An Anatomy Lesson a la Carmella

Today as I was driving the kids to gymnastics I told them that I would be running while they had their classes. I reminded them that if I was late they were to STAY IN THE BUILDING and wait for me. I started in on the not talking to strangers and no matter what anyone said they were not go anywhere with anyone but Carmella interrupted me:

"Mommy don't worry," she said "Beau and I have discussed this. If it is a woman we punch her in the stomach and if it is a man we kick him in the shins . . ."

Now it was my turn to interrupt. "Not the shins," I said. "If it is a man you kick him as hard as you can in the nuts and run as far and fast as you can!"

Carmella confused asks "His nuts? Where are a man's nuts?"

Beau and I together answer: "His balls!"

Carmella still has a blank look and blinks her wide brown saucer eyes. So I clarify it for her: "His penis babydoll. You kick him as hard as you can in his penis. Got it?"

"Oh, right," she says getting it. "His shins. Same thing."

Oh my God! This is way better than the time when Carmella was 3 and asked why Beau's bottom was different than hers. I told her that he was a boy and he had a penis and she was a girl and she had a vagina. Then for weeks after wards all she talked about was her "china" and Beau's "peanuts". And no I never corrected her but somehow she figured out all on her own what shins are on a man.

Is it wrong that I immediately wished that I had shin splints as an injury instead of ITBS and I could go around complaining how much my shins hurt? That would really mess with her head! But even better than that it would make this conversation come full circle for Beau.

Ah kids. Even when you're knocked down they give you reasons to get back up and just laugh.

Puffed Up and Pouty Like a Swollen Creek

I can't talk about Fight Club yet. I am sour on things; bratty and really don't have a lot nice to say. Everything is off, out of place and just plain not copacetic in my little corner of the universe. Yes, I am hiding--throwing sticks and tossing stones and just not ready to come out. Maybe when it is sunny here again I will.

I do feel guilty for neglecting the blog. I haven't written because I am so negative lately. I can hardly stand to be around myself; much less spend time, thought, and words giving it a name, labeling and cataloging it here for you. I can't even find humor at it--at myself and well, that almost never happens. The yuckiness that I feel lately is thick and chewy and I want nothing to do with it and trust me, neither do you.

Yesterday though, when the sun peaked out a tiny bit, I did go for a little run in the morning and while not fantastic it was okay because it didn't hurt, I could breathe and of course, I was getting to run. But I didn't feel great and it was totally disgusting down by the river where I ran: sewer smell, gray and red mud slicks, twisted and broken trees, mushy gravel and occasionally, an impassable flood pool. All that on a mostly paved path.


In the afternoon I was feeling even better and really wanted to get another workout in. But Tuesdays Beau has his theater class . Typically, while Beau is in class, Carmella and I go shopping or go down by the river and she rides her bike and I run along side her. However, having seen the condition of the trail that morning and knowing Carmella's sensibilities I knew that wasn't going to work out. And because of the general lack of resources, as discussed in the previous post, shopping was out too.

So I convinced Carmella to go on a hike.

I convinced her by telling her we didn't have to run and that we could bring Lola.

Beau's theater class is in the historic section of Roswell and right near the old mill.
The mill area has been completely transformed in the last 10 or so years. When I was younger I thought of the area as a bit sketchy but now I am not even sure if I can afford to breathe the air over there it is so fancy and cute in it's pretentious small town quaint. (Hmm, that sounded a bit snarky. See, I told you I am not nice lately.)

I have heard that there are hiking trails over there and I have been wanting to check them out as I am always looking for new places with new sights to put the miles in. I have no idea how long they have been there but as far as I know they were not there when I lived over in that area during grad school. (I lived a block over on the street with all the churches. A huge 2 bedroom for $500 a month with hardwood floors that I had all to my little lonesome. It was cheap and wonderful and that is where I lived when I very first started running. Ah, nostalgia. . . )

At any rate, for those who have not been there and are also in need of a new place to run it looks like there are quite a few trails and they go all the way down to the cliffs at Allenbrook . How long the trails are I don't know-- the maps I saw didn't say but I am really really bad at reading maps. You go and figure it out and report back to me.

The trails are a little technical, probably most like the ones at Sope Creek. I don't know if you can mountain bike on the mill trails or not. I did not see signs saying one way or the other and I did not see any mountain bikers or really anyone else on the trails.

I brought my camera and we took pictures along the way.

This is the waterfall at Vickery Creek.
I am not totally clear on the names since I saw that it was called Big Creek in a few places. All I know is that I use to hang out a lot down at the waterfall off Sloan Street in high school and we called it Vickery Creek and we could walk straight across the top. And sometimes, never me, people jumped off the waterfall.

This is how it looked yesterday. I was kind of scared just to stand near it. Betting no one is jumping off it or walking across the falls this week.
There are mill ruins all over. Most people hate kudzu but one of the things I love about the landscape of the South is seeing the battles between the vines and the architecture. It is a war in slow motion.


Even though she made me promise we didn't have to run. She ran most of the time. Seriously. She is so silly. Running? It is what kids do. That walking crap is for old people.

I have never seen so many mushrooms in the area as I have this summer/fall. In fact, I have been wanting to make cut outs of Smurfs and put them under the mushrooms on the trails I run on. I think people would like that.

In my not so scientific study of local trails in the area and mushroom life the ones at the Lieta trail are the most interesting: bright pink, red or the spotted variety. At Kennesaw Mountain and at the mill trails all I've seen are the brown and white kinds and toadstools.

We walked down Sloan Street to check out the Founder's Cemetery.
I could stand it only long enough to take few pictures. I got chewed to pieces by mosquitoes if I didn't keep moving. I can't believe how bad the mosquitoes are and here it is mid fall.Aren't they usually gone by now? It it terrible. My legs look like I have the pox!

Do you see it? In this picture?

The ray of light? The sun? It is what I am hoping for these days. Trying not to read too much into it that I saw it, however briefly, in a cemetery. However, it is October so I suppose that makes sense. . . somehow.

Maybe?

A Relative Economic Problem

Special principle of relativity: If a system of coordinates K is chosen so that, in relation to it, physical laws hold good in their simplest form, the same laws hold good in relation to any other system of coordinates K' moving in uniform translation relatively to K.
--Albert Einstein

Or, in simpler terms: everything is relative, at the very least tangetically related.

So. I think I have figured out what my problem is (well at least one of them); I have never really understood economics. None of it. Clearly this is the key to most, if not all of my problems.

And yes, I am even going to blame my lack of blogging on it because in essence it boils down to a supply and demand issue. In this particular economic scenario time is the commodity. Demand for it is high and supply is low. The resource is low. There is a scarcity. Choices have to be made people!

But I think "choice" is a bad word because really, most times I don't actually get to "choose". The choice is already made for me. And ultimately this is my problem with economics. I have a problem with the whole "want" versus "need" aspect of the "choice" theory. For example; I want to spend my time running, writing and shopping. But my resources--my uncooperative IT band, lack of time, lack of money--cannot meet my demands or, really let's just be honest--ever satisfy my "wants". So, this use of the word "choice" in economics really doesn't apply to me. I don't have a choice. Oh my God!<>--am I existing outside of Capitalism? Help!!! I'm trapped in a commune!!

My lack of grasping the economic obvious really wasn't too big of a problem until yesterday. Or rather I should say it wasn't a problem I really paid much attention to if I could get away with it. Denial is not just a river in Africa when it comes to me and economics. However, yesterday I was forced to think about it because my third grader had to study for an "Econ" test.

That's right.

Economics test.

In third grade.

I don't think the word economics was even in my vocabulary until middle school and in that case it was proceeded by the word "home" and was a super fun class where we got to sit at big round tables and make cookies and sew aprons. Imagine my dismay freshman year of high school in Economics when Coach Manus screamed at the class as he ground the chalk into the board writing "THERE ARE NO FREE LUNCHES!!"

(seriously, can't there sometimes be free lunches? )

That was a really, really sad day for me. Then he handed out copies of the Wall Street Journal stock listings and told us to pick a stock to invest in for our first assignment. I've been traumatized about money realities ever since. I remember thinking: This is economics? Where are my cookies? My appliques to sew on my apron?

Taking my required economics 101 class in college was no better and is probably the exact reason why I never wanted to be a business major or even take another business class. I have taken a lot of courses ( I graduated from undergrad with 90 extra hours because I changed my major 3 times) but economics across the board was the only class/subject that I really really hated. Everything else--Statistics and Organic Chemistry included--I could find something interesting, something that I liked.

So yesterday when I came across a white typed flyer that said Econ Lessons at the top of the page in bold print I immediately felt that same confusion and stress I felt in freshman economics. There were these bolded titles:
Lesson 1: Scarcity (no coincidence that the word "scar" is in there)
Lesson 2: Opportunity Cost (doesn't that just sound ominous?)
Lesson 3: Consumption
Lesson 4: Production
Lesson 5: Interdependence (this doesn't sound so fun either)

All with neat bullet point definitions below them. At first I thought maybe it was a political flyer from the mail that had gotten mixed up with the kids school papers. I turned it over expecting to see a political agenda but it was blank.

"I need to study that Mom," Carmella said as she snatched the paper out of my hand. "I have an Econ test tomorrow," she explained.

"Huh?!"

I have to admit. A little bit of me died then. For the first time since my kids have been in school I was scared (see, there's that word again) of their homework. I feel pretty confident I can explain most subjects to my kids but economics is the one class I always hated with a passion. It was like every time the instructor talked I heard Charlie Brown's teacher and when I tried to read the textbook I suddenly had dyslexia.

Truthfully though, it is not just economics homework. I really don't like any homework--never really was my thing. I made it my mission when I was in school to do all my homework at school (with the exception of reading or writing research papers. And that was because I didn't view that as work. I liked reading. I liked research. I liked writing-- of course the caveat being: so long it was a subject I actually liked.) If that meant skipping lunch or getting to school an hour early that is what I did. If I couldn't get it done on school property during school time? Yeah, it pretty much didn't get done then.

That said I am stickler about my kids doing their homework and I even help them with it every afternoon and make sure all their assignments are done. I even encourage them to turn stuff in early.

Lucky for me my third grader likes homework and does not make too many "help me with my homework" demands. This is particularly extra lucky for me this year since my first grader's homework is using up most of the available resources (my time).

I knew there were going to be issues with the resources (my time) this year having both a first grader and third grader. I have long heard people saying "third grade is tough." And after my experience with Carmella in first grade I knew it was going to be really hard for Beau this year and his homework would take up a huge chunk of time everyday. So I hoped third grade wouldn't prove too hard for Carmella since there is only so much time (and so much of my patience) in any given afternoon. And so far Carmella has managed all her home work fine. Meaning I have not had to do any of her homework. Maybe once or twice a week I have to answer a question or quiz her on something but otherwise she is on top of it.

First grade homework though. It is killing me! More so than my inflamed It Band is aggravating my left leg and messing up my training. And that, my friends, is a lot.

I found out when Carmella was in first grade just how much first grade had changed but now, if it is even possible, I think it has gotten even harder. Either that or I am just not remembering 2 years ago correctly. Maybe I got too complacent in second grade when the demand (for my time) was low and the supply (my time) was high. Or, even more likely, I am dumber.

My brain cells were compromised the day I found out I was pregnant and have been shrinking exponentially ever since. I thought by giving birth it would have stopped the shrinkage and early on had hopes of gaining some of what I lost back--you know like how your hair fell out and it eventually grew back or your stomach shrunk back--but no such luck for me. My brain is damaged beyond repair.

And just to give you a taste of what I am talking about here is a sampling of stuff my first grader-- wait let me be more specific-- my first grader who HATES to do homework because he HATES to write is assigned: Research Benjamin Franklin. Create a fact book about him." Or, "Write a math subtraction story about fruit. Include three things: a colored illustration, a written story, and a math equation to show the solution." Those are some of the more challenging (time consuming) assignments we have yet to tackle (we get to pick and have to do one every night for the quarter). The easier ones we have accomplished were: making a list of 10 contractions and writing the words that make up each contraction and making 10 addition sentences and writing the inverse subtraction sentence. We also made a "comic book with two characters, one who eats healthy and one who doesn't." We even did a science assignment showing the "water cycle" and listed the different forms of precipitation and drew a picture to go along with it. Seriously, my son with a speech problem can barely say the word "precipitation" never mind write it out. I motivated him to do that assignment by helping him create a word document on the computer. Typing, Googling, and my personal favorite "cut and paste" skills added to the lesson. Thinking this is how we will get that Ben Franklin book done too.

I had to shuffle Beau's homework aside yesterday and gave him a math sheet I printed out. He will do addition and subtraction all day long so long as I do not make him write any pesky words. I sat down with Carmella to go over her "Econ" homework.

Clearly, lack of understanding economics is genetic. Finally! Something Carmella and are have in common. No. I am seriously not happy about this but I did find it funny when I asked her to define "scarcity". The handout says "scarcity happens when there's not enough of something you want." And she just could not wrap her mind around that. No matter how many examples I offered. When I tried to discuss "economic problem" with her--which according to her handout is defined as people having to make choices because of scarcity well, let's just say it was challenge and severely muddied the waters. Like I said, I too have a lot of troubles with those so called "choices".

Her little friend Reina was here playing so I sent them out to play teacher and study the sheet. I told Carmella that I would quiz her when she got home from ballet. But either she was too tired from ballet or there is just a huge mental block in our genetic makeup against economics because she had no clue. I sent her to bed--very stressed out about her test I should add-- and told her I would get her up early to so she could get to school and have extra time to study.

Carmella was ready this morning to leave for school at 6:50 am. As we packed her assignments up and I signed important forms I happened to glance at her agenda. It said "Econ test Friday."

"Carmella," I said. "Your Econ test is when?"
"Today, " she groaned and also looked answered looking at her agenda.
"Really? You wrote that it is on Friday."
"Yeah. Friday" She answered gloomily.
" And today is . . " I ask her.
Her eyes get huge and excited, " Thursday!"

Thank goodness the child has another day to study! Maybe since it is third grade economics this time I-- I mean Carmella-- will finally get it.

So here is what I am thinking. Maybe if I can figure out economics I will in turn be able to figure out how much of a demand I can put on my It Band and still be able to run Mystery Mountain Marathon next Sunday without injury (or pain). I am sure there is some fine economic equation of rest, running, tapering, rehab-ing, stretching and foam rolling and if I can just figure it out then I will be able to satisfy my needs and my wants. I do think, possibly, like how I have a tendency to read too much into a metaphor, I might be reading a little too much into economic theory. Really, it doesn't matter the system, the theory or the law; in the taper the coordinate is always defined by madness.

Summer's Sweater

Really.
Who wants to wear a sweater in the summer?
Especially if you live anywhere in the South. The only places more terrible than Georgia for summer sweaters is lower Alabama and central Florida. Places near the beach don't count because they have the breezy air that sometimes at night makes a summer sweater kinda nice. But nothing, I mean nothing, is worse than a sweater in the still hot air. It is called waiting on a hurricane air but the hurricane and its wind never comes and neither does the cooler air. Instead you are stuck with a sweater that you don't need or want.

Even as the summer heat begins to dissipate and the threat of hurricanes wane the sweater stays. If only you could return it like you can an impulse buy. But that isn't even a possibility.

I know you Southerners are smart and know exactly what I am talking about but for all you Yankees and cool West Coasters I am talking about humidity. I have decided, after my runs today and yesterday that it isn't the heat that is so terrible about the South--it is the humidity. I hate it the most of all conditions to run in. I am just sharing this with you because I just made my decision about it today and I wanted everyone to know.

Certainly I complain about a lot of things. And yes, I can be a bit of a Goldilocks runner. I do, I'll admit it. Just like how one can be particular about how they like their coffee; I want my running weather just right. And, not to split golden locks here but I am pretty easy when it comes to my coffee: I take it black but will deal with it however it comes: hot, cold, milky, cream, sugar etc. Most importantly I would just like it to be of the caffeinated variety. Similarly when it comes to running-- as I have proven many times over, I will suck it up and deal with whatever weather hand I am dealt as I am just happy that I have the opportunity to run.

Of course, this does not mean that I won't complain about having to suck it up. Just like if you bring me coffee that is tepid I won't be able to help to myself and will point that out. I will admit, that if nothing else, I can be counted on to complain. You know, everyone has at least one constant in their lives and my knack for expressing my disdain at the less than prefect is mine. As Carmella says "What ev's"

However, I just want to make it known, for the record, that I hate the humidity most of all. It tops the list. And sure, it is a long list. What can I say? I know what I like and what I don't like.

All summer I have been kind of blaming the heat--especially for the suckiness on my 3 hours runs in 90 degrees. Around here I have to think a low humidity day would be around 50-60%. Now whether or not that is actually low I can't say. I only think that if the humidity was below 60% it would probably feel pretty darn awesome. But since every time I go for a run--no matter the temperature-- it is never less than 65% and most times is closer to 90% humidity I can only guess that anything less would be fantastic. But no. I don't know for certain.

But you can criss cross bless yourselves that every single time I go out for a run I am thinking about how I wish it was a cool and dry 55 degrees. I do: I try to channel it. Heck, at this point just the suggestion of 65 degrees and for the air to not be out-sweating me keeps me going through all these runs that feel like I have a heavy wet sweater wrapped around my head.

I am going to admit that I was pretty excited that we finally made it into the 70's and out of the high 80's this week. But I have been nothing but disappointed by the 70's (I bet there were a lot of people that said that 30 years ago too).

Let me tell you, in case you aren't lucky enough to experience it for yourselves: 75 degrees and 90% humidity is still kind of crappy. Definitely, no doubt about it, definitely much better than it being really hot and humid but still not good. No where close to even being okay. Never mind ideal.

I don't know. I am just let down, that is all. I was expecting the 70's to be good. (again, 30 years ago--probably the same thing)

I know. I know. I have been told many times that is what expectations do: they disappoint. I'll never learn.

I just want to say here and now that I want summer to take her damn sweater and leave for several months. Because you know what? I want to wear my sweaters and my jackets and my cute boots and blue jeans. I want to run and not be grossed out that yes-- I do really sweat that much. I don't want to have to worry any more that when I pass people on the sidewalk or on the trail that I might be slinging some of my sweat on them. Beause, really, no matter how cute a person is you don't want their sweat on you. Well, okay. Qualifier: you don't want their sweat on you unless you are naked together. But in that case, there is probably a whole bunch of other, er, "human" things you have committed yourself to and swapping a little sweat, I would think: not really a big issue. Might even be a good thing. At least, that is what I hear. --Mom, Dad.

Okay now. Anyway, I am getting myself excited again-- and it has nothing to do with the aforementioned sentences--well, maybe a little. No really. I just checked 10 days out weather forecast and guess what?

That's right: 50's.

The 50's will be invading Hotlanta next week. Sure it is high 50's and yes it still looks kind of humid but you know what?

That's right: People do need a sweater when it gets in the 50's. So it should be good.

Oh, but what will I do if have no weather excuses to complain about and blame my crappy runs on? No worries. I am certain something will come up. . .

So here it is: 18 miles in the humid, misty and rainy 75 degrees yesterday and 12 miles in the stale humid air today. I am looking at similar conditions for my long run and other runs the rest of this week too. And man, it sure does feel like we are waiting on a hurricane-- and at this point I might welcome it because then at least there would be a breeze.

Oh, but next week. It will get me by-- just the promise of it. You know you can always depend on the forecast 10 days out (Sarcasm people. Love it.)
Fall is closing in.
(I hope.)
Bring on the marathons!!!

Releasing the Clamp

Now, in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the gallery of frost
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
--from Take this Waltz by Leonard Cohen

If nothing else I have learned of tragedy is that one never knows what is the right thing to say. Or for that matter what is the right thing to do. So we walk around with clamps on our jaws. Some of us-- and I am talking about me-- puts a clamp on our hearts too.

Of course, generally speaking, I have a lot say. But I have been overwhelmed by it lately. Mostly what I have wanted is for it to go away. It isn't going to go away. I know that. It will just dim but I think it is going to pull at my insides until I unclamp my jaw, my heart.

Last Saturday I did my regular 3 hour run. This is my favorite run of the week usually. I get to spend 3 hours doing what I love to do and listening to my favorite music. Certainly being tired or something hurting or crappy weather can put a kink in my good times but generally if I can find my rhythm and get my head in the right place it all works out. On Saturday, the song Take This Waltz by Leonard Cohen found it's way in my 400 song shuffle. I love this song. It is one of my favorites. Here listen, if you like:
What I love most about the song is the amazing poetry. The song is actually Cohen's very liberal translation of Lorca'spoem Little Viennese Waltz. Straight translations from Spanish to English rarely work so it is hard for me to compare fairly but I actually prefer Cohen's song to the straight English translation of Lorca's poem.

I have long puzzled over the precise meaning of Cohen's lyrics but have mostly assumed it a love song about a passionate and tormented love affair. Basically I have long thought it was just a "smarter" version of this song by James. I like that song a lot too.

But on my run the other day I kept listening to Cohen's song over and over several times, compelled by the complex imagery and metaphor-- wanting to figure its meaning out. I'm a Lit nerd; poetry in particular. I like to do stuff like that. Besides, it certainly made the miles fly by having something to occupy my mind and distract me from how tired and sore my legs were after all my runs earlier in the week. It began to occur to me that perhaps it wasn't a love affair with another person but maybe it was just about life and the struggles we all face there--passion, despair. Certainly, as is the case with many great poems, there can be multiple meanings and only Cohen-- and I guess, ultimately Lorca-- know the true meaning. I just get to have fun trying to figure out the metaphor puzzle but never really get to know the true answer. Huh, just like everything else in life. . .

On Sunday afternoon I came home from a happy afternoon with my family to learn some very tragic news about an old classmate from high school. And ever since then I have grappled with the death of my old friend Spanky. I haven't seen Spanky since high school and had no idea of his struggles. The more I heard from friends who were close to him the more saddened and more horrific the news became. Emails and phone calls have flown back and forth all week. Everyone who knew Spanky is heartbroken for his family. My good friend Dogwood Girl blogged about it too. I will direct you there for specific details as I don't want to repeat what she has already said better than I could.

This morning I woke up, shuffled my kids to school and went straight out to run in the wonderful misty gloom on this eight year anniversary forever and always sad day of September 11th. Today's weather is my favorite kind of weather to run in and you would have thought my heart would be singing with every footfall.

My heart, my mind though were heavy; bereft even and mostly I was just trying to keep it together. I've been running with this despair all week. I've been methodical about it though. Keeping it locked down. I will feel the urge to cry rising and I will think: I will go run 20 miles and that will make me feel better. You know: just shake it off my shoulders; right out of my head. I'll leave it in the sweat; I'll liter it on the side of the road; toss it in the woods and wring it right out of my clothes afterward. However, whatever-- I will rid myself of it.

(I guess I just like to think that I have a better handle on my emotions than other people. And you know, if you've read anything on this blog, that I tend to think that a little running can solve just about every problem. Hence: because I run I've got it all figured out. Completely laughable. Not the running part--the part that I would have anything figured out.)

I didn't want my run to end. I wanted to keep running until I ran myself out and left once and for all this heaviness on the shining wet road. Leave it for the rain and the mist to carry and dissipate. I wanted most of all to find myself a few hours later sweaty, spent and hot in the sun. I wanted to be so exhausted, so bodily wasted that I could no longer cry, be sad or held in this tragedy's embrace. I know. That sounds like a lot to ask from an act as simple as running but sometimes the miles they can do it. It is rare that they have let me down. It is, after all, the thing that I do. Unfortunately I couldn't run myself out of the darkness today. Instead, I had to cut my run short and quickly dress myself for Spanky's funeral.

And I was so grateful that Leigh sat with me at the funeral. I had thought it didn't matter if I didn't have anyone to sit with. I would be okay. Let me just say this--if you go to funerals alone you are an insanely brave person.

I don't get to see Leigh much but she is always a comforting and calm person to be around. Pretty much the antithesis of me. Leigh and I managed to find some of the last seats at Roswell First Presbyterian in the balcony. Below and above it quickly became a standing room only funeral. And to that I can only say that when death finds me I hope the community will rally together for my family as it came together for Spanky's. Roswell has become such a big town but it is nice when you find those small town roots triumphing over the sprawl.

Since Spanky and I were not close and I had thought I had gotten my self purged of tears on my runs this week I thought I would hold it together. Also, admittedly, I do have a hard time keeping my mind focused in church; no matter the occasion. But as soon as the family filed in my stomach started knotting up and I began tying to think of other things to keep it together. It sometimes is easier to put and keep that clamp on when you just read words in an article or think of the tragedy in removed terms.I was no longer removed.

As soon as the readings began I began sniffling. I fanned my eyes with the program. And suddenly, Cohen's song was in my head. I have listened to it so much this week-- trying to divine the precise meaning-- that I am constantly hearing it, even seeing the lyrics. That first stanza in particular read like the scene I was looking at: Except instead of Vienna it was Roswell. And instead of 10 pretty women there was over a hundred women weeping, dotting tissues on the corners of their eyes--leaning on shoulder's, pews. And not quite a lobby with nine hundred windows but a church with many giant windows. And not a tree but a cross. But clearly to me was the piece that was torn from the morning; Spanky and his father. A family torn in half, not just a piece. And there I was with that damn clamp.

Too much. Too much. Understanding suddenly and not understanding it at all. How is that possible? It knocks the breath out of you.

Bless Leigh for passing me that tissue when the jaw, the heart came unclamped. You'd think that I could have at least brought my own tissues with me to a funeral but again, I had thought I would be okay.

Yes. I know I will be okay but I am forever heartbroken that Spanky was so consumed by an addiction and that addiction has irrevocably taken and damaged the lives of the people I know he loved. I am just sad. So sad and I feel terrible that I couldn't stay long after the funeral to say hello to all my old classmates or give proper sympathies to Spanky's family or even really say goodbye. It was just too hard. It was too hard to see so many people I have not seen in a decade or two and smile when I was so crushed; so undone by it all.

I can say no more about this. Cohen is right; it is all that there is.

Underachievers of the World Unite: A New Leader is Found

I imagine that if the underachievers of the world could motivate to get themselves organized and were to set out on a search for their leader as the Buddhists do for the Dalai Lama then I would come home from a run one day and find them all lined up outside my house; ready to administer a series of uncomplicated and incomplete tests on Beau to see if he is indeed the chosen one.

And undoubtedly he would be deemed the chosen one.


After all, I have to think, as the youngest child of parents, both classic underachievers themselves one with ADD (me) and one with Dyslexia (Ryan) it is his destiny. It is Carmella who is the surprise and if she didn't look so much like us I would think there was some kind of mix up at the hospital.


Two months ago I mentioned that I was going to make a "chore chart" and they would have to follow it. Beau's only comment was that the idea was "lame" but Carmella perked right up wanting to know how I was planning on organizing it and could she help? Would it be a big chart or a small chart? And she had lots of ideas of what could go on the chore chart and expressed how much fun it was going to be to have one. And at least once a week she asks me about the chart; when am I going to make it.

And just in case there are any other underachiever parents out there I found this website and the kids can earn points by doing chores and buy clothes for virtual kitties--or something like that. (Sort of like Webkinz world but you don't actually have to buy and populate your house with bazillions of stuffed animals.) I figure, hey, whatever can get Beau to brush his teeth, make his bed and pick up his toys. And yes I think this website is more of a motivator for the already motivated child but I couldn't find a "purchase arms and take over the world" reward chore chart. Weird how they wouldn't make something like that because that would totally motivate Beau.

I know I am being one of those parents who compare their children but really they are so vastly different it completely boggles me. I just don't even understand how I ended up with Carmella. She is an absolute mystery to me (and clearly an example of recessive genes.) I spent my life being threatened with "someday I hope you grow up and have a child just like you!" And then I get Carmella. The joke there isn't on me; it is on Lala. But then I had Beau and the universe evened stuff out and Lala got her karma.

Parenting Beau is like getting to watch a movie of my childhood but to protect my identity the role has been changed to a blond boy instead of a scragally haired spaztic little girl. And as frustrating as it is to deal with Beau at times I will admit there is bit of a comfort zone there for me; I wholly understand the grain from which he is cut.


By far the most frustrating aspect of parenting Beau has involved school. Unless you have a learning disability or you have a child that has a learning disability you can't begin to understand what it is like to have to deal with academic institutions. And, I have to admit that I feel like I am getting the short end of the stick here. I mean, I spent most of my life fighting an uphill battle in the school system because I am not one of those "traditional learners" and now I have to do it all over again with my kid. Big huge sigh.

I have known since Beau was 2 and we first discovered his speech problem (phonological processing disorder) that school was probably not going to be easy for him (or me). Add to that being one of the youngest in the class and you compound the problem. Red shirting him-- as many parents of boys with summer birthdays choose to do-- just wasn't an option since speech therapy was a priority--and academically he was "ready". Even socially, I was told, he was head of the curve.

Just to be clear, I absolutely do not regret sending Beau to kindergarten a few weeks after he turned 5 because we are now able to understand 100% of what he says. He made massive progress last year. More progress than he made in speech the previous 3 years combined. Beau going to kindergarten when he was 5 was the absolute right choice and so far not one single person at that school has told me otherwise.


So, to be clear, Beau's problem is not one of immaturity or not being smart enough and while there may very well be the ADD diagnosis looming in our quickly approaching future his immediate issue is one of compliance. And whether that is an aspect of ADD or just personality the fact of the matter (that I know all too well) is that in the school setting it does not matter. It won't matter if I hold him back a year or send him to a pricey private school or pump him full of Ritalin. He will have to learn to follow the rules.

I know and his teacher knows that he knows what to do; what is expected of him but often flat out chooses not to do it. Absolutely he is a high energy kid but I have seen him sit still; I have seen him listen and follow directions. But for who knows what reason, sometimes he really just doesn't want to do as told and often will expend more energy trying to convince some one else to do it for him or even better; argue why he shouldn't have to do anything at all.

The beginning of every school year is the worst. I view it as Beau's "breaking in period." He is trying to figure out right away what and how much he can get away with. You'd think he would just know that every year the rules are basically the same; i.e: sitting still, following directions, picking up after yourself, doing your work etc. But he just can't help himself and has to try to see how little he can get by with. He even told me the first week of school that "the teachers go easy on the kids the first few weeks. I don't have to try so hard yet."

Every year I warn his teachers about his lack of compliance (along with the potential ADD possibility) and to please be extra strict with him. Boundaries and structure are Beau's best friend (and worst enemy). I warn them that he will try to charm them with kisses and hugs and by being funny. Don't fall for it, I tell them. But mostly importantly I explain: do not laugh or smile if you are cross with him. He reads body language before he hears words so you must not contradict what you say with your face. He will not take you seriously if you are fighting a smile.

I assure them that I will "fight the battles" at home but tell them that they will have to fight the battle at school with him. He isn't a bad kid but he is manipulative and likes to feel he is in control. Some how he figured out early on that just because you have to follow the rules with one person doesn't mean you can't try to do it your way with another.

Nevertheless here we are a month into the new school year and Beau is back to his usual ways. He learned in preschool (and kindergarten) that you can get away with one naughty day a week so long as you are gold the other 5 days. The idea of being golden all 5 days just has never occurred to him. If you can still get rewards on 4 days of good behavior why would you bother to be compliant all 5 days? That's just dumb.

I had to explain this to his teacher when she called me on Tuesday because Beau was on a "4". In his class they have a banana. It moves up and down the tree branches (numbered 1-5)based on their behavior that day. They start out each day at a "2" and if they stay there that means they had a "great" day. If they do something extra special they get to move up to a "1". The teacher explained that "1" is a rarity. Beau has been on "1" once so far. A 3 means they are not making the best choices and is a warning. You can redeem yourself and move back to a 2 by correcting your poor choices. I think most days Beau has to spend some time correcting his choices. A 4 means the choices were not corrected and you miss some of minutes from recess and you will get a note or a phone call home. 5 is just really bad and means a trip to the principals and possible being sent home.

Beau got on 4 the other day because all day he flat out refused to do his work. By the end of the day he knew that he was going to be in trouble when he got home and knew would have extra homework. Being on anything but a 2 means no Nintendo Ds and extra homework. My thinking is that if you are getting in trouble at school then you are not doing work and therefore need to make up for that at home. How much extra homework you have to do depends on how much trouble you got in at school. Beau knew he was looking at a long time of homework. For the record I do not take away playing outside. I think it is important for high energy people to get to run around. Instead I take away the privilege of being able to play with his friends on the days he gets in trouble. Playing alone is punishment for Beau. He loves his little friends.

Anyway, on Tuesday his teacher called me because Beau was very upset by the end of the day because he was still on 4 and knew he was in deep do-do. She explained what happened and even told me that he tried to bribe the student teacher with money to move his banana back up the tree. My first concern was that maybe the work was too hard for him but she assured me it wasn't--that he has been doing fine. I then addressed the ADD angle and that having to sit still can be incredibly difficult for him. She told me that she recognized that and allows him to move around the classroom provided that he is listening and not distracting other children.

So I sighed and apologized for him "taking more than his share of the teacher's attention" and assured her that he and I would be having a conversation. I also told her about his 4 "on" days and one "off" day each week. I told her I didn't support it but that has so far been his credo. And she said she could concede to one bad day a week with Beau. I think that is pretty terrible that Beau has manipulated not only me but also his teacher into accepting that he gets an off day. Do they have military school for six year olds? Cause I think that is what we need.

Well at any rate Beau made it through the rest of last week all on "2" so he was true to form with his one bad day. At dinner on Friday he further supported his "aim low" credo with this conversation:

Ryan, noticing a hand out on the refrigerator about the upcoming CogAT test. "Looks like you are going to have test next week Beau. You better try your best."

Beau, immediately stressed and surprised "What?! I got no test. First graders don't take tests!" hmm maybe he isn't paying attention . . .

Carmella pipes up, "It is for Target. If you do good on it you get to go to Target." Target is the talented and gifted program. A program I was never a part of and yet I am so clearly not only talented but also gifted. Extraordinarily so, I would add. Emphasis on the "extra" not the ordinary.

Beau, wide eyed and about to pee in his pants says, "You mean I get to shoot stuff?"

Carmella starts to explain that you get to go to extra projects and stuff but Ryan, stifling laughter quips "No, it means you have to do more work." Ryan was also not in Target either.

Beau, shrugs and says" Oh, well I am not going to try and do good on that test then."

I'm telling you, it has got to be genetic but I am trying to break the cycle. Granted, not with grand gestures; but baby steps--so to speak. This card carrying lifelong underachiever pushed the envelope with training and finished last week just over 73 miles. For the past six weeks I've been pushing my miles over my "50 miles per week" comfort zone and finally made into the 70's. I've tried the less is more approach to marathoning and now I am giving the more is more approach a try. Whether or not that equates success at Rocket City in December remains to be seen but hey, it is worth a shot. Maybe Beau will adopt a similar attitude. Hopefully it will be sooner for him that it has been for me.

Excuses Are Always Easy to Come By

There are always reasons why we can't do something, don't do something or didn't do something. Reason is just a kind word for excuse though. There is a saying: The person that really wants to do something finds a way; the other person finds an excuse.

I am the queen--okay princess, of finding excuses. I just can't help it: they come so easily. The tough part is seeing past the excuses to the object of my desire and reconciling what I have to do (and don't want to do) to make it happen.

A long time ago I dated a man who said to me, probably during some fight; "You always get your way." Now, I will maintain that this is absolutely irrefutably not true but yes; I do strive to get my way. I am sure he was trying to hurt me or make me feel guilty by making such a comment but mostly I was just perplexed by it: as I've always been under the impression that everyone wants to "always have their way". Why would you fault them for that--you know on being human? At any rate I didn't do the girl thing and apologize or feel guilty for "always wanting to have my way". I just said, "and your point?" It is easy to see why that relationship didn't work out.

Oh, and this is most definitely not to say that Ryan lets me have my way all the time. Most times I think we just agree or we bicker until the most stubborn one wins. And trust me, Ryan is more stubborn than me. I will admit though to being the more manipulative one.

I am getting off topic and taking this in a different direction. The point I am trying to make is that I struggle every second of the day with excuses to not do something. My inclination is ALWAYS to take the easy or lazy way out. I can always come up with an excuse. But I am certain that the path to success is not paved with excuses. As a result I have to have not daily but pretty much minute to minute pep talks to keep myself on track--on that path towards success.

It is no secret that I want to be a better a runner. There are certain things I am not willing to give up to be that better runner (beer) but I am willing to work really hard in training to get myself there. Right now that means consistently running and running more than I ran last year.

I have been on my way to 70 mile weeks and I am looking towards later this fall for some 80 mile weeks. I was hoping that this week would be my first week in the 70's this year (I had 2 weeks last fall in the 70's and ended up with an over training injury).

Unfortunately having a sick child this week derailed my run 70 miles plan. I tried my best to not use that as an excuse but fact of the matter is that my kids take priority and everything else has to fall to the side when they need me. Running is important to me but I am not so addicted that I can't separate out what should (and does!) take priority. And just because I do know where my priorities are does not mean that I will not grumble when I have to miss a run. I just cannot help that I am a little childish. In the end I do the adult thing but I do it pouting and stamping my foot. Unfortunately, it is unrealistic to say that I am immature at 38 so I think we should all agree that this is just a less than glamorous aspect of my personatalie.

And btw, Carmella is MUCH better. Thank you for your concerns. The tamiflu is working. She still has her cough but she has her appetite back, energy back, has no fever, no vomiting etc. And Beau luckily has not gotten sick-- nor me. Ryan is out of town so I assume he got out before the sickness got him.

So back to the point (I am getting there! You know it takes me forever)--I was on the right track to hit 70 miles this week. Sunday was a rest day. Monday I ran 15 miles, Tuesday I ended up running 10. My plan had been 6 and a swim but my shoulder still hurt (from trying to ski) and I figured if it was bothering me while I ran it was going to hurt like hell trying to swim. So I ran the time I would have spent swimming. Wednesday I was suppose to run with Kate for 10 or so miles at Kennesaw Mountain but I took Carmella to the doctor instead. Ryan was home in the afternoon and I managed to get 12 miles in. I had to bail on my planned 7 miles for Thursday since she was still sick and Ryan was out of town. And because of that I knew there was no way I could reasonably squeeze 43 miles in 2 days to hit 70 miles for the week.

And that's okay, I still have plenty of time to run 70 miles other weeks. But I still needed to stay on track and I couldn't afford to cut back mileage too much this week. Luckily Lala offered to watch Carmella today so I could get my long run in after all.

My plan all week had been 21 on Friday. Maybe a little more if I felt up to it. Last night my sleep was interrupted by my dog (who never barks at anything) barking her head off at 2 am. I got up to investigate and nothing. Crazy dog. Last time she barked--a couple of months ago--it was at a plastic bag blowing through the yard. Huskies are so weird.

At any rate I was up for a few hours trying to get back to sleep. 6 am came extra early today. I could already feel the no way can I run 21 miles today on so little sleep excuse forming. And then as I checked the morning's weather I could read the I do not want to run for 3 hours in the pouring rain and potential lightening excuse underneath the 100% rain and cloud with lightening icon. And the litany of excuses began to flow easily, quickly into my psyche.

They even came with a rant: I am so freaking sick of running in crappy weather! I have endured 6 long runs this summer in the heat, rain, humidity etc. I am tired of running shoes that are wet from monsoon rains or from the ridiculous amount of sweat that streams off my body. Wet shoes at the end of three hour run are freaking heavy. Not to mention the humidity makes you feel like you are running with 20lbs of wet towels draped over your body. I am tired of sucking it up; hardening the fuck up. Not to mention lightening storms are kind of a deal breaker for me. I am just scared I am going to get struck the whole time--because I do have that kind of luck--and I am, after all, a mother! I can't be risking my life like that.

So see, there was even the I can bail on this run because I hardened the fuck up all those other times.

Lala graciously offered to watch the kids Saturday so that I could do the run tomorrow in better weather. And see that right there is an example of an enabler of excuses. And enabler lets you feel okay about making excuses. And I will tell you it is okay to make excuses; you just need to own up to them and recognize them for what they are.

Luckily, I realized-- considering how this week has gone--that something else is bound to happen so I wasn't comfortable with my excuse being enabled. I could already see the potential building for more excuses. See, I do like sticking to my plan even if I constantly seek out reasons to not have to stick to my plan. I know. It is all very confusing!

It occurred to me-- as I weighed it out--that I did have another alternative; the treadmill at the gym. The longest I have ever run on the treadmill was about an hour and fourteen minutes. I was in a pinch that time and I needed to get a 10 mile run done. I think that was the fastest I have ever run 10 miles in training. Now, I do like the treadmill--for short runs. But I rarely make it an entire hour on there.

So the possibility of me ever doing a long run on the treadmill was an impossibility. I have often marveled at those that can do long runs on the treadmill. I have done marathons and long runs in every kind of weather: sub freezing, hot, humid, rainy, snow, ice --even under the threat of tornadoes. I think that alone says how much I do not want to do a long run on the treadmill.

I debated for an hour. Back and forth with rain, tomorrow, treadmill. And finally the treadmill won out. Today I decided that being bored for 3 hours sounded better than being wet, hot and miserable for 3 hours or potentially risking not getting it done tomorrow. Once I made my decision I made a deal with myself: 3 hours or 21 miles--whichever comes first. And quite honestly I didn't know if I had the will to do either.

I was very slow going getting to the gym. I even drove the speed limit. I walked as slow as I could possibly manage through the gym up to the treadmills without someone thinking I was injured. I even made eye contact with strangers hoping someone would chat me up--no one did. I kept looking around, hoping someone was there that I knew and I could stall even longer by passing more time making social niceties.

Then, once I made it to the aerobic area, I was like Goldilocks trying to find the absolute perfect treadmill that I would be able to stand for 3 hours. The first one I tried I wasn't happy with what was on the TV and got off after a minute. So I moved to the other bank of treadmills.

My gym is kind of hot--not as hot as outside but not as cool as I keep the air-conditioning in my house. And it gets kind of humid--all those sweaty people. And the treadmills are upstairs. But they do have these giant fans set up here and there around the aerobic equipment to help cool it down and circulate air. When I have the opportunity I will commandeer one and position it so it blows directly on my back. These fans are big and cumbersome and not at all easy to move. But they are totally worth it. They also keep the treadmill from looking like it is sweating right along with me.

There were two treadmills that would work that had view of the TV station I wanted to watch and close to a fan.(I of course had my ipod to listen to and all the people pretending to lift weights to watch but I need MANY distractions on the treadmill.) The only problem was that there was a woman on the treadmill next to my first choice. The fan I needed to use cord didn't quite stretch to my second choice. But I didn't want to bother the lady on the treadmill next to my first choice. In the past some people have gotten mad at me when I turned on the fan. They are the people who walk on the treadmill and read a book so I don't think they understand exactly how hot it can get. And the woman was there first. Also, since she was there first and I didn't know how long she was going to be there I thought it would be even more rude to get on the one next to her (when there were plenty of empty ones available) and sling my sweat all over her. Of course she probably would have gotten off sooner . . .

So I got on second choice treadmill with less ideal fan wind. I ran for about 6 minutes and the lady on the other treadmill left. So I switched and started over and adjusted the fan. Perfect.

I have to say once I finally got everything just right this turned out to be the most luxurious long run I have ever done. I didn't have to carry anything since treadmills have cup holders. I had the wind at my back. It was 15 degrees cooler than I have been running in. And, best of all; there were no hills! Save the Museum of Aviation marathon I have NEVER done a flat long run.

From my vantage point I could see the rain, which is always lovely to look at--I just don't enjoy running for several hours in it. I could also see pretty much the whole gym. And then the show The Doctors was on. I really didn't pay much attention to it but I do like looking at the hot doctor that is on that show. I don't know why the doctors I go to see don't look like that. Makes me feel a little cheated. I also had a view of Fox News.

The only real downside to this was that the treadmills at my gym shut off after 60 minutes. But this wasn't a huge problem since on my long runs I have to stop for water breaks, to pee or buy Gatorade. Lately, because it has been so hot, I've been stopping 3 times--sometimes for up to 5 minutes just so that I can make sure I don't spontaneously burst into flames. I am not kidding. 3 weeks ago I spent some extra time in Walgreens with as much of my body as I could get into their freezer.

My goal was 7 miles an hour. This is faster than I have been running 21 miles this summer but not faster than I was running 21 miles last spring/winter/fall. So it was a little optimistic and hence the "3 hours or 21 miles" deal.

First hour--once I finally got the right treadmill--was awesome. I tried to be conservative because I didn't want to wear myself out in the first hour. My first mile was a little over 9 minutes. And would be the slowest mile I ran today. The hour ended with me running 7.37 miles. About an 8:10 avg pace.

I hopped off because I dying to pee. Unfortunately the bathroom at my gym is down stairs but I figured that would help keep the blood flowing. I peed, ran back up stairs, did a few lunges and hopped back on.

Since I was good and warmed up I didn't need to start with the nine minute mile. I started at an 8:34 pace and pressed buttons up and down for the hour between 8:34 and 7:20 pace. I started having the GU I brought. I do better if I take it over a few miles. I had finished it by the time I got to 10.5 miles and I was super excited to be half way done.

I was feeling really good-- so good I started to get some wild ideas. I was thinking about how Joe Reger had run 23 miles the other day in 3:21. I started think I could totally beat that today! Kick his skinny, younger and fitter Ironman ass with my awesome treadmill in air conditioning run. Then I had the even grander delusion of running 26.2 miles, musing that maybe, you know if I really started to push it I could run a marathon PR today. On the treadmill! How cool would that be?! Awesome.

There was still that part of my brain that wasn't yet totally stupid and it finally piped up with a "why don't you wait until you start the 3rd hour before you think about such things."

I ended the second hour at 7.52 miles for an average 7:58 pace. I was pretty happy to be at that mileage and still felt pretty good. I hopped off the treadmill and did a few lunges. My quads were starting to sing a little and my knees were missing the hills but other wise I felt pretty good. No different than I have been feeling at that point on my long runs this summer.

I got back on and started into the 3rd hour. I started out at an 8:44 pace and it felt horrible. It made everything hurt. After the first mile I sped up. The 7:53 pace felt best; most natural but I was having to work kind of hard--harder than I normally work in the last miles (but then again lately I have not been running 7:53 pace at all during a long run). I played around the pace--going back down to 8:20 for a few minutes and then back under 8 minute miles towards 7:30 pace. It really felt more comfortable at a sub 8 pace than at 8:20ish. But it was hard--my heart rate was creeping up. I was getting tired and was getting "done" with being on the treadmill.

I started doing the math. How much longer and how much further? I added up the first 2 hours miles: 7.37 and 7.52. So 14.89. So 6.11. At first I estimated that I would probably hit the 6.11 that I needed to get to 21 miles in 53 minutes. Let tell me you at 23 minutes-- another 30 minutes sounded like an eternity so I started running as hard as I could manage just so I could get done.

I was getting sloppy. I kept spilling my Powerade all over me every time I took a sip but I still was holding the sub-8 pace. I was a constant clock watcher. My eyes darting from the minutes to miles and then pressing buttons and changing the pace, then changing the song on my ipod, back to changing the pace--anything to make it feel like time was passing faster. Finally I was almost to 6 miles and started to speed up and kind of just closed my eyes. Not really, but maybe. When I allowed myself to look I was at 6.07. It was like counting down to New Years Eve. I hit stop at 6.12--just in case my math had been a little off. Time? 48 minutes and 22 seconds. 7:54 average pace.

Holy Negative Split BatNat! 21 miles in 2:48:22! 8:01 average pace. I think the fastest I have ever run a 21 mile training run was in 2:53. So maybe, just maybe 3:20 at Rocket City isn't so unrealistic after all. But we'll see. I am just happy that I did not let the excuses win today. I know this is a tiny victory over them but hey at least I got one battle won this week. Now, I've got 15 more weeks of battles to wage.