Now, in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the gallery of frost
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
--from Take this Waltz by Leonard Cohen
If nothing else I have learned of tragedy is that one never knows what is the right thing to say. Or for that matter what is the right thing to do. So we walk around with clamps on our jaws. Some of us-- and I am talking about me-- puts a clamp on our hearts too.
Of course, generally speaking, I have a lot say. But I have been overwhelmed by it lately. Mostly what I have wanted is for it to go away. It isn't going to go away. I know that. It will just dim but I think it is going to pull at my insides until I unclamp my jaw, my heart.
Last Saturday I did my regular 3 hour run. This is my favorite run of the week usually. I get to spend 3 hours doing what I love to do and listening to my favorite music. Certainly being tired or something hurting or crappy weather can put a kink in my good times but generally if I can find my rhythm and get my head in the right place it all works out. On Saturday, the song Take This Waltz by Leonard Cohen found it's way in my 400 song shuffle. I love this song. It is one of my favorites. Here listen, if you like:
What I love most about the song is the amazing poetry. The song is actually Cohen's very liberal translation of Lorca'spoem Little Viennese Waltz. Straight translations from Spanish to English rarely work so it is hard for me to compare fairly but I actually prefer Cohen's song to the straight English translation of Lorca's poem.
I have long puzzled over the precise meaning of Cohen's lyrics but have mostly assumed it a love song about a passionate and tormented love affair. Basically I have long thought it was just a "smarter" version of this song by James. I like that song a lot too.
But on my run the other day I kept listening to Cohen's song over and over several times, compelled by the complex imagery and metaphor-- wanting to figure its meaning out. I'm a Lit nerd; poetry in particular. I like to do stuff like that. Besides, it certainly made the miles fly by having something to occupy my mind and distract me from how tired and sore my legs were after all my runs earlier in the week. It began to occur to me that perhaps it wasn't a love affair with another person but maybe it was just about life and the struggles we all face there--passion, despair. Certainly, as is the case with many great poems, there can be multiple meanings and only Cohen-- and I guess, ultimately Lorca-- know the true meaning. I just get to have fun trying to figure out the metaphor puzzle but never really get to know the true answer. Huh, just like everything else in life. . .
On Sunday afternoon I came home from a happy afternoon with my family to learn some very tragic news about an old classmate from high school. And ever since then I have grappled with the death of my old friend Spanky. I haven't seen Spanky since high school and had no idea of his struggles. The more I heard from friends who were close to him the more saddened and more horrific the news became. Emails and phone calls have flown back and forth all week. Everyone who knew Spanky is heartbroken for his family. My good friend Dogwood Girl blogged about it too. I will direct you there for specific details as I don't want to repeat what she has already said better than I could.
This morning I woke up, shuffled my kids to school and went straight out to run in the wonderful misty gloom on this eight year anniversary forever and always sad day of September 11th. Today's weather is my favorite kind of weather to run in and you would have thought my heart would be singing with every footfall.
My heart, my mind though were heavy; bereft even and mostly I was just trying to keep it together. I've been running with this despair all week. I've been methodical about it though. Keeping it locked down. I will feel the urge to cry rising and I will think: I will go run 20 miles and that will make me feel better. You know: just shake it off my shoulders; right out of my head. I'll leave it in the sweat; I'll liter it on the side of the road; toss it in the woods and wring it right out of my clothes afterward. However, whatever-- I will rid myself of it.
(I guess I just like to think that I have a better handle on my emotions than other people. And you know, if you've read anything on this blog, that I tend to think that a little running can solve just about every problem. Hence: because I run I've got it all figured out. Completely laughable. Not the running part--the part that I would have anything figured out.)
I didn't want my run to end. I wanted to keep running until I ran myself out and left once and for all this heaviness on the shining wet road. Leave it for the rain and the mist to carry and dissipate. I wanted most of all to find myself a few hours later sweaty, spent and hot in the sun. I wanted to be so exhausted, so bodily wasted that I could no longer cry, be sad or held in this tragedy's embrace. I know. That sounds like a lot to ask from an act as simple as running but sometimes the miles they can do it. It is rare that they have let me down. It is, after all, the thing that I do. Unfortunately I couldn't run myself out of the darkness today. Instead, I had to cut my run short and quickly dress myself for Spanky's funeral.
And I was so grateful that Leigh sat with me at the funeral. I had thought it didn't matter if I didn't have anyone to sit with. I would be okay. Let me just say this--if you go to funerals alone you are an insanely brave person.
I don't get to see Leigh much but she is always a comforting and calm person to be around. Pretty much the antithesis of me. Leigh and I managed to find some of the last seats at Roswell First Presbyterian in the balcony. Below and above it quickly became a standing room only funeral. And to that I can only say that when death finds me I hope the community will rally together for my family as it came together for Spanky's. Roswell has become such a big town but it is nice when you find those small town roots triumphing over the sprawl.
Since Spanky and I were not close and I had thought I had gotten my self purged of tears on my runs this week I thought I would hold it together. Also, admittedly, I do have a hard time keeping my mind focused in church; no matter the occasion. But as soon as the family filed in my stomach started knotting up and I began tying to think of other things to keep it together. It sometimes is easier to put and keep that clamp on when you just read words in an article or think of the tragedy in removed terms.I was no longer removed.
As soon as the readings began I began sniffling. I fanned my eyes with the program. And suddenly, Cohen's song was in my head. I have listened to it so much this week-- trying to divine the precise meaning-- that I am constantly hearing it, even seeing the lyrics. That first stanza in particular read like the scene I was looking at: Except instead of Vienna it was Roswell. And instead of 10 pretty women there was over a hundred women weeping, dotting tissues on the corners of their eyes--leaning on shoulder's, pews. And not quite a lobby with nine hundred windows but a church with many giant windows. And not a tree but a cross. But clearly to me was the piece that was torn from the morning; Spanky and his father. A family torn in half, not just a piece. And there I was with that damn clamp.
Too much. Too much. Understanding suddenly and not understanding it at all. How is that possible? It knocks the breath out of you.
Bless Leigh for passing me that tissue when the jaw, the heart came unclamped. You'd think that I could have at least brought my own tissues with me to a funeral but again, I had thought I would be okay.
Yes. I know I will be okay but I am forever heartbroken that Spanky was so consumed by an addiction and that addiction has irrevocably taken and damaged the lives of the people I know he loved. I am just sad. So sad and I feel terrible that I couldn't stay long after the funeral to say hello to all my old classmates or give proper sympathies to Spanky's family or even really say goodbye. It was just too hard. It was too hard to see so many people I have not seen in a decade or two and smile when I was so crushed; so undone by it all.
I can say no more about this. Cohen is right; it is all that there is.
Showing posts with label losing it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label losing it. Show all posts
Friday, September 11, 2009
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Anchor and The Moth
Are one in the same.
I am always the moth but lately, this week, I am also the anchor.
And this isn't some obscure attempt at metaphor. I mean it literally. I am a weight that sinks.
To be sure, I am not an anchor in the sense that "holds it all together" but rather one that holds things back, weighs things down. Specifically, one that sinks swiftly to the bottom of a lake and gets stuck in some logs or some of that mysterious bottom of the lake creepy debris.
This always happens and I've known it was coming. I've been on a streak of good training pretty much since my disastrous last marathon in the spring. Training that for the most part has been pain free.
And yes, I admit that mostly that is due to the fact that I was running around 40-45 mpw instead of 50-60 mpw. My body rewarded me with things like being able to get out of bed in the morning and walk-- just like everyone else-- down the stairs; forward, not sideways and gripping the railing for support. A railing, it should be noted, that needs to be screwed a little tighter on the wall after enduring my weight for the past 3 years I've been running marathons. It is just a disaster waiting to happen. Ryan, get on that for me. You know, when you get back from the beach.
And I have responded to my body feeling good by doing what I always do: piling on the miles, little recovery, getting lazy about stretching, not going to yoga, not icing the calves, not being vigilant about ice baths, drinking too many post run celebratory beers or wine instead of re-hydrating with water, forgetting to eat enough-- you know all the same stuff I did last year that led to the most miserable winter training ever and calf injury that still haunts me.
It is doubtful that I am going to change. Like a moth to a flame I am committed to doing the same thing over and over again. I know that doesn't make me sound too smart but what can I say? I like to train. I don't like to rest and do all that good for your body crap. So I don't.
And because of that I will probably continue to have days like I did Wednesday.
Wednesday was the day where I was the anchor. I held people back, I struggled and let myself down. It was humbling and now has me quite worried about this upcoming half ironman.
So worried that I had a nightmare about the race last night. I dreamed that it was race day and I was setting up. Steph wouldn't set up next to me and told me to go to this other rack. I was surrounded by what looked like really out of shape old men. It was then that I realized I had forgotten all my nutrition. I didn't even have water. I told Steph about it. In real life Steph goes on every ride with enough Gu and electrolytes for 4 people. But in my dream she had nothing to share. She couldn't even spare a single Gu. The guy next to me on the rack though had an extra Gu and offered it to me. I ate it right there. Then I went off to scrounge for more food, water and Gatorade. While one my search the race started.
I gave up my search and ran to the water's edge. The last wave had just gone out. I dove in the water which started out as a pool but then changed to a lake. A very dark lake. I was trying to pass people but I couldn't. So I started to do the butterfly. I butterflied over all the swimmers and finished the race in my goal time.
One guy, after the swim, tried to get me disqualified argueing that doing the butterfly in a triathlon was "illegal".
I raced around transition trying to find my bike but it was gone. And then I woke up.
This dream is the direct result of a conversation I had had yesterday with Steph. She pretty much told me my planned 600 calories for the HIM was ridiculously low. She thinks I need close to 2000. I just don't know I am going to consume that much. Clearly, my subconscious is very worried about.
And as I mentioned the dream is also related to Wednesday's disastrous ride. I met Steph and Doug and also called Neal to join us for a ride through Roswell. Steph said brick. I said yay, though said I would be very slow since I was certain my legs would be tired from my hard 21 mile run the day before. Steph said that was fine since her speed is slow.
Sandbagger.
We all met and I was thinking we were going to ride 30 miles top and run 3 or 4 miles. I figured this was doable since a few weeks ago the day after running 21 miles I rode 43 miles in Roswell. Wasn't fast and wasn't easy but I hung.
But Steph said she had to work, unlike the rest of us schmucks, on Thursday. She wanted to ride 40 and run 6 miles. I figured well, okay. Why not.
Well, let me tell you why not. Because the day/night before even though I took an ice bath I did not eat very much and I drink maybe a little too much wine and not nearly enough water. Anyone who has every run 21 miles in 85 degree heat will tell you that water? Might be a good idea. But I figure if Jesus turned water into the wine then wine must be better for you than water.
This is not so my friends. Not so at all. At least not after a long run.
The ride was hard for me the whole time but I did have this period where I was feeling strong and I wanted to mix it up. So we rode some extra hills and as it turned out, extra miles.
I began to pay for my exuberance dearly when we got down by the river--the easy part of the ride. Steph and I got stuck on a turn by some traffic and the guys got ahead of us. I knew I wasn't going to catch them but figured Steph and I would hang together. But then Steph blew past me. Let's go Natalie!!! She yelled.
I was DYING of thirst and was just sucking on my water bottle and trying to catch her. I also realized at this point that we probably still had an hour or so to go. I decided to go ahead and have the ONE gel I brought. My plan though-- yeah, I did have one, not a good one but I had one--had been just the Gatorade and water I brought. I don't know why I thought that would be enough for a 40 mile ride and 3 mile ride but that is what I thought.
I felt defeated having that gel and anyone who has ever done any endurance stuff knows that once the wheels come off it is almost impossible to put them back on. Too little too late.
I had my gel and sucked down the water. And hoped for some magic to happen. Steph wasn't that far ahead of me and I saw where she met up with the guys. Luckily they got stuck at the light and it changed right as I got there and we all went through it together.
I thought, whew back with the group! I am good.
But then they dropped the hammer and apparently it hit me on my foot because I looked up and they were way, way ahead. I pedaled pedaled pedaled and my quads hated hated hated me. Then my calves started saying knot knot knot.
Who's there? I asked.
Cramp, biyatch.
Garmin said I was doing 21 mph in my desperate attempt to catch back up to the group and get in the good graces of the draft but the cramps in my calves said back off or get locked out.
I backed it down and figured I was on my own. But nicely they had waited for me before we did the climb up Eves Rd. Gotta admit. I kinda wish they had dropped me.
Neal, took pity on me and blew smoke up my ass about how strong I was and how much improvement I'd made and how he liked my pace better than Doug's pace. I told him I was much more comfortable with the ridicule most people dish out to me. His kindness made me feel he was being facetious. People, I explained, just aren't that nice to me. And then I went on the complain how hard the bike was for me. Neal is a nice guy and I appreciate his encouragement very much but yeah, I know I suck. Eventually, maybe, I will get better. If not? Well, I'll just keep running.
So I made it through the ride by the grace of Neal's tire. Draft draft draft and I don't mean beer. I wish though.
I will say by the last 5 miles everyone was pretty beaten down. It was a head tucked, no talking ride by the end. We ended with 47 miles at a 16.5 mph pace. Neal bailed out on the run. Steph was still maintaining her 6 miles and I was in for 3. Doug was just quiet but came along.
It was probably close to 90 degrees as it was well after noon. The first mile came off terrible as usual. I was burdened by tummy cramps. They came and went. Steph was behind me the whole way yelling "Too fast! Slow down! 10 minute miles!" And I would try but I just can't nail that pace. So I would forge ahead and then be halted by the cramps and chills that often accompany such tummy distress. Then they would disappear and I would run on, pass Steph and Doug again. Rinse, repeat, run on. Finally I was in the last mile and knew the faster I ran the sooner I was done and could have some water. This little 5k run that took me 28 minutes felt infinitely worse than any single point during my 21 mile run the day before that I ran almost a minute faster per mile. And yes, it does make me feel a tiny bit better than both Steph and Doug called it done at the 5k too.
The rest of the day I was a total waste of a human being. I even made the kids do their homework with me on the couch. And it was only after they called me lazy did I get up and fold a little laundry, clean a bathroom, make some dinner and then resume my horizontal position on the couch. I can't recall ever feeling that wiped out after any race or any training day. Just ridiculous.
However, while laying prone on the couch I planned my next day's workout. A 10 mile run. Easy pace, no watch, I thought. But 10 miles? I could do that everyday.
Apparently not though.
I woke up not wanting to run, bike or swim. I think when they dropped the hammer down at the river I dropped my mojo. All I wanted to do was just wanted to lay on the couch. But I hate sloth. It eats me up inside. I hate not sticking to my plans.
I talked myself down to just 6 easy miles. The 6 easy miles then became just a walk. A walk, I said. It will be okay. Everybody needs an easy day. You don't have to run 50 miles this week if you don't want to. It'll be okay.
So I went for a walk and it was nice out. Little warm but less humid and there was breeze. The effects of Hurricane Fay I guess.
So I rallied and headed out for a 6 mile run. But then I started to feel pretty okay and turned off on my 10 mile route. Then I realized I was a bit thirsty at 4 miles. Still dehydrated I guess.
So I stopped and had some water at Walgreens. The air conditioning? Awesome. The water? Cold and refreshing. I couldn't get enough of it. And this was water fountain water. When is that ever good? Again, very dehydrated.
I stepped outside of Walgreens and was immediately overwhelmed by the desire to not run. But I had to get home. Again, I tired to rally with just 6 miles. No. And I turned on heel and headed back the 4 miles I had just run.
At least this will be easier I thought-- it being mostly 4 miles down hill. Yet some how I found myself walking. I was dying for a glass of orange juice. Orange juice was all I could think of. What is this walking about I asked myself? You can't walk down a hill.Who does that?
Run.
No.
Nothing hurts, so there is no reason not to run. Run.
No.
But if you run you can lay back on the couch and drink your orange juice sooner than if you just walk.
Okay.
So I ran home. But I didn't like it.
And yesterday, while I laid on the couch and drank my orange juice, I thought tomorrow I will just run 6 miles and swim 2000 yds. Just put the distance in, don't worry about the pace. Saturday will be your big training day.
Today I woke up feeling much better. But I bailed on my swim. Just couldn't do it. I did run though. 7 miles on the Leita Trail. The weather was just too pleasant to pass up a day of running. And I have been less slothlike today so I have a tiny bit of optimism for tomorrow's 50 mile bike 6 mile run brick. And hopefully I wont have to be the anchor tomorrow. But yes, I will still be the moth to the flame. I am always the moth.
I am always the moth but lately, this week, I am also the anchor.
And this isn't some obscure attempt at metaphor. I mean it literally. I am a weight that sinks.
To be sure, I am not an anchor in the sense that "holds it all together" but rather one that holds things back, weighs things down. Specifically, one that sinks swiftly to the bottom of a lake and gets stuck in some logs or some of that mysterious bottom of the lake creepy debris.
This always happens and I've known it was coming. I've been on a streak of good training pretty much since my disastrous last marathon in the spring. Training that for the most part has been pain free.
And yes, I admit that mostly that is due to the fact that I was running around 40-45 mpw instead of 50-60 mpw. My body rewarded me with things like being able to get out of bed in the morning and walk-- just like everyone else-- down the stairs; forward, not sideways and gripping the railing for support. A railing, it should be noted, that needs to be screwed a little tighter on the wall after enduring my weight for the past 3 years I've been running marathons. It is just a disaster waiting to happen. Ryan, get on that for me. You know, when you get back from the beach.
And I have responded to my body feeling good by doing what I always do: piling on the miles, little recovery, getting lazy about stretching, not going to yoga, not icing the calves, not being vigilant about ice baths, drinking too many post run celebratory beers or wine instead of re-hydrating with water, forgetting to eat enough-- you know all the same stuff I did last year that led to the most miserable winter training ever and calf injury that still haunts me.
It is doubtful that I am going to change. Like a moth to a flame I am committed to doing the same thing over and over again. I know that doesn't make me sound too smart but what can I say? I like to train. I don't like to rest and do all that good for your body crap. So I don't.
And because of that I will probably continue to have days like I did Wednesday.
Wednesday was the day where I was the anchor. I held people back, I struggled and let myself down. It was humbling and now has me quite worried about this upcoming half ironman.
So worried that I had a nightmare about the race last night. I dreamed that it was race day and I was setting up. Steph wouldn't set up next to me and told me to go to this other rack. I was surrounded by what looked like really out of shape old men. It was then that I realized I had forgotten all my nutrition. I didn't even have water. I told Steph about it. In real life Steph goes on every ride with enough Gu and electrolytes for 4 people. But in my dream she had nothing to share. She couldn't even spare a single Gu. The guy next to me on the rack though had an extra Gu and offered it to me. I ate it right there. Then I went off to scrounge for more food, water and Gatorade. While one my search the race started.
I gave up my search and ran to the water's edge. The last wave had just gone out. I dove in the water which started out as a pool but then changed to a lake. A very dark lake. I was trying to pass people but I couldn't. So I started to do the butterfly. I butterflied over all the swimmers and finished the race in my goal time.
One guy, after the swim, tried to get me disqualified argueing that doing the butterfly in a triathlon was "illegal".
I raced around transition trying to find my bike but it was gone. And then I woke up.
This dream is the direct result of a conversation I had had yesterday with Steph. She pretty much told me my planned 600 calories for the HIM was ridiculously low. She thinks I need close to 2000. I just don't know I am going to consume that much. Clearly, my subconscious is very worried about.
And as I mentioned the dream is also related to Wednesday's disastrous ride. I met Steph and Doug and also called Neal to join us for a ride through Roswell. Steph said brick. I said yay, though said I would be very slow since I was certain my legs would be tired from my hard 21 mile run the day before. Steph said that was fine since her speed is slow.
Sandbagger.
We all met and I was thinking we were going to ride 30 miles top and run 3 or 4 miles. I figured this was doable since a few weeks ago the day after running 21 miles I rode 43 miles in Roswell. Wasn't fast and wasn't easy but I hung.
But Steph said she had to work, unlike the rest of us schmucks, on Thursday. She wanted to ride 40 and run 6 miles. I figured well, okay. Why not.
Well, let me tell you why not. Because the day/night before even though I took an ice bath I did not eat very much and I drink maybe a little too much wine and not nearly enough water. Anyone who has every run 21 miles in 85 degree heat will tell you that water? Might be a good idea. But I figure if Jesus turned water into the wine then wine must be better for you than water.
This is not so my friends. Not so at all. At least not after a long run.
The ride was hard for me the whole time but I did have this period where I was feeling strong and I wanted to mix it up. So we rode some extra hills and as it turned out, extra miles.
I began to pay for my exuberance dearly when we got down by the river--the easy part of the ride. Steph and I got stuck on a turn by some traffic and the guys got ahead of us. I knew I wasn't going to catch them but figured Steph and I would hang together. But then Steph blew past me. Let's go Natalie!!! She yelled.
I was DYING of thirst and was just sucking on my water bottle and trying to catch her. I also realized at this point that we probably still had an hour or so to go. I decided to go ahead and have the ONE gel I brought. My plan though-- yeah, I did have one, not a good one but I had one--had been just the Gatorade and water I brought. I don't know why I thought that would be enough for a 40 mile ride and 3 mile ride but that is what I thought.
I felt defeated having that gel and anyone who has ever done any endurance stuff knows that once the wheels come off it is almost impossible to put them back on. Too little too late.
I had my gel and sucked down the water. And hoped for some magic to happen. Steph wasn't that far ahead of me and I saw where she met up with the guys. Luckily they got stuck at the light and it changed right as I got there and we all went through it together.
I thought, whew back with the group! I am good.
But then they dropped the hammer and apparently it hit me on my foot because I looked up and they were way, way ahead. I pedaled pedaled pedaled and my quads hated hated hated me. Then my calves started saying knot knot knot.
Who's there? I asked.
Cramp, biyatch.
Garmin said I was doing 21 mph in my desperate attempt to catch back up to the group and get in the good graces of the draft but the cramps in my calves said back off or get locked out.
I backed it down and figured I was on my own. But nicely they had waited for me before we did the climb up Eves Rd. Gotta admit. I kinda wish they had dropped me.
Neal, took pity on me and blew smoke up my ass about how strong I was and how much improvement I'd made and how he liked my pace better than Doug's pace. I told him I was much more comfortable with the ridicule most people dish out to me. His kindness made me feel he was being facetious. People, I explained, just aren't that nice to me. And then I went on the complain how hard the bike was for me. Neal is a nice guy and I appreciate his encouragement very much but yeah, I know I suck. Eventually, maybe, I will get better. If not? Well, I'll just keep running.
So I made it through the ride by the grace of Neal's tire. Draft draft draft and I don't mean beer. I wish though.
I will say by the last 5 miles everyone was pretty beaten down. It was a head tucked, no talking ride by the end. We ended with 47 miles at a 16.5 mph pace. Neal bailed out on the run. Steph was still maintaining her 6 miles and I was in for 3. Doug was just quiet but came along.
It was probably close to 90 degrees as it was well after noon. The first mile came off terrible as usual. I was burdened by tummy cramps. They came and went. Steph was behind me the whole way yelling "Too fast! Slow down! 10 minute miles!" And I would try but I just can't nail that pace. So I would forge ahead and then be halted by the cramps and chills that often accompany such tummy distress. Then they would disappear and I would run on, pass Steph and Doug again. Rinse, repeat, run on. Finally I was in the last mile and knew the faster I ran the sooner I was done and could have some water. This little 5k run that took me 28 minutes felt infinitely worse than any single point during my 21 mile run the day before that I ran almost a minute faster per mile. And yes, it does make me feel a tiny bit better than both Steph and Doug called it done at the 5k too.
The rest of the day I was a total waste of a human being. I even made the kids do their homework with me on the couch. And it was only after they called me lazy did I get up and fold a little laundry, clean a bathroom, make some dinner and then resume my horizontal position on the couch. I can't recall ever feeling that wiped out after any race or any training day. Just ridiculous.
However, while laying prone on the couch I planned my next day's workout. A 10 mile run. Easy pace, no watch, I thought. But 10 miles? I could do that everyday.
Apparently not though.
I woke up not wanting to run, bike or swim. I think when they dropped the hammer down at the river I dropped my mojo. All I wanted to do was just wanted to lay on the couch. But I hate sloth. It eats me up inside. I hate not sticking to my plans.
I talked myself down to just 6 easy miles. The 6 easy miles then became just a walk. A walk, I said. It will be okay. Everybody needs an easy day. You don't have to run 50 miles this week if you don't want to. It'll be okay.
So I went for a walk and it was nice out. Little warm but less humid and there was breeze. The effects of Hurricane Fay I guess.
So I rallied and headed out for a 6 mile run. But then I started to feel pretty okay and turned off on my 10 mile route. Then I realized I was a bit thirsty at 4 miles. Still dehydrated I guess.
So I stopped and had some water at Walgreens. The air conditioning? Awesome. The water? Cold and refreshing. I couldn't get enough of it. And this was water fountain water. When is that ever good? Again, very dehydrated.
I stepped outside of Walgreens and was immediately overwhelmed by the desire to not run. But I had to get home. Again, I tired to rally with just 6 miles. No. And I turned on heel and headed back the 4 miles I had just run.
At least this will be easier I thought-- it being mostly 4 miles down hill. Yet some how I found myself walking. I was dying for a glass of orange juice. Orange juice was all I could think of. What is this walking about I asked myself? You can't walk down a hill.Who does that?
Run.
No.
Nothing hurts, so there is no reason not to run. Run.
No.
But if you run you can lay back on the couch and drink your orange juice sooner than if you just walk.
Okay.
So I ran home. But I didn't like it.
And yesterday, while I laid on the couch and drank my orange juice, I thought tomorrow I will just run 6 miles and swim 2000 yds. Just put the distance in, don't worry about the pace. Saturday will be your big training day.
Today I woke up feeling much better. But I bailed on my swim. Just couldn't do it. I did run though. 7 miles on the Leita Trail. The weather was just too pleasant to pass up a day of running. And I have been less slothlike today so I have a tiny bit of optimism for tomorrow's 50 mile bike 6 mile run brick. And hopefully I wont have to be the anchor tomorrow. But yes, I will still be the moth to the flame. I am always the moth.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Spring. BREAK!
You know what?
I think I am an optimist.
You know, one of those people who finds the silver lining. Hey! Look. That glass-- that one right there? It is half full.
All I can think is how great it is that I didn't really do much in the way of rest and recovery last week after the marathon.
Because otherwise, this week?
This week would be really frustrating for me if I was all rested and raring to go but couldn't because not only is it spring break for the kids but Atlanta is all decked out in her pretty yellow dress.
I posted that picture to try and show you how hazy it is here from the pollen but also because those turtles chilling on that log? That's me.
No worries, I am not a total turtle but my workouts have been slow and way easy. And I think that is okay since I wore my butt out last week and then got myself schooled at yoga on Sunday. So I am welcoming the easy workouts I've been doing this week. Today, for example, I did an easy bike at the Greenway while Lala and the kids played with clay and bird watched:
Truth is that my workouts are easy because in part it is all that I can manage physically. Not to mention, all this pollen makes me sleepy. My first allergy symptom is always fatigue. Next the ball (or rather the snot)will get rolling with a sore throat and not end until I have a sinus infection. Upside is that I always lose weight when I have sinus infection--and the worse the infection the greater the weight loss. See? Silver lining.Optimist.
I don't know. I just liked that picture of the ducks. They're a couple. They were sleeping. I took it today on our bird watching hike.
I am burnt out on bird watching, by the way. (Wes, I feel for you. Your childhood. I can only imagine . . . Lala referenced your Dad's book a bazillion times.)
Anyway, I am combating the pollen as I am not optimistic about what happens to me once grasses start blooming. I was preemptive and took my first ever Claritan today. Maybe I can avoid the snot after all. Word on the street is that you need to have the allergy meds in place before you get attacked.
So yeah, look at me. All chill on my slacker workouts. Not stressing at all. Really. I'm not. Promise.
Okay, a little but I am not letting it get in the way of fun even if I am not spending spring break at the beach.
Yesterday, I hosted a play date for kids and Mommies. Unfortunately not all my Mommy pals could make it and as it ended up it was as expected- just the "Losers": Memee, DeeDee, me, T, oh and all the littles.
I made Momosas: Champagne, Orange Stoli and a splash of OJ. Bwhahahahaha. . . So everyone had fun! We even invited the husbands to come play when they got done at work. So it was an eight hour play date.
Meme on the electric razor:
Deedee on Carmella's bike:
The kids had lots of fun too as not only did they get play all day with their oldest friends
but also because I gave them chocolate and Tara gave them cupcakes:
The rest of this week is going to rain which will be great because it will wash us clean of the pollen but bad because I will have to think up indoor stuff for us to do. Admittedly, I am not so good at the indoor stuff but I thinking maybe it is time they both learn to roller skate. . .
I think I am an optimist.
You know, one of those people who finds the silver lining. Hey! Look. That glass-- that one right there? It is half full.
All I can think is how great it is that I didn't really do much in the way of rest and recovery last week after the marathon.
Because otherwise, this week?
This week would be really frustrating for me if I was all rested and raring to go but couldn't because not only is it spring break for the kids but Atlanta is all decked out in her pretty yellow dress.
I posted that picture to try and show you how hazy it is here from the pollen but also because those turtles chilling on that log? That's me.No worries, I am not a total turtle but my workouts have been slow and way easy. And I think that is okay since I wore my butt out last week and then got myself schooled at yoga on Sunday. So I am welcoming the easy workouts I've been doing this week. Today, for example, I did an easy bike at the Greenway while Lala and the kids played with clay and bird watched:
Truth is that my workouts are easy because in part it is all that I can manage physically. Not to mention, all this pollen makes me sleepy. My first allergy symptom is always fatigue. Next the ball (or rather the snot)will get rolling with a sore throat and not end until I have a sinus infection. Upside is that I always lose weight when I have sinus infection--and the worse the infection the greater the weight loss. See? Silver lining.Optimist.
I don't know. I just liked that picture of the ducks. They're a couple. They were sleeping. I took it today on our bird watching hike.
I am burnt out on bird watching, by the way. (Wes, I feel for you. Your childhood. I can only imagine . . . Lala referenced your Dad's book a bazillion times.)
Anyway, I am combating the pollen as I am not optimistic about what happens to me once grasses start blooming. I was preemptive and took my first ever Claritan today. Maybe I can avoid the snot after all. Word on the street is that you need to have the allergy meds in place before you get attacked.
So yeah, look at me. All chill on my slacker workouts. Not stressing at all. Really. I'm not. Promise.
Okay, a little but I am not letting it get in the way of fun even if I am not spending spring break at the beach.
Yesterday, I hosted a play date for kids and Mommies. Unfortunately not all my Mommy pals could make it and as it ended up it was as expected- just the "Losers": Memee, DeeDee, me, T, oh and all the littles.
I made Momosas: Champagne, Orange Stoli and a splash of OJ. Bwhahahahaha. . . So everyone had fun! We even invited the husbands to come play when they got done at work. So it was an eight hour play date.
Meme on the electric razor:
Deedee on Carmella's bike:
The kids had lots of fun too as not only did they get play all day with their oldest friends
but also because I gave them chocolate and Tara gave them cupcakes:
The rest of this week is going to rain which will be great because it will wash us clean of the pollen but bad because I will have to think up indoor stuff for us to do. Admittedly, I am not so good at the indoor stuff but I thinking maybe it is time they both learn to roller skate. . .
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Ushering in of the Age of Awkward
Big sigh
It is upon us.
Or rather, it is upon Carmella. We have gap.
No more are the perfect little Chiclet rows.
The tooth? Well, the tooth has been loose since oh, . . . early April, gosh maybe even March. So we knew it was coming but honestly I was beginning to doubt that she was really going to let it come out.
On the way home from the beach she realized it was loose and completely lost her marbles over it. I pretty much had to peel her off the ceiling of the car. Even though nearly every single one of her friends have all lost several teeth I guess she thought it wouldn't happen to her. It completely freaked her out that it was loose and then when we told her, excitedly, that it was going to come out and that she would be getting all new teeth, well, it wasn't pretty. And I am not kidding--hyperventilating, crying, wringing of the hands and shaking of fists at the inequalities of life sort of freaking out. I can't even begin to imagine how she is going to react when she starts her period. Being human is too creepy for her. It probably would be wise if I get a prescription of Xanax for her and have it ready that milestone--you know start slipping it into her juice or something as soon as she hits 13. I think adolescence will go much easier for her.
So the tooth has been hanging on by a thin root for about 2 weeks now. It has been giving me the heebie jeebies every time she opens her mouth. This past weekend she was so dramatic about food--corn, apples, hamburger, pizza--all impossible choices! Ice cream, popsicles-- the only safe bets.
Last week I chased her around the house trying to pin her down so I could pull it out but she was too hysterical at the very thought of it so I let her go. No need to completely traumatize her, well at least not yet. There will be plenty of other opportunities (let's not forget I got menstruation to look forward to with her. Yes, honey totally normal. And guess what! It happens every single month! And I can just imagine how the tampon conversation is going to go over too.)
So anyway. . .Finally, this morning the tooth just fell out.
She tells her story here:
It is upon us.
Or rather, it is upon Carmella. We have gap.
No more are the perfect little Chiclet rows.
The tooth? Well, the tooth has been loose since oh, . . . early April, gosh maybe even March. So we knew it was coming but honestly I was beginning to doubt that she was really going to let it come out.
On the way home from the beach she realized it was loose and completely lost her marbles over it. I pretty much had to peel her off the ceiling of the car. Even though nearly every single one of her friends have all lost several teeth I guess she thought it wouldn't happen to her. It completely freaked her out that it was loose and then when we told her, excitedly, that it was going to come out and that she would be getting all new teeth, well, it wasn't pretty. And I am not kidding--hyperventilating, crying, wringing of the hands and shaking of fists at the inequalities of life sort of freaking out. I can't even begin to imagine how she is going to react when she starts her period. Being human is too creepy for her. It probably would be wise if I get a prescription of Xanax for her and have it ready that milestone--you know start slipping it into her juice or something as soon as she hits 13. I think adolescence will go much easier for her.
So the tooth has been hanging on by a thin root for about 2 weeks now. It has been giving me the heebie jeebies every time she opens her mouth. This past weekend she was so dramatic about food--corn, apples, hamburger, pizza--all impossible choices! Ice cream, popsicles-- the only safe bets.
Last week I chased her around the house trying to pin her down so I could pull it out but she was too hysterical at the very thought of it so I let her go. No need to completely traumatize her, well at least not yet. There will be plenty of other opportunities (let's not forget I got menstruation to look forward to with her. Yes, honey totally normal. And guess what! It happens every single month! And I can just imagine how the tampon conversation is going to go over too.)
So anyway. . .Finally, this morning the tooth just fell out.
She tells her story here:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)