals and other whatnots that only clog the mesmerizing sound.

JJJIn something unrelated to Santana but along the lines of drums, BubbleGum graced us with an almost 10 minute YouTube performance of ‘Gravity’ (from the tour that started last week in Florida). I know there are artists out there who hold onto their sound and won’t share it for the world and they have their reasons, but I admire the chance takers. It’s as if BG is saying, “sorry you couldn’t make it to the show, but here’s a little something…”, and it’s not a short tease of the song – it’s the whole d*mned thing. But, but, but what got me was J.J.J. on drums, hiding out in the back. I could care less about the sqealing guitar solo (you go, boy), J3 had it going on. He doesn’t sit in his seat and primly mark the beat. He flails around as if his life depends on it, smoking all the while. It cracks me up. So, check out the BubbleGum site. Wait for JM to do his grand finale guitar solo, take a moment to appreciate the talent, then look for J3 in the back. Drums. Gets me everytime. Seriously.

Susan G. Komen

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The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation (Dallas, TX) has the coolest helpline phone number; one that I have never forgotten. “1-800 I’m Aware” Aware. Yes, I am.RibbonRed Sox

The letter arrived in Monday’s mail. I wasn’t solicited for a donation. I wasn’t asked to hang a plastic HowTo in my shower. I wasn’t even thanked for my donation for 2006 even though I give every year. Instead, the Susan G. Komen Foundation sparked my imagination. They sent me an info sheet on The Foundation’s signature event, the Komen Race for the Cure Series. Imagination led to inspiration and I went to their website; started scoping out a few doables, looking for lovely locations. Really, I think this is what I’ve needed. I’ve been hungry for another Something Good. Something More. If I play my cards right (and legs, haha)…

 This might, just might be it.