The Negative Split

My Box of Rain

2012-01-03T18:25:00.002-05:00

I meant to write this post before Christmas. It was going to be titled: Gifts, Neither Bought nor Wrapped. I thought I would have time to write it because I was ahead of the Christmas game. But then, ironically so I guess, I got caught up in the mad pageantry of Christmas and didn't have time after all.

But then I thought, well okay it will be fine after Christmas. Belated Christmas gifts.

But then I had to take Christmas down and well, the next thing you know it is 2012.

And so it goes and then it is gone and then time just keeps on marching relentlessly forward.

I decided today though I wasn't going to let this one go. Not this box of rain, this box of . . .

wind and water -
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on
Sun and shower -
Wind and rain -
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame

It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare

But it's just a box of rain
--Grateful Dead, Box of Rain

The Thursday before Christmas I headed out for my weekly long run. Usually I do this run on Fridays but I had to do it on Thursday because my kids were out of school Friday and I had to get my house cleaned up so Christmas could come and wreck it. Everyone knows Santa doesn't visit the messy houses.

At least this is what I told my kids so they would help me clean.

I really didn't want to do my long run Thursday. The weather was yucky; warm and rainy. I had even contemplated running for 3 hours on the treadmill because I so very much hate running in the rain. It isn't the water or being wet part that bother me but the wet shoes. I hate it. I don't hate the treadmill, in fact I rather I like it but not so much for 3 straight hours of running.

I was in the unhappy of debate of the lesser evil: 3 hours in the rain or 3 hours on the treadmill. And worse, I felt pressured that I HAD to do my run that day. I don't like feeling like I ever HAVE to do anything. My instant inclination is toward rebellion. I am immature like that. Apparently I am not going to outgrow it either. It is a character trait. Not a good one either.

Really what it boiled down to was a bad attitude. As my favorite Milton quote goes: The mind in its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of Hell, and hell of Heaven. I checked myself and then the weather and it was something like 68 degrees and 99% humidity. I puzzled over what exactly 99% humidity was and decided to suck it up and run outside-- the gym was bound to be warm and humid too I figured. Might as well HUTU!

And just so you know; 99% humidity is rain.

So I headed out on my regular 21.25 mile loop. A loop that takes me on a tour of East Cobb. A loop that I have done so many times I have worn a groove in the sidewalk. A loop that is so familiar I could run it with my eyes closed. A loop that takes me past the house I lived in from the time I was 7 until I was 13 and past the middle school I attended and down roads that I have driven and ridden in cars since I was 7 years old. What I am saying is that for me it is familiarly uninspiring. It isn't bucolic scenery, gnarly wooded trail or a divine pristine meadow. It isn't new place or perfect place. It isn't ugly but it really isn't interesting. It is so, suburban. But there is, if nothing else, that memory connection-- that running past the familiars of my past, does in fact, jog the memory--pun, though weak, intended.

And so it goes, or rather went, as I ran up and down the rolling sidewalk hills, rain spilling over the brim of my hat as I dodged drivers who for whatever reason never look right when they go right. As I leapt over puddles my mind found a reverie. A story that bled into another story and entertained me for all of the 21 miles until eventually I found myself home: sopping wet, tired and tingling with happy. Nerve endings of my muscles connecting to memories and feelings. It was a feeling I could really feel.

The story is one that sits somewhere in a frame at my parent's house. I can see the newspaper article- weathered and yellowed behind the glass and dusty frame- but I can't read any of the details. But I know the story. . .

My great grandfather, Harold Legette, is a young Navy man. He is on a boat in an ocean; probably the Atlantic. I think that would fit his age and the right war best. I can't remember the date either but my mind is determined that it is in December. Possibly it is even Christmas Eve-- that would make the tale even better. It is night. I remember that detail specifically. My grandfather falls off the boat; swept over the rail by a wave. He thinks no one saw as he was tossed into the ocean and is certain he is as good as lost. Drowned. He floats there in the waters; buoyed up and down by the waves. I am certain it must be cold. He watches as the lights of his ship disappear into the night. He is floating in the wettest and the darkest of darkness. As the last of the ship's lights disappear it takes with it hope. It is replaced by helplessness. Despair and loss settle into his heart.

As he struggles to stay afloat in the dark expanse of the ocean he sees, in the distance, the light of the ship turning in the night: stretching its beams over the water and breaking up the pitch of black night. He watches as the light returns and finds him in the endless darkness. Someone must have seen him fall over board! He is saved after all! Not lost to the water or the unending darkness or the world and forever forgotten. He is lucky. He is found.

This is the story that explains some 60 years later why my great grandmother Ebie Legette insists to the 14 year old me that we have take the long way to my Aunt Boo's house. She doesn't want to walk next to the swimming pool that sits in between our house and Boo's. She is terrified of water. But the 14 year old me doesn't know that yet. I haven't found the framed article.

Instead, I think she is being a silly old person and I further shake her soul with my terrifying tales of swimming not only in swimming pools but up and down the brown murky water in the lake behind our house. She pats my arm that is hooked on hers and tells me she loved meeting my friends. My gaggle of friends-- probably Gina, Liz, Carrie, Brent and Sean -- I begrudgingly left behind at my house to walk my great grandmother back to Boo's house where she is staying.

She tells me I am lucky.

I am 14. I don't feel lucky. I am 14 and I know nothing of luck, gratefulness, want vs need, love or life for that matter. I am though enjoying my great grandmother's kind attention as we walk through the pre dusk darkness. This is so different than the attention she gave me as a younger child. The attention that alternated between hand swats for my "plundering" or shushing for my motor mouth.

I don't remember all of our conversation but I know before we reached Boo's back door she told me this: You are a lucky girl to have so many sweet friends. It isn't money that makes you rich. It is your friends and your family that make you rich.

I saw her to the door and ran home and forget those words for the better part of the next 10 years of my life. I found them again in grad school and was inspired to write a story about them.

And then I forgot them again.

I forgot them until I found myself on wet sidewalk in waterlogged running shoes with my mind lost to the deliciousness of a great run a few days before Christmas. I tried to hold onto those words; words wrapped up in nostalgia and tied tight with an endorphin bow. But I lost them again. This time to the obnoxious side of Christmas.

This is not to say I don't absolutely love that side of Christmas. I certainly loved seeing my kids giddy and over the moon from their gifts. And I love my new running clothes, Frye boots and NookColor tablet. I love all my new stuff! I have always been driven to wanting to own stuff. I still, at 40, when I should long know better; confuse want and need. I am, if nothing else, a material girl living in a material world. But certainly, as I am oft reminded, that my material wants and desires are often for naught because I am in fact, not rich.

At least not financially so.

I am, as my great grandmother said: Lucky. And I am rich--if friends and family and love are a commodity then most certainly, I am rolling in it.

So as everyone trudges forward into the New Year with their ambitions, their goals and their resolutions I continue with my original quest of why I started this blog in the first place and named it "The Negative Split". Sure, it would be nice to literally run the metaphor. But alas, I guess, that is the irony. I'm okay with irony. I rather like it.

Final thought is this though, for certain: I will never sandbag anything, and that includes life, just so I can do the second half better.

Savannah Marathon: Ripping the Band-aid Off

2011-11-14T07:47:00.001-05:00

On November 5, 2011 I ran my 15th marathon. The Savannah RocknRoll Marathon in the beautiful historic city of Savannah. It was my first marathon in the Master's division.
For those that don't care for the boring discourse and details here are the Cliff notes for the cheaters and short attention spans.

Finished In:

03:26:29

2116

Natalie Fischer

Marietta, GA

Age: 40 | Gender: F

Overall: 258 out of 4741 · Division: 5 out of 423 · Gender: 44 out of 2482

Pace	5Km	10 Km	10 Mi	Half	20 Mi	ChipTime	ClockTime
7:53	24:17	48:35	1:17:30	1:41:14	2:35:46	03:26:29	03:27:32

Here is the links to the photos and video: Link!
And my outfit:

Preface:

For the past few years , as noted in the sparse but all blog posts here, I have struggled with injuries. In 2009 I ran my 2 fastest marathons and since then I have had:

A humbling trail marathon
A "Did Not Start" marathon due to an ITBS injury on my left side and pleurisy infection.
A "Did Not Finish" marathon due to injury at mile 17
A disappointing and painful 3:41 marathon because (of a non running) related back/Si joint injury but nonetheless got me to Boston.
A sub par training cycle and disappointing 3:31 marathon due some hip problem on my right side--probably related to the SI joint injury.
A 3:55 "training" marathon that was my longest run before Boston for my shortest ever training cycle.
A fun Boston experience but nevertheless another sub par training cycle and subsequent 3:33 marathon finish due to the same nagging--now seemingly chronic-- hip problem.

I had told Steph on ride last winter that Boston was going to be my last marathon. I think I said something about giving up running completely and either getting fat or being a swimmer. Steph, of course didn't believe me and said all it would take would be one good race. Well Boston wasn't that race but I didn't give up.

Over the summer I worked on building back some miles and cross trained a lot. Like I don't think I had week since Boston that I didn't log at least 10 hours of exercise with the usual being 14 hours. In August I began training in earnest for Savannah. By mid October I realized that I was on the verge of my most solid and consistent training before any marathon I done. I hadn't been wearing a watch for any of my training so I didn't know where this put me in terms of what I could expect from the marathon--assuming I made it to the start line injury free. And with my recent history, I wasn't holding my breath.

Upon the advice of RW forumites I purchased a watch. I found that I was probably about where I was when I ran my pr of 3:28 in 2009. My hip still was a bit of problem but I was still able to train and was hitting every.single.workout I set out to do. I wasn't having to go do my turn on the spin bike because I couldn't run as much as I needed. I was able to do double runs instead of having to do double spins and an easy run. I didn't have to take an entire 2 weeks off and ride my bike because my hip hurt too much to run. Because, I could just run. It was so awesome. Running had finally taken me back!! And as a result. I got back together with my old friend time and pace. Data, like me, was making a comeback. Fingers crossed.

On my last longish run (16.25), about 2 weeks before the marathon, I was wearing my new old friend watch and realized that I was sort of just lallygagging it. And I realized that was because I was afraid. I was afraid to really run. I realized that I was always holding back, going easier and slower than I needed to because I was still acting like I was injured. And that was when I really realized: I wasn't injured anymore. 3 months of averaging 55 miles per week? Yeah. That is not an injured runner. So about halfway through the run I look at the watch and figure I am running somewhere in the 8:50s avg. And I tell myself: Rip the fucking band aid off already! You.are.NOT. injured. And so after the terrible steep and long hill end around 9.5 miles I dropped it and picked up the pace the entire way home. It was so awesome and felt so good to run hard and finish with so much left in the tank. Entire run was an avg of 8:20.

Then two days later? I ran a 5k PR (20:39) ! My first pr at any distance since April of 2009. With that I felt I had pretty good chance of running a pr at Savannah. If it was a prefect day I thought sub 3:25 might even be likely. So my goal was to pr but shoot the moon and go for sub 3:25 if the stars were in precise alignment.

I'll advised, but nevertheless I PLANNED to run positive split. I felt this was assurance for a pr and possibly 3:25. My goal was to hit the half in 1:42xx and then hold on for as long as I could. The only times I have run under 3:30 I hit the half in 1:42xx and 1:41xx. When I have tried to run even or negative splits and hit the half in the 1:43-45 range I always come in over 3:30. The way I saw it I had nothing to lose. I don't plan on running Boston and even if I did, I know I can blow up and hobble out 2 hour second half. My only option was to go for broke. At this point, I really didn't care if I got broken in the process. I have learned, that with time, I can fix me.

Chapter 1: Best Laid Plans

I wanted a perfect day in Savannah. And I was going to do what I could to make that happen by controling the things I can control. But then a week or so before the race I began to lose my mind in obsessing over the things I couldn't control. Things I couldn't control, i.e; weather,being late because of traffic, shuttles or getting lost, starting my period, food, illness etc-- that would ruin my plan of having a perfect day. Because in my mind, I had ZERO shot at a pr if it wasn't a perfect day. I felt my training, while good, was weighing on the thin line of not just not quite good enough.
Ryan and the kids were staying home for this race and it was to be a girls weekend. Steph, her sister in law Michelle and I rented a little house on Tybee.

Originally I wanted to stay in town but all those hotels/condos were gone by the time I registered in June. After much communication with the rental places on Tybee it was determined that there would be shuttles to get runners to the race. Since this was inaugural event I tried to make all my control freak plans with the idea that if it could go wrong it would go wrong. In that case you pad everything timewise. We bought early shuttles tickets--5:30 am pick up. Planned to go down to Savannah Thursday at lunch time. Hit expo. Go to Tybee. Spend Friday chilling and eat an early dinner that I would cook at the cottage. Eat at 6 and in bed by 8pm. Wake up at 4 am. Be at shuttle at 5:10. Go to race and run an awesome Pr. That was the plan.

Chapter 2: Thursday
After a week of mad packing, laundry and organizing where kids would go after school Thursday and Friday and organizing their weekend plans, I was ready to roll. I picked up Steph and Michelle and we were on the road to Savannah by 1 pm.. As we are packing up the car, Doug tells me he got child care for the kids and will be coming down on Friday after he takes them to his parents. I admit that I was a little jealous that Steph will have her husband there to support her but I've run many a marathon unsupported so it doesn't bother me that much.

It was a rather uneventful drive with the exception of my freaking out about my newly sprouted cold sore. I knew this meant that I was stressed, maybe about to get sick (my nephew had strep) and/or start my period. I tried many times to remind myself to NOT worry about the things I couldn't control. I tried but I was still totally wigging the fuck out.

We go to the expo with time to spare despite my usual navigation challenges. We picked up our numbers. Said Hi!~ to our friends Kate and Joe manning the Big Peach booth.

The cottage was perfect and we unpacked and went to dinner and got to bed by 9pm. Everything, I thought as I drifted to sleep, was going as I would have hoped. Even the weather was looking ideal. . .

Chapter3: Friday is where it all went to hell
I woke up Friday morning happy. I even got to sleep until 7:30! That never happens. No one is up for a run with me so I go solo. It is a crisp and beautiful morning and I feel awesome. I take this picture around the corner from our cottage when I head out on a road between the marsh to the beach.

When I got to the beach it occurs to me that this wind might be a big problem if it is this windy on Saturday. But, I think, surely it will die down before then. I run happy down the sidewalks of Tybee's maindrag. See Kate heading to the expo and wave to my friend. This is a great day!

And then, it starts to crumble. Ryan calls and is frustrated and overwhelmed. He is having a stressful day at work and takes it out on me. I fall apart a little. I try not to let it bother me and move forward with the days plans: Take Steph to the expo, go to the store, eat lunch , relax and make dinner and go bed and wake up and kick some ass.

Michelle doesn't come with Steph and I to the expo. She didn't sleep well and wants to take a nap. She also tells us that her husband has surprised her and is also coming down later that day and will be at the race to cheer her on. I am happy for her since this is her first marathon but I am really beginning to feel like the fifth wheel and also feel a little sorry for myself that no one will be cheering me on or waiting for me at the finish.

I have fun at the expo since I don't have to worry about getting my number and shirt and official stuff. We are there early enough that it isn't so busy. I run into quite a few friends too. Here is my dear friend Desiree who I rarely get to see:

And here is Steph manning the GU booth. She is the cutest.

I wander around the expo trying to find a 3:25 pace band. I can find 3:20 and 3:30 bands but the 3:25 does not exist. A few people encourage me to try for 3:20 but that would be a fool's mission. So I decide that I will just write a few check points of 3:25 in sharpie on my arm. I had printed out a pace sheet from this website that planned a slow start, fast middle and slow fade at the end to get me to 3:25. Which really I want sub 3:28 but I think I can do 3:25 on a perfect day.

I am tired of the expo and try to convince Steph to come with me but she is having too much fun volunteering at the Gu booth and decides to stay. She says she will catch a ride with Lisa who is coming to eat with us at the cottage.

So I leave and go the store and buy food for dinner and return to the cottage. I am still feeling emotionally fragile and nervous. I am still upset that my husband is having a bad day and I am off doing selfish things and feel that probably I shouldn't even be here. Then I decide I am probably just hungry and Michelle and I go to lunch:

After a beer and some tacos at the Social Club I feel like things are looking up.

Michelle and I go back to the cottage and her husband and son show up. He takes her off to see Tybee and I am left alone. I get everything ready for tomorrow--outfit, check bag, gu's etc. Then I read a little and try to sit outside on the swing that overlooks the marsh but it is too windy. Afterwhile I decide to start dinner. It is after 5.

By 6:00 dinner is pretty much ready but Lisa has been stuck in traffic since 4 and still not at the expo to pick up Steph. I do the math and realize even if she gets to the expo now and runs in and gets her number she still isn't going to be at dinner until after 7. During this time I realize I have just started my period. I have a headache, back ache and cramps and need to eat dinner. I proceed to have a complete melt down. Michelle is kindly trying to peel me off the ceiling when Doug arrives. Men love shit like that right? Doug and Michelle convince me to eat dinner and Michelle advises me to take an Alleve. I do both. By now it is almost 7:30 and Lisa and Steph are still not here. I cover up dinner so they can eat when they get to the cottage. Then I get ready for bed, put my ear plugs in and go and lay down and read my book.

I hear them come in around 8. I tell them where all the food is and go in my room, turn out the light and try to sleep. I am pretty sure perfect day is gone. I am so sad because I am quite honestly tired of training to have a sub par marathon experience. I sleep fitfully and the thought that keeps me up is why can't I ever have the perfect day? Woe is me. The universe hates. Trust me. I don't even like me. Pathetic.

Chapter 4: Race Day is Here. Sigh.

At 3:30 am I start contemplating if I can get up yet. I don't want to lay there anymore. I want to move this day forward. At 3:45 I get up and turn on the coffee maker. In the process I wake everyone up. I go ahead and get in the shower since I know Steph will also want to shower before her race. I get dressed. Drink coffee.I eat a bagel with salt and peanutbutter. Have some Uncle Sam's. I feel like crap. Cramps. Aches. I am sad because my plans did not include starting my period 4 days early. I've done many long runs on the day I start and they always suck. I have never had a good run ever on the first day. I feel resigned to my crappy marathon fate. I am annoyed that all that great training comes down to this: Stupid girl crap.

Doug tries to cut the nervousness ( I really don't know what he was thinking stepping into a house with 3 women about to run a race.) He encourages me that I can run a pr today. I have absolutely no faith in this notion but nevertheless I write up some of the 3:25 splits on my arm. This is what I write:

Mile 1: 8:18

Mile 4: 31: 49

Mile 8: 1:02:48

Half:: 1:42:21

Mile 16: 2:04:44

Mile 20: 2:35:50

Mile 24: 3:07: 21

And then on my left hand I write "Believe" and on my palm I write "You can." Not you can finish or do it but rather you, Natalie, can believe in yourself. Even writing it I know I don't buy it at all but maybe when I am stupid in mile 23 I will. For good measure I write HTFU on my right hand.

Chapter 5: Get on the bus!

We are the first people to arrive at the shuttle stop and are first in line. I start worry though that I won't be on the first bus out. I go talk to the guy organizing the buses. I tell him I want to be on the first bus to leave and want to know exactly which bus that will be. He tells me that whatever bus I get on he will make sure is the first bus to leave. I can't tell if he is teasing me but the bus I got on was in fact the first bus to leave.

Once we finally get on the bus and are all seated the driver asks "Does anyone know how to get to the start?" Everyone giggles, nervously. Then he says, " I am not kidding. I also can't read the signs in the dark. I need someone to tell me how to get to the start and read the signs for me."

Holy fuck do I ever panic. I am ready to bolt off the bus right then but I am blocked by a gentleman who by his accent I can tell English is not is first language. He is also a lot bigger than I am so it would take some gymnastics to get quickly around him. Luckily someone volunteers with their GPS and we are soon off. I am sick to my stomach but the nice gentleman who English is not his first language completely distracts me. We chat all the way until the bus comes to a stop and we have arrived. It is just a little past 6 am! Yay! Early. Now what the hell am I gonna do for an hour and half.

Michelle runs off --to where I am not exactly sure but she is all the sudden in a hurry. Steph and I huddle close and make our way to the potties. We wander around together and I whine and complain about how horrible my race is going to go. I try to divine it right then for her: First I will line up with Joe and he will be all happy and fresh because he is young and faster than me. And I will try hard to keep up but will be sad because I know I can't do it. Then around 14 miles my tampon will fall out and then a few miles later I will bonk and shuffle sadly the final miles a filterless mess. Steph is laughing but I? I am pretty certain that is how it is going to play out. I do feel better talking about it though.

Chapter6: Potty Like a Rockstar

We meet up randomly again with Michelle and she informs us that Brook's "Potty Like a Rockstar" is broken. The generator is not working. Figures. We are all together for bag drop but then I lose them both shortly after. It is only 6:30 and I am regretting dropping my bag. It is pretty cold and windy. I still have my pants that I plan to toss. I wander down to my corral. It is empty. The volunteers are dancing. I dance with them and talk to them about the specifics of corral 2. Which is the front? Which is the back? How long do we have to wait, etc. Suddenly I notice across the street a bar. It looks open! Holy shizzle!!! I dance across the street and stick my head in the bar. "Can I come in here?" And several people call out, You sure can! Holy crap, I say, this is AWESOME. I am so amazed that a bar is open at 6:30 in the morning. I ask the bartendar all kinds of questions of what can I have:

A beer? Yep.

A Martini? Yep.

Wow.

We also have coffee and juice, can I get you anything?

Uhm, can I just have water?

Several people laugh. I get my water and cozy up to the bar and strike up a conversation with a man wearing a M dot jacket. He is doing Savannah as a training run for some goal marathon he has next weekend. Huh. Everyone is more hardcore than me. He takes my picture:

And in this cozy warm bar I enjoy small talk with other runners and a bathroom cleaner than a porto potty. Potty like a Rockstar indeed!

Things, I think, are looking up! At 7:23, with pockets stuffed with Motrin and gu, I walk out the bar door and hop in corral 2.

Chapter 7: Ready Set Rock and Roll

I instantly find Kate and Joe. I hug them both. Kate is tired from working the expo for the past 3 days and Joe is promising me that we won't go out too fast. . . 8:18 I tell them for the first mile! Okay they say!

And suddenly it is 7:30 and we are off!!

It is still predawn darkness and everything feels horrible. First mile is always the worst. I try to focus on things around me and listen to whatever Joe is talking about. 90's hip hop I think. Or is it chicken and waffles? I don't know. It all sounds terrible. Everything is terrible.

And mile one is done... 7:35

We have to slow down! We have to slow down! I yell at them. Too fast!

Mile 2 8:01--yay! back on plan.

Mile 3: 7:44 Okay. I tell Joe I think I am getting a side stitch. Blow out, he says. I do and it goes away. Huh, cool. Thanks Joe!

Mile 4: 7:59 not sure what happened there. Aid station I think. My foot hurts. I am not going to beable to do this. Negative thoughts abound. Kate and Joe are talking, running on either side of me. I put my head phones in and try to chill out. It is going to be just like that time a few years ago in August and we all three ran 18 at Kennesaw. I got dropped and sweated so much I sweated out my cell phone that I wearing on my wrist.

Ugh, I wish my cramps would go away. This sucks.

I check my arm. We are just under my goal. Huh. Maybe this isn't so terrible. Maybe it is okay. Maybe. . .

I think this is the "ghetto" portion. A guy comes out of his row house wrapped in a blanket. He is drinking a Miller Lite out of the can. It is 8 am. Awesomeness! Pretty sure he looks drunk. Hair of the dog, yeah baby! Now this is a Rock n Roll marathon!

Mile 5: 7:48 Hmm, starting to feel like maybe I want to run a marathon today. I think we see Joe's wife over here. Hey Sarah!

I have a gu.

Mile 6: 7:37 too fast. But it feels so good!

Mile 7: 7:48 just perfect

Mile 8: 7:43
Still ahead of where my arm says we should be. I am a little worried but man this course is FLAT!!

Think this is through downtown Savannah. I am having flashbacks of Boston. The streets are stacked with spectators. It is awesome. I feel like I am flying.

Mile 9: 7:34
Feeling like a rockstar! Joe peels off to pee. I realize that I am going to need a bathroom stop too. Probably the kind of bathroom break I have never had to have in race at any distance I have ever done. I am trying not to freak out about it. It is really too embarrassing of a topic to share so that alone is what keeps me quiet about it. (And yet, I openly discuss it here. I am sure my mother is mortified. Apologies.)

Mile 10: 7:38
Kate and I are running through a pretty area. I am so happy to have my friend here with me. Things in my GI tract are not behaving and I feel crampy. Stupid, stupid hormones. Too soon stop. Plus I need an open porto potty. I am not wasting time waiting in line.

Mile 11: 7:37
Joe catches back up. He must have booked it. I am impressed and know that I won't be able to do the same after I stop. Must hold it off. Maybe it will go away.

I have my second gu.

Mile 12: 7:39
The half is peeling off. I look at the guy running next to me. I guess he thinks I am checking him out. I tell him I am checking his bib to make sure I am going the right way. He tells me he likes my pace. It is faster than he planned he explains, but it feels good. This is his first marathon. I don't want to tell him that is not really a good sign. We talk for a bit and his recent half marathon suggest this is actually not a bad pace for him. I point out Kate to him and Joe who right in front of us. I tell him to stick with them. I am going to have to stop for the bathroom soon and they are more likely than me to get him to the finish at this pace than I will be.

I think this is our first tour on the highway. You know I am never good on specifically what happens when in a marathon. I mean, this was supposedly a marathon that had a band every mile. I don't remember a single one of them.

Things that I note on the boring tour of concrete: is that the wind is at our backs and I also notice that at mile 23 we will be on this highway again and the wind, if it keeps up, will be in our face. And I further note: that is going to be a problem. I see that the second tour won't end until mile 24 and I am not sure when it begins.

Ugh.

I'll say this as a former lit major I have long noted the importance foreshadowing can play in story but often if you are not careful, you'll miss it. In this case I didn't miss it. Miles 21-24 were not the surprise for me that I think they were for some. I knew it was coming what I didn't know, or rather underestimated, was how much they would suck.

My pressing bathroom issue was starting to get desperate. No porto potties in sight. I start contemplating my mittens and a bush. Bushes look prickly. Let's hold out til the half. Surely there will be a bathroom at the half.

Mile 13: 7:36
I have surged ahead of both Joe and Kate. Bathroom bathroom bathroom.

Half: 1:41:14
I am actually thrilled to be ahead of goal. And luckily there is porto potties. I sprint for it. It is a bit off the course so I have to run a little extra to get to it and jump the curb.

Ugh. Horrible. I just watch my time rolling away and there is nothing I can do about. And worse, my divination has come true. I am now "filterless". It really isn't that big of deal but the potential for a mess is there. Either way, definitely NOT my idea of the perfect day. But it will probably be okay. If nothing else I am not really motivated to get this done. As I run out of the porto potty a man yells, "Go get em girl!" Embarrassed, I think about Uta Pippig. Stuff like this even happens to the pros. Well, in her case I guess she didn't stop. I am not that professional. I mean, no one is going to give me money and laurel wreath when I finish this thing. No need to be totally gross, right? (oops, too late. sorry!)

Mile 14: 8:52
I must have been sprinting hard because my legs start to feel heavy. Not a good sign at 14. I decide to have my gu early and pull back some. I am disheartened that I ran that hard and my mile was still that slow. Too long of a bathroom break for sure.

Mile 15: 7:34
Trying to catch up to Joe and Kate. I see Kate first on this little lollipop. Then I see Joe behind her. By the end of the mile I catch Joe! I am super excited.

Mile 16: 7:54
Dying a little at the beginning of the mile. Joe says it is fine. We are just under 3:25 pace. We can even slow down a little, he says. I am hot and Joe offers to take my arm warmers. Butterfly arm warmers look pretty on Joe.

Mile 17: 7:41
Screw this going slower crap.I am feeling good again. Let's catch Kate. Joe thinks I am nuts. He says, we can't even see her. She is gone. No she isn't, I tell him. She only a little ahead. I saw her! He doesn't believe me. But me? I like to have something to chase. I mean what else do we have to do. Besides. I need to get this marathon done. It could get really messy.

I pick it up and Joe doesn't come with me on my fool's mission.

But me? I rip the band aid off for good. Let it hurt and make it quick.

Mile 18: 7:37
I see Kate. Joe was right. She does seem really far away. But I like chasing her. It isn't that I really want to talk to her but seeing her up ahead gives me something to focus on. What I would like is to run all the way to finish 20 seconds behind her, chasing her all the way home.

Mile 19: 7:48
Kate is closer. Uh oh. She might be slowing. Noooo... I have another gu and hand one to gu who looks like he is pretty desperate for one. He manages a thanks.

Mile 20: 7:54
I catch Kate.

I am so happy to be with my friend but sad that the chase is over. But worse is I can see she is having a hard time. She says she is mad. Her legs are done she says. Arghh, expo legs. I feel bad and try to rally her. I offer her a gu.

I am surging ahead and she is falling back. I keep glancing over my shoulder and she is there but not trying to stay with me. This makes me sad. Kate is an amazing runner. A far stronger runner than me so I know she is having a bad day and I hate that for her. I have a hope that she will rally or will probably catch me when I run into the bonk in a few miles. I feel fine but I am certain it is going to go like a light switch at any moment.

I am spot on pace for a 3:25 finish. I know that is not going to happen and that is okay but I really want to pr so the further I get from 3:25 the harder the pr will be to get. I mean 3:25 could but I can tell I am slowing and I just never really 3;25 was going to happen today.

I feel good but my legs are on the verge of a cramp. I can feel the preliminary twitching that will proceed full on calf cramps. Pushing the pace any faster is going to be a disaster. I start doing my late in the marathon math to figure how slow I can run per mile and still nab a pr. I come up with 8:30. I figure if I keep the final 6 under an 8:30 pace I will skate in with a pr--albeit a very small one. But a pr is all I really wanted. I also know I probably need to run faster than that since I am not really all that great at math.

My cardio is strong. If my legs weren't being so dumb and fat I could totally run faster. My hip doesn't hurt, my cramps are gone (I think I scared my period away), my ITband is happy, and my Achilles is fine, grr, but those dang calf muscles are on the ledge.

Good news is I am passing a lot of people that had passed me after the half. I know it isn't very nice and I know I am fading too but it does make me feel better that I am doing better than most of the runners around me. But I also know that just because I am not bonking at 20 doesn't mean it won't happen. A lot can still happen in that final 10k, and usually does.

Mile 21: 8:06
We turn onto the Truman Parkway. AKA the highway of broken dreams. It is a bit of hill but the news isn't the tiny hill but rather the 20mph headwind. Holy mother of fuck this is worse than I thought it was going to be.

Up ahead, in the distance I see a very muscular black woman. She looks amazingly powerful, not your usual distance runner physique. I wonder if I can catch her. She becomes my new carrot and the focus that is going to get me the fuck out of this concrete jungle. Asap!

Mile 22: 8:04
The wind is hideous. Still in 3:25 range but it is slipping towards 3:26. I try running over near the concrete barrier to see if the wind will be less there. Nope, no different. I make the decision to ease pace. I rationalize that I need to run for effort at this point and effort wise the low 8's are feeling like 7:20's and that is going to be a recipe for ugliness in another mile or 2. I figure, hope 8:30s will be my best bet. It won't be easy but it will be faster than walking and less of battle than it is to hold the low 8's or try for sub 8's. Hopefully with 8:30s I won't totally extinguish my match. I know, I have 2 more miles because I saw the 24 mile maker at the highway exit earlier on the course but I am still hoping that I am wrong and we actually get off this damn highway before then.

I eat half of a gu.

Mile 23 8:27
Ughhh. It is so awful.

An 8:27 mile felt like an eternity! It is runner carnage out here. People are walking, vomiting, some are leaning on each other. I just have my head tucked down and am trying to make myself as "aero" and as efficient as possible. Focus is on form and my turn over. I try drafting by tucking in behind the taller male runners I come upon but it doesn't help at all. Everyone is so spread out. I really want to walk but I keep telling myself walking will make it last longer.

I finish off my gu.

Mile 24: 8:22

I see the clock. I lost the 3:25 pace. With only 2 miles left I can't make up a minute now. I guess I am on 3:26 or over but do the math and know if I stay under 8:30 I can still narrowly pr and faster and I might can break 3:27. I check my hand, believe that I can, and I go for it.

Mile 25: 8:11

Stupid legs! Go faster!

I really don't remember much about this mile. During this mile I do see a sign that says "2k to go" and I puzzle about it. And then I think about the littlest cross country kids and that is their race distance. If they can do it, I can do it!

It is hard to pass people. The half marathoners are fenced off on the other side of the road but they have more of the road than we do. The marathoner side is narrow. I am stuck behind this woman and this man. I really want to pass them but that would require a lateral effort that I just don't think I can manage at this juncture. Suddenly, the man and woman part to allow me to pass. I am surprised and happy and decide I should make a good showing for their nice gesture. I drop it with all I have got for the last 1.2 home...

Mile 26: 7:57

I am grimacing and smiling and elated. Finishline Finishline! Where are you! I see my carrot again. I am on the hunt for her. Miles and time are running out on me. We turn the corner. Hammer, hammer, hammer, catch her, catch her!!! I will not stop trying!

Mile 26.2 1:36
The chute narrows even more and I swear everyone else is slowing down. I am passing people left and right. Why don't these people run faster? The faster you run the sooner you are done! I weave around people and finally! I catch her and the 10 seconds later pass under the finishline with 3:26 firmly on my watch. A 2 minute pr! I am so happy!

So Savannah was not my prefect stars align marathon by any stretch. It was definitely not my perfect day but I made it work. While before the race I definitely let the little things get the better of me. But during the race I did not let the things that I could not control ruin me and keep me from running the best race I think I had in me that day. I came to Savannah to run a pr and I did.

What is most amazing to me is that 15 marathons and I still experience and learn something new every time I race. It still isn't old hat.

*************************************************************

Here is me and Steph in the post marathon after glow. I luckily found Steph right as she finished. Pr's all around! 3:55 for her!

I had been wandering around like Milton looking for my red swingline stapler after I finished. My phone was dead and I couldn't find anyone I knew and was on the verge of another wigout. So it was very fortuitous that I found her. We got her bag, changed in a coffee shop that also served beer--, got me a beer, her some coffee-- and went off to see everyone else finish. I didn't have my phone or camera so I wasn't able to take any pictures. (insert sad face) The above is one Doug took when we finally found him a few hours later. It was pretty exhausting walking around after running ( I swear I walked 5 miles after finishing) but I really think it aided in my recovery. My tinman hobble was pretty minor after this one.

The day ended well with pizza and more beer at Hucapoos on Tybee. Here is Steph and Doug and Harvey .

The End.

Thanks for reading, that is if you made it all the way through.

I know...

2011-09-23T09:47:00.000-04:00

I keep checking too. So weird how these things don't just write themselves. Apparently, you actually have to sit, put thought into it, somehow organize all those ideas and thoughts, then type them out, format, edit and well, I guess, click "publish." So hard.

There could be excuses. ..

Like what?

Well, I could say I've been busy...

With what?

Well, okay. That. That's a fair question.

Like, there has been a good bit of this:
(woohoo vacation!)
Hilton Head Island, SC (Sea Pines, of course!) 4th of July

Luxamping at the Lake Alatoona (Sweetwater Campground!) June and other times. Note: This is not our camper but Ryan's brother and wife's camper. They really like our kids so we get invited frequently since we are pretty much a package deal.

Cape San Blas, FL! End of July! Awesome vacation.

The Family (said with Godfather intonation)

Destin--adult trip.August. Ryan's 40th birthday It rained. We still, of course, had fun.

My sister Pookie and her husband came with us to celebrate. We had t-shirts made:

And of course, I have been hanging with these clowns:

They keep me busy, distracted and well, bamboozled might be the best word. Who can blog under those conditions? Really.

And well, let's be honest. There has definitely been some of this:

Oh, and in July....

I turned 40.

My mom?

She made that hat for me.

Ryan even threw me a surprise party. In June.

And yes, I was very surprised! Really. About time . . .

Mom, Pookie and Me.

And yes, I do think it is wrong that my mom looks the same age as me. But, and here I go tossing her under the bus, she is 61 though. Pookie is the baby.

George Rhodes made my cake. He makes all my important cakes. That is my shout out to Rhodes Bakery.

Okay.In seriousness. My summer blog hiatus and lack of Boston race report (as if anyone really cares) is not all birthday cake, beach, tequila and bathing suits. There has been a good bit of this stuff too:

About a week after the Boston marathon Ryan, my sister, Celina and I did the 100K Gambler Ride.It is part of the Terrapin Twlight Criterion Festivities. Next year I hope to do the Twiathlon and the Miracle mile. That is the 5k run, the 100k bike and the Terrapin brewery tour. The miracle mile isn't a sure thing since you have to qualify for it in the 5k so we'll see if that happens. If I qualified it would require some pacing at the brewery I might not be totally comfortable with so I may have to re-evaluate my ambitions come next spring.

Anyway the Gambler ride is called such because it winds around the outskirts of Athens, Ga (go Dawgs!!) and goes past Kenny Rogers place. And this will come up in my Boston race report (you know, if I ever write it) but because of the ride's route I had been working on memorizing the song The Gambler.

You know, so I could sing it for my fellow riders. To be certain, they did not appreciate my vocal talents.

Then May came along and I found myself alone on the weekend of the 14th. Kids were off at playdates and sleepovers, Ryan was hunting and all my friends were off doing triathlons, bike races, the Warrior Dash or some fun trail marathon. So I tried to get in that fun marathon. But Becky said, sorry we're full. (thank goodness. What was I thinking?) So I found myself an Olympic triathlon and did that instead. My friend Shannon was doing it too. Here us at the finish.

I think it is totally wrong that I had had time to change and clean myself up a bit and Shannon still looks way cuter.

Admittedly, I was pretty under trained for a triathlon. Certainly the run fitness was there and I had been cycling. But swimming? uhm no, not really since my last triathlon in July of 2010. I did swim a mile the few days before the race just to make sure 1.) I could still swim and 2.) what that distance would feel like. As no surprise my swim was sub par and so was the bike ( I had a tiny mechanical issue) but the run was spectacular. And really that was all I cared about. Not a single person passed me on the run and I ran down at least 3 girls in my age group too. It ended up being a 2 minute pr for the Olympic distance with 2:43. I walked away with 4th in my age group ( I even got hardware!) and also a qualification for age group nationals.( But everyone can rest easy. I won't be going.) Most of all I had really fun race.

In May also did a fun (okay fun is relative term here) charity ride concocted by Steph. 100 Miles to Nowhere. I will admit that the route was my idea and when you have ideas like that you deserve what you get. . . I bailed at 74 miles. The ride ended up being 100 miles with over 8,000 feet of climbing. I just didn't have the bike fitness to do that or the stamina for the heat.I completely lost my marbles that day. You can read Steph's report of the ride here.

This year I also ran the Peachtree Road Race 10k.

This is never a good race for me. Hot, humid, hilly, 4th of July in Atlanta . . . but it is the biggest runner's parade ever and it is fun even if I always suck it.

This year I ran it with Steph so that made it better.

Even if she ditched me in the first mile. . .

But that's okay. I am happy to see my friend pr. She certainly has earned it! (Go IronSteph!)

I finished in 44:59. I was gunning for 44 flat. Oh well. Still racing (and training) without a watch, by the way, so running blind like that you get what you get. I certainly felt like I was running 7's but obviously I wasn't. I really thought at any moment I was going to burst into flames. That sort feeling just kind of slows me down. Weird.

Steph and Doug kindly waited for me at the finish so we could run back to the start. It was so fun and best of all we got to witness the Peachtree's pageantry at its best. The costumes, the clowns and huge wave of humanity that rolls from Buckhead to Midtown. Okay, even better . . We even got FREE beer!!!!! 420!!!! My favorite! Sure we had to run straight across the wave of humanity to get to the beer but it was worth it. So hey, why did the runner cross the road? To get to the FREE beer!!! duh.

Somewhere after the beer Doug and I lost Steph. When we got up the hill into Buckhead Doug stopped to wait for her and I ran on. By the time I got to the last mile--which was the first mile--back to the start I found myself all alone on Peachtree Road running back to the start. It was pretty awesome. (This is me on my way back to the Intercontinental Hotel after running to back to the start. So it was a total of 13+ miles for the day. Not bad with a hard 10k for the first half).

Ryan and the kids were waiting for me at the hotel and got some pictures. So on my way back? I did a cartwheel. In the middle of Buckhead on an empty Peachtree Rd. It was awesome.

And then, yeah, I turned 40 a few days later. So that was my last race ever in the "open" division. I am, er uhm, "The Master of my Domain". (wink wink, nudge nudge.) . . .

No, not by a long shot.

But so far the two races I have done have earned me first female master so I guess that makes me on the fast track over the hill, huh? No pictures from the races (just little local races) but a 21:59 in a hot hilly 5k and 1:09:24 in 15k last weekend.

Now that we are all up to date on my excuses and what I did on my summer vacation maybe I can finally sit down and pen that darn Boston race recap. . . .

Next up is the Savannah Marathon.

The Road to Boston: It was paved with cobblestones . . .

2011-04-28T19:00:00.005-04:00

I know I have let this blog flounder. There was a time that I couldn't contain my enthusiasm to talk about my runs, crazy workouts and the silly minutea of my day to day. But then . . . I really don't know. Things just started sucking and I felt a loss of control over my life.

In general, I don't like to talk about the suckage or a lack of control. I don't even like to pretend it exists. It is one thing for things to be crappy and out of control in reality but then to talk about them too? I guess for me to actually have to see the suckage in writing makes it real. Unwritten it feels like there is a chance it might just be bad mythology.

I did have a blog/log over at Beginnertriathlete.com. I've had it since May of 2008 and for awhile I loved it. Loved it until I started to fall apart and I got tired of writing about how horrible my training was going all.the.time. Certainly, I understand that there are low points in training but I was going 2 years of it and I was just tired of talking about it--never mind I how I felt training with it, living it.

So I joined Fight Club and quit logging my workouts as of February.

I know maybe it was a little superstitious but I thought maybe if I really just shutted up (that's a word, right) and just ran then maybe I would actually make it to the finish line at Boston.

Habits, as I am sure most know, are hard to break. It was hard to NOT talk about running, at all. It was hard to pretend I wasn't training when I really was. It was hard to not want to keep track of it. And I did cheat a little here and there--with a text, or an off handed comment to a friend or the occasional facebook status update. But mostly I cheated because I was sort of keeping track of it by doing essentially the same workouts every week.

But I never wore a watch in my faux training. And I think that saved me. I took the sucking out of the equation because I didn't know if I was sucking. I know that river in Africa is long and I know that there is a whole wall of books at Barnes and Noble about overcoming denial but I was personally embracing it. And it was great. Do not underestimate what a little denial can do for your self esteem.

It was great because after December and January being total training failures I was able to hit every single "workout" I attempted after February 6th. I still struggled with whatever hip/glute/piriformous issue I have been fighting since last fall but I hit the runs each week that I needed. I didn't have to quit running for a few days and ride the trainer or spin bike or God forbid, swim, because my hip hurt too much to run.

That was a huge turning point mentally for me. I was excited again everyday to go out and run. I am not kidding. Every run I ran with a smile and sometimes there were tears of happiness. I was definitely the only person on the treadmill at the gym with a big fat smile on my face. I LOVED running again! It was awesomeness and deliciousness. Even sang as I ran at times.

Prior to February 6th I had so much anxiety about every run because it might hurt and I might not be able to finish the run, or worse would have to walk. I love running and love loving running but it is difficult to love something that continues to cause you pain. It really wears you down and it had got exceedingly difficult to be enthusiastic about doing something that I knew might really cause me some serious pain. Worse though, I was committed to 3 races. The biggest and the most awesome and longest sought after was the Boston marathon. It just loomed like an anvil over my psyche. I felt like I was letting running down. That probably makes no sense but truly, I felt guilty and sad about it. Honestly, I don't really know how to describe it right but just know this: it was a really negative bad all consuming feeling and I couldn't rid myself of it-- no matter how much sense it didn't make to feel like that.

Maybe that is depression. I don't know. I just know I didn't like it at all. It hurt me and it was ruining my quality of life. I am not purposely being dramatic or trying to illicit sympathy. I don't care for either. I just don't want to feel like that again. It sucked. Okay?

So February 6th marks the beginning of my training for the 2011 Boston marathon. When I signed up for Boston in October I had optimistically planned Boston to be my A race. I wanted Boston to be my long waited for PR. I wanted 3:25. But by February I was just hoping that I was going to make it the start line and somehow, the finish line. 3:25-- any time goal-- was gone.

Originally, I had planned to start Boston training in December. December and January were going to be build months. February and March I was going to drop the hammer and pick up the pace. I had planned to have all weeks from mid December on to be over 50 miles with the occasional cut back to 40 and several peaks at 65 miles. A trail race on February 6th would be an A race and the Georgia marathon on March 20th I was planning to run as a 3:45 training run.

The reality was that in December and January I couldn't get my mileage over 40 miles without aggravating my hip. It would be okay and then out of no where the pain would flare and I would be limping. It didn't hurt when biked, swam, did yoga or weights. Only when I ran. And not every run. I still don't know what the problem is but switching to from neutral shoes to motion control shoes made a huge difference. But I didn't do that until the first week in February.

In January I couldn't run more than 40 miles a week without aggravating my hip. After my 11.5 trail race on Feb 6th--that ended up only being a training run--I logged my first 50+ mile week since October. I was able to run 54, 57, 60 the following 3 weeks too. I managed an 18 mile run and 3 21 mile runs during that time. I did a mid length run every week too that ranged 12 to 16 miles. I did 3-4 other runs every week too--1 treadmill of 4-7 miles, 1to2 6 mile easy hill runs and a 5 mile hilly trail run. I rode the bike/trainer twice a week. Yoga and strength training once a week too. My hip would still ache every now and again but everyday I woke up able to go out and run and completed every single workout I started. It was awesome and made me so happy.

I really don't know why I was all the sudden able to run how I had been wanting to run for the two months prior. Only things that were different were my running shoes and that I got some ear plugs and was getting better sleep. Doesn't seem like those two things could be a miracle hip/pirformous cure. So yes. I am still nervous it will come back. And this time if it does I will go to the doctor. I didn't go before because the last thing I needed to hear was an official edict of "no running."

In March it was time to cut back for the Georgia marathon. I ran 45ish with a 12 mid length and an 18 mile long run, then 40 miles the next week with two 14 mile runs and then 30 the week before the Ga marathon. At least I think it was something like that. My hip never hurt during the marathon and that was a huge confidence builder. 5 days after the marathon (where I ran 3:55 having dialed back the original goal of 3:45 to just sub 4) I ran 18.5 miles and finished the week with a peak of 65 miles. Then I began my taper for Boston and just hoped for the best.

I tried in the taper pick up the paces. But whether or not I really did, I don't know. I still wasn't wearing a watch. When I ran on the treadmill I would practice running an 8 min mile so I know for sure at least once a week I was getting in a marathon pace run. A short one but that was the only time I knew for certain what my pace was for any given run. And yes, 8 min mile is marathon pace simply because I've been using the 8 min mile for marathon pace for the last 3 years. I like 8 min miles. Sure they've only happened 3 times but it is my go to marathon pace. But to be clear. My race day goal for Boston was not a 3:30 marathon. My goal was the finish line with a smile and if it was a good day I thought sub 3:40 was likely. If it was a really good day I thought 3:35 might happen. Beyond that I didn't entertain any more optimism. I was just amazed that I was actually going to get to toe the line.

I know this was probably a little boring and certainly self indulgent but when I write my Boston marathon recap I don't want to have to go into a lengthy explanation of my training.

Just consider this the preface to the novel.

Chased the unicorn

2011-04-19T11:46:00.001-04:00

But alas I didn't quite catch her at Boston. Still, had a fabulous race! Details to come. Blogging from my phone at Logan airport while I have a Sam Adams and wait for my cheese Burger. Chip time was 3:33:57. Half was 1:45:27. So a little fade. But most important I RAN over the finish and nailed it with an exclamation cartwheel!

Viva the Streak! The 2011 Ga Marathon Race Report

2011-04-15T20:23:00.004-04:00

Cliff notes for the skimmers:
Natalie Fischer #146
Age: 39 Gender: F
Distance MAR
Clock Time 3:59:26
Chip Time 3:55:27
Overall Place 493 / 2235
Gender Place 113 / 799
Division Place 15 / 140
Age Grade 59.9%
10K 56:31
Half 1:56:45
22 1Mi 3:16:32
Pace 9:00

This marked Ga Marathon number 5 for me and it was marathon unlucky number "13" for me. I signed up last year for the race for $35 way before I knew for sure I would be doing Boston. And certainly before I had a new litany of injuries. But regardless, Ga marathon was never going to be a goal race for me. I honestly don't think I will ever again toe the Ga marathon line with the intention of trying to run a personal best. I am not saying it couldn't happen but it is, I think, what most people would consider a tough course. So I just think if I ever happened to run a personal best on this course it would surely be bettered on a more forgiving course. But who am I kidding? Future personal bests. Snicker. I do think it is cute how optimism always creeps in. Blah blah, Hope is the thing with feathers blah blah nestles in the deep dark crevices of the soul blah blah.

Once I signed up for Boston in the fall I knew Ga marathon would have to be a training run. But then in January I was side lined and barely running so I was worried that I might be lucky if I could just do the half. As it turned out February was a solid training month for me and the Ga marathon would work perfectly--tongue firmly in cheek--as a long training run. The trick would be for me to not run the marathon too hard.

I no longer wear a watch in training (or racing for that matter) but for the past 4 or so years my long run pace falls in the 8:30 to 9: 00 min range. Weather, injury, and hormones being the deciding factor of whether my pace is closer to 8:30 or closer to 9:00 min miles. Based on that I knew my finish time for this year's race could be no faster than 3:45 and ideally no slower than 4 hours. However slower than 4 hours would be okay provided it was due to lingering at aid stations and socializing with spectators.

My BFF workout partner Steph was very nice and said I could run with her. She was shooting for 4 hours so it would work out perfectly. Steph is good at maintaining her pace and everything is just better with a friend. I was a little worried that she was sandbagging and was going to end up running sub 3:45. I had to have a serious talk with myself that if that happened I was just gonna have to let her go because Ga marathon was my practice marathon. Not my real marathon.
Practice makes perfect practice makes perfect practice makes perfect . . .

Race day:
I decided to spend the night at my sister's. I've done this some years. Other years I've driven down to her house. Either way her husband drives and drops us at the start. It was a rather uneventful evening so I'll spare you the details.

However, at 3 am I was awaken by a raging headache, cramps and back ache. If you're a dude you are probably thinking stomach flu; if you are girl, you know the issue at hand. Let's just say the white skirt I had wanted to wear for the marathon got replaced by the black skirt. Let's also say that I have never had to make that choice on race morning ever.

Rather than be angry at the things I cannot control I took it as a sign that universe was keeping me in check. So with the universe's help and some Motrin--something else I have never taken race day or before a run-- I got dressed and ready for the race.

Wes dropped (left to right) Christina, Pookie (my sister), me and Shannon at Luckie St and we wandered down the race. The other girls were doing the half so we parted ways so I could go find Steph.

Steph had been texting me since 5 am so I knew to meet her at the bag drop though I had no bag. The thing I hate about GA marathon is that it starts at 7 am and is therefore dark until 7:30. It annoys me not being able to see everything. It is like those dark TV show--x files, CSI--where I want them to turn on the lights already cause I can't freaking see anything.

So I find Steph. Run into my friend Brett. And Brent. And Jamie. And Doug. Whew. Not bad for not being able to see shit.

I made some guy take (right to left) me, Steph, Jamie and Doug's picture while we waited in line for the porto potties. After this Steph and I parted ways with Jamie, doing the half, and Doug, is goal to beat me and Steph. He easily did.

Steph and I lined up in her corral. I was suppose to be in B because of "Streaker" status and possibly last year's time. We seeded ourselves a little ahead of the 4 hour pace group and I asked another person to take our picture. Steph in her Team Gu and Team Brooks gear on left and me in my bloated shoot me now I am a fat cow self on the right. Fat, for the uninformed, is also a feeling. It comes once a month for me. Smiling, but on the inside I felt like death. Tequila hangover? A more comfortable state.

So we wait around for the start and even though I just pee'd I am certain I must pee again but really I don't know. My body today feels like I have swapped bodies with somebody else and I am worried that that person's body may not be able to run 26.2 miles. I am glad I don't have that body all the time because whose ever it is, sucks.

Okay, so yeah. I felt like walking death. Moving on.

Apparently the race has started because we are moving. Steph and I see our friend Lisa (who is running the half). We ride bikes with Lisa so we are happy to see our bike friend. I take a picture of them as we are running towards the start line.

Right. Running and darkness does not make for good camera phone pictures. Whatever.

We are running and the wave of humanity begins to roll through downtown Atlanta in the predawn darkness. Rock and roll.

I note as Steph and I cross under the start clock that we are at 4 minutes. I am not wearing a watch but I know that there are clocks on the course and I am relieved that 4 minutes is not too hard for me subtract. Sure 2 minutes would be easier but 8 or 9 minutes would be way harder on my brain.

While I hate the darkness before the race I do like starting the race in the darkness. It is pretty cool. It is like I am in disguise and can hide a little while I ease into the race; try to negotiate the pace. It is crowded but Steph and I stay together fairly easily. I keep telling her to slow down. We are going too fast! But really we aren't. We are on pace for four hours according to her splits. That stinks because it felt like I was running a 7:30 mile. That's how crappy I felt.

I tell Steph whenever she needs to stop I am cool to pee but let me know so we can push it to stay on pace. We run into the daylight around 3 miles. We make friends with a guy named Kevin. He is a Ranger (Army?) and had just run Snicker's marathon a few weeks before. He was going for 4 hours too and decided to hang with us. The three of us have all sorts of inappropriate conversation regarding beer, drinking songs and padded sports bras. I try not to talk too much because I still feel like I might die at any second. Steph, God love her, must hear my inner self talk because I hear her tell Kevin as we run up a hill that I am the Queen of Suckitup. Really, more like court jester but it definitely inspires me to hear that even when that seems an impossible role for me today.

Here is Kevin and Steph in the 5-6 mile range. Steph told him to flex because she was sucking in.

Finally around 7 miles we spy open portolets and Steph and I rush in. I don't win at much but I do win fastest pisser ever. Yes. My parents are proud. I have few talents but the ability to pee quickly (and sadly frequently) I got down pat.

I take pictures while I wait for Steph to exit.

Steph and I start running and easily catch up to the 4 hour pace group, pass them and fall in step with Kevin again. Shortly after this the half marathoners and full marathoners split. I always yell out a few good luck, great race to the halfer's. But really I am thinking "wusses."

I think we are on North Avenue. I really don't know the names of any the streets. Yes. I have lived in the Atlanta area my entire life. Even born at Northside Hospital but the specific names of streets and such, yeah, I don't know. I do know how to navigate and get where I need to go but what streets to take and shortcuts? Not so much. I just know that at this point in the race my sister's house is only a few miles away. I also know that we are soon coming up on the Telltale Heart point of the course for me. The tenish mile hill. It is the longest elevation change in the race. And in past years how I feel at this point tells me how the rest of the race it going to go. It is also where you will ruin yourself if you go too hard. Of course you go too hard. It is mile 10. The year I ran 3:29 it felt easy but I paid for the easy at mile 24. Last year it didn't and that was when I knew I had to dial it back.

But Steph and I make it up and over fine and still ahead of the four hour pace group. According to Steph right on pace for four hours. Cool. We however lose Kevin in this point and don't see him again the rest of the race. Steph and I though soldier on;chatty with our banter.

The race has thinned out and most everyone around is quiet. And I would like to take this moment to say to every person that chides me for wearing headphones that I missing out on the race experience can suck it. I have run 3:30 paces and 4 hour paces and the only person doing all the chatting is me. There is no conversation. If you want to chat with me, let me know. I'll pull my headphones out but I don't want to hear your coughing, gagging, snot rockets, heavy breathing misery.

So now we are in that awful portion next to the railroad track heading towards Decatur. I HATE this part. There are just signs. No people cheering and it ugly and lonely. And since there is no good conversation going on I put my headphones on. And as luck would have it And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda is on! And so I sing along to it so everyone around me can enjoy that too. Steph chimes in too.

I am almost excited when we get close to Agnes Scott College because usually there are lots of friendly ladies cheering us on. But alas there are no ladies, just an unpopulated aid station since the ladies are on spring break. Bummer.

We soon hit the half mark. And I tell Steph I think I have to pee. I still feel crappy but definitely better than when we started. So I stop and Steph runs on. I don't know this so I exit the porto potty and wait a minute yelling at the door of the porto potty next the one I used. There is no answer. I look down the road and I think I see ahead on the course that Steph is right with the four hour group. So I start sprinting to catch her. I feel like I might throw up but I don't and I am at her side in no time and relieved that I don't have to keep sprinting.

I think that little sprinting actually made me feel a little better because I feel slightly energized and suddenly things are starting to feel easier. So I start running ahead a bit and take pictures cause I know Steph is going to run a huge pr and I know she will be glad for pictures even if I am annoying her and the four hour pace group that I keep running ahead of and falling back in pace with.

While I am taking this picture I get yelled at by a police officer over his loudspeaker. "Tighten up Ponytail! Get back inside the cones."

I smile and wave at him and step back in the cones and run on with group. I am excited about my new nickname. Ponytail. It's like a stripper's name.

I am definitely feeling better and starting to have a good time. Sure it only took like 14- 15 miles but some people just need that kind of warm up.

Look how awesome Steph looks here:

Shortly after this point I realize we are about to enter Druid Hills. 16 ish miles. I am sort of chomping at the bit to run faster and this is the rolling hill portion of the race. I LOVE this portion. Up and down and up and down. It is pretty relentless. But every year I have done pretty well here and I decide this might good Boston practice to run a bit harder. I tell Steph we should try to run a bit faster here. I tell her we need to be AHEAD of the four hour pace group not with them or right behind them. But she tells me we are fine. They have banked time. I want her to run with me but she doesn't want to pick up the pace. So I tell her I am going to run hard up the hills and down and will wait at the aid stations for her. If nothing else, I figure, I'll at least be a carrot for her to chase.

So I charge ahead. As I am running up one hill and I see who else but Santa at the top of it! I am SO excited to see Santa and I yell out, SANTA! I know him. And no one around me gets it.

Am I the only one who watched the movie Elf? Come on.

So I run even faster and run up to Santa and insist we have our picture taken together. I hand my phone to a lady spectating and she kindly takes my picture with Santa! No idea why he was there but it pretty much made my day.

After this I wait at the top of the hill and Steph catches up to me. And I am so excited and am telling her about my Santa encounter and then I notice she is crying.

Oh no! "Are you crying?!" I ask.

"Yes," she says, wiping tears and throwing a GU packet in the trash. (Steph does not litter and will yell at you if you do. She is rule girl. It is her super power. And she is a lawyer. I think it is all connected, somehow. . .)

"Why! What happened?" I demand, thinking if she had just seen Santa it would have made it better.

She tells me "because of the aid station, the cancer and it is mile 18."

"What??? You have cancer!" I ask.

"No the girl. "

Still not understanding why this means tears for Steph, look around me and ask "Who? Where?"

"No, at the aid station," she says, wiping at her tears and her mouth turning up in a smile trying to explain to me. "The aid station was for her. She died."

"Oh," I say, thinking I now completely understand," you knew her? I'm sorry."

"No", Steph says.

Confused again. "So you are crying because you are worried you have cancer? I always think I have cancer. In fact right now my uterus is trying to separate itself from my body because I have cancer."

Laughing now she says, "never mind Natalie" and we run on. See! See how my self absorption can help people?

So we run a bit together and then I see Jerry! I ran the last eight miles of the Soldier Marathon with Jerry in the fall. So I pick up the pace and run up to Jerry and smack him on the ass. He looks at me wild eyed with a What the F?! look. I tell him he looked like he needed and ass smacking. He says I wondered when you were gonna catch me. We run together a bit and catch up. I keep looking over my shoulder and Steph is still there. Hanging around the four hour pace group.

After a bit I see up ahead Anthony! I ran with him for a bit as well at Soldier's marathon too. Wow. This is like a reunion! So I catch up to him and chat with him for awhile. Apparently he hurt his back and he was cleared to run 3 miles at a time. He just decided he was gonna 3 miles 9 times in one day. At the next aid station I let him go and wait again for Steph and the four hour pace group. I would pass him later in the last mile or 2 and he would ask me for an epidural. Man, have I been there.

I tell Steph my cramps are starting to come back and I am not feeling as good. I tell her I am going to run ahead and will wait for her in the park where I know my newly minted friend Kim is waiting with water and most importantly Advil.

So I leave Steph and run a bit harder down to Piedmont Park and that stupid lollipop out and back. I pass Steph on the out/back portion, swap high fives and tell her she is looking good. She has faded a bit and is now a few seconds behind the four hour pace group. She looks strong though so I assume she is fine. Figure she is having a valley of darkness moment. We all have it. She'll get out of it. She always does.

I am pretty excited to see John, Desiree and Kim. Kim gives me an Advil and a bottle of water which I down. I chat with them while I wait for Steph. While standing there a guy runs past me and calls out, "Come on Ponytail! I need my pacer!"

New nickname is sticking!!!

After taking the picture I see I have a text from Ryan. Our plan was for him to pick me up at the finish. But if the race is going slowly he was going to drop the kids at my sister's. His text says he is on 75. Hmm, that is pretty close.

I see the four hour pace group coming down the small hill and I can see Steph behind them. I thank Kim, Des and John and start running. I decide maybe I should have GU since I don't know how my stomach is going to feel taking an Advil. All new for me and it has the potential to go bad but my thinking is food might be a good idea.

As I down the GU and run out of the park I roll my eyes so far in the back of my head at the umpteenth homemade sign that says "Winning... duh!" Charlie Sheen, please go away and heal yourself.

I check over my shoulder and Steph is still with the four hour pace group. I turn to go up that short, terrible steep hill. I pass a guy getting an I.V. from the bicycle medics on my right and I spy the 23 mile marker sign on my left. I whip out my phone and text Ryan back. Only it is really hard to text and run uphill and it comes out "ayytm23". He figures it out and texts me back "Push it!!!"

And so I do. At least that it is how it feels. My mind though isn't sharp which I realize at mile 24 when I see a friend and I call out "Hey Heather!!!" only to realize that it is Leslie!. I try to correct but it is too late. I am past her.

I am now on the Ga Tech campus. The scene of the worst calf cramp ever. Two years ago when I ran 3:29 I was on pace to PR until my calf muscle turned into a snake and I had to hobble and walk it in. But this year I am fine and so I just keep running. I pass everyone! It is fantastic even though I think this is the most torturous tour of finish line stretch of any race I have done (Twisted Ankle not counting). It is a stealth hill that turns and turns and you know you are close but God damn it you are still not done.

But this year?

Not so torturous for me.

I try not to be obnoxious about it but inwardly I want to be cheering everyone on and telling them They.CAN.do.IT!

But I know by the looks on their faces that I have been them and would not have appreciated a hyperactive cheerleader runner girl coaxing me on. So I say nothing and run on. I do pat one girl who is a half mile from the finish and starts to walk on her back and tell her, you have this. And I only say it to her because she looked so strong physically. Mentally though, I knew, she was getting the shit beat out of her.

As I near the finish line I start to run harder. I want to put distance between myself and the other runners. I am not trying to be a brat and beat everyone in the last 100 yards to the finish but rather I want some space so I can do a cartwheel across the finish line and not kick anyone in the face. Cause that would really suck for them.

I see on the clock 3:5x and think sweet! Sub 4. Perfect! I cast a glance over my shoulder and dash over the finish and throw my body into a round off and land fist punching the air. A lady at the finish line comes up and hugs me and says I have more energy than any person she has seen cross the finish line. I ask if I can stand there and wait for my friend and she lets me.

So I stand in the finish line chute and wait for Steph.

I take few pictures.

And I catch Anthony coming in. I don't think he saw me though.

And then my girl Steph comes through. Missing sub 4 by 56 seconds but who is gonna complain about a 40 minute pr? She rocks!

We hug, get our medals and go find her husband and mine.

What a great race despite not feeling good. If I hadn't had Steph to run with I definitely would have quit. Her being there motivated me. And as a result I got my last solid long run for Boston in.

I met up with Ryan. Steph and I parted ways. I went to my sister's, showered and then headed over to the Marlay House for lunch.

Here is Pookie, Me and Shannon post race and happy with beer and to be done.

Now. On to Beantown. Fingers crossed for a good day.

Singing a Song

2011-04-14T09:03:00.002-04:00

This morning my ADHD is raging. I am avoiding packing for Boston because it is so overwhelming. You wouldn't think putting clothes, shoes and toiletries and other crap in a suitcase would be so hard. But it is. It is hard because before I can do that I must do everything else: clean the house, wash all the linens, shop, do every dirty stitch of laundry, clean out a closet, buy new contact paper for the kitchen cabinets, make meals to freeze, make lists when I never make lists, wash the dog, try on all my clothes--even the cocktail dresses, blog . . .

And while I have been thinking and doing everything else but what I need to be doing I have been singing a song. I've just been walking around my house, still in pj's, singing it. I've been humming the tune since I got up this morning at 6 am. Finally around 8am I realize I can't even remember how the original song goes because I've been singing my version. In fact I can't even remember who sings the song or the real title of the song I am singing. And I certainly can't call someone and say, Hey listen...and hum the tune for them. Then ask them the name of the song and who sings it because I am so tone deaf that I can't replicate the song I am hearing in my head. I know this because I've been in this situation before and no one ever knows and they just laugh at me. I am THAT tone deaf. Yes, it is embarrassing. But sing still I do!

So I waste 30 minutes with my best friend Google trying to find the correct version of the song I am singing.The only things I know about the song is that it is from the 70's,--I think. I am certain it is sung by a woman. I am almost positive that my mom owned a record (ha!) with this song on it and use to sing it when she once upon a time played the guitar. I do contemplate calling my mom and I do know that she will probably be able to figure it out for me but that will be last resort. I am not ready to be made of yet this morning. I am on edge, Fragile, even. I am trapped under an imaginary giant and disorganized pile of clothes, shoes, toiletries and make up that I must squeeze and organize into a teeny tiny carry on suitcase.

But I found it! All on my own! Yay! Success! Accomplishment!

First though, this was the lyrics I was singing:

Procrastination, Procrastinaaaayaytion
It's making me late
Keepin' my crazzzzyyy
tomorrow. ....
lalalalalalallablahblahblah..... Procrastination!

Based on that can you guess the original?

I was so close with my first search of "Infatuation" and Joni Mitchell.

But then Carly Simon popped in my head and viola!

Anticipation. Procrastination. It really is just semantics.

The Universe Humbles Me

2011-04-09T10:44:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was my last double digit run before Boston. It seemed logical to wear my planned race day outfit for the run. An outfit that I had yet to wear. I do have the Northface tank in several colors and the epiphany skort in another color but the blue skort and the yellow tank I have not yet worn. I decided to not wear the arm sleeves since it was 70 and 88% humidity when I headed out for my 14 miles.

As I mentioned in a previous post the kids are on Spring Break so me getting to do this run outside and alone was unlikely this week. But as it turned out I was able to negotiate with Ryan that he watch the kids for a few hours before he and Beau left to go kill some turkeys this weekend.

I was so excited to do this run and have it behind me. I felt great when I headed out, light and happy. For 14 miles I usually turn out of my neighborhood to the right and run til the sidewalk ends and then turn around and head back and begin the 10 mile hilly loop. The out back portion is relatively flat and a good warm up. I do it again after the loop too.

I was happily running down the sidewalk, bemoaning a bit the humidity and warmness of the morning but feeling good. The sidewalk crosses over a few streets--dead end neighborhoods, not main thoroughfares. About a mile in I cross over a street that is had a new dead end one street neighborhood being constructed. As I am crossing over I am suddenly caught in a cloud of smoke. A construction truck with a bulldozer on the back of it is spewing smoke. Just as I had reached the road the man operating the truck started up the bulldozer and something malfunctioned and caused a huge cloud of smoke. I couldn't have avoided it.

I think I held my breath and turned my head away from the truck. I really didn't think too much about it other than annoyance of the construction interrupting my peaceful morning run and decided I would run on the road instead of the sidewalk after the turn around to give myself more distance from the construction.

As I am running I notice black dots on my arms. Unconcerned I try to wipe them away, thinking it is soot. I am still running but I notice that I am polka dotted all over in these black spots and they are not wiping off. As I reach the turn around I start to panic. What the hell is this stuff?!?!!??

Then I notice it is all over my race day outfit and REALLY start to freak out.

I am back at the neighborhood and I see the man at the truck sweeping stuff up or maybe he was shoveling. The man's name is Jerry. I don't know that yet but I later learn that is his name. I run up to him and say "Look at me! I got trapped in that cloud of smoke from your truck! What is this stuff all over me!"

Flatly, unimpressed, bored, he says" Oil. It's oil."

OHMYGOD, OIL!!!! I scream in my head but calmly, I think, ask, "Will it come out of my clothes?"

Jerry, even more bored by the conversation and me shrugs and says, "It should."

Then he turns away from me, dismissing me and going back to his sweeping or shoveling. I immediately determine that he has no idea if oil comes out of clothes because I can tell by his clothes, his long scraggly grey hair and beard, he just wouldn't care or notice if oil came out of any of his clothes. I, however, am almost positive it doesn't come out of clothes since I have had no success in getting bike grease out of clothes. While I don't know the exact the chemical composition of oil or grease, logic tells me they are close cousins at best; twins at worst.

FUCK!!!

I head back down the side walk, sprinting, angry and freaking out that I have oil all over me! I run straight home and come screaming in the house screaming. Ryan! I have oil all over me! What am I going to do! RYAN!!!!And telling the cloud of smoke/creepy Jerry tale to him as I run through the house looking for him. I guess I am always running around freaking out because the kids don't even look up at me or act like they hear me. Typical.

Finally I find Ryan and confront him with my polka dotted self. Look at me! I implore. And he stands there, chuckling, as he looks and answers my question of is it going to come out of my Boston marathon outfit with a decisive no. But then says take it off; give it to me. I've got some simple green and I'll soak it.

I peel off my polka dotted clothes and hand them to him and he goes downstairs to soak my clothes. I start to put on clean running clothes but I realize I might get oil on them too so I retrieve my black tank I wore yesterday (ew, I know) from the hamper and find my old (clean) dark blue running skirt.

The kids come upstairs having heard from Ryan my dilemma to laugh and gawk at me. I love how stuff like this happens to me and they are rather unfazed. Like, huh, look at that. Mommy got polka dotted with oil. That's funny. Hey, wanna go jump on the trampoline Beau? Yeah. Cool. See ya polka dotted Mommy.

I go downstairs and Ryan informs me it isn't coming out of my clothes. Now I am raging pissed off. I insist that Ryan come down to the job site with me and make Jerry give me money for my outfit. He has, after all, ruined my Boston outfit, my run, and at the moment it seems, my life! I need compensation damn it and you are my husband and I am having an adult tantrum and YOU! MUST Do.What.I.SAY!

Ryan says no, smiling a little. He explains, Jerry can't do anything. Go get the truck owner's name and get his number. Come with me! Pleasseeeeee I am little polka dotted runner girl and there are all dirty construction workers there.

No, he says. Firmly. Leaving me and my adult tantrum.

I am on a tear and slam the door as I run out of the house leaving my husband to wash my oily clothes and ready to rip Jerry a new you know what. Sure I am tiny polka dotted runner girl but I am really, really angry. My anger is a super power.

But when I get to the neighborhood Jerry, the truck and the bulldozer are gone! My super power rage grows! I search the street of half constructed houses and try to decide which construction worker is going to be my best bet at finding out who owns that damn truck and bulldozer.

I assume most everyone at the site is contracted labor and no one here is in charge. But surely, I think, they must know each other. I also know that there is a good likelihood they won't want to tell me who owns the truck. There is a man on a bobcat near where the truck was parked. I suspect maybe he is with the truck that sprayed me but he is Hispanic and I guess he probably doesn't speak English or will at least pretend he doesn't when I try to talk to him. He is also very busy moving dirt around with a bobcat. I run down the street and up drive way of a mostly built house. A carpenter with a longer and blonder ponytail than I have is standing in the garage.

I run up to him and ask him who owns the truck that was at the front of the neighborhood. At first he just stares at me so long that I wonder if he doesn't speak English. But then I realize it is because I am polka dotted. So I explain what happened and he just stands there wide eye in awe and trying not to smile (I see the corners of his wrinkly lips twitching to turn into a grin) at my story. After a moment he says, wow, that is crazy. I'm like, uhm, yeah I know. So, do you know how owns that truck?

He says no, of course but tells me the guy on the bobcat works for the company. I thank him and run up to the bobcat driver certain he isn't going to tell me anything. His English isn't great and he doesn't know the name of the company but he does know the owner's name is Mike and he has his phone number. Score! I whip out my phone and he tells me the number. I am totally shocked that he gave it to me.

So I move away from the bobcat and try to get out of the noise and give old Mike a call. I am surprised when he answers. I tell him my situation and he is very shocked and confused to hear from me. He says he is going to need to call Jerry and he will call me back. I give him my name, number and explain that I need to finish up my run because I am training for the Boston marathon (!) and for him to leave a message. We hang up.

With nothing left to do I run out of the neighborhood back to the sidewalk to finish up my run. I am almost shaking I am so angry and frustrated with the situation. I really don't feel like running anymore. But I force myself to continue because this is the only time I have to do this run so it needs to be done now. So I keep running.

And running works its usual magic on my attitude. I realize that if this is the worst thing that happens to me before Boston then I am getting a deal. I run down my list of worse things that could happen and by the time I stop for water at 7 miles I am okay. I am still bummed my outfit is ruined but I also know I can find another one.It really doesn't matter. And I decide that I have to choose to not let this ruin my day. In the 9th mile my phone rings, I see it is Mike. I don't answer. He leaves a message. It makes me happy that he called me back. I really didn't think he would.

I finish my run and considering the heat, the humidity, the drama, it was a pretty good run. I listen to Mike's message and he says to bring the outfit to show him the damage and he will write me a check. Wanting to be fair I look up the prices on the Internet, print out the cost--I even found my tank cheaper--and bring those to him. I get out of the car and he starts laughing and apologizing when he sees polka dotted me. He doesn't even want to see the outfit. I show him my invoices and he writes me a check. We part ways and agree to not let the incident ruin our weekends.

And I go home and order my replacement outfit. I hope it gets here in time but if not I will just wear something else. I really will just be relieved when I find myself standing at the start line and-- hopefully-- sail with cartwheels across the finish line. It has been one long journey to get to Boston, that's for certain.

Okay, here are the pictures. They are taken with my phone and by me so they aren't that great and do not do the polka dotting justice.

Outfit post washing: Tiny black oil polka dots every where.

Skirt and my legs a minute after getting oiled:

After I ran home and changed. It occurred to me that I should take more pictures in case I needed proof. Please excuse how ugly I am.

My arms

I have run 14 miles, had two showers where I scrubbed and I still have some oil dots on me. I thought it wasn't that noticeable but my sister asked me what happened to me yesterday before I even had time to tell her.

Oh well, chalking it up to weird and funny shit that seems to always happen to me. The universe? It humbles me daily.

Potential Boston Outfit: The Nat-Ali-e

2011-04-07T09:23:00.002-04:00

Float like a butterfly on the downhills and put the sting in the uphills!
Looking fly and feeling like butter!
At least that is the hope...

6 pockets! I'll be more marsupial than runner! Hopefully more bounding kangaroo than cuddly koala bear.

Northface dyn o mite tank.
Brooks Epiphany skirt.
Moeben arm sleeves.
Zensah sleeves.
Brooks Adrenalines.
Hat TBA

Hmmmm....

2011-04-06T14:53:00.002-04:00

What to do? Kids at a playdate.
Few free hours to myself.
Already did a 5 mile trail run this am....

70 degrees, breezy and bluest sky.
Catch up on laundry?
Or...

They ride I chase...

2011-04-04T13:46:00.039-04:00

It is spring break. This year the kids have had a week off in September --we went to the Gulf. A week off at Thanksgiving-we went luxamping in north Georgia. 2 weeks at Christmas and a week off in February. So for spring break we aren't going anywhere.

I am jealous of these people that can afford 6 vacations a year but we can't. So we are staying home. It stinks but at least we have awesome weather today-cloud of pollen notwithstanding. It is a little hot though. At 10 am it was 70 degrees. But I am getting use to the heat with all these warm days we've been having. I always feel cheated --like I didn't get enought 50 degree days. It seems it is either 30 degrees or 70+ degrees.

Problem of course with all these school breaks for me is I have no childcare as a stay at home mom. So it can make training for a marathon (and doing everything else I need to do) a challenge when you have 2 school age kids home for a week every 6 weeks. It just disrupts everyone's schedule. And me? I like my schedule.

I am allowed 2 hours of gym nursery time a day but most days that really isn't enough. I mean yoga is 90 minutes and I need to run an hour. Never mind that my 10 year old daughter does not want to go to the gym nursery.

But I am lucky.

My kids have bikes and they can ride the heck out of them. Teaching them when Beau was 4 and Carmella 6 to ride them without training wheels was the best thing I ever did. Opened up whole new training possibilities. But there is a limit to how long a kid is willing to ride their bike. Most I have gotten out of them was 14 miles. Still dreaming of the day when they can ride along side me for 20 + miles and carry my gu and water. . .

Today I needed to run 8-10 miles. I let them pick gym or bike. Tomorrow is yoga so they will have to go to the gym. And I would like to not have to run on the treadmill everyday this week but I will if I have to and I was willing to suck it up for a medium run on the treadmill today if that was their preference. I was glad when they picked riding their bikes instead of gym though. Even if it meant I was probably going to have to run a little faster than I wanted to keep up with them. I don't run with a watch anymore but in the past they always kept the pace sub 8 min miles.

I have a few choices where they can safely ride. We can do the sidewalk but there are too many street and driveway crossovers. I am in panic mode the whole run. And running with a higher heart rate just cause you're worried your kid is going to get squashed isn't exactly ideal. I run to relax and that, that just is not relaxing. But I have done it.

I rarely drive anywhere to run. So it is treat for me when the kids and I go somewhere new to run. Today we picked the path at Azalea Rd and Riverside Dr in Roswell. There is an off road dirt path that they love. They also drop the hammer on the dirt path and I panic a little about losing them in the woods because they will get so far ahead I can't see them. They always wait on me though. It really is so fun winding around the trees that we did the wood loop twice.

Well,okay, Carmella really didn't want to it again. That's how it is with my kids. What ever one wants the other wants the opposite. We are in constant negotiation mode to try to apease everyone. But yeah, for the most part, we have to do what I want to do because I am the one with the checking account and driver's license. Carmella won't complain but she will ride faster and wear Beau and I out. She is so passive aggressive. It is cute, sometimes.

Friday though, if I don't get childcare I will have to suck it up for 13 on the concrete Greenway path. Yucko.

Today was great though! I don't have a GPS but we were gone an hour twenty. So even with our Gu stop I think we got in at least 9.

Yes, nothing like the promise of Chocolate Outrage at the mid point to motivate the kids. Well, Beau didn't like it so I will have to figure something else out for him. He tried to muscle it down twice but both times gagged and spit it out. Then he wondered, out loud, "What animals are gonna eat Gu?"

So no excuses. Getting it done; any way I can.

Worthless

2011-03-31T15:53:00.006-04:00

I am worthless.

I have one thing on my mind.

No. Not the one thing Ryan wishes I always had on my mind.

Usually my mind is filled with a bazillion different ideas per second. But lately it is a one track, broken record and it is saying:Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston Boston!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I still have over 2weeks!

I apologize to all my friends, family, acquaintances, neighbors, the cashier at Publix, Beau's teacher last year, and other random strangers in advance for how annoying I have been and more than likely will continue to be. I am sorry that no matter what you say, what your problem is, what your question is I am almost 100% certain that somehow I will find a way to work into the conversation that me? I'm going to Boston. You know, to run a marathon.

I think I might be a little excited.

I know I have been annoying my friend I am staying with in Boston all week with a bazillion facebook questions. I tried to hold out as long as possible before I started bothering Allison but 3 1/2 weeks out was as long as I made it. I made it a few days longer before I started pestering Lisa, my sister's college roommate, who also lives in Boston, and starting forming plans with her and her husband.

Today I called my sister 3 times at work before she finally called me back so I could tell her all the plans I was making. Sure I am seeing her Saturday to go to the Band of Horses concert but I couldn't wait. I had to tell her today!!!

Oh, by the way, Pookie is coming with me to Boston! No, I don't think she is excited as I am. After I told her the plans I've made I asked her if she could do my hair before we go. I explained that I need to be blonder. For Boston. Marathon Barbie goes to Boston. (I look nothing like Barbie, I know. Pookie just calls me that. I think she is trying to be mean but I love it.) And there is reason to the blond madness. Right before I ran 3:29 at my nemesis race (aka Georgia Marathon) in 2009 she made me ridiculous blond. I was Malibu blond. And I think being blonder might make me faster. I haven't run under 3:30 since and I haven't been that blond. Related? I think so. Definitely.

This is me and Pookie at the Inman park parade last year. I am not Malibu blond there but am wearing the bridesmaid dress that she wore in my wedding and she is wearing the bridesmaid dress I wore in hers.They didn't look like that for the weddings. She cut them up and made them into woodland fairy dresses because what else do you do with bridesmaid dresses? Wear them for the Boston marathon?
BostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBoston. ....

Tuesday I told Ryan the other night about the arrangements I was making for the kids after school while I would be in Boston. What food I was thinking about making and freezing for them to eat while I was gone. And that I arranged for someone else to drive the ballet carpool. And did he want me to take MARTA to the airport? And after listening for me going on for about 5 minutes he said, Wait, you aren't leaving for 3 weeks right?
Right . Saturday April 16th.
Okay well, we can talk about it then.
Sigh.
BostonBoston BostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBoston

And then there was my friend who asked me if her daughter could stay with us for a few days while she goes out of town. She told me the date and I was like: Well, let me think. I am leaving for Boston in week from then.. . I think I can do it. I'll just have a lot of packing to do for my 4 day trip. Yeah, okay. But just let her know that I'll be really busy getting ready for Boston.
Boston.Boston.Boston.Boston.Boston.Boston.

I think the best might be that I emailed Brooks. You know the running company.
To see if they had anymore "Run Happy" hats because I have worn mine to pieces and I really really really wanted to wear a Run Happy hat for the Boston marathon. That I will be running. I even stipulated this year in the email. And in case they weren't sure exactly when the Boston marathon was, I included the date. April 18th. They emailed me back and told me there were no more Run Happy hats but I might like their Shamrock hat. No. I would not. It is white and green. My outfit will blue, white, and black to match my Adrenalines. Duh.

I am dying to find out what the weather will be like so I can start packing already! This is like waiting for Santa Claus!! I've been good. And I've been training (despite stupid injuries) and I.just.can't.wait!! BostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBostonBoston....

Why I am not thin

2011-03-29T12:42:00.004-04:00

Exhibit A: Homemade Mac n cheese:

Exhibit B: BBQ pork roast. To be shredded after 6 hours of slow cooking.

That's dinner tonight. Pretty sure the 10 miles I ran this morning aren't going to touch the caloric powerhouse of a BBQ sandwich and a helping of mac and cheese. There will be sweet potatoes. Maybe some broccoli too.

Anyway, in case you don't want to be thin either here are my recipes:
Homemade Mac n cheese:
Box of elbow noodles
2 cups+ of shredded sharp cheese
1/2 cup+ of skim milk
2 tbsp of butter
2 tbsp of flour
1/2 tsp of yellow mustard
salt
pepper
garlic powder
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup Italian bread crumbs

Boil noodles al dente. Set aside. In sauce pan melt butter with flour over med heat. Add some salt, pepper and garlic powder. Whisk together so clumpy. Add mustard and milk. You may need more milk. Whisk it all together until it starts to thicken. Add in cheddar cheese--reserve a little cheese for top. Whisk with milk mixture over low heat until thicken. If too thick add a little more milk. Mix in noodles until all are covered with cheese sauce. Pour cheesey noodles into a greased dish that can go in the oven. Mix in another bowl reserved cheddar with the Parmesan cheese and bread crumbs. Spread over top of cheese noodles until covered. Bake immediately at 325 until bubbly or you can cover and freeze (or refrigerate for later in the day).

Pork Sandwiches:
If you want to make the pork roast I use a leaner cut of pork like shoulder but you can do this with Boston Butt--it will taste better but it will have more fat.
Salt and pepper with red and black pepper pork roast. Sprinkle a little garlic powder too.
Sear all sides of the roast in a skillet with olive oil.
Drain oil.
In a crock pot pour 1/2 cup of BBQ sauce. I like Williams Brother's Original BBQ Sauce. Add couple of dashes of tabasco, 2 tbsp of vinegar, and a squeeze of lemon juice if you have it. Put roast in crockpot turn a few times in the sauce. Cook on high for about an hour. Flip roast and then switch it to low for about four or five more hours. Shred and serve on toasted buns with more sauce.

I don't know. Maybe I'll ride the trainer. Maybe then I can have a little extra mac n cheese. Mmm. Mac n cheese.

I've Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier : 2010 Soldier Marathon Race Report.

2011-03-27T18:13:00.009-04:00

Marathon #12.

I started writing this recap shortly after the race but never got around to finishing it when life got busy, overwhelming and I got lazy and down on myself. Excuses; I just hate how easy they are.
But enough is enough. I have done a write up for every marathon I have run. Seems wrong to not give thought and words to what has become one of my favorite marathons thus far.So . . .

On Saturday, November 13th--Veteran's weekend-- 2010 I ran the Inaugural Soldier's Marathon in Columbus, Ga. For those that don't want to read all the details let me just say that this is one of my most favorite marathons I have ever run. If you are looking for a small race in Georgia to run a pr this would be your race.
Here are the Cliff Notes:
45th out of 356 finishers.
6th female out of 103 other awesome women.
1st in the 35-39 age group
Finished in 3:31:07.

So yeah. I know, there is nothing really spectacular about any of that.
No prize money.
No shiny new PR.

But finishing this marathon felt better than any other race. Yet. (Playing the optimist here that things, that life might get even shinier, even prettier.)

Believe me, I know that running isn't magical. I know it is just one foot in front of the other a little bit faster than when you walk, but as I've said before running is the thing that I do. And running, it is the the thing that saves me. There is not a doubt in my mind that running is my Ritalin. I use to think that I outgrew my ADHD but recently, it occurred to me, that at the same time I decided to stop taking Ritalin was the exact same time I started running: in graduate school. Huh. So yes. I am self medicating. But is that a bad thing?

No. It isn't at all --at least not until you get injured and can't run as much as you need to keep you on the straight side of crooked.Then it does become a bit of a problem. And all I can say is thank goodness I don't have to go school or have a job that requires a lot of focus.

For over a year I have really struggled with injury after injury and through illness (soul sucking sinus infections) and asthma that kept throwing all my running efforts off. Come on, you know the song: I get knocked down, but I get up again, I get knocked down, but I get back up down again. Pissing the night away....You're never gonna keep me down. . .

Yeah so, it has all been pretty depressing and I have not seen any success: just lots of backsliding. Now, I am an adult and I know by this point in my life that just because you try really really hard and wish really really hard for something to happen, it still might not happen. So I've tried to make the best of whatever running will give me.

This summer I went back to running 30-40 miles a week and just rode my bike and swam and enjoyed the summer. I had my eyes on a fall marathon and thought, hoped that by August, when the kids went back to school, I could hammer out some miles, train hard and run a fantastic fall marathon with a big fat shiny PR and be able to say: NAT IS BACK!!!

In September I signed up and committed to the Soldier marathon. I was slogging through the 90 degrees and hellacious humidity and doing my miles. By the end of September I was right on track and ran a peak 60 miles for the week. And then injury struck. Exactly 6 weeks out from my fall marathon.

I was very worried that I had a pelvic stress fracture. It hurt every time I ran. For two weeks I dialed my running way back and rode my bike--a lot-- went to yoga, strength trained and cried. A lot. Or, rather, I cried every time I ran. Not because of pain but because I felt so defeated. So frustrated that the one thing I wanted to do I couldn't do.I could do everything else pain free but I couldn't run any significant distance pain free.

With my diligence in cross training, strength training, yoga and, dear Lord, foam rolling--it started to get better. I decided since it was getting better, not worse, and only was a problem when running -- and since I could still run some-- and it was getting slowly better that it most likely was NOT a stress fracture. My best guess is that it was weakness or some sort of tendinitis/inflammation in my priformis or glute muscles. The sciatic nerve was involved since I would feel at different times: weakness, shooting pain, tightness or tingling all down the back of my right leg, in my right hip, groin, glute and even into my foot. So I maintained my cross training with the bike, yoga and weights and I started building back the running miles. I managed to have a 50 mile week with a 23 mile run 3 weeks out. My hip still wasn't 100% but each week it got a little better. So I decided to taper and try for the marathon.

On a trail recovery run, just a little 5 mile run, two weeks out I rolled my ankle on a rock. That caused my left Achilles to flare up. Not such a big deal since I was tapering but it was weak and sore and now talking back to me. This was pretty frustrating since I haven't had my Achilles give me issue since last Feb and now I had issues on my left side as well as what I had going on with my right hip. But, I consoled myself, by remembering that I've run several marathons with my Achilles less than perfect. It just means babying it, warming it up and starting out cautiously. The hip though. . .

I knew, despite a bit of optimism, as the taper progressed that I was not in shape to run a personal best at the marathon. So I forgot about that goal. I settled on an A a goal of bettering my 3:41BQ time from ING for Soldier's marathon. At least then I could submit a faster time for a better corral at Boston. I admitted, not knowing how my injury could play out and the all too fresh memory of my painful injured BQ at ING that sub 3:40 could possibly prove a bit ambitious.

After all, I was injured, AGAIN and I had done zero speed work. With the bulk of my miles ranging in the 8:30 to 9 minute pace range I didn't even know if I could run 26 miles at sub 8:30 pace. I knew I had the endurance to run 26.2 for a 3:45ish finish but I didn't know how I would hold up if my hip rebelled. In the past I tend to fall apart when stuff hurts. I think I have a very low threshold for pain since as soon as the tiniest thing hurts I am walking. I always mean to "suck it up" and "dig deep" but truthfully, it just never happens.

My other issue with sub 3:41 being ambitious was that nearly every run over 10 miles I was having to stop and stretch out my hip. I hadn't run 10 continuous miles in at least 2 months. So while my training paces, speed work aside, hadn't suffered too much I was stopping the watch to stretch. And, just in case you don't know this, in a race? They don't stop the clock so you can stretch.

So while my wishful thinking goal for Soldiers was sub 3:41, I decided that my overall goal for Soldier's marathon would be to run strong and run the fastest, best race that my body would allow THAT DAY. I knew. No matter what. That I would finish the marathon. I knew that might mean a house of pain like Ga ING had been in March but in my mind, no one. No one quits a marathon on Veteran's weekend that honors the men and women of this county who have given up their lives for freedom. More pointedly, given up their lives so that I can be a person who says running is "the thing that I do." I may come off as bit two dimensional but the reason I am allowed to be that way is not lost on me and I am very, very grateful. If the US soldiers can fight selflessly for honor and freedom then I figured I better be able to fight selfishly for my own silly meaning of happiness. Seemed only right. . . .

And during my training for the race I had latched onto the song "All These Things that I have Done" by the Killers. It became--please indulge me this silliness-- my fight song.

By a week out from the marathon I was feeling pretty strong. I think maybe there can be magic in taper. (Or maybe it just tempers the doubt. ) My last longer runs-- progressive 16 and 13 miles respectively-- had turned out okay: no hip pain--though I was still having to stop and stretch out my hip-- just some niggles and tightness. I felt in my right leg what I call "an awareness of the area." Since I finished those last longer runs so strongly I decided ( because I know this is exactly what all people do nursing a nagging injury) to race a 5k a week out.

I had a blast at the race, so no regrets. I even got 2nd in my age group, (that darn Stacy was there and I am always Stacy's bridesmaid). The race though, the running fast part--went horribly.
Wait for it.
That's right folks.
I WALKED. In a 5k.
Oh. No. Not once but twice.
AWESOME!
Just the sort of marathon confidence builder I needed.

My time though was better than I would have thought,considering my two brief walk breaks.: 21:39. However the race was not without repercussions: I jacked up the arches on both feet and did something excruciatingly painful to the balls of both feet (hence the reason for the walking). I also aggravated my asthma. I sounded like I had bronchitis for 24 hours after the race and it hurt to walk, never mind run. So yeah, that was not one of the smarter things I have done in the taper. But, if you think about all the dumb shit I have done in a taper--Hello, trying to lift a 200+ Lacrosse goalie and throwing my back out like I did before Ga ING last March.--it wasn't that bad. At least this bonehead move was running related. . .

After the race, when I was all sad because it hurt to walk I decided to see if plugging my 5k time into the McMillan calculator would cheer me up. You know just for shits and giggles. And because, in case you didn't know. Whatever marathon time Mcmillan calculator says you are capable of --especially when based on a 5k--is EXACTLY what you will run for your next marathon. Swear. McMillian, after all, is really Scotch-Irish for "finishing time magic 8 ball."

I can't make this stuff up.

So McMillan promised me a 3:31 marathon time.

And I really did giggle at that.

Obviously though, at the end of my marathon when I saw that 3:31 happen, yeah, about shit myself.

Huh, it DOES work. . .

Okay, in all seriousness. The week before the marathon I thought if my arches got better and my hip didn't hurt and my Achilles wasn't too angry and the magic taper pixie visited me that maybe, just maybe I could put up a 3:35 finish .

And I decided I would be very, very happy with that.

The closer I got to race day the more doubt and anxiety I felt. By Friday, the day we were to leave for Columbus, I was almost 100% sure that it was going to go horribly. I kind of kept hoping for some minor tragedy to strike so I wouldn't be able to go. I alternated between--what do you call the opposite of delusions of grandeur? Oh wait. Right. That is known as reality.

Well, let's just say that I was entertaining zero optimism. And this made me more than a little bit bitchy. I was also convinced that was coming down with my husband's cold and it was his fault and was not at all a slight hangover from the wine I enjoyed at Big Peach's ladies night out. Whatever.

More.smart.stuff.I.do.while.tapering.is drinking.wine.and dancing two nights before a big race.

It was really too bad that I couldn't get wasted on the car ride down to the race because riding on 85 about sent me over the edge and then all those dead deer littered along I-85. I felt pretty certain, you know if I was a Pagan, that it was clearly an omen from Artemis foretelling that I would be more like one of those road kill deer than a sprightly doe leaping jubilantly through 26.2 miles along the Chattahoochee river side. If nothing else I sure felt as bloated and beaten as those road kill deer looked-- mangled legs and missing antlers not withstanding.

Ryan was also driving like 90mph and I was about to vomit. I am not an easy car rider. If you have ever been in a serious car accident I am sure you can relate and my request for him to slow (the fuck) down was met with a "I'm not getting blamed for anything and you will not miss the expo."

Sigh. That is what I get for telling him we had to be at the expo no later than 6:30. It went until 7:30. What?! I don't like to be late. Ever. So sometimes I lie to the people in my life about what time stuff is because they.are.always.late. And I am not.

The expo was at the The National Infantry Museum. It is a beautiful museum. I regret that I did not get to see more of it myself but Ryan and the kids went while I ran the marathon. They loved it. They took pictures of pictures.

I was quite pleased that my number was 106--it added up to 7, my favorite number. My 5k the weekend before at also added up to 7 but since that race wasn't so awesome for me I tried not to read too much into the number and just stuck with that me? I like the number 7.

I was also pleased with my race swag: a women's sized technical short sleeved shirt, a reusable bag that will now be my new swim bag, a hand towel, a squeeze ball and lots of literature about the race that I did not read. But obviously Ryan did because he seemed to know a lot about this race, definitely more than me.

Next stop was checking into the hotel. Holiday Inn Express, it was very nice. About a 5 minute drive from the start.

Apparently though, the children misunderstood that this was just a quick over night trip. See Beau? I am carrying his luggage. That is just the stuff he packed. Carmella avoided the picture. But she had just as much crap.

Beau is special. He wore camo ALL weekend, even bought a camo hat and wore a headlamp. He wanted the soldiers to know that he was a soldier too.

After settling into our room. I googled and located at Carrabas Italian Grill. I am sure there were other fabulous and unique places to eat in Columbus, Ga but before Museum of Aviation marathon I had eaten at Carrabas and then ran my Pr the next day. Stick with what you know, was my thinking.

Apparently, however, there was the world's largest cheerleading conference EVER in Columbus, GA that same weekend and apparently cheerleaders also have enjoyed a great pre cheer meal at Carrabas. There was a 2 hour wait for a table. As there also was at Chili's, Olive Garden, and Friday's. I was starving, tired and about to cry. Ryan and I were having a fight about my ability to use my smart phone and read a map. So we switched. I drove, he navigated. I was, of course, going the wrong way!

So I turned around in the parking lot of a Chevron gas station. And low and behold there was a restaurant. Mark's City Grill.

I'm not gonna lie. I had serious doubts. A gas station parking lot restaurant for a pre race meal? Denny's was starting to sound good. But I was desperate to eat and go to bed. I sent Ryan in and hoped it would be like the Sundae Cafe in Tybee that is one of the best restaurants (after German Town Cafe and Alium) I have ever eaten at and that was also in a gas station parking lot.

It was not the bestest ever but it was clean, there were no cheerleaders and best of all, no wait. I had pasta, vegetables and grilled chicken. Oh, and 2 420 sweetwater beers. You know, for good luck.

We played Uno with the kids while we waited for our food. We cannot be like normal people and just have a conversation. This is mostly because Beau cannot physically sit in his seat if the only thing that is expected of him is to sit in his seat and eat the food on his plate. But let him play Uno, sit and eat a meal? Well, everyone gets to eat and digest their food. Oh, and I won. Uno that is.

By 9 pm we were pulling into the hotel parking lot. And can you guess who was in the parking lot? Dean Karnazes? Nope! Paula Radcliffe and her baby? Nope! None of those cool runner people were there. But there were about 30 cheerleaders practicing their cheer routines. Great! I thought, so much for sleep. As we approached the entrance I overhead Carmella whisper to Beau that "those are cheerleaders. Teenage girls." Beau said, "I know." And then Carmella, sagely informed him; "teenage girls are not known for making wise choices. You should stay away from them." I can't wait to see about Carmella and her teenage girl choices . . .

Ryan grumbled about my lights out and no TV. But I guess we were all totally exhausted and actually fell right asleep. I think I might have even had my best ever night before a race sleep.

Waking and getting ready for a race in a hotel room with your young children is less than ideal but if I bribe them with those nasty powdered doughnuts they will do exactly what I tell them. So getting ready went off without issue and we were all piled into the car right on time to get to the race with what I assumed would be 30 minutes to spare.

However I didn't account for the traffic to get into the parking lot. As we sat in stand still traffic and 15 minutes to gun time I told Ryan that I would just run to the start while he tried to find parking. As I jumped out of the car and started running down the grass towards the start I felt something fall off me. It was my pin that said I ♥ Running!

I paused for a moment, looking at it laying there in the bright green Fescue and thought about picking it up. My plan had been to wear the pin for the race and when the race started to go bad--as I was certain it was going to-- I would pluck the pin off my shirt and toss it ceremoniously into the river and it would land right between Georgia and Alabama and would float all the way to Florida and get lost in the Gulf of Mexico for future archaeologists to find billions of years from now to puzzle about what it was. What it meant.

But I really had to pee so I just left it and mentally went down my checklist of other forgotten things as I ran to get in line for the porta potties: gu, phone, ipod, inhaler, and some tp tucked in a pocket just in case. I may not be a soldier but I was a girl scout. I realized I had forgotten to write planned my race mantra on my arms!

Usually I go with HTFU but this time I planned to write, stolen from my "anthem", If you can hold on, hold on. . . on my left arm. And on my right hand, You can!

Damn it, I thought. It was all going to hell. I knew it. And then it occurred to me. It was war! We always play "punch buggy" in the car. Beau insists. And whenever we get tied he will declare : It is War! And this is just from 11 previous marathons of experience speaking but the marathon is a mental war you wage with and against yourself. ( Only someone who has never been a solider or been to war can make a statement like that.)

So I headed over the battle line, I mean start line. And hopped right in the middle. I only knew 2 people doing this race I somehow found both of them standing one in front of the other. It is always good to have friends on your side.

Here is Shannon and I at the start: Shannon is ex Flacon's cheerleader. She ran the half and a huge Pr and nabbed an age group award. I just know so many awesome, fast and pretty chicks.

And here is Ron. I always see him at races and he is always a lot faster than me.

He tried to talk me into some foolish mission of running sub 3:20. I told him I just was looking to get the finish line. The closest I'm probably ever gonna get to 320 would be not finishing my Sweetwater 420. He ran 3:19.

The race started with a cannon!

And then we ran through two rows of soldiers standing at attention.

Nothing really hurt but I noticed right away that I just felt tired. My legs felt kind of heavy and it already felt hard and I had to pee. Ugh. So annoying. I reminded myself the first mile always sucks so I tried not to think too much about how much it was sucking.

Check out the race leaders! Their feet don't even touch the ground. That must be the trick.

As I passed the first mile marker I glanced at my watch. 8:32. Crap. I think that is possibly the slowest first mile of any marathon I have ever run-- and yes, even my first where I ran 4:08 and yes, even the trail marathon that I ran 4:58. I always bolt out a sub 8 for the first. I think for my pr I ran 7:2x for the first mile. I pretty much thought I had already lost the war right then and started resigning myself to the possibility of a four hour finish.

We were now in Fort Benning and I have to say the morning, the weather, it was beautiful. It really was what I call a "no excuses" marathon day weather. We ran up the highest elevation change on the course and I did pass a good number of people here. The hill was short but it was fairly steep. Nevertheless right after the marker for mile 2 I saw a porta potty and tucked in. I was still running an 8:30 avg so things pace-wise still had not improved.

I have never been on a military base so I don't know if they are all as pretty Fort Benning but I loved this part of the course. And even though it was morning the residents were all out to cheer us on--some still in their pj's. It was very cool.

For the next several miles I am trying to resist the urge to look at my watch and just relax into the run and enjoy the scenery, listen to my ipod. I don't talk to anyone these early miles.Finally at seven miles I can stand it no longer and look at my watch. I am shocked that I am at 55 minutes. The course other than that first hill had been pretty flat but I hadn't felt like I picked up the pace at all. It still felt just as hard as it had in the first mile. My heart rate felt like it was still the same. I thought about all those hour long progressive treadmill runs I had done in training after an hour on spin bike and decided maybe they had been a good workout after all.

I had been passing people and decided that maybe I should reel it in. Sometimes chatting with people helps me slow it down/keep it in check. Trying to talk makes me run a little slower because I get breathless trying to chat if I am running too hard. So I fell in step with a guy and I can't remember if he talked to me first or me him but we chatted for a bit. He had just run the New York marathon the weekend before. He asked me my goal for the race and told him about just running the best I could that day. He asked me my pr and told him, 3:28 and he told me that I was currently on pace to run a PR.

Uh oh, I thought. I started paying attention to my breathing and realized that I wasn't exactly at a conversational pace. I didn't want to crash and burn since crashing and burning and hobbling in pain to the finish I've already done and know, it is not such a fun time. So at the next aid station I decided I would walk it, let him go on.

And that is what I did. It was little hard to let the idea of running a PR go but I knew I just didn't have that in me. It just wasn't worth it to risk it. He ended up running 3:23 for the day so it was good I didn't try to hang with him. Sometime around this point-- mile 8 or 9 I don't know-- the half runners turned around. I also started noticing on the course these little soldiers trophies. I really liked them. I assumed they were age group the trophies for the race. I decided that I kind of wanted one. Too bad that they were actually trophies for some other race. But I didn't know that then.

So I started paying attention. I had no idea how many women were ahead or behind me. The ones who had been running with me had turned out be running the half . 70% of the marathon is run on this river walk like trail along the river--which is very nice as there is no traffic and there is lots of greenery. It was peaceful and quiet next to the river. The race had thinned out and I was pretty much running alone.There were runners with in sight but no packs around me. So once the halfers were gone I just started picking runners off. Probably not the wisest move for even pacing but I can't help it. In these smaller marathons the single runners in front of you are like carrots being dangled at you.I sometimes think oh Ill run up to that person, maybe chat with them, but in reality I'll get to that person and well chatting doesn't happen.

Around 11 or 12 miles I come up on the first woman that I knew was doing the full. It was my first glance at potential competition for Soldiers trophy.

I fell in step with her. I can never tell people's ages. Pretty much everyone in the 30-45 range looks about the same age to me. I was running about an 8 minute average, maybe 7:5x at that point. She told me this was her 5th marathon and her goal was 3:45. I said, "Oh you're trying to qualify?" Knowing that if the answer was yes she was in my age group. And she said "yes." I said, "Well you know you are running like a 3:30ish pace." And as a way of answering that she told that she was from Colorado. I wished her luck and ran on ahead. I refused to let myself look back to see if she was there but I never saw her again.

I was stopping and walking/slow jogging through every aid station. I was still feeling pretty good, legs tired but no pain, and decided that I would just keep that up. Ryan took this picture sometime around the half point. I kept looking for a mat and clock to signify that point and it never showed up. I almost missed seeing Ryan and the kids I was so busy looking for it.

Normally I tell him not to come see me on the course. I am such a quitter and I am always so worried that if I see him I will bail on the race if he catches me when I am having a turn in the valley of darkness. It proved a non issue.

Partly because by the time I registered Ryan and the kids I was already past them but mostly because I had had my turn in the valley already. It was called miles one and two.

After realizing I had some where passed the 13 marker and there was not going to be mat for 13.1 I ran up on a guy and asked him where we were. He said we were at about 13.2 and 1:45ish. I was little disappointed. The times I've run under 3:30 I've hit the half in 1:42 or 1:41. But that's okay, I reminded myself, 3:35 could still happen. I was just assuming there were would be a big fade. I have no faith in me for a negative or even split marathon. I like to give myself a pretty big cushion so I can wuss out and not feel pressure in the last 10k when I am sucking ass. "You're gonna bring yourself down . . ."

I was still feeling good. It wasn't easy and I sure didn't think anything magical was gonna happen but I was holding on and sort of waiting for when my hip was going to rebel and it would all go to hell. I was tailing behind this group of 5 or6 chatty guys running together. I had been debating about whether or not to pass them. They were a pack and I was about one or two strides behind them. I was pretty happy with their pace and was in the process of deciding if I could run a little faster. I didn't want to be eavesdropper.

Finally one of them says "Go on and pass us already; you know you want to." I admitted this was true but I didn't want to be embarrassed later when inevitably they would have to pass me again. I did speed up a little and was now in step with them. I recognized one of the men from other races. Normally I don't remember people because most runners all pretty much look the same. But this guy had red hair and you just remember red hair people. Well I do. Also, in my first marathon a red headed guy I had been leap frogging with told me in the final 10k that "he didn't want to have pass me again." And I remember telling him not to worry, he wouldn't have to. Anyway, I introduced myself and his name was Anthony and he had indeed done a lot of the same marathons I had done.

We chatted for a few miles, swapped misery in ill preparedness: me my litany of injuries. Him a stomach bug the week before.During this time I saw the second girl I would see in the marathon. She said hi and she ran with us a bit. She looked easy. And she was young. I didn't try to hang with her when she pulled ahead. I was holding on, doing what I could.

Anthony pulled back when we reached a little incline. I cheered because my It band was starting sing a song that I didn't so much care for. As I ran ahead a man spectating told me that third place girl was just ahead of me. I kind of hated him because yeah, guess what dude. She just passed me. But it was helpful information in my pursuit of a soldier's trophy.With three girls ahead of me, one of them definitely younger I was still in the running for an age group trophy. Which right then, in addition to finishing, was what I wanted.

Around 17 we hit the mat that was there to make sure no one is cheating since you start running back on the course. Now if I had at all looked at the race information I would have known this. Along with that the course jogs into Alabama and it would have made sense when Anthony mentioned something about being in Alabama when we were running over a bridge. I thought he was just being kooky and talking about a Alabama state of being or something.

We ran briefly on the road--the only time all day except for the part in Fort Benning. It was a little out and back portion. I was on the look out for the female leads but I never saw them. As it turned out they were not far enough ahead of me. Winning female ran 3:24. I did get to swap hi-fives with Ron on this portion. I love getting to see people I know on a run course.

At the 18 mile aid station I stopped to grab some gu and I recognized another runner that I always see at local races. I actually had chatted with him several years before at the Alpharetta half and later the Silver comet half. I was at first just looking at him trying to place him and he looked at me and said "Do not give me that look!" I said "We've met before." I told him where. His response was "That was like 5 years ago!" And I said, " I know! And if you want to talk to me today you are going to have to run!"

I ran on and within a few minutes Jerry was at my shoulder telling me his tale of a colossal 3 hour blow up. He had just run New York the week before, he had done Ironman Louisville in the fall, was on task to run 30 marathons--in the past 5 years-- before his 30th birthday in March and he was just back from Afghanistan and had gone out at a sub 3 pace and blown himself up. And he talked and we ran together the final 8 miles of the marathon. It was awesome. It completely distracted me from my own self pity, misery, negative head talk. I need a Jerry at the end of every marathon. (Applications for Boston currently being accepted! Please apply!)

Jerry did most of the talking as I was just hanging on. I did tell him about my new goal of the trophy. Around 22 miles a woman showed up. She didn't speak to us when she passed us. Jerry and I tried to chat her up but she was very focused. I was a little worried because she looked my age. My trophy was in danger! A guy standing off course started running with her. It was a little annoying that he would hand her water and stuff at aid stations but I was walking the aid stations anyway so what did it matter if someone handed me water? As it was she was first master winner so I didn't need to worry.

Around 24 miles another woman fell in step with us. She looked younger than me but I knew there were already 4 women ahead of me. My potential soldier trophy was slipping away! I was kind of half ready to fight for it and half didn't care but either way I needed to know. So I flat out asked her how old she was. Twenty eight! I was still good! Jerry and I leap frogged with her. Jerry switched to the metric system and kept saying stuff like 1200 meters to go.He was a numbers man. He went from saying we might go sub 3:30 to we could still hit 3:30 and I just kept saying, I am having the absolute best day possible for me. I don't care. ( I just wanted a soldier's trophy, damn it!)

As Jerry was throwing out meters and minutes and possible finish scenarios I suggested we should totally do a cartwheel at the finish. Without missing a beat he said "I suspect you have the gymnastics background to support such a move but I do not." But the idea was there. I had done cartwheels and roundoff's at the finish of 5k's and even half marathon but I didn't know if I would have the coordination to do it at the end of marathon. . .

We were close to the finish but Jerry and his damn metric system totally confused me and we were not as close as I thought. Jerry and I had picked up the pace but when I realized that the finish was not when I thought it was going to be I stopped cold. I just kind of stood there looking at the tiniest of hills and the corner I had to turn to run down the Avenue of Flags to the finish. It was so close but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be. The girl who I had been leap frogging with caught up to me and patted me on the back as she passed me, saying, "Com'on, you have this." Damn it. I know I have it. I just thought I had it.Sigh.

Running on.

It was totally freaking awesome and if I hadn't been so annoyed that I didn't know where the finish line was I would have appreciated running down the Avenue of Flags a whole lot more. But boy oh boy was I happy and shocked when I saw 3:31xx on the clock. As I approached the finish line I was all set for my cartwheel but then I noticed the camera man right smack in the center. I thought crotch shot! Ryan will kill me! So I just run under the banner and threw my arms up.

Me and Jerry: Hey! I didn't notice before but both our bibs add up to 7!

And I ended up being first in my age group. I didn't get a cute trophy with solider but nonetheless a very nice carved wood plaque. But mostly I think I had the best day I could have possibly had and after the past year I am so grateful.

And yeah, I'm cribbing the song, changing it up as I sing it when I am running:
Over and done, last call for pain
While everyone's lost, this battle is won
With all the miles that I have run
All these miles that I have run

Time, sweat and heart

If you can hold on
If you can hold on

You can.

Testing

2011-03-22T18:31:00.001-04:00

Blogging from my phone. Can I do this?

It Might be a Cinderella Story

2011-02-07T14:50:00.007-05:00

I often have trouble sleeping. Falling asleep, staying asleep-- just like sitting still-- is a huge challenge for me. It doesn't matter how exhausted my body might be because my mind? It never seems to tire. I know, clearly it is a sign that I am not thinking enough during the day but I get so distracted by all the sunshine and butterflies. It is hard to focus. But there, in the dark, in my bed where the quiet is punctuated by my son talking in his sleep down the hall and my husband's loud snoring next me and the dog downstairs fidgeting, well I just.can't.fall.asleep.

Throughout my life I have used various mental exercises to help me quiet and distract my mind so I can fall asleep. I remember when I was 6 I would try to count as far as could until I fell asleep. As got older counting backwards or doing multiplication tables in my head often worked. Making up stories or scenarios never work for me because I get excited about ideas and the ideas, notions and fantasies keep me up. But math? I don't get excited about math ever. So the numbers in their measured exactness, eventually, bore me to sleep.

Recently though I have been again struggling with insomnia and my number games are no longer working. I am willing to admit that it is possible that numbers have failed me because of my elementary math knowledge. Perhaps if I was better schooled in Calculus my mind could come up with more complex number exercises to lull me to sleep. But I am not going back to school just to learn more math so I can sleep. That just seems silly. So I had to come up with an alternative non math exercise. And that was when I found comfort-- and happily, sleep-- in mentally walking through my great grandmothers and grandmothers houses: specifically, Ebie, Carmela, Adelaide and Anne.

I have four houses to choose from on any given night and only once have I made it through all four houses and their rooms--having inspected yard, fence, stairs, doors, floors, walls, windows, rugs, furniture, porch and kitchen-- before the alarm went off saying,"Never mind about sleep, it is time to get up!" I find it peaceful thinking about the houses, their rooms, furnishings, objects, vistas and oddly, I feel like I am doing something important. You see, all my grandmothers have died and their houses are houses I will never have the opportunity to walk through again. At least not in how they looked when my grandmothers lived there. So I feel like, while I lay there doing nothing, that I am doing something: I am preserving photos in my mind. Sealing memories so I don't ever forget place and thing or more specifically, person.

Last week I couldn't sleep again. I was so wired that I was going to need to go on a long walk and decided I would walk through my great grandmother Ebie's house (I actually wrote a poem about standing in her front yard. You can read that poem here if you want). I feel like hers is the house I know the most details about.

It is summer and I am six, my brother is five and my mom has long hair and my dad has long hair and a seventies mustache. I am certain that this is the trip where after throwing my beloved pink bear out the car window for the third time since leaving Atlanta my dad finally said "C'est la vie" And despite my loud and desperate pleas of "La V! La V!" He won't stop to go back and retrieve pink bear, with her broken music box hidden inside her bottom, from the side of the Martha Berry highway.

We arrive in the gray Pinto station wagon that has hideous maroon interior and trim. It is afternoon and it is hot and the humidity is suffocating. I am first out of the car and most likely the only one not exhausted from the five plus hour trip to Bainbridge. I run across the grass that is really just dead weeds at this point in the summer and up the red concrete steps to Ebie's front porch. To my right is painted and flaking white ornate wrought iron patio furniture. That part of the porch isn't covered and has looming live oak branches shading it. To my left that part of the porch is screened and has the unrivaled giant wicker porch swing laden with pillows. If there is anything else on the porch my mind can not see it because I only remember the swing. I marvel at the mailbox that is on the house and stick my hand, then my face through the letter slot and announce that we are here. I am always fascinated that the mailman walks up to the house and leaves mail here and not in a box out by the street.

The door is opened and I rush in. My attention is directed to the maroon Victorian style chair and polished wood tiered table with small, glass objects d' art. My eye zeros in on and my hand-- quick before she can swat it away and anyone can say a collective no,-- picks up the glass hobnailed slipper. There is only one. I puzzle that there isn't two but just one blue, high heeled, glass shoe. It makes no sense. It must be Cinderella's.

And that is when it occurs to me. I make it no further into the house and am riveted back to reality. Wide awake, (ugh again!) but realizing that it could be the shoes. That maybe, just maybe the neutral shoes I've been running in for the last 7 or so months is why my right hip, right glute continue to give me trouble.

So the next day I don't exercise or run. And I do the same for the next 3 days. COMPLETE rest. And I have mental breakdown on every one of the days. On Friday, the fourth day, I go to Big Peach running company and my good friend Kate assists me in picking out some new shoes. I go with Adrenaline's after trying on at least 6 different shoes.

Adrenaline's. You read that right. Brooks Adrenaline's. Apparently, I am going back to the start. I wore Adrenaline's for the first 3 years I ran marathons and then wore Infiniti's and then Trance's. But always some form of motion control shoe.

Last spring I decided that I should be in a neutral shoe. And well, I've had nothing but issues with my right hip/glute since then. I have tried core work, cross training, less mileage, more rest, foam rolling, yoga and stretching and more stretching--seriously, I am part pigeon by this point-- and I am STILL having issues with my right hip/glute. The only thing that has been better for me since I switched from a motion control shoe to a neutral shoe is that my Achilles tendinitis and ankle issues are gone. But that could just be a product of lower mileage. At this point, I would welcome Achilles tendinitis back into my life if the hip/glute issue would go away. Ankle pain is far less catastrophic than pain radiating from your low back, butt, hip and down the back of your leg and into your calf. It gets hard to ignore and I can't run if I am limping. Never mind train for the Boston marathon--yes, I am registered. Yes, I have a plane ticket (thank you Chris.) And a place to stay (thank you Allison.) And my own personal cheerleader (thank you Pookie.)

So I bought the Adrenaline's Friday. Saturday I ran 3 miles on the treadmill, tossing in a few hills and amping up the pace and well, my calf did not hurt at all. Just some tightness. My right hip and glute did ache some but were no worse than when I started. And my stride just felt more stable. More normal. Like I didn't have to think about it the whole time and worry about misstep on the right side. It was just happening.

Sunday was an 11.5 trail race. I wore my old mizuno ascend trail shoes. And for 11.5 miles, where I rolled my right and than my left ankle, my calf did not hurt at all. Again, I had some mild ache in the hip/glute when I ran up the steeper hills but nothing like what I had been having. After the race I got one of those free massages. (Thank you Robin!)

And so that brings us to today, Monday. I woke for the first time in a long time with zero ache or tightness in my right hip/glute. And my calf is perfect. I went for an easy 6 miles--concrete, hills-- and couldn't even feel anything at all where my calf has been bothering me. My hip and glute felt better today than yesterday. Not perfect like the calf. Little bit of weakness, soreness is still there but it is better than it has been.

It might be too soon to be optimistic but Geez, could it be the shoes? Really? And so, just like Cinderella is all I'm gonna need to get to the start (and finish) line at Boston is a little (race day) magic and just the right pair of shoes to train in? Really? I sure hope so. . .

Out Riding Fences

2010-08-11T19:00:00.002-04:00

There has been much excitement at my house for the past few days. Ryan is finally putting up that fence I asked him to build like oh, nine years ago. See. I can be patient.

Beau in particular is super excited. It is a little bizarre how excited he is about the fence. Carmella and I are like, meh, fence, yay! But sheesh, finally. . .

Beau came home from school yesterday so pumped about helping Daddy build the fence. I was a little worried that Ryan didn't know yet about all the help he was going to be getting but you know what? A Beau off my back for an afternoon is a Beau off my back. I don't care who I toss under the Beau bus for that. Not that I don't love the guy but you know, his energy is like boy to the fourth power. His energy? His talking? (irony on so many levels) It trumps mine.

I insisted he do his homework first. Much fence building time was wasted over a tantrum, failed negotiations, complaining and then him finally doing it after Ryan said he couldn't help if he didn't do his homework. I left to take Carmella to the dentist. I returned an hour later to find him wearing ripped camo shorts, a ripped t shirt, a pair of Carmella's old hiking boots that are 3 sizes too big, bike gloves and wielding pruners as big as him. Ryan actually wears a similar outfit to work in the yard, minus the bike gloves which are replaced by heavy duty work gloves, but I guess Beau saw what his uniform should be and improvised the best he could. I also guess that Beau was probably driving Ryan crazy with "Dad! Dad! What can I do? You need me to hold a post?" That Ryan said, "Here, take the pruners and go clear the weeds." I think the neighbors will be excited all the bushwhacking Beau did on their property.

I went to meet Steph and the other Tuesday night groupies to ride in Roswell and then run last night. Apparently I missed out on Beau's 5 hour non stop blue streak talking about fence building. When I got home at 9pm Beau heard me and woke up to tell me that he had changed the outfit we laid out for school. I looked it over and decided that since it didn't have any holes or stains that it wasn't worth the fight, so I left it. Plus, if the kid wants to look like a fool why should I stop him? Maybe in this case a little peer pressure and ribbing might be good. But knowing Beau he has probably started a fad .

He woke up at 6:30 this morning and talked nonstop about the fence, even showing and explaining to me the blue print sketch that I had been there while Ryan drew it. He kept right on talking and talking and talking until I dropped him at school at 7:20. He didn't even break subject when he did a face plant down the stairs from tripping over the boots and could not be persuaded to put on shoes that fit.

I can only guess what he talked about at school today. I find it very interesting the Adderall does not make him quiet like the Ritalin made me. He has self control, behaves, sits in his seat and is able to focus but he still has a lot to say. Ritalin near made me a mute. I am not saying this is bad thing I am just saying I am surprised. Clearly it is a better medication.

Okay, so yeah, after school. . .

As soon as he got in the car he said "Hurry up Mom! I gotta help Dad with the fence! " He was again pissed about the homework first stipulation; especially since Ryan had hired to workers to help and Carmella had told Beau, when she saw their truck, "Oh Dude, you've been replaced!"

He finally finished his worksheet and reading and went out to help Ryan. Even Carmella went and a bit later the neighbor girl, Riley, came over--expecting to play fashion show or veterinarian-- and got roped into fence building. She also got roped into painting the house last summer too. You'd think she wouldn't want to come play here anymore. I know I wouldn't.

So I went out to check the progress on the fence just now and the kids told me they decided to build their own fence. In the middle of the yard. It will be their talking area, Carmella explained. And I was SO relieved to know that, now, there will be a specific area for that. It will make things so much easier on me. I might even be able to focus or complete a thought without being interrupted by chatter.

Beau said it would be their special meeting place and Riley added that it would also be "a war memorial for 1983. " Beau, Carmella and I just looked at her and she said, "Right, I don't know what I am talking about. I just wanted to say something too." See! Good thing that there will be a fenced off area in the middle of my backyard specifically designed for that!

Okay, so here is them working on their fence. I asked if the flags were for gas lines or something but Carmella said that was where the posts were going.

I know. That is going to look awesome! Really going to enhance the landscaping (snort). Okay, eventual landscaping. Whatever. It may be an eyesore but it has kept 3 children out of my house that I have been trying all afternoon to clean and, even better, it is going to be a future talking area! A play pen that the kids built for themselves. Fabulous! Who cares how ugly it is!

Running so I can (Run and THEN) Stand Still . . .

2010-08-10T14:19:00.018-04:00

Whenever I meet someone and they inform me that they are smart or super intelligent or something to that effect I immediately form the opinion that they are in fact, most likely, not smart at all. As one manipulator to another I personally find that very insulting. If nothing else, I am good at forming opinions.

So feel free to form your own opinion but today I realized I'm a bit of an idiot. Not really blog-worthy info, I know but bear with me.

I have this mentality, I've always had it--I guess you could call it running to stand still. Right, the U2 song but the saying has been around forever. Cliche. Right, surprise again, me? Cliche, never.

I think it is maybe an ADD quality because I see it in Beau. For example, I will ask Beau and Carmella to pick up their toys around the house and clean their room. Within 5 minutes Beau, whose room was 10 times messier will announce "Done!" And go downstairs and turn on the Wii. Carmella, on the other hand will be still cleaning her already clean room and getting ready to organize her closet too, right after she gets done folding all her American Girl doll clothes and arranging her stuffed animals in little conversational vignettes.

I warn Beau that I am going to check. And he will run to his room, shut the door and I will hear some banging around and then after 10 or so minutes, he will emerge and tell me, to "Go ahead. Check."

I tell him I will be looking under the bed . . . and his eyes will shift but he gives nothing away. Instead, he goes back downstairs, turns on the Wii and resumes, along with Hans Solo, saving the universe.

At first look, the room is perfect (for a 7 year old having cleaned it), even under the bed is clear. I start to leave but notice one of the shelves above his top bunk is crooked. Well, that's no good! So I climb up there and while straightening it I see, stuffed between the bunks and the wall but not easily seen when just standing in the room eye level, his sheets--fitted and top because I guess he was too lazy to put them on, straighten them--I don't know. He tells me "sheets are hard." Just like he use to tell me buttons were too hard and he only wanted elastic pants.

Stuffed animals, some lego Star Wars, along with dirty clothes, books, binoculars, hand written notes and other miscellaneous items are tucked in between the side board and mattress and the wall. There is so much there that you know that it wasn't a case of a toy falling to the wayside, getting stuck and accidentally being overlooked. No, they were placed specifically there. This involved thinking and method. This is sneaky.

So I begin investigating. I open the closet. Sure enough, clothes, shoes, and whatever else is stuff, shoved, tossed and pushed where ever it can fit and the closet door can still close. I don't even bother to look in the drawers. I'll find that another day. I don't even have time for this. Why? Because I want to go to the gym and get my run done. This is all cutting into my time! My time that I planned and had accounted for!

Le big fat sigh. I think, annoyed and knowing that this is my Mama's curse yet again biting me in the ass: a child just like me. . .

Karma, Karma, bo-bkarma

Banana-fana fo-fkarma

Fee-fi-mo-mkarma

Karma!

I yell for Beau to come and having pulled everything out I tell him he has to put everything away in its right place. And I have stripped his beds too so now he has to remake them the correct way. He is pissed. I am pissed too because this is all going to take more time. Time that I have not scheduled for! Already I am changing my planned hour spin bike and easy 6 mile treadmill run to just a run, treadmill intervals I decide. As many as I can do. That will be harder, I decide. A compromise, not what I want but still better than nothing.

Sure, I could just let it go but everybody knows when it comes to parenting it never ever workouts out when you try to rob Peter to pay Paul. In my experience Peter is the debt that is never forgotten. He is always coming back around looking for his money.

So the problem is twofold here. The first, in the case of Beau, is that he spent so much time trying to get out of cleaning that had he just done it right in the first place he would be done. He put so much effort into NOT doing the thing that was expected of him that in the end he wasted more of his time (and mine!). If he had just done what was expected of him he would have been long done. This is proving a very long and not so sharp of a learning curve for Beau.We deal with this in nearly every aspect of his life down to the smallest things--like eating a meal, writing a thank you note. It is all very time consuming and also, very frustrating because I am still trying to straighten out my own damn curve on this issue.

Hmm, I guess on second thought that curve might be wrong word because when it comes to parenting Beau it isn't so much a curve as it appears to be one freaking circle.

Anyway, I'd like to think that I am not like Beau anymore but honestly my methodology in approaching tasks that I don't love has just evolved. Certainly I don't try to avoid them or go to great efforts to skirt around them like he does but instead I put a great deal of effort into trying to make said tasks easier or at least more palatable. Really, I put a lot of effort into trying to trick myself into thinking that I am getting out of something when really I am not.

While I won't go to length's anymore to avoid a job I don't want to do I still try to find the easy way out while still doing what is expected. And I am finding that while it may seem I might be "trumping the chore" so to speak it has occurred to me that I might also be making things harder for myself than if I just tackled the task as it came. But I don't know, maybe not.

Like anyone I have things I have to do before I can get to do what I want to do. This is that running to stand still part and while that is probably meant as a metaphor in my case it is literal.

I feel like I am running so that I can go running or biking or swimming or to yoga. I near exhaust myself to plan for it and it does, at times, occur to me that is a little crazy.

But this is a long ingrained habit of mine that I have to think I developed in response to what I see Beau going through. My first memory of it is when we would go back packing as a family. I would complain at length how hard it was, how tired I was, how heavy my pack was, and how much I wanted to quit. Everyone else would just quietly march ahead, ignoring me. I would ask "how long till we can stop for a break?" And my dad would say in about 15 minutes or in a mile. So I would start running. My thinking was that I would get to the rest spot first and have to wait on them. Thus I would get extra rest time, more rest than everyone else. How smart is that?

Right, if you go twice as fast you do almost need twice as much rest. See how it is still the same and also probably more effort than if I had just shut up, sucked it up and marched along with the rest of them?

Then in high school I discovered what I called "planned procrastination." For example I'd get an assignment to do a research paper. We'd have a month to complete it. Now my normal inclination would have been to put it off and wait until the night before and stay up all night and write it the day before the due date. Knowing this about myself I would prepare for it. I would decide on my topic and do all the research. I would write up an outline, pick out my quotes, write my works cited and then set it all aside until the night before it was due and then stay up all night writing the 20 page paper.

This seemed to work pretty well and it did take off some of the stress of leaving something to the last minute since I had done some of the leg work. But why, why if I had done all the research and damn near had the thing written 3 weeks earlier--why wouldn't I have just written it then? I don't know. I guess I kind of thought this was how everyone did stuff.

Then I found out when I dated this guy in high school who was really studious (I don't want to say smart because I always did better on tests but I guess he was smarter than me . . .) and in my Southern lit class that this was not how everyone else wrote their term papers. He not only began his researching his paper immediately he also began writing his paper even though we still had three weeks until it was due! I think that was the first time I ever heard the word "rough draft." You mean you do more than one? I asked. He laughed at me. I think he thought I was joking because then he asked to see my "rough draft". I showed him my outline.

So, you know, now that I am a real live adult I've been trying it the studious way: the research, write, edit, revise and rewrite way (please note, this methodology does not apply to blogging. Still old school there!) Oh, and by the way this being an adult thing is not an age thing. It is because I have kids and I have to set the example. By default, I am the adult so for that reason I try to (most times) act like one.

What in the hell am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you. In plain terms. This week I need /want to ( I still get those words confused) go to Bikram yoga in the evening and go to the Roswell ride. Both those activities keep me out when I should be at home playing mommy in the kitchen. I also want to do a long run on Friday and ride my bike on Saturday. Both big workout days that will leave me tired and not inclined to slave over a hot stove after slaving for a few hours in the August heat running and riding.

Now my mom, Lala/Smut use to do this thing she called "making plates." I know I have mentioned before that my affection for endorphins is inherited. My mom use to go to step aerobics in the morning and in the evening. Sometimes she would run too so that could have been her evening workout. My dad was also a twice a day workout fiend. Running in the morning, step aerobics with mom or karate in the evenings. Us kids would complain about having to eat dinner so late. So my mom would make dinner everyday sometime around 3 or 4 pm. Then she would clean the kitchen, put every one's food on their plate, cover it with tinfoil and pop it in the oven on warm. Then you were free to eat your dinner whenever you wanted. This worked awesome for us when we were kids and had things like work, sports or social events after school. We also didn't have to wait to eat with my parents whose preferred eating time is never before 9pm.

I will admit making plates is genius but the flaw in the making plates process is that you have to well, make the plates. You have to make them everyday. You also have to be willing to leave your oven on. Something that is okay in the winter but in August? In Atlanta?

So my "genius" Nat idea was to make a bunch of meals yesterday and freeze them so that I wouldn't have to do much the rest of the week. I could catch a break was my thinking!

Pork roast in the crock pot with lime juice, salsa and cumin. Monday for pork tacos, leftover pork and black beans to made into Enchiladas Verde and frozen for dinner Friday night.

Baked Ziti. One for this week and one for next week.

On paper, and I am just saying that since I didn't actually write it down, it seemed like a good idea. But in execution (isn't that always the case?) I think it may prove more work than if I just cooked every night before going to my workout and ordering pizza when I am tried.

For certain, I don't think I am actually getting out of any work here, which originally, I guess I thought maybe I would. I thought I could at least trick myself into thinking that someone else made me dinner. But I think, if I were to add up the hours spent making extra meals and cleaning up from making them and then add in the clean up involved on the days I eat them I think I added an extra hour or two in the kitchen rather than sparing myself any.

That part kind of bothers me. The doing of extra.

I am still not a person who wants to naturally do the extra, just cause. (Especially when it comes to things like laundry, cooking and cleaning. )This is not to say that I won't become one but at the very least I am not a person who is trying to get away with less anymore. Even if you don't see it, trust me, that is progress.

Yes though, I am still that little girl with a 30lb Jansport backpack racing down the trail, trying to beat everyone else to the rest stop so I can catch more of a break. Old habits die hard.

However, I do think that when I get home from yoga, or my bike ride or from running in the woods for a few hours when certainly I will be tired, hungry and have eyes only for food and energy only to shower that I will be grateful for the extra. I am thinking I might even be pleased with myself at my forethought of doing the extra; for having dinner done. I will be able to relax after wards because I will have all the laundry washed and folded and put it away so that the only dirty clothes in the house are the workout clothes I peel off of me. No looming laundry baskets. And I will be happy to sit in my clean (ish, let's be honest here) house so I can relax without guilt and worry that there is something I should be doing or should have done. Oh, and for sure, the next morning when I am stiff, sore and invariably extra tired I will be relieved that I had made certain the kids backpacks were packed, clothes laid out and everything was in its place before I went to bed so I won't have to run up and downstairs searching for shoe, sock, homework or book because, well, probably I won't be able to, at least not quickly.

I am certain I will be grateful for it all, when (if) it happens, but there is always that Beau factor, that karma that always thwarts my plans for sitting still; my plans for lethargy. So in truth, I am always running in hopes that eventually there really will be that rare moment when I will find myself standing still. Until then I guess I will keep on running so that when it arrives, I will be able to enjoy it.

The First Day of School

2010-08-05T19:05:00.003-04:00

I just love the first day of school. The nervousness, the excitement surrounding the first day is tangible. It is like how the humidity in August makes the air so thick you think you might could chew it. I just love seeing the kids all shiny in their new clothes and ready to implode from possibilities and promises of a new school year. . .

Carmella loves it because of the new school supplies and the chance to hone her superior organizational skills. (She was about to burst wide open and leave tiny Carmella pieces all over my car when I told her I was getting her a new agenda at the school store this morning.)

Another school year means seeing if she can be even nicer to people this year. Maybe make it for a triple crown this year for the Principal's award. . . Honestly I think the child is relieved to have routine again as I've slacked off the past few weeks with my stringency to the chore chart and the schedule. She has seemed a bit adrift, mentioning how I need to update. . .

Beau loves it because he likes to collect friends and the first day is primo opportunity to make new ones. Already he has made nice with the new girl from New York. Her name? Not important. But she is new and she is from New York. Exotic girl. Also, his teacher? She likes to sing and she had some funny stories. He also got to talk to all his friends from the past years, his speech teacher, his old kindergarten teacher, his first grade teacher, some lady in the library, the janitor, the Principal, Abby's dad and who knows who else. Beau may never be the most studious or most well behaved student but he is possibly the most friendly and the most eager. (PS. I got a personal call this afternoon from his teacher telling me how awesome his day was! Uhm, that has NEVER happened.)

Me? I like it because it always seems like a chance to start over. It also marks some free time for me to focus on training. To begin, in this case, marathon training anew. That whole training through summer didn't workout so well for me last year. So this summer I took a big cut back in miles, tried my best to heal all my nagging injuries and enjoyed the view from the pool, the bike, the Bikram yoga mat . . .

Today I christened my first day of marathon training with a 10 mile run. I am tired and have a fun over from our recent beach vacation so this little run wasn't as awesome as I hoped but it was okay. I mean, okay as in I didn't die.

But, I mean really. Like any run in August in Atlanta at 9 am with a temp of 86 degrees and 70% humidity is ever going to be awesome? I mean, sure I could go run 10 miles on the treadmill and average a minute faster per mile and all but where is the fun in that? More importantly and most pointedly: I wouldn't be sweating out near the amount of beer running 10 miles in air conditioning as I do making nice with the sufferfest trinity of heat, hills, and humidity.

Cause, out there? In the heat? Where I bake for an hour 25ish on the side walk? I literally see the fat melting off of me.

At least, that is what I like to think is in those pools of sweat I leave when I must stop at a stop light.

Okay. So has anyone else noticed lately the heat inflation going on? I will note that the posted official temp says one thing--like 90 degrees-- and then they've got this "real feel" or heat index of 10-15 degrees higher?

Is this so I will feel more extreme?
Is that so I will feel more hardcore or possibly, stupid for not only attempting outdoor endurance activities but for just peeking my head out the door?
Or is it a conspiracy to make me crank my air conditioner up? Cause, uhm yeah. That is working (daily prayer of July, August and September: Please don't break. Please don't break. In Artic Jesus name I pray you can leave me so poor I can't buy food but please keep my air conditioner fully functioning. Amen.)

Besides, what does it matter?

I don't need weather dot com to tell me that anything close to or over 90 degrees in good ole Hotlanta is going to feel like someone mistakenly stuffed me while still breathing in a crematorium. 110? 95? Even 93 degrees-- any way you sell it to me it does not make me think my run is going to be blissful or even remotely comfortable. It honestly doesn't matter to me at this point if it is 80 degrees or 110 degrees. Unless it is under 70 degrees I am probably not going to love my run. And besides, that sweet spot for me in running? It is a cool 32 degrees. And well, I got months and months and miles and miles to go before I am there. Ahhh, running through the woods on a snowy evening. Doesn't that just sound divine?

But never mind the heat. I'm staying in the kitchen! Hell's Kitchen, Hell's ditch, whichever-- I can take it! I am ready! Bring it on!

And like a kid on the first day of school: I am bursting with the hope for a good year, a better year. . .
So with my new supplies (why hello there yellow--viva Livestrong!!-- Air Pegasus) and new found ambition; I am ready to start a new. And I am looking for my first quarter exam to be on November 13, 2010.

For certain, I have lots of studying-- lots of catching up to do-- but I hope, at the very least, to make it an A+ effort.

Lemonade in the Riptide: 2010 Chattanooga Olympic Triathlon

2010-07-24T15:12:00.004-04:00

If you lack the iron and the fuzz to take control of your own life, if you insist on leaving your fate to the gods, then the gods will repay your weakness by having a grin or two at your expense. Should you fail to pilot your own ship, don't be surprised at what inappropriate port you find yourself docked. . .  The price of self-destiny is never cheap, and in certain situations it is unthinkable. But to achieve the marvelous, it is precisely the unthinkable that must be thought.
from Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins

Okay, before you read any further do me a favor, go pee. While you're at it get yourself a beer, water, some vittles, put on some good tunes. . .   Heck, maybe get yourself some Adderall. . .

I'll wait.

Go, but come back.

Please.

Seriously, get comfortable--pretty sure this is going to be long. Such is the case when one doesn't update their blog for 3 months.

Ready?

So that quote at the beginning? It has long taken up space in my head. But the past few months I've taken a risk and just let it go. I've been tired of struggling-- trying to force destiny's hand. And that was when I realized that I was like a swimmer, no unfortunately not a Dara Torres phenom but rather one who ignored the warnings signs, red flags and found that I was a swimmer caught in a rip current.

Here's what Wikapedia has to say about a swimmer caught in a rip current:
A swimmer caught in a rip current should not attempt to swim back to shore directly against the rip. This risks exhaustion and drowning. A rip does not pull a swimmer under water; it carries the swimmer away from the shore in a narrow channel of water. The rip is like a treadmill which the swimmer needs to step off. The swimmer should remain calm and swim parallel to the shore until out of the current. . .
A swimmer in a strong rip, who is unable to swim away from it, should relax and calmly float or tread water to conserve energy. Eventually the rip will lose strength, and the swimmer can swim at a leisurely pace, in a direction away from the rip but back to shore. . .

Like the panicked swimmer it took me awhile to realize that maybe I should just "relax" and go with the flow. And well, that is where the lemonade part comes into play. . .

I got thirsty.

What?  With all that struggling and thrashing about in the strong rip. . .

Okay, I know, I know, horribly cliche and really, if we are being literal, I think lemonade would be pretty terrible mixed in with all that salt water I'd surely be swallowing if I was caught in a real live riptide; not this metaphorical one that I'm being spun about in. Nevertheless, I am sure you get the implication that I am just trying to make the best of the situation.

So yeah, in case you haven't figured it out the running, the running which is near, dear and self defining of who I see myself as, has betrayed me. It just hasn't been working out. Injury this and injury that, allergy, asthma, sinus infection has all made me run slower and the slower I became the weaker I felt physically, mentally. It was like hitting the wall in a marathon. I ate the paste and I don't even remember having the paste, ya know? I had lost my religion--and believe me, I tried to cling to it like a PFD but it was about as useful to me as deflated water wings.

I had to let it go.

I had start over.

So I got myself a new bike and have tried to learn to love the bike; to be good on the bike. And well, that last part hasn't worked out so awesomely but I do love to ride my bike.

I even found my way back to the pool thanks to Steph's Friday 5am House of Swim Pain. Okay, so I am the only one who calls it that. Steph, always with the positive spin, calls it "Fun Flipperless Fridays". In this case, I really don't think I am the pessimist though; just the realist. But whichever, her Friday swim plans and her camaraderie had me in the pool for at least an hour each week good for 2 or so miles of hard swimming.

And yes, of course, I have still been running. But it hasn't been the same. It is most definitely not the marathon training that I love; that I have been logging for the past 4 years. So no more weekly 20 mile runs and definitely no 50, 60 or 70 miles per week. I have been logging 30 miles most weeks and the occasional, 40 mile week has happened but then some weeks I barely come in over 20 miles. . .

Sigh, it is what it is. I am chill. I am relaxing. Enjoying my lemonade. My pink sweet sweet lemonade . . .

When my injuries really started to get me down my friend Doug,( yep Steph's husband), told me to just do "little runs". So that is what I have been doing. It is crazy that some weeks I run all 7 days but still only total out at 25 miles. When I run 50+ miles per week I never run 7 days a week, heck, I've done 50 miles on just 4 days of running. See, see how I have lost my religion?

See how a person might think they are drowning when first faced with that?

No, well then that is probably because you don't have an insane love/addiction/passion for running. This is not to say less of you, but you just need to Madlib it where I say run/running and insert your love/addiction/passion and I think you'll understand. If not? Well, I guess you lead a sad soulless existence and are just a shell of a person who has no worries because you don't float or sink: you just blow around in the world like the empty husk you are. . .

It is what it is. . .

But never mind you, this is about me!

And I got my sinking head above water, finally. Currently I am floating along and I can see the shore again-- still going parallel to it for certain but once again; land is in sight and a little closer than it was a few months ago.

Of course, with all my new found cycling, little bit of swimming and little bit of running I figured I better sign up for a triathlon. I am a girl who is most motivated by having a reason to workout. Not getting fat and getting to fit into a bikini definitely helps some but it doesn't urge me the same way as when I have a race to train for. I begin to see the race as a test and I don't want to the fail test. That is, ultimately how I operate. I only care when it matters. So I have to make it matter. And, more specifically, I don't want to embarrass myself. (You know like I did in the other two triathlons I did. See here and here ) Just having a race on my calendar instantly gives me the self discipline I naturally lack. But most importantly it also gives me a reason to tell people who aren't into endurance events why I run/bike/swim as much as I do.

In May I picked the Chattanooga Waterfront Olympic Triathlon. I picked this triathlon for many reasons. There is, despite surface appearances, method to my madness. First, I wanted to try the Olympic distance. In the past I have compared myself to Goldilocks so it should be no surprise that I felt the sprint triathlon was too small, the half ironman too big and well, I thought, the Olympic distance might be just right.

I settled on Chattanooga because the swim is in a river with this supposed great current but most important it had a time trial start, wet suits are illegal ( which nice since I don't own one), a dock start (no creepy lake bottom), is in a river (no scary ocean creatures), and is point to point (no navigation issues). The bike is hilly-- which I happen to prefer since I ride solely in hilly places-- and since I don't have a tri bike I would be at less of a disadvantage. Last the run, I was told, is flat. On a hot, humid day after swimming 1600 meters and riding 26 miles I am just better off without having to endure the extra torture of a rolling run course. Also, I like Chattanooga. The Chickamauga marathon that is right outside of Chattanooga had been a great race for me and remains one of my most favorite marathon experiences. The way I saw it? Chattanooga had good Nat Chi written all over it.

Ryan and I squirreled the kids away and drove up on Saturday for the race. We stopped in Chicamauga to take a short easy ride.

It was funny but as much as I know I loved that marathon most of the park was new to me, pretty, but new. Obviously I need to run that marathon again.

We made it to Chattanooga, picked up my packet, checked into the hotel and met some friends for dinner:

My friend Caroline and me. You might recognize Caroline from my blog post about GA ING. She ran the half.

I ♥ her.

Katie, Amy and Jerry. Part of the NAMC and my frequent riding friends.

Me and my friend Lisa. She is awesome.

Steve, Ryan and Jay. I ride Tuesday night Roswell ride with Steve and Jay. We do the extra loop.

Brian and Ryan. Brian is a high school friend of Ryan's who lives on Lookout Mountain.

We stopped by after dinner to have a beer with him and his wife Beth. I first met them a year after Ryan and I started dating at a Halloween party at their house. Ryan was Batman and I was the Tooth fairy. Good times. Always.

Me and Beth.

Okay, so I was more than a little cranky getting back to the hotel as late as we did and had more than a few words for Mr. Drunky. I tried, in vain, to explain that this was the Natalie Show, not the Ryan Show. Lost. Telling you. Lost.on.him. He would see though just how early 4:50 am was gonna come and just how not quiet I was gonna be.

RACE DAY!!!!!

Of course I got up before the alarm went off, before the other alarm went off and before the hotel wake up call came. I had exactly 2 minutes to spare to shut down all those noises. And I am sure a courteous wife would have done those things.

I had gotten my things together the night before and Drunky had filled my water bottles and who knows what else so I just had to eat, shower and get dressed. Our hotel was not next to the start but was still close enough to ride.

It was 6 am when we left the hotel. It was dark, the sun not yet up, and the air was still, thick with humidity. Ugh, I thought. It is going to be hot and sticky. But it would be that way for everyone. We rode the several blocks through downtown Chattanooga to the race area by the waterfront. The ride there was littered with triathletes in various stages of dress and burdened with their gear. Even before I reached transition I felt out of my league.

I was intimidated by all the hardcore athletes and their hardcore tri gear as I approached the body marking tent and transition area. I suddenly, out of no where, found myself singing in my head a song long forgotten from my youth. I changed the lyrics a little and the tune stayed with me all day. Especially on the bike when I would hear what I thought was a train coming up behind me but no, it was not a train. It would be some dude on time trial bike with the goofy looking aero helmet and solid wheels. They'd pass me like I was going backwards and I'd wave, smile and sing . . .

Hey Kids!

One of these athletes is not like the others,
One of these athletes just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which one is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which athlete was not like the others?
Did you guess which one just doesn't belong?
If you guessed Natalie is not like the others,
Then you're absolutely...right!

Things to entertain myself.

Picture of my rack in transition area the day before. Ryan has one of those wheel things that he uses to measure lawns. We got it out and determined that my rack was indeed the very center rack equally far from all entrances and exits!

Race day though I was happy to discover that when I found my smack in the middle rack that it was across from Lisa! I changed my set up like 15 times and ultimately decided it really didn't matter and that I was over thinking the whole thing. Here is one version. It don't think this is what I ultimately decided on though.

After setting up and being body marked I told Ryan to go back to the hotel and do whatever. Chattanooga has a time trial start and they stagger you by age group and then seed you within your age group with your predicted swim time. I am in the 30-39 age group and I submitted, I think, 25 minutes for estimated swim time. Not sure how I came up with 25 minutes but I had done a 1000 meter time trial in 16 and change so I guessed 25 minutes would be about right. The unfortunate thing for me about the time trial start is that my age group was the second to last to start. I didn't really process this fully until race day when Lisa laid it out for me in plain terms when I kept being anxious to get on the bus to go the swim start. Why? She said. The race starts at 7:30 but your group probably isn't going to get started until 8:30, maybe 9. I calculated in my head as we walked barefoot around Chattanooga that meant I would probably get to be running around 10:30-11 am. Uh, so not awesomeness.

We got on the bus sometime around 7:30. True to her word Lisa and I waited forever in a hot field. I entertained myself by going potty a bazillion times, complaining about how hot I was and how much I wanted a shower and then doing some yoga poses. Sitting still, quietly mediating before a race? Yeah, not me.

Finally, and I have no idea what time it was but probably 8:45, I was in line for my swim start. I wasn't nervous, anxious or anything. Just ready to get on with it.

I was in line according to my number, sandwiched between woman 841 and woman 843. The drill was jump off the dock into the water, swim up 10 feet, tread water until they say your number and then you commenced swimming.

I heard 842 and I started swimming and finally began my race!
*******************************************************************************
Quick aside, I had no idea of time, pace, mph heart rate-- nothing-- the whole race. I went "naked". No watch, Garmin, bike computer, heart rate monitor etc. It was all based on perceived effort and pacing myself accordingly. My goal was under 3 hours and thinking ideally best case scenario would be 2:45. I figured 25+ minutes for the swim. 1:30 for the bike and 48 minutes for the run. Transition time making up the rest. My main goal though was to not go so hard on the bike that I had a miserable run. I did not want a sufferfest. I wanted a good race.
*******************************************************************************

I was slightly dismayed that the water was warm. I like cold water to swim in. My swim was pretty uneventful initially. I was passing lots of people. Which either meant I was kicking ass or more likely, the people I was passing had ambitiously seeded themselves.

The swim was down river. A straight shot under bridges. You'd think I couldn't mess this up. But as I was swimming I began to feel that maybe I was in the wrong place. I am a fairly straight swimmer so when I left the dock I just headed straight down the river. I would count 50 strokes and look up. After awhile I realized that there were a lot of swimmers to my right, more to the middle of the river, closer to the giant buoys and bride columns. I kept my position that was closer to shore line but worry set it. What if I was swimming in the wrong place? What if that is where the current is? What if I get disqualified? This last thought made me decide that I should swim over to the mass group that was more in the middle of the river. So I began cutting diagonally over to the middle.

This proved a bad choice. There was no current and worse there was a mass of people--some of whom were doing breast stroke. The water was choppier there too. But I stayed since going back would cost more time and make me swim extra. So I fought my way through swimmers. I feel like I passed lots of people and didn't notice if people passed me. I am sure they did but I didn't see it.

Finally I was at the dock. I was told someone would pull me out. But that didn't happen. What did happen was that I hit my knee on some metal. I remember it stinging but it was go go go and I ran up the steps ripping my cap and goggles off. I looked up the hill/steps and saw Lisa running up towards transition. Voice in my head said "Catch her!".

I ran into transition right behind Lisa which was good because it helped me find my rack easily. I just went one over from her. I doused my feet in water, dried them on the towel as I put my helmet and sun glasses on, I put socks, bike shoes on and grabbed my bike and headed out to the course.

No mistakes!

Lisa was faster and was already gone but I caught up to her quickly. I was really excited that we were out on the bike course together. I caught her as the course turned onto the highway. She yelled at me that I was gonna get a penalty if I didn't pass her. I asked what if I ride here next you? Can't we just chat? No!!She yelled. You'll get a penalty for that too! Well, boo, that's no fun!

For the first several miles I played leap frog with Lisa: me passing her on the up hill and her passing me back on the downhill. Actually, the only time I passed people was on the up hill. Then, I would get passed on the downhill by the same people. Sigh. I am not, despite popular belief, using my brakes on the downhill. Who the hell is slow on the downhill? Me! That's right. Sing the song: One of these cyclists is not like the others . . .

I think somewhere around mile 6 or so I passed Lisa and she didn't pass me back again. It was somewhere around here that Kraig came up on me and said "Good job Natalie!" and then blew past me like I wasn't moving. Here is Kraig (right) with Jay (left). Kraig has gotten so fast on the bike. He is now in a group all by himself on the Tuesday night ride.It called the K group and no one can catch him.

Kriag was the last person I saw on the bike that I knew. By the time I got to 10 miles I was already bored. The course is out and back, mostly on the highway. While the scenery from the highway is attractive you are still riding on a 4 lane divided highway. The bike course had two of the four lanes on each side of the median. This meant though that we had to ride to the right--which was to the left of car traffic--near the cars instead of the median. It was weird having cars on my right side when I am use to them being on my left. This made me very uncomfortable and I would find myself drifting over towards the median, away from car traffic. This is a no no since that is the passing zone and if you ride in it you can get a penalty. I was very worried about getting a penalty. It is 2 minutes for each one and I couldn't afford to spare any minutes. Also, I don't like to get in trouble.

I was very focused on following the rules and also worried about getting a flat. So I felt like I was holding my breath the whole ride, which of course I wasn't but that is how I felt with all my concerns. Odd that on the swim, where I did actually hold my breath, I felt very relaxed about things. Well, except the part about possibly swimming in the wrong area .. .

I fell like I was not as aggressive as I could have been on the bike but I figured that was okay. It was going to be hot on the run so there was no need to totally cook the legs before then. At least that is what I told myself every time I had to encourage myself to NOT chase down every girl that passed me--and there were a lot. I don't care if the boys pass me in a race but I don't like it when the girls do.

The miles passed very slowly. It was the longest 26 miles I have ever ridden. This is not true at all. In fact it might actually be the fastest but it felt like an eternity. I was however, grateful that with each mile marker I passed it meant I was almost done with the bike and still hadn't flatted.

Sometime around mile 20 I remember riding up a hill and was looking down. My eye caught what I thought was red Gatorade dripping down my right leg. Didn't really register it until I reached for my bottle of Gu Brew and as I finished it off I realized it wasn't red but purplish. So looked back at my leg and realized it wasn't GU but was blood coming from my knee that had dripped down the front of my shin. Huh? I puzzled over it and touched my knee. There was a small cut and the bone was tender. Then I vaguely remembered that I had hit my knee when I exited my swim so that must of been when it happened. My knee wasn't urting while I was riding but I wondered if it would prove an issue when it came time to run. I hoped not. Then I tried to remember the last time I had a tetanus shot. So many things to worry about to keep me distracted! I am starting to think that triathlons might be too ADD even for me.

Finally I made it to transition and was so happy for my uneventful bike. I loosened my shoes as I approached the dismount line so I could just slip out of them. It was sort of congested going in and I couldn't run with my bike and then I went down the wrong rack. Curses! A mistake! I panicked a little but quickly found my rack, put my bike up, remembered this time to take off my helmet, got my shoes on, number on and ran out of transition.

Yay running!

I heard someone yell my name as I ran out of transition but no idea who it was. I started out slow, at least it felt slow. It was hot, sunny, and so humid it sucked my breath out of me. But I plodded along and I just focused on keeping my breathing even. I told myself when I settled in I could pick up the pace. All things considered I was feeling pretty good. I was passing lots of people and only got passed by a handful of men. I got passed by no women on the entire run.

In the first mile you run up a small hill and then come to some stairs. People had mentioned these to me but I didn't really think too much about it. Running up them proved difficult. My ankle felt weak so I decided I would just walk. Most people were so it was hard to pass anyway. I guess I lost some time here but that is okay.

I think it was in the 2nd mile someone gave me a towel that was soaked in ice water. I took it and wrapped it around my neck. It did help and I kept it for the whole run until the final mile because in case there was finish line pictures I didn't want one of me with a white towel around my neck. Even though it didn't clash with my pink, white and black ensemble I figured it wouldn't make for a flattering photo. People. Yes, these are the intimate thoughts of a vain woman.

I can't say I was loving the run. I did like getting to see my friends on the out and back and high fiving as we passed. That was the highlight. And I was doing okay but as I approached mile 3 I realized the feeling good and picking up the place plan wasn't going to happen. And this is when I started making the deals with myself: Okay, at the 5k point if you are feeling really gross you can walk the aid station. But then I would make it to the 5k point and I would assess that I was okay and I would say make it to the 4 mile. And the so on and so on. Each time I would make it to my determined cop out point only to be able to maintain.

By the 4th mile I started getting the chills. I have had this happen before in training and in races and I know that isn't the best sign as far as heat exhaustion goes. However, I have had chills before and been fine. I told myself I was okay and did a self assessment: hands not too swollen--I could still move my ring, breathing is okay, no cramps and I was still sweating. At the aid stations I started taking 2 waters: one to drink and one to dump on my towel--keeping it cold. This worked pretty well. Still couldn't run faster and still didn't feel awesome but it was near 90 degrees and I had swam a mile and ridden 26 miles so awesome was not really in my expectations. I did feel like I was knocking on hell's door I was still safely on the other side of it.

In the last uphill I came upon a dude leaning against a tree loudly vomiting his insides out.God, how I wished for head phones. As I started up the hill I told myself :you are not him you are fine you are fine. But just as I reached the crest of the hill I started to have that swimming head feeling and I took it down to walk when I reached the top of the hill. I counted to 20 and started back running and I was fine. Nothing got better but it didn't get any worse.

I found myself back at the stairs, this time running down them and then jumping on the road. The end is near! The end is near! As I came down the hill I could see the finish line and right before it I saw the NAMC tent. I high fived Courtney (Kriag's wife) and then ran under the finish line cheering for myself.

And I was happy! I had had a good race! A solid triathlon where I swam, biked and RAN!

My friend Tiffany took the above picture. It is right before the finish line. I love how strong I look, not defeated and certainly not fast, but I look solid. I look like I am maintaining. And well, considering the past few months? That is pretty huge for me. I'll gratefully take it.

After I finished I went to the NAMC tent to see if Ryan was there. He wasn't. They all asked me how I had done, what my time was and I had no idea. All I could say is that it was a good race. I felt good about it. I have to admit that at that moment it was nice that I could say that and wasn't allowing the numbers on a clock to define my experience it.

However, time--as we all know way too well-- it does matter. After a bit of chatting and Ryan not showing up I asked Courtney what time it was. 11:25!! I had to hurry if I wanted a shower. Check out from my hotel was at noon.

I bolted off to transition hoping to find Ryan on my way but at least to get my phone to call him to come pick me up and in my mind whisk me to the hotel so I could take a lightening fast shower. I found Ryan just as I was getting in the ridiculous long line to get back into transition.

We have to hurry I told him! I need a shower! I have 30 minutes until check out!

But alas my hopes of shiny and clean were all in vain. Ryan had checked out of the hotel already. So then what ensued was an adult tantrum in the parking garage while I cussed Ryan out for depriving me of my shower. To punish him I stripped down butt ass naked next to his truck and poured water all over myself and dried off using two of his t shirts. That should show him!

After a costume change, a beer and some continued bitching I did get over myself. Ryan and I went back to the race area and got the 2 free beers my race had earned me. I went to check the results and while not complete with swim, bike and run times I saw my final time: 2:45:10!

How the hell is that for some pacing?!

I was already feeling good about my race but that just made it better. Sure it would have been awesome if I had been faster but I met my A goal. I really couldn't have asked for more (I mean, of course I do but you know.)

Here is me super drunk, dirty and all smiles with Lisa while we wait for a table at The Terminal.

It took awhile for the final results and I am sure it has been a bit tortuous for you numbers people to have waited this long for the time when that was all you came here seeking:

Final time: 2:45:10 11/55 in Age group. Puts me top 20% which the top 33% of each age group qualifies for the regional championships in September. So that is cool. I am not going but you know how I like it when I qualify.

Swim: 24:02/1600m /1:28per 100yd pace 5th in age group. Might have been faster if I hadn't been such a spaz and swam all over the place.

Transition1: 2:42

Bike: 1:24: 05/ 26 miles/ 18.57 mph 15th in age group. Sigh.

Transition2: 2:39

Run: 51:44/8:19 avg pace 5th in age group. Little disappointing there but I did the best I could given the conditions.

Not fastest or the most fabulous, I know. I am happy with it though. I have been floundering for awhile now but I think I am ready to swim up on the shore and hit the ground running again.

As always, thanks for reading!

Pedal with a Purpose

2010-07-17T17:35:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I promise to blog a post about my most recent race but first I must pimp out the Pedal with a Purpose ride. I won't blah blah you with all the details, you can click here and read them for yourself, see the 6 mile, 32 mile, 62 mile and 105 mile routes and then you can click on the active.com link and sign up! So please do. Price increase will go up after July 18th!

And stay tuned for more boring stories where I talk mostly about myself and the ways I torture myself running, swimming, cycling and harassing my children, family and friends.

Hope to see you out there!

Hills, Like White Elephants: GA ING 2010 Marathon Race Report

2010-04-16T19:09:00.003-04:00

Prologue:
This is my third time sitting down to write my 2010 GA marathon story. It has been 3 weeks since I ran ING and I think I can finally write what I have long wanted to say. This is not to say that I am so full of myself that I really think anyone cares or wants to know-- or doesn't already know for that matter-- how the marathon went. But I need to tell it.

Just so I can move on.

For me a good story is one that first and foremost entertains. Second, I like a story I can chew on, taste. You know, one that may not necessarily inspire--though that is the ideal-- but at the very least beg a thought. So when I come to write at my blog those are my intentions: first to entertain, second to leave the reader with something to think about.

My favorite compliment, well favorite after being told I am thin or pretty or funny, is when someone brings up something I wrote. Even if they didn't agree with it, like it, say something nice or whatever, I know--just by them remembering it and mentioning it-- that something I had to say stuck with them beyond words on a page, (or screen if you are the hair splitting type.) That is huge. And it let's me know that. Me? I. Was in your brain-- whether you liked it or not. And well, that's a little bit of power, don't you think? (Hmmm, maybe THAT is the hurricane I am looking for . . .)

So, the first time I started writing my race story I was bored by the second paragraph. And surely if I was bored writing it I was fairly certain you would be bored reading it. So I quit on it. Set it aside.

Now, I like to tell stories. Anyone who has ever met me will be the first to say they are not all good. And if you are long time reader of this blog you know first hand that I am not afraid to tell a long ass boring story. Sometimes, okay a lot of times, it is just Nat wanting to hear herself talk about herself. And I will warn you, this is a little bit of that.

The marathon story though, I think we all know that is always one of my favorite stories to tell. I want to do it justice. I want to tell it right and if I am being honest, I do want my little 26.2 mile journey to inspire because, well, the marathon does inspire me. It is always a story and that story, no matter how it plays out does have a viable end. It is up to you, the runner, to reach that end--the finish line-- and live to tell that story and all the delicious details. And I have to say that one of the very things that motivated me during the marathon three Sundays ago when I was most ready and so desperate to quit, was that I really wanted to see how the story that day ended. That kept me going. Well, one of many things that kept me going. And that day, I needed a lot of things to keep me going.

Let me tell you. That was one hell of a "story" I ran. But trying to tell about it has some how been harder, even more painful that the 3 hours and forty one minutes and some odd seconds it took to run the damn thing.

On my second writing I thought for sure I could do it. Ryan was out of town, the kids were occupied--Carmella with a play date and Beau with a 250 piece Lego Star Wars model. There were no excuses! I had time to write. . .

As I sat down to write I found myself going down the same path as before and not exactly telling the story. I was frustrated. Beau, next to me with his gazillion Lego pieces spread out around him, was also frustrated. He wanted my help. I told him that putting a gazillion tiny puzzle pieces together to form a rocket ship was too frustrating for me and would just make me cranky, okay, crankier. I tried to tell him that doing the hard work himself would make him feel good-- proud in the end. But even as I said that I knew that wasn't exactly true.

Hadn't I worked my ass off these past months through injury, illness and training? Pushing myself through long training runs in subfreezing temperatures. Running even when I didn't always want to. Didn't I do the hard thing? Hadn't I earned myself a good race? Wasn't I due? And while I will I admit that finishing did feel good--mostly because it was over-- it wasn't what I expected. It was not the catharsis that I was looking for, the denouement that I really, really needed.

How in the hell was I going to write a feel good race report about a race that left me feeling not so good, still so un, undone?

So for awhile I decided the answer was that I wasn't going to write about it. I mean really, couldn't we just leave it that it sucked, it hurt and I am just fat, old and slow.

The problem of course is that writing is a little like running for me. I always feel guilty that I am not writing. For some reason, and I have had this in my head at least since I was in middle school is that I am suppose to be writing. I promise you, no one ever told me that I needed to or should be writing. Just like no one ever told that I should be a runner. But not doing those two things causes me a great of deal of guilt and inner turmoil when I don't do them. And most of the time, I just live with it. I get by.

So the not writing has nibbled at me to no end. The other day I went out for my first long run since the marathon and I realized that problem was not about me having to write about a bad race but rather one of me trying to write what I didn't know about. Funny how the simplest answer is often the right answer. I know. I've heard it a thousand times over. You know it, don't you?

Say it with me now: write what you know. . .

And that is when I realized that I needed to write about the elephant in the room. The one that has been hanging out with me for the past 8 months . That I need to write about my white elephant and say the things I that haven't said. Because that is my story. The story that has been hurting me, troubling me and has kept me away from blogging. And for certain, if you have made it this far you've probably figured out that the only thing I am borrowing from Hemingway is his title.

The Race: Ga ING Marathon 2010. Marathon #11 for me

I had gone to the expo Friday afternoon. The kids and I chilled at home and went to bed early. Ryan was turkey hunting and had taken the dog with him. Saturday I was to drop the kids off after lunch at Bubbles and Poppy's to spend the night. Ryan would be picking the kids up Sunday when he got back in town. So the next 2 days were mine to think only about me and my little race and of course, the best part, the after race festivities.

Saturday morning I did wake up with a new and weird pain/sensation in my left hamstring. I stretched and jumped up and down and figured that it was not a muscular injury but something nerve related. I even thought it was most likely just in my head, you know, pre race nerves. So I did a little yoga and while I felt off and had some issues with the left side I figured again, just in my head.

After lunch I dropped the kids at my in law's. Pulling in the driveway I grabbed the mail and the first thing I noticed was a big yellow enveloped addressed to the Parent's of Beau Fischer with "confidential" stamped across the front. Though surprised to have it so soon I knew exactly what it was.

In January I had demanded that the school evaluate Beau for a learning disability. Bet you didn't know you could do that. I didn't either until his teacher, in brief passing, mentioned that he "might be a candidate for retention." When she said that I was at first devastated and then I was very, very angry.

Had I not asked repeatedly in kindergarten if Beau should repeat kindergarten?
Yes, I had.
And had I not told them that both Ryan and I had been retained in 3rd grade and I did not want to hold my child back after kindergarten?
Had I not asked all.the.damn.time. if they saw signs of ADHD or dyslexia?
Since these things tend to run in families and Ryan, his mother and his brother all have Dyslexia and I was diagnosed at age 6 with ADHD? Never mind the fact that children with phonological processing disorders, like Beau has, almost always have some other disability that impacts their learning wouldn't it make sense to assume that rather than he was just "young".

Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do think I mentioned all of these things -- all.the.time.

But until January I was always assured that he was fine, just a little behind in reading-- but because of his speech issues this was somewhat expected. They felt with some extra help he would just catch up. All the while I had been working with Beau nearly an hour everyday after school and riding Beau's ass to straighten up his act.

I have to wonder, if the intention was always to retain him why was he, why were we, bothering to work so hard? I mean if your going waste someones time and make them do it all over again why ask them to bust their asses like it is going to make one damn bit of a difference?

So I insisted that before I would even consider him to be retained they must evaluate him to see if ADHD or some other language based learning disability was impacting his progress at school. I could see the writing on the wall and the "he is immature" crap wasn't flying with me. This MY child we are talking about and you are not going to rob him of a year of his life even if he is just 6 years old. I do not care that his birthday is July 28th and the cut off is September 1st. I know the immature story well having both the luck of having ADHD and also a July birthday. It doesn't matter. If you have a learning disability that is not being addressed you are not going to outgrow it and waiting another year to figure it out and address it just a waste of time. Beau's time. Why set him up to under achieve his entire life when what he needs is some special intervention, instruction or so be it, medication? You think repeating a year is going to cure that?

They tried the "well he is making progress, why don't we wait six weeks and then re evaluate?" spiel but I was having none of it and insisted on the evaluation. They told me the evaluation would be complete by mid April.

So I was not expecting it in mid March. And certainly not in a yellow envelope on the Saturday the day before my marathon when I was home all alone. I contemplated opening it. Knowing that what I might read might me a little sad. It occurred to me that it might be better to wait until after my marathon, in case the evaluation was really upsetting. But I just couldn't not open it. I told myself that no matter what Beau would still be the Beau I know and whatever the evaluation said would not change that.

So of course I read it and while I didn't understand all of it I did get the gist. Beau is ADHD and it is severely impacting his life at every facet. I knew this. I've always known this. But of course, I didn't want it and seeing it made no more denying or wondering if I was wrong after all. What I really wanted was it say that Beau had been pretending. That he is so smart that this is all trick he is playing on everyone for his own entertainment. That really, he is a genius. So gifted that we are all a joke to him. But no. That is not what it said.

Unfortunately, Beau is like me. And I think, I can safely say, that as parents we only want our children to inherit our gifts not our baggage. And certainly not the very thing that has burdened us our entire lives, making us question our validity as a person. If life is an uphill battle then having ADHD is a life spent trying to shortcut that hill but finding that instead you always, always run the longest zigzagged tangent to reach the top. That is if you even make it to the top. And if you do? The downhill slope is even longer, even steeper and more treacherous.

I was six when I was diagnosed with ADHD. Apparently, as my mother tells the story, she was called in on my 3rd day of first grade and pretty much told that if I was not medicated I would not be able to make it through school. So, to me, it is ironic that I had to jump through hoops and beg to get Beau's diagnosis which is, apparently, equally as obvious.

I hated, even at age 6, Ritalin. I often would pretend not to take it and would, of course, always be figured out no matter how hard I tried to fake it. My personality was so different on/off medication. My parents tried some of the alternative methods but the only thing that ever worked for me was Ritalin. It was, literally, the difference between flunking out of school or making honor roll. There was no in between for me.

I even had F's in behavior without it. God bless the patience of my sixth grade English teacher Mr. Wright. My parents tried the first quarter without Ritalin and Mr. Wright, determined to make it okay for me, tried so many different things. The final straw was when he moved me to a place in the classroom where no one was sitting next to me because there was no one I wouldn't talk to. So, I made up an imaginary friend: Fred. Mr. Wright was so obliging of my imaginary friend that he would even grade Fred's tests and answer all the questions that "Fred" would ask. Of course, Fred and I both got F's because I was rushing through not only my work but Fred's as well. Finally, Mr. Wright had a chat with me about maybe it was time for Fred to stay home and by that point Fred was already gone and I was back on the Ritalin and did well the rest of the year. And so it went, for 15+ years of my life--all the way until I finished (finally) undergraduate school--I would try school without the aid of Ritalin. And the results went like this, always: fail classes, go back on Ritalin, catch up and make straight As. My first quarter of high school I failed 3 classes and got d's and c's in the other classes. It took Ritalin and making A's and B's and taking extra classes to get my GPA up to a 3.0 by the time I graduated. Only thing I can say for myself is thank God I can take a standardized test like nobody's business or I would have never gotten into college. And I will say I am most proud that I made it through graduate school and made a 3.7 GPA without ANY medication. But like I said, only took me 15 or so years of being medicated to figure out how to do that.

And obviously, somehow I survived but I am hardly a success story. And of course, why would I want this for my child? Why would anyone?

After reading the evaluation and before I let myself completely lose my shit I did the one thing I always do when I need answers: I Google and go look at books. I sat for an hour in Borders on the floor in front of the learning disability shelf glancing through every book they had on ADHD. I don't know what I was looking for. I've lived with the disorder my entire life. I don't think there is a single book out there is going to tell me anything that I don't already know.

Okay, I do know what I was looking for. I was looking for the chapter where it would tell me that Beau is going to be okay. That my child is not going to have a life long struggle. That he won't be running zigzag uphill forever his life too. I wanted to read the sentence that said your child will lead a blessed existence.

But where, for anyone, is that ever written?

And I did realize that enough in the bookstore to collect myself and made it to my car before I lost myself to a sea of tears and blubbering hiccups as I drove myself home. I cried til I had no more tears and I finally decided I was done with it. I drank 2 beers, wrote a wistful blog about hoping for a hurricane, ate my dinner, set 3 alarms and crawled into bed at 8:30.

Of course I didn't sleep. And at midnight I got up and took a Tylenol. My hamstring still felt funny and because of all my crying I had a raging headache. Then I commenced laying in bed waiting for 4 am to come. I was eager to run. Hopeful even. Thinking, ridiculously, that if I could conquer all the hills that ING threw at me and run a good race, - then Beau could too. My mind is simple and confused and sometimes the equation x +y equals whatever the fuck I want it to. Okay?

So on to the race! I know, finally, huh? It is a marathon. . .

I was up at 3:58 am because oversleeping is something I rarely do and I hate to be awakened by alarms. I might have some problems with my attention span but my body has time nailed down. I went about my routine and since I had packed two days prior it was a pretty effortless morning. Especially since I had no kids, husband or dog to worry about. I was in the car at 5:15 am headed to my sister's. Pulling out of the driveway I wrote HTFU on my arm, deciding that today, if there was ever a day, I was gonna need a motto.

I arrived at my sister's as planned at 6 am. Pookie was again running the half--I have yet to convince her of the awesomeness of the marathon. Her bff from childhood, Leah, was also running the half--her first, and new girl Caroline was running the half as well. Oddly, Pookie and I were dressed exactly alike in our black skirts and white singlets. It was not planned but alas, how it often happens.
Here is me and the other girlies: Caroline, Leah, Me and Pookie.

Wes, as usual was our handler. He was tired (read hungover) from his race the day before. He is crit dude.Not so sure about his outfit here. I think he was confused and thought by marathon we meant safari. Nice compression socks!

On the ride to the start we discussed finish line plans. It was suppose to rain so I didn't count on anyone staying to see me finish; especially since they were all doing the half. Even on my best day and their worst an hour is still too long to ask people to wait for you in the rain and cold. I told them that I wasn't feeling it and I would be lucky to go under 4. They laughed at me and said don't you always run under 4? Yes, most times I do but I've learned, when it comes to the marathon, expectations are not your friend. Anything can happen. So we left it with I would text when I finished and we would figure out a meeting spot then. I wasn't worried. I figured I would find away home somehow--assuming, I could get myself to the finish line.

Wes dropped us in front of CNN with about 35 minutes until start time. I still had to drop my bag at gear check so I decided to jog the bazillion miles to the park. Okay it was like one but geez could they have made any more of maze at the start . . .

I made it to bag check and then scoped out the potty lines. Uhm, yeah I wasn't waiting in that. I popped a squat behind a dumpster near some guys and not far where I saw some rent-a-cops chatting. Renegade am I!!! This is the beauty of wearing a skirt. I can almost make it look like I am tying my shoe but really? I am peeing! I had similar talent in 6th grade when I was like the only girl who didn't wear a bra and could completely change for gym without anyone seeing my underwear or rather, lack there of. My talents? Many and varied.

I pushed through the ridiculous crowd up to corral c. Then I excused and pardoned myself to the front of the corral. I spotted the 1:40 half pace sign and fell in near it. At the same time I saw my friend Greg. I pinched his ass as a way to say hello. He startled but then rolled his eyes when he saw it was me. Then I realized I was standing next to Nora. All happy! My biking riding peeps. Actually, Greg is also my 5am swim buddy too. I tried to be hopeful but really I was not. I tried the it is going to be an AWESOME day self talk! Which by this point, I have to say is total bullshit. Sometimes I think it is going to be an awesome day and it is and other times I will still think this and it totally sucks big giant ass.

The night before I had printed out a bunch of pace bands: 3:25, 3:30 3:35 and even, insanely, for shits and giggles: 3:19. I threw them all in the trash on the way out the door to the race. So I had all these splits bouncing around in my head. I do, after all these marathons of going for 3:30 have the 8 min mile splits by heart. For whatever reason this year the only marathon pace groups were 3:40, 4 hours and I think 4:15. Since I, of course wanted to PR and having run 3 times sub 3:45 (my BQ time) on this course I felt the pace groups were not of much help and that my best bet was to not see any of them.

I decided my best game plan (if you can call 3 minutes before the gun formulating your game day plan a plan) was to stay behind the 1:40 pace group until they went off around 7 miles and try to hit the half in under 1:45. I figured I can always hobble out a 2 hour half for a BQ at worst case (or you know, just quit) but under 1:45 for the first half would still give me the opportunity to possibly PR.

As we waited for the start I bemoaned that I wasn't cold. I had trained happily all winter in the freezing temps and have come to realize that my body performs much better in the freezing and dry than in the cool and humid. At the start it was around mid 50's and humid. I was, quite frankly, a little warm in my singlet, skirt and calf compression sleeves. I was glad I left the arm warmers behind but I knew I was going to be hot anyway.

I never remember how it starts; whether there is gun or someone just tells us to go. In bigger races it really doesn't matter since I am never on the front of the line. I just know to go when the crowd goes. You move forward like cattle trying to get out of the holding fence to a greener pasture. And it is funny--not haha funny, but funny peculiar-- because there is always a bit of congestion. Again, borrowing the cattle analogy, everyone tries to push through the gate opening; all wanting to be the first cow out. Only in a race it is just the start line and the road hasn't narrowed like a gate opening would but nevertheless everyone still gets all jacked up on each other trying to get across the line and hit their watch at the same time. And I would guess, considering the congestion, that most runners when asked this question: Can you run and chew gum at the same time? Would have to say no since most of them can't seem to start their watch as they cross the start line without slowing or stopping. And yes, since I have ADHD I can run and start my watch at the same time without slowing down at all. Small gifts people, there are small gifts associated with ADHD and multitasking stupid stuff is one of them.

I always feel like I am holding my breath until I get across --and maybe I am-- but there is always a freeing, even relaxing moment when you find yourself finally on the race course; on the other side of that line.

I love that the ING marathon starts in the dark. You can still see because of all the street and building lights but I love running, at least in my mind, into the light. It doesn't happen all at once but as those first miles go by you are getting into the day little by little and leaving the night, the darkness behind. And I just think that is a very optimistic way to start a race. That is good race chi; even if you aren't feeling the good race chi yourself.

But I don't worry too much about how terrible I feel in the first mile. I try never to think about running for at least the first few miles ever because they are almost always terrible. If I can get to the place in my mind where I can forget that I am running by the time I need to actually think about running I am already in a rhythm and feeling the good vibrations. Unfortunately though during the first mile I immediately knew I was off. Something just wasn't right. I tried hard to ignore it. Tried to tell myself that my body would loosen up and it would all be good.

So I ignored the ache in my left hip, the tingling in my lower back where I had injured it two weeks before and my always argumentative and tight left Achilles. I wanted to think about other things, positive things and disassociate from the uncomfortableness but I was just sad and I couldn't let my mind think about the thing that was heavy on it.

Everyone always talks about how 90% of running is mental and I absolutely believe that. And never is this more true than in the marathon. Your greatest competition in a marathon is not the people you run against or the time on the clock but it is yourself. Ultimately, in the marathon, it comes down to how well you can argue against the negative self talk that will arise as the race progresses. Unfortunately for me during ING, not only was I having the internal battle in the first 10k but I was on the losing end of the argument.

I kept my eye on Greg who was going for sub 1:40 and tried to stay behind him and the dudes with the 1:40 pace sign. My first split was okay, about like last year around 7: 30. In fact I think I pretty much ran exactly has I had last year until about mile 8 or 9. At least that is what I remember thinking at the time.

I should say that I don't have a Garmin or even a traditional runner's watch. I have a watch I found around the house bought at some drugstore with unfortunately large start/stop/reset buttons that apparently I hit and reset or pause the time on. This leads me to believe that I must run like how Phoebe did in the Friend's episode that made Rachel too embarrassed to run with her. I also have a knack, because of this spastic style, for hitting the emergency stop button on the treadmill in the middle of my interval sprints. That is always awesome too.

Some what luckily, and also later unluckily, the course had clocks at about every split. So I got to spend the first few miles trying to reconcile the time on my watch with the time on the clock. I figured that I was about 20 or seconds behind the clock but I was never too sure of this. What would have probably helped me most was if I had just noted the actual time of day on my watch when I started. But I didn't do that. Instead I got to have fun doing math for my marathon.

Around 4 miles I usually feel good. Like my body finally gets on board with the program of running a marathon-- or maybe that is just when the endorphins kick in. Either way this was not the case that day. Even still, I was maintaining a good pace. From my calculations I was running around a 3:23 marathon finish time. This is of course, probably, too fast for me but really, nothing that I haven't done in many marathons. So at this point I am still entertaining that a PR, which would be sub 3:28, might actually happen . . .

Problem was that around 4 miles I was NOT feeling good. In fact, I was feeling worse. I had this new sensation in my right thigh along with my achy left hip and tight lower back. After struggling last fall with ITBS in my left leg I knew the pain well. Only I have never had in my right leg. I kept my pace and puzzled over the next 2 miles over what it meant. Yay! Something new to think about. Bad news is that it never works well for me to think about me while running.

My guess was that my stride was off. I wondered if it would correct itself or would it get worse, as ITBS pain usually does. There wasn't much I could do about it and decided I would still stick to my plan of getting to the half in under 1:45. I was able to maintain my pace but I knew that unlike last year it felt much harder to do this pace. It wasn't a heart rate thing so I didn't think I was going to eat the paste but it just wasn't comfortable. And if I have learned anything from the marathon-- no matter what your pace is-- that first half shouldn't feel hard or uncomfortable.

Sometime after 6 miles and before the half split I came to an aid station. My mom was working it and I was really happy to see someone I knew. I yelled out hi! And told her I felt awful and she said I looked good. Lies I am sure but I was glad that my misery wasn't apparent.

I will say I was doing very well with my nutrition. This was my 11th marathon and countless run over 20 miles so if nothing else I have my nutrition for running down. I had had a GU along miles 5-6 ( I divide it up, little bits over the span of a mile) and had hit every aid station I had come to with water and a little Gatorade. I was feeling hot but nothing I couldn't handle. But my body was not comfortable. Mostly that pain in my right thigh was most bothersome. I felt like my right leg was slapping the ground hard. My left Achilles, which had bothered me at the start, though was loose and was feeling better. My left hip still ached and my lower back would spasm every now and again. But most of all my heart, it just wasn't with me. It was heavy with self pity, mommy worry, and ultimately, failure--for me and for Beau.

It was then that I picked a new mantra--do the hard thing. Thinking about Beau and knowing that having ADHD, while not the most devastating diagnosis in the world, does mean that you have to make yourself do things all the time that hard for you and seemingly effortless for others--you know, like sitting still, paying attention, maintaining focus (long enough to get through a ridiculously long blog post. . .)

So even though I wanted to NOT run, and wanted to quit right then--in mile 8--I knew that I couldn't. For one thing I had no more marathons on my schedule until late next fall. I could not let myself go through another year of training without seeing one to completion even if it meant not PRing or even meeting my B goal of getting another Boston Qualifier.

While I had been okay about having taken a DNF at the Atlanta marathon in November I knew that ING was sort of my last stop. I had to finish. Also, I just wasn't at the point where the pain and discomfort really warranted quitting. My stride was off and I was quite uncomfortable but I still entertained that it could get better. My pace, though uncomfortable and harder than it should have been, was still good--I was still running sub 3:28 pace. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it forever but honestly, 26.2 miles is a long way to go. Over that sort of distance a lot can change; nothing, especially only 8 miles in, is certain. Quitting then would have been giving up too early. Besides I had done a 13 mile run the week before( longest run since my back injury) so I KNEW I could run at least that far. Beyond that though . . .

So I became committed to doing the hard thing, for Beau. At some point I reasoned that I will have to explain everything to Beau. And by way of that I will tell him (sagely so, I am sure) that everyone in this world has obstacles, things they must overcome. I will tell him that some of us wait our whole lives to find out what our obstacle is, but some us, like me, like Beau-- get find out earlier. We get the gift of knowing what we are fighting against. We have the upper hand in that regard. And, I figure, if I want my child to do the hard thing everyday then I better have at least one specific example of where I did the hard thing and saw something through to the end.

In mile 8 I also realized I had stopped my watch since it had read 52 minutes for at least the last mile. This was sort of a downer because just having a running clock to go by gives me a distraction. Now I had to depend solely on the clocks placed at the splits and extrapolate the math from there. This meant that I would not have a constant math distraction but one that would only show up every 8-9 minutes or in some cases when there wasn't a clock even longer.

It was somewhere in mile 10 when I realized I had to let the PR pace go. It just wasn't going to happen.The pace was just too hard. I don't train by heart rate but I do have a pretty good idea of how my marathon pace should feel. And it was just feeling too hard. It shouldn't have, my training ( I think) was solid. Whether it was the warmer temperature, my recent back injury or because the pain I was feeling was causing my heart rate to be higher than it usually is-- it was just not going to be my day to have my race. You know, the hurricane in my pocket race. It wasn't going to happen--no matter how much I wanted it to be my day.

The next few miles were a total blur. I think it started to rain but I hardly noticed it other than that it made me feel a little cooler. I was mostly absorbed on not walking and just getting to the half split. I had another GU and did my best to try and fix my stride. By this point my right quad felt like it had a knot the size of a tennis ball in it. Periodically I would reach down and push hard on the spot, which did absolutely nothing.

As much as I would like to say I managed to keep my shit together I didn't. I was just running along--through I guess Decatur at that point-- and was totally miserable and crying. Thank goodness it was raining so no one could tell I was crying because for me the absolute worst thing that can happen to me when I am crying is for someone to ask me what is wrong. It always makes me feel even worse because then I have to add embarrassment to my litany of whatever reasons of why I am crying.

I was so happy to hit the half point. The clock said 1:42 and while I didn't know what I was going to about the next 13.1 miles I still had to run I was just so happy to have finished the first 13.1 and met my time goal. If nothing else, I thought, at least I ran a pretty good 13.1 miles for the day. And even met part of my plan.

And like last year when I hit the half I ducked into the open porto potty. I didn't really have to go but I just needed to be alone for second. Away from the marathon. I have no idea how long I was in that porto potty but it was enough time that I talked myself out quitting for the 100th time in the past hour and tried to stretch out my right quad that was in a complete knot. Stretching proved yet another pointless endeavor because the ankle over knee stretch sent my back muscles into a spasm. Frustrated, I started crying again which was immediately replaced by a string of cuss words because of the glance at the HTFU on my arm and Simon and Garfunkel's The Boxer that was playing on my shuffle:
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

So, it wasn't a clearing but a porto potty and I am not a boxer by any means but at that second I was sure feeling like I had had the shit kicked out me as if I had gone head to head with Ali. I was angry but I am a fighter. I am a fighter I told myself and I ran back out onto the course to continue to fight for more than what was just a silly race. Sometimes, if you want to do something-- finish something-- you have to figure out a way make it more important that in reality it is.

And so, with the ideals of Pr and sub 3:30 gone I headed into the Druid Hills section of the course. It is rollers. Up and down. And I ran when it didn't hurt so horribly to run. I did have some good moments. Some fleeting periods where I thought I could maybe recoup my race but then the pain would be horrible and I would have to walk. Walking is the absolute worst! You not only get passed by people you passed a few minutes before but because they are running and you are walking you feel almost like you are going backwards. And the walking is even worse when you have to walk up a hill. And there is a reason why this area of Atlanta is named Druid Hills. I've yet to see a Druid in there but hills? Oh yeah. In past years I have loved this section and actually have run it really well.

Not this year. I did not love it but I did make it my best effort to run the uphill if I was able and save my walking for other areas. I also tried to be encouraging to others in this section.

I personally felt like a lost cause and was just set on somehow finishing. My discomfort increased the more I ran and while I was in total misery I was somewhat in awe at how horrible it all was. A part of me, okay a big part of me, really wanted to see how it played out. I entertained a few different versions in my head: there is of course the obvious crawling across the finish line scenario. Then there was the collapsing on the course. In that scenario I wondered if people would just run by and ignore me or maybe I would get lots of sympathy and attention. You know me, I hoped for the latter.

Yet I still ran on and finally found myself at Piedmont Park but I was absolutely dismayed upon the scene running into the park. I knew there had been course adjustments so that the full marathoners wouldn't have to run with the half marathoners but I was very unhappy about the methodology in the park to make that happen. There was this crazy out and back loop. You could see it--it was like a maze of white temporary fences with orange tape. This is also the portion the first winner of the marathon left out. He, of course got DQ'd. He says it was because he followed the pace car but really I bet he just didn't want to run that part. I know I didn't.

But I did and it was at that point that both my feet went completely numb. I was pissed. I thought: this is the final straw. My back hurts, my hip huts, my right quad is useless, I have a headache and now I can't feel my feet. I ripped my headphones out of my ears because everything was just irritating more than I could stand for that second. I slowed again to walk and just went a long cussing in my head, hating on the world more than I even thought was possible. I thought: That's it. I'm gonna call Wes to come get me. I pulled out my phone and looked along the park to see where I could tell him to come get me. And it hit me. That if I wanted to quit I was going to have to walk at least a mile to even get to a place where Wes could pick me up. Then I would probably have to wait another 20 to 30 minutes. And who quits a marathon at 22.5 miles with HTFU on their arms?

So I put my ear buds back in my ears. Staying Alive by the Bee Gee's was playing and I figured at least that much was true. Then I saw the the leader of the 3:40 pace group. That was not happiness for me. That meant that I had to really really HTFU if I wanted my Boston Qualifier. And that is when I told myself that really, I was doing the best I could that day. I wasn't flaking out, as I have done in the past. It wasn't success but if I was being honest with myself, it was the best I could do that day. I was doing the hard thing. Sadly I was getting my ass kicked by a course that I have run much more successfully in the two years prior but on that day I was giving the best I could. And really, that is all anyone can ever ask of themselves. And I told myself, next year would be a better year. Oddly it made me happy that as miserable as I was and as much as I was hating my race that I still wasn't giving up on the marathon.

Running up some hill in mile 23 I came up on my friend Kirk. He was looped out and while he said hi to me and seemed to listen as I prattled on alongside him as we inched painfully up the last of the slow hill hell to the finish line it was a few minutes before he realized that he really did know me. I felt again a little surge of getting 'er done and I picked up the pace, leaving Kirk behind.

I leap frogged those last miles with a variety of runners and mostly tried to stay ahead of the 3:40 pacer I had seen in the park on that out and back portion. I knew at that point that I was over a 3:40 finish but still under 3:45. Doing math at that point proved impossible. And even though I was running I felt like I might as well have been crawling for how slowly those last miles were passing. I know it took me about 35 --give or take minutes to go from Piedmont Park to the finish line but it felt longer than the whole first half of the race had taken me to run. Time was just moving ridiculously slow. It was Twisted Ankle all over.

In the last mile and half the 3:40 pacer finally caught me. We chatted and he tried to encourage me, thinking I was part of his group, that I would go under 3:40. I was too tired and hurt too much to try to explain any of it to him. He surged on and I was in the middle of the pace group but at that point I couldn't tell who was a part of it and who wasn't. I did make me feel better that everyone, except that pacers, looked pretty miserable. At one point a girl, in the last mile, stopped and started walking. I had been doing the exact same thing since the half point but I snapped her to "Get moving! You are almost done! You have this!" She looked at me in absolute shock so I must have had my mean Nat voice on. I had meant to be encouraging but from her expression I could tell it did not come across that way. So I decided no more talking, just get it done.

Around this point I recognized one of the runners I had been leap frogging with as Christian from Run 100 miles. We have never met personally but I know of him because we have lots of mutual friends and I have read his blog. He seemed pretty focused and my back was killing me so I didn't say anything. I have always run the last mile of every marathon I have run but about a half mile from the finish my back started spasming and I had to walk. I had the talk again and checked my arm, HTFU, and told myself less than 5 minutes if I would just run. I could see Christian up ahead, since he was running and I was walking he had manged to put some distance between us. He became my focal point. I chased him down. In the end he still beat me, crossing the finish line a second before me but he reeled me in. I introduced myself to and congratulated him on a great race. It was a PR day for him. So congrats!

I was happy to finish but it was not that same "I did it!" feeling I usually have. But I guess they can't all be great. While I wasn't proud of my time or at all how I ran I was proud of myself for doing the hard thing. I guess the life lesson here is sometimes you work your ass off, you can cry a bazillion tears and sweat like you deserve it and the result can still be a let down. The way I am choosing to see things is that even if I fail I am still better for having tried. It is still more than a lot of people ever do. And that's right, everything is a competition. And if it is a race for who tries and fails the most, I might very well have the gold in that race.

I left the finish area and headed towards the very far away bag check. It was nice, albeit still quite uncomfortable, to not have to run anymore. I could see where the bag check was and mentally navigated from my vantage point the shortest route to it. However a volunteer informed me that this was the exit to the park. I could not go this way. The shortest way. She explained, that I had to go further down the sidewalk to the entrance. At first I thought she was kidding so I just stood there. She again explained where I had to go and I said "but then I have to walk up a hill to get where I want to go." She seemed not to understand how terrible that was for me so I sighed and shuffled towards the entrance turning down the bananas that were being offered to me the whole way to the bag check. I must have looked pretty awful or exactly like a monkey for the number of times someone tried to give me a banana in the span of the 10 minutes it took to walk to bag check.

I managed to get my bag and then realized that I wasn't going to be able to put my pants on without twisting into a pretzel from cramping. (Right, but I hate bananas.) Bending over just was not something I was capable of. Being cold would just be easier. Finally, I reconciled misery and easy. Better than hard and miserable, right?

Wes texted me to meet him in the Tabernacle's parking lot. Oh, hell. I looked over the grassy field of the park, past the black wrought iron fence to yet another hill to walk up. I like hills, really I do but I was just done with them. I wanted at that second as I tin man walked towards Luckie Street to my waiting ride at the top of the hill, was to pull the fabric of Atlanta and straighten her crooked ass out. Then fold her up neatly in a prefect square that would fit in my pocket. Like a map. A simple, flat, easy to read-- even easier to traverse--map.

Epilogue:
Regarding that white elephant. Wikapedia says this:
To possess a white elephant was regarded (and is still regarded in Thailand and Burma) as a sign that the monarch reigned with justice and power, and that the kingdom was blessed with peace and prosperity. The tradition derives from tales which associate a white elephant with the birth of Buddha, as his mother was reputed to have dreamed of a white elephant presenting her with a lotus flower, a symbol of wisdom and purity, on the eve of giving birth. Because the animals were considered sacred and laws protected them from labor, receiving a gift of a white elephant from a monarch was simultaneously both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because the animal was sacred and a sign of the monarch's favour, and a curse because the animal had to be retained and could not be put to much practical use, at least to offset the cost of maintaining it.

Similarly, some people say that ADHD is both blessing and curse. I definitely agree. I do enjoy having more natural energy and having a mind that jumps the tracks allows for some pretty cool out of the box ideas to pop in my head. The trouble lies in harnessing all that energy and those wild lightening thoughts. So I think it is a fair analogy to compare the struggles that come with living with ADHD as to being the owner of a white elephant. It is a gift but until you figure out exactly how to use that gift, make it work for you-- it will remain a curse. Unfortunately, I am still working on that part.

And to tie this back to the marathon and take a parallel step to about a fellow runner who has a white elephant of his own and always impresses me. My friend Jon Obst is a fantastic ultra runner who happens to have type 1 diabetes. He finished 7th at this year's ING running 2:45. It is knowing people like Jon and others who have the odds stacked against them and see them come out triumphant tells me that the white elephant is really what you make of it: burden or just a decoration that makes you a little more sparkly than everyone else. I think it really is a choice and a matter of perception.

I know that this was a ridiculously long race report and probably one of the least entertaining to read. I apologize because I feel I may have misled in my earlier assertion that I think a story should be entertaining. Certainly, I am a person that likes to laugh and strives to be funny but it has been hard to find humor in something that just hasn't always been so funny to me. I have spent a huge portion of my life trying to hide my ADHD, even being ashamed of it and often flat out denying it. And I am not saying I am all the sudden flag waving proud and ready to shout it out at every opportunity: I just don't want my son to grow up questioning his intelligence, his value as a human being like I did. So I had to put it out there. And it just seemed easiest to cushion it in between the hills of the GA ING marathon. Thanks for reading.

Some after race pictures:
This is Shannon. She is a chiropractor. I went to see her after the race and she took an x-ray of my pelvis. And guess what? The left one side was higher and forward. So I was crooked after all. My stride really was off. She fixed me up. I am still a bit crooked but it has all been better.
Leah celebrating after her first half marathon:

Alexis is going to be a marathon runner when she grows up.
Caroline and Pookie
I gave Wes the best wedgie ever. That's what happens when your underwear is hanging out of your pants.

Beer really does make everything better, even a not so great race.

So yeah . . .

2010-03-24T16:15:00.003-04:00

Full on boring long ass detailed and rambling on to no end race report is coming. Promise!

Forgive me, I am still having a bit of a pout fest. Sunday was not my best day. Going to a chiropractor --first time ever--tomorrow to see what I did to my back/hip. My left hip is like a bowl of Rice Krispies it is popping so much and I feel crooked. Could be in my mind but I feel like I got this weeble when walk and never mind about the wobble that I feel when I run. . .

For those who care just to know the time and none of the boring self absorbed whiney ass details:

Natalie Fischer #343

Age: 38 Gender: F

Distance	MARARTHON!!
Clock Time	3:41:36
Chip Time	3:41:12
Overall Place	297 / 2153
Gender Place	45 / 739
Division Place	6 / 136
Age Grade	63.2%
Half	1:42:30
Divtotal	137
Sextotal	749
Pace	8:27

Sigh, at least I qualified for Boston but man was I ever unhappy how hard I had to fight for it. I think 2009's 3:29 and 2008's 3:38 were easier on me. I will, however, still maintain 2007 as the reigning toughest year on the ING course for me and this is only because I did not have to the medical tent on Sunday. There, is, always next year. I am already signed up.

The Hurricane in My Pocket

2010-03-20T20:42:00.003-04:00

I know, MIA again.

All you missed was my dumb ass move trying to pick up a 22 year old Lacrosse goalie and I threw out my back the day I ran my last 22 miler and started my 2 week taper for ING.

Lesson here is to never ever try to pick up someone who can lift you above their head no matter how strong you think you are-- cause guess what? You are a runner and you use your body to move through space; not stop objects and people hurtling through space.

Dumb. Ass.

Another lesson might be to not drink so much beer so that you are so drunk you think you can pick a person who weighs twice as much as you do.

Either way, I think though the lesson of just not picking up people might be the way to go. Stay tuned, I got more lessons.

And guess what?

Tomorrow is ING marathon. This has been the best and worst taper I have ever done. I had to lay on my back unable to move for 2 straight days and then unable to run for another 3. By the end of the week though I managed to somehow squeeze a total of 23 miles. I also swam 2 miles and went to yoga. Definitely not the week I had planned, but I was happy to be back running.

But then Monday I had to be all crazy and bend over and try to pick something up off the floor and re-injured my back. I decided to ignore that and ran 10 miles. It was okay. But I dialed back my week anyway and only ended up running 22 miles total. I did squeeze in a 22 mile bike ride, 1200 yd swim and an hour of yoga too. But still so much less than I usually do or have done in the past before a marathon. I still feel off but can't decide if it is just taper madness or I am permanently crooked. And fat too. Stupid Samoas.

Another free lesson: Don't eat girl scout cookies during the taper when you are not running so much.

So anyway, the hurricane that is in my pocket. . .This idea has been with me ever since December 26th and Ryan and I went to see Drivin n Cryin at The Tabernacle. We were there with some long time friends of ours from middle school and high school. I remember when they started singing Let's Go Dancing turning to Tisha and told her that the song had my most favorite lyric of any song ever. First off, I am such a lush and if you hear me start waxing romantic about anything you should totally call me on my bull shit. Especially since I don't have a favorite anything. I just love too many things; I cannot choose. But truthfully, the lyric really does appeal to me and it is one of my favorite songs. You know, one of like 200.

I really do love this song and this idea of the potential hurricane and that it is just waiting there in your pocket. Can you imagine? Having that sort of power, right there at your hip; ready to be unleashed on the world.

Right, I know what you men are thinking. But I'm a girl. So I really don't know.

And I know that a hurricane is not really a good thing to have happen to you, to where you live but to be the hurricane or have the power to hold a hurricane and unleash a hurricane whenever you want. Well, I think that's enviable. So I really hope there is a hurricane in my pocket tomorrow. I hope that I am the hurricane not the victim of a hurricane. . .

But I don't know.

I am fallible at my predictions; worse than the weather man on TV. And I've had such bad voodoo the past year. I am just hoping for a little race day magic tomorrow and trying to read all the portending signs. Like yesterday, as I ran my final run, I was feeling good and finishing big up the hill before my house Spoon's Underdog came on my shuffle.
You see, Spoon is playing at the Tabernacle tonight and I badly wanted to go but good race mojo is not made at concerts. Regardless though, the random play of the Underdog I am reading as part of the impending forecast: The Tabernacle is about 1/4 mile from the start/finish of ING. Right where I will be toeing the line; standing under cloudy, rain laden skies with a hurricane in my pocket. And I am just hoping, okay praying that I have a New Orleans Saints at the Superbowl kinda day tomorrow. I am channeling that image of Tracy Porter and hoping that as I come into that final stretch that I can pull that hurricane out of my pocket and run pointing and smiling under the finish line banner; finally leaving behind the bad voodoo I picked up in New Orleans last May. Which by the way, most important lesson: never ever take a picture of a voodoo shop. Inside or outside. No kidding.