A Relative Economic Problem

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's right.

Economics test.

In third grade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgin Bride

Oh, wait. I mean Twisted Ankle Marathon Virgin Bride.
Sorry if there was any initial confusion upon reading the blog title. I am not trying to be one of those "born-again" virgins (like that is even possible.)

Drum roll please . . . Here is my outfit for tomorrow.



As you will see I have my something blue covered--skirt is INDIGO (definitely NOT purple--worst color ever) and my top is aqua (a well known shade of blue) and my socks have blue on the toes.

My something new is my also my top and my socks. The theme of the outfit tomorrow is pockets. I needed pockets otherwise I would resigned to the hideous fanny pack. And clearly, as you can see in the picture I need a lot of pockets if I want to carry all that crap.

My something old is my Run Happy hat, the skirt, my ipod and my knife--I am not going in the North Georgia woods without a weapon. I have seen Deliverance (cue Dueling Banjos)

My something borrowed is the water bottle--yes Dad that is yours and no I did not ask but I "borrowed" it a month ago and since you haven't missed it yet I am sure it is okay. I did tell Mom I was taking it. I am sure she forgot though.

Also borrowed are the trail shoes. They are Lala's.

Yes, yes I know. Not a great idea. And no I haven't done a long run in them but I ran 2.25 miles today and they felt fine--the same;maybe better than my Trance's. I actually almost bought this particular trail shoe but instead I got the Brooks Cascadia because they were out of the Mizuno's in my size. I KNOW I don't like running in my Cascadia's so they are definitely no good. I could always stick with my Brook's Trance but the weather tomorrow is suppose to suck and it is probably going to be super muddy so I think I might really need a trail shoe. I did like how firm and cushioned the heel felt today so I think they will be good. The way I see it; after 26+ miles my feet aren't going to feel good anyway. So I think it is more important I have a shoe with some good traction.

Also, pictured is a camera because who doesn't document their deflowering? And toilet paper--because girlfriend? Doesn't use leaves. Of course I am crossing every part of me and hoping such thing isn't an issue (it isn't usually) but every good Girl Scout is always prepared.

Lastly, even though I am certainly not happy about the forecast:

Hourly Forecast

6 am 64°F Feels Like 64°F

9 am 67°F Feels Like 67°F

12 pm 74°F Feels Like 74°F

3 pm 76°F Feels Like 79°F

6 pm 76°F Feels Like 79°F

9 pm 71°F Feels Like 71°F

Day

Night

I have heard--at least that is what they like to tell the Brides who plan outdoor garden weddings without a rain contingency plan-- that is good luck if it rains on your wedding day.

Sweet Jesus let's hope so!

Twisted Ankle Rewards

This is a bit of a treatise on my ankles. But there will be shoe porn for your patience . . .

I hate to say I have weak ankles--because you always hear girls claiming that (or weak knees as to why they can't run or do something) And, in general, I hate to lay claim to any sort of weakness: but I have to think that maybe I really do have weak ankles.

When I was on the gymnastic team in high school I was constantly twisting, rolling and spraining my ankles. I think part of this was because-- unlike the other girls on my team-- I had no gymnastic training.

I know you are thinking why would one go out for the gymnastic team if they had no prior gymnastic training but my friend said "Hey Nat! Let's try out for the gymnastics team!" I told her "Absolutely not!" Explaining that I didn't know how "to do" gymnastics; that I had never had lessons. She countered with "but you can do flips and splits! You can totally do gymnastics!"

Always the hard sell I tried out.

Definitely B team bound. I spent those two years on the team with taped ankles and shins (apparently front flips give you shin splints). And even though I was far from the best on the team I did do okay and did really enjoy it.

Hmmm, not so unlike running. . .

The first 2 years after I started running I struggled alternately with shin splints and bruised ankles from rolling them so much when I ran. One time I even had to get a ride home cause a guy saw me fall from rolling my ankle and insisted I not try to run home. That time was a really bad one: my foot turned black and blue along the outside. I just taped it up and kept running since it didn't really hurt so long as I kept my ankle straight.

And I am sure it didn't help that the jobs I had back then were either spent as a waitress or in a bookstore. Jobs that required me to be on my feet constantly for 8-some days 15 hours (stupid doubles). In fact, recently when Steph was detailing her symptoms from plantar fasicitis--it all sounded so familiar--and I realized that I had also had that for years (but not anymore). I do prefer to think it was more from wearing high heels to work instead of from running. Running is great for you! Wearing high heels for 8 hours is not (though it does make your legs look pretty and again, you get to be tall.)

I am certain, without having confirmation from a doctor, that my ongoing calf problems are all probably related to those early weaknesses. But whatever, you work with what you have and I work, er, run through the weakness. (I keep thinking if I ignore them they aren't really real.) The way I see it is: if it isn't one thing it is something else hindering me. Might as well suck it up.

At any rate, needless to say, the Twisted Marathon has me shaking a bit in my running shoes and for more than just poor ankles. But I am optimistic in that--so far--during the past 2 years I've been doing some trail running I have not rolled my ankles. In fact, last time I sprained my ankle it was from wearing high heels and tripping on the stairs. However running through the sprain certainly didn't do me any favors. . . But that was 5 years ago. I am sure it is better.

I have to think--with all that trail running, yoga and just running my ankles ARE stronger. And my reward--assuming I survive the twists, turns and hills of the Twisted Ankle course on Saturday is getting to wear my new shoes.

I purchased these shoes over the past 2 months but haven't worn them yet (well except one pair) because I haven't wanted to injury myself before any of my recent marathons while wearing them. But I think --again assuming I don't actually break an ankle (obviously I can preserve through little old sprains and twists)--getting to finally wear my new shoes will be the most perfect reward ever! In fact, when I am in those sad dark places of the marathon where doubt, quitting, and just plain wanting to be shot for ever thinking running 26.2 miles is a good idea I will think about all my new shoes and how cute they will look with my outfits. ( you should imagine clapping after you read that sentence). mmmmm, shoes. . .

And, yes, of course I have pictures. Bring on the shoe porn! And yes, I put them on a cake plate because I think they are that delicious.

You should also know that the price range for these were only $18.00-$34.00 because I either bought them on Ebay (new not used) or found them on super duper clearance and my size was the last pair. Price includes shipping! But they aren't expensive shoes anyway. I would never pay $600.00 for a pair of shoes even if I could afford to--considering how destructive I am.

Sam and Libby's that I have worn once but only for a few hours. They are really comfortable.

These are just so cute I am dying to wear them! I have had them the longest--since the beginning of March at least.

I bought these to go with a dress I am wearing to wedding next weekend but have found that they actually go with a lot of dresses and will look cute with jeans too. But I am being good and waiting.
And these. These are the newest. I bought them off eBay a few weeks ago. I got them super cheap and they were originally sold in the Victoria Secret catalog for over $100. I couldn't even find the pink one for sale on the Internet anywhere though I did find brown and red in case you are interested but still for a lot more than I paid.

Quite honestly I haven't worn these yet because they really are just an ankle accident waiting to happen. Carmella calls them my "dangerous shoes". Ryan laughs and doesn't believe me that I am actually going to wear them. But I am! And I can't wait! Ta da!!!

Letter people

It is almost time for the annual Kindergarten tradition (at least at my kids' school) of the Letter Person Parade.

Carmella, was Miss I. See pictures and details here. I had much less trouble conceiving the idea for that costume than I did for Beau's.

There are only 2 rules to letter people costumes:
1. Store bought costumes are discouraged.
2. No bulky costumes, poster board or boxes, PLEASE! Your child must be able to walk an sit in the costume as well as parade through the halls. Please keep your child's comfort and safety in mind when creating the costume.


I find rule number slightly obnoxious because I have never seen a store made letter person costume. And believe me, if could find one, I would buy one. The one thing that I really don't like about Kindergarten is all the homework that I have to do--no matter how cute the result.

When I got Beau's letter person assignment I was less than thrilled. And when I read the poem I thought for sure that his teacher was purposely trying to be ironic and funny at Beau's and I's expense:

Poor Quiet Q
Has nothing to do
He just hangs around
Not making a sound.

Really? Beau? Quiet? With nothing to do? Bwhahahaha.

So when I was at the school the other day for centers I kind of politely complained; saying I was having a hard time being creative with the letter Q. His teacher immediately informed me that Beau insisted on being Mr. Q. Generally she doesn't let the kids have any say in which letter person they get to be but Beau was so adamant about being Mr. Q she let him--I think partly because of the irony factor. Even Beau's speech teacher and another school employee made a comment to me about how funny it is that Beau is Mr.Q. Word has, apparently, spread.

See.

The kid has a reputation and he is only in kindergarten.

I did ask Beau why he wanted to be Mr.Q and he just said because Mr. Q is "cool" but I suspect that there is some other reason and it will reveal itself soon enough.

I made the costume last night and Beau begged to wear it to school today. He even tried to negotiate " okay, just the hat". And then requested that I also make him a cane with a "Q" shaped handle and some "Q" shaped glasses (which maybe I will do that).

I went ahead and sent it in though. I obviously can't have it hanging around here for week because otherwise I will be spending the next 7 days making accessories for Mr.Q's outfit when clearly I need to remain focused on freaking out about the Twisted Ankle marathon next weekend.

Running Down a Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream . . .

Number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9 . . .

Number 9?

Number 9.

Is it a lucky number?

Well you know I looked it up and it is, kind of...

In China it is. Apparently, in the Chinese language--which I do not know--the number nine is a homophone for "longlasting". . .

In Christianity there is 9 Choirs of Angels . . .

And there are 9 Noble Virtues:
1. Courage
2. Truth
3. Honor
4. Fidelity
5. Discipline
6. Hospitality
7. Self Reliance
8. Industriousness
9. Perseverance

There were 9 muses in Greek Mythology until Plato came along and added Sappho as a 10th honorary muse. Way.to.go.Plato.

9 is the atomic number of fluorine . . .(I do have good teeth from all those fluoride treatments as a kid. . . )

There are 9 planets: Mercury, Venus, Earth (this is where we live), Mars, Jupiter (this is where boys go to get stupider), Saturn, Uranus (Not mine! Yours!),Neptune and Pluto.

Okay, so maybe I am reaching.

Maybe I am searching for meaning where there is no meaning but hey, at least I am not reading my horoscope or tarot cards.

The point though is that tomorrow I am lucky because I get the opportunity to run my 9th marathon in 4 years. My 3rd in 4 months.
My 3rd attempt on the Ga ING course in 3 years to run 3:30.

Is 3rd time gonna be a charm?

No, no I don't think so. But that is okay. Maybe someday but I don't think tomorrow will be that day.

But I am optimistic about having a GREAT race tomorrow and excited and feel blessed that I get to toe the line in the town where I was born and have grown up and get to run with 15,000 other enthusiastic people --okay maybe just 14,999 since Pookie is running and I don't think she is so enthusiastic about it--- participating in the sport and race I love.

But this race. . .
Sigh.
It really is going to take some luck for it to ever have good weather.

March in Georgia is crap shoot. And by that I mean the weather totally sucks. You may get a nice day here and there but for the most part it is old bitch winter leaving out our back door in one pissed off mood. Really, spring here is just an argument between winter and summer and in March it is pretty clear that winter is winning the argument.

The past 3 days we've had a ton of rain--and I ain't knocking it; we need it! But I am just so tired of running in the rain and the cold. I want some good race day weather already!

Along with my other taper activities--shopping, obsessing over how fat I am getting, worrying about each and every pain--I have been stalking The Weather Channel.com for the past 10 days. And here is what the latest from TWC says to expect tomorrow morning:
7 am

45°F
Partly Cloudy

39°F real feel

10% chance of rain

74% humidity
11 mph wind

Sunrise 7:29 am

8 am

44°F
Partly Cloudy

39°F real feel

20% chance of rain

73% humidity
10 mph wind

9 am

45°F
Partly Cloudy

39°F real feel

20% chance of rain

68% humidity
12 mph wind

10 am

46°F
Mostly Cloudy

40°F real feel

20% rain

65% humidity
14 mph wind

11 am

48°F
Mostly Cloudy

42°F real feel

20% chance of rain

61% humidity
15 mph wind

So not totally terrible but that wind might feel like a wind tunnel and with that humidity my hair is definitely not going to look good. Like that is news.

However I am still optimistic!

Why?

Because I've been reading signs!

Yesterday I went to the expo.

Beau and Carmella--of course-- had fun and collected lots of swag. Beau even got to do circus tricks:

But while I was there I saw Joe:
He was very busy but he still stopped and told me good luck. It has to be lucky to have the guy who sells you your running shoes to stop when he is that busy to wish you luck. Right? That is what that means. . .

And my sister? Pookie? She put the blond in my hair! No hair cut this time. Don't want to make that Samson mistake again--you know, like last year when I had my hair cut the night before the race. That didn't work out. But I feel good about the blond. Maybe not faster good but brighter, happier about being slow. . .

See foils? That is Pookie is mixing the magic in the background. She is running the half. She hasn't trained but will still do good cause that's her thing.

See me getting the bleach!
See me and Pookie. Can't you tell how much she LOVES me!

And then, most important. When the kids and I were driving home from the expo the rain stopped and I saw blue in the sky and I saw the sun. Okay, so I think the sun heard about my blondness and was trying to tell me that even though I am blonder and brighter he is still the brightest of all. And I get that. Not trying to compete with sun. I know I won't win. But then as I pulled into my neighborhood I saw a rainbow arching over us.

Look! I said to the kids: There is a rainbow leading to our house!

And Beau, with the inherent optimism of children asked if that was where the gold was.

No, not likely, but surely--it means something good. . .

Now you scientists be quiet and don't ruin the magic and my faith in silly supersitions. Life, I think, is more poetic when you believe in something.You know, that dare to dream the dreams you dream thing . And, I have heard sometimes, dreams really do come true. . .

Everyone have a great race tomorrow!

Heaven's Proximity and Thanksgiving Day

As many of you know, if you've been reading this blog for awhile,November 24th is the 2nd anniversary of my nephew Evan's death. For those that haven't been following along for a few years, my nephew Evan died the day after Thanksgiving in 2006 from complications from bacterial meningitis. He was a few months shy of his third birthday and his loss has caused my family inexplicable pain and we still miss having him in our life every single day.

My sister in law Pam, my brother, family and friends gathered at a park to release balloons to remember Evan yesterday. My kids and Ryan and I couldn't make it out to their park but we also released balloons to remember Evan at a park near us. To explain to the kids what we were doing we told them we were sending notes to Evan in heaven.

Carmella had no problem with this and wrote a very sweet note telling him that she missed him everyday and hoped that he was having fun in heaven and she loved him always.

Beau, ever my little scientist, commented as we watched the balloons disappear from sight that he just "didn't think it was going to work." He explained that surely a plane or lightening would take the balloons out before they and our notes could reach Evan in heaven. Heaven, he explained, was very far away. There was even mention of Mars and Pluto.

Carmella told him that of course the balloons would make it. Heaven was closer to us than planes and planets, she explained, somehow, to Beau. And then there was much running a muck and it was starting to rain harder and then Beau face planted in the mud and we took that as our cue to leave.

Two weeks ago, when I did my final longish run I found myself remembering Evan and Thanksgiving morning--the day before he died. Evan sometimes has a way of sneaking into my thoughts when I do those long runs. It is okay, most times welcomed even. Not sure why but it can be motivating somehow; the anger and that overwhelming emotion of loss. At the very least, it is a diversion-- something else to focus on, unspool in my head and get me through the miles. And since I am in the taper for Atlanta marathon I can't help but think of my past Atlanta half marathons/marathon races. Especially the one I ran on November 23rd 2006.

I never wrote a post about the race and just had a blurb in one of my posts that I ran it and it was my best time for the course. At the time, the race was such a small, insignificant part of that terrible Thanksgiving day because it was about 2 hours after finishing that race that we found out we would lose Evan forever. But since then, I have found, my memory of that day is entangled in running, or rather more specifically the Atlanta half marathon-- and by default the Atlanta Marathon since the last 13.1 miles of the full course is the half marathon course.

And anyone who has ever run a marathon will tell you the real running doesn't even begin until that second 13.1 miles. Or sure there are those that argue even about it being the last 10k but regardless I think of the first half as just a warm up. (Right I warm up that run wayyy tooo fast. Neither here nor there.) I personally don't even consider that I am running 26.2 miles until I hit the half point. Up until then I am just thinking about getting to 13.1 miles. That is all I am doing. Not at all worried about what might happen after that point. Which, right, might be why I have such a tough time in the last half. What can I say, I am often guilty of not seeing the big picture.


Anyway . . . my point is that I can't help but think about Evan now on that course and so I have wondered how that will play out for me in what can be the valley of darkness already in a marathon. Ever since I signed up for the full marathon I've been riddled with this question.

And on my last long run two weeks ago and throughout this taper this is how I have answered it for myself: I have lit upon the notion that I will tell myself I got through those 13.1 miles two years ago on an impossible day under such impossible duress and ridiculous obstacles that surely I can get through it easily having only run 13.1 miles. Which of course, I'll be the first to admit, that everything sounds possible in theory.

Allow me to further explain where I am coming from on this. Keep in mind my thinking process also has to do with how crappy my races have been this year. I feel like I haven't been able to "suck it up" where as I use to consider myself queen of sucking it up and getting it done in a race. I have not had the best of luck in races in general: bad weather, race disorganization, lack of sleep, injury, sickness, bad weather etc. But really, I've come to realize the Atlanta half marathon 2006 really stands out as a triumph over adversity in terms of a race. (I know. One might be inclined to wonder why I keep doing these things. I sure do. And I don't really have an answer other than I seem to think they are fun.)

Race day here is how I found myself: Even taking out the equation of what was happening with Evan the odds were not in my favor to have a good race that day anyway. I had raced the Silver Comet half marathon less than a month before and nailed a pr at that time of 1:41--an almost 15 minute improvement of my fastest half marathon at the time. Two weeks later and 12 days before the Atlanta half I had ran the Outer Banks Marathon in pouring rain and cold and set a new 23 minute marathon PR of 3:42. Then a few days after the marathon I came down with bronchitis and a sinus infection. So Thanksgiving morning I was on day eight of a two week course of antibiotics. I was definitely better --able to smell again and breathe without hitting the inhaler every 15--but the doctor had instructed me not run or if I did to "take it easy." (It is funny, but I just recalled--upon writing this-- that I actually passed that doctor in the first mile of the race.)

So those facts alone were points indicating that I probably wouldn't have a great race. But of course I still wanted to run-- no matter how ridiculous of an idea it was to run. I love this race. Why? Seriously, I don't know. But I do!

But add to those strikes of why not race that I had a family crisis going on and well, most rational people would have bagged the race. However, we had been given hopeful news of Evan on Wed afternoon, so ever the optimist I went through my regular pre race rituals and laid out my clothes--number pinned to my outfit and ready to go. Though I admit that when I climbed into bed at 11 pm that night that I knew I might not be running.

At midnight my mom called and asked me to come down to Children's-- the latest news was not good. I didn't ask questions or really think but grabbed my clothes on the way out the door and drove down to the hospital. My sister, who was also signed up for the race was there too. From about 1 am until 4 am we just sat and stared at each other and had those inane conversations that seem to only occur in ICU waiting rooms. Finally we were told that we would not be able to find anything out until the neurologist came on duty at 11 am and that Evan was stable.

So since we were up my sister and I decided we would go run. The choice, at the time, seem logical: sit in ICU waiting room or run 13.1 miles. I mean, sleep wasn't even on the table so really, those were our only choices.

Oddly it was the most perfect weather for racing as I have ever had running the Thanksgiving race not that, at the time, I thought it was going to make any difference. I was just looking for a little distraction, alone time with my music, thoughts and doing the thing that makes me feel good: running.

I remember trying to convince my sister to come closer to the front but she wouldn't go any closer than the middle of the 8 minute milers. I wished her luck and walked up closer to the 7's. We were off and as we rolled down Peachtree Industrial towards day light the heaviness of the day hit me. By the end of the first mile I was a heaving, crying mess. I wanted to be done. I couldn't do it. Sometime around mile 3 I pulled myself together and began my mantra that got me through the race: I can't quit cause Evan can't quit. Funny the deals we will make. Like we really have that sort of control and bartering power.

I was so tired and sad and worried and wanted nothing more than to quit. But I didn't and ran as hard as I could that day because getting done would get me back to the hospital where I decided, after starting the race, was actually where I was suppose to be.

I vaguely remember crossing the finish line and knowing that I had a run a great race but didn't care at all. There was no elation or joy in finishing as there usually is; only relief to be done with it.

I found my brother in law and waited for my sister to finish. She had also ran her best time and had a similar race experience to mine. There was nothing to be said and we went to her house showered and back to the hospital where the day further unraveled in its horror and despair.

As I have gotten closer to the marathon, which is now only two short days away, this memory gets clearer. Every run I have done it has edged its way in. At first I have that knot of sadness in my stomach that makes me want to throw up but then it turns into this crazy anger that is like a fire. I find myself breaking my promise to take it easy in the taper and it is like it was that day-- wanting to get it done and over and move past it-- and I just run as hard as I can.

So see, here I am two years later and I still have that same emotion: pain-despair-frustration-thing-that-I-don't-have-a-name-for- and nor do I know how to get past it-- over it, beyond it. But what I do know and have been thinking is that maybe, maybe I can manage it. Maybe even harness it. . .

And so here is what I am hoping: that the thing that gets me through those last dark and painful miles of the marathon will be the understanding that nothing ever hurts worse than the pain of losing someone forever. So this, this little thing, this thing that I do called running? Is infinitely easier. Suck. It. Up.

And with that (assuming I keep this cold at bay that I feel is brewing) know that I--marathon runner 794-- will be going for broke on Thanksgiving morning.

Thanks for listening.

Gas Crisis

In case you haven't heard, or are not from the metro Atlanta area, we have been suffering a gas crisis. I am not certain exactly when the crisis started but I noticed Monday that the stations were starting to run out of gas and there were really long lines just waiting to get gas.

I only had a 1/4 tank Monday so I went and found a station and got gas. There was no line at the particular station I went to but there was also only regular. While pumping I saw lots of Mercedes, Lexus and BMW's pull in and then pull right out in search of their premium gas. Lucky I am poor and just drive a Ford. I also got to pay $3.99 gal. A verified bargain after yesterday I noted those stations around me that had gas regular was going for $4.29 a gal.

So with my full tank I headed back home and that got me thinking. It really is ridiculous that I have to get in my car and drive just a few miles I have to do errands like go to the bank, grocery store, take kids on play dates etc. Especially since I am fully capable of running over 20 miles and/or can ride my bike even further.

The problem is, of course, what to do with the kids. I mean a 6 mile round trip run to the grocery store or bank isn't a big deal for me but for the kids it would be tough. Sure they could ride their bikes but it is pretty hilly and not very safe--even on the sidewalk.

Then it hit me.

What I need is a rickshaw!

Think about it.

I could get in marathon training and save money! Oh, and you know, help the environment. The buzz slogan is "Go Green!" right?

So, how's that for multi-tasking?

The kids could do their homework while I was getting my workout in and running errands. Heck, I could even pack a meal for them and they could eat their snacks or dinner while ran around town getting my workout in and running errands. I could even figure out a way to hook Lola to it and she could help me with the load and get her exercise in.

Of course, I would have to get a rickshaw that had a trunk so I could cart the groceries home. I'd probably have to put a cooler in there too so that stuff wouldn't spoil.

Details. Details. . .

Yesterday though, as I drove both kids to their gymnastics class in Roswell, it occurred to me that time might be the limiting factor in my rickshaw plan.

It is 10-11 miles to the gymnastic facility. The fastest I have run 12 miles in recent time is just under an hour and thirty minutes. And that was on a flat trail. I think pulling a rickshaw up hill--not to mention the load that will easily be over a hundred pounds with both kids-- might slow me down a little.

So I figure it will take at least 2 hours to get the kids to their gymnastic class. Doable, but I would have to check them out of school early since gymnastics starts at 4 pm. This will also be a problem since we will barely make it home by their bedtime. I guess I could pack their pj's and we could stop by Lala's on the way home from gymnastics and get them a bath. Could work.

Again, details.

So I was telling Ryan about my rickshaw idea and I thought he would totally appreciate my innovative solution. But he was very unhappy to hear about it.

He said: No. Absolutely not. No rickshaw. I do not want to be married to a woman that looks like a dude.

Dinner a la Taper

Sure sign that I am in the throes of the ugliness that is a taper is a dinner menu such as this:

Pulled BBQ Pork Tenderloin Sandwiches (slow simmered all day long, so, so good)

Roasted Sweet Potatoes (with butter, cinnamon and maple syrup)

Homemade Mac n Cheese Florentine (read lots of butter and cheese and oh, yeah, a little spinach)

Magic Hat number 9

I think I gained weight just preparing this meal. And I don't think the calories I burned from my 6 mile run and 2200 yd swim can even touch it. Things are not going to be looking pretty at the start line of the S.C half iron man. And by things I mean my bulging gut and big fat ass.

Reassuring Pats

Disclaimer: this is the pre marathon post of self doubt.
This weekend was a tremendous and inspiring racing weekend. Charlie, who will also be running the Country Music Marathon this Saturday ran a new half marathon PR. Sprinting in at 1:27! Then Sunday I was glued to my laptop watching the woman's Olympic Trials. Magdalena ran such an incredible race I hated to not see her just run away with it but to watch Deena masterfully, and effortlessly-- I should add-- show us how a marathon is done was equally awesome. But I have to say when I saw Blake Russell coming down that final stretch and could clearly see the moment on her face when she realized that she had made the team. Well, that made me cry I was so happy for her. I have no doubts that both Deena and Magdalena were equally proud and happy for their Olympic teams spots but I saw and felt Blake's pride and overwhelming joy as she crossed the finish line. Congrats to all the women. I think they all ran an amazing race and are going to, like the men, represent the USA well in Beijing.

And today as I watched the elites finish Boston I was further captured by the spirit of the marathon. I want to race tomorrow! No. Not really because I am grateful for the rest and a few more days of prep.


The bubble of inspiration seems to be diminishing though and doubt is creeping in. I am worried that it has been too long since I ran a run over 20 miles. Yes. Right. I know. It has been 22 days. And right. I know. I ran an awesome 18 miler 10 days ago. 15 miler 5 days ago and then there was that fabulous run I did Saturday that I pushed to that "comfortably hard" pace for the entire 10 miles. I have Yoga'd myself silly. Been ridiculous in the pool and I have lifted weights and have been amazed by my strength gains. I feel stronger than I did the week going into ING and sense, I might have the energy to be really powerful on Saturday. But then again, I don't know. . .

I feel like I have not been training. I don't feel worn out, tired, or beaten down. Clearly, something is missing.

I am beginning to imagine injury. There is none but nevertheless as I sit here typing I am icing various points on my leg--calf, Achilles, hamstring, foot. I worry about sickness too. I swallow. Sore throat? No. I sniff hard. Sinuses clogged? Nope. Very suspicious. Once, when I was 22, I went to the doctor--an internist who specialized in infectious diseases-- because I hadn't been sick--at all, not even a cold--in 2 years. I told him I thought I might have a disease that was killing all the other diseases. I could see he was trying hard not laugh since I was dead serious. He ran a bunch of tests and was equally serious when he gave me the results and then patted me on the back and assured me that I was the healthiest person he had ever seen. Sigh, I think I might need to see him again. I sure could use a reassuring pat on the back now.

See? Taper madness has really set in. The dreams have even started. Last night I dreamed the ridiculous shoe dream. The one where I run a race in totally inappropriate shoes. Last night it was my high heel stiletto Cheetah clogs. I am sure tonight I dream I end up missing the start or run the wrong course or run all the way to the Mississippi even.

We won't even discuss the food. Okay, maybe we will. Butter. Why oh why do I love the bread and butter in the taper? Crusty french bread and salted butter. Oh. My. God. I am fat. I am not even going to bother wearing jeans this week. Skirts and dresses only.

And seriously, we will not discuss the amount of 420 I consumed at the Sweetwater Earth Day fest yesterday. But I will show you Carmella's Christo like installation that she did for Earth Day fest, which let's face it, is really just an excuse to get drunk in a park (and for some, I guess get high). Please note the boys in the hammock in the tree.
Wait. Need a better picture?

Derailed

I completely lose my focus in the taper. The cut back of the taper is a challenge for me because it messes with my ingrained running habit. I like to run between 40-50 miles a week. I don't like to run much over 65 miles in a week because the running becomes forced. At the same time I don't really like to go below 35 miles. I will accept a week of as low as 30 miles so long as I am doing lots of other stuff like cycling or swimming. Anything less than 30 miles a week is just uncomfortable for me as I have pretty much been a 30 miles a week runner since I started running 9 years ago.

But since I am balancing recovery, training and taper to gear up and perform well at Country Music Marathon next weekend I am trying to not worry so much about my numbers. I know I really have nothing to gain as far as fitness but do risk the potential of injury if I push too hard. My plan has been to balance the running with cycling and swimming. It is, or rather was, a good plan.

The problem?

Well, my bike exploded yesterday.

The other day I found it laying in the garage. One of the kids must have knocked it over. I checked it over--not really sure what I was looking for since my bike knowledge is negligible at best. I do know that my derailleur was already bent. James, the bike shop guy, asked me a while back if I had crashed or fallen. For the record I have never crashed or fallen (yet)--well, at least not on this particular bike. But the bike was once Lala's and when she clipped in she fell. A lot.

I explained all that to James and he said it would eventually need to be replaced but was fine for now.

And it has been fine.

Well, until yesterday.

I noticed immediately that it wasn't shifting great. I thought the chain might be misaligned. I even stopped and looked it over; poked at the chain, looked at the derailleur, touched the sprockets, got my hands a little dirty. . . But knowing all that I know about bikes I really couldn't see anything to adjust or that looked off. Just to be safe though I figured I would stick to the surrounding neighborhoods rather than hit the open road and risk running in to trouble in heavy traffic.

This proved a very wise decision on my part. I didn't really have trouble until I hit my first significant uphill--about 5 miles in. I was downshifting and all the sudden I heard cracks and popping and pings and knew that it couldn't be good.

The plastic shield (I guess that is what is) had shattered and some metal rings had popped off and were scattered all down the hill. I had to call Lala to come get me.

So . . . does anyone know how long and how much this is going to cost me to fix?

I am thinking the bike might be out until after the marathon. Sigh. Figures. Just when the weather was finally getting nice (read warm) enough to bike (read too hot to run). . .

Girl in Skirt

Homage to Man in Black. Right. I know. Again, with the Johnny Cash. What can I say? It is good stuff.

Well, you wonder why I always run in skirt.
Why you never see me in shorts and a singlet shirt.
And why does my appearance seem to have a feminine tone?
Well, there's a reason for the skirt that I have on.

I wear the skirt for the slower or injured gals,
Running in the back, behind the faster corrals.
I wear it for the runner who has long tried to qualify
But the cut off times for Boston they never could satisfy.

I wear the skirt for those who've never read
The words Pete Pfitzinger said.
About the road to marathons through tempo and GA runs.
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to Olympians.

Well, I am runnin' okay, I do suppose.
In my streak of personal bests in little skirts.
But just so I'm reminded of those that might be hurt
Up front there ought to be a girl skirt.

I wear it for the men in tempo shorts
And the women who've been chaffed in the sport.
I wear it for the boys chasing from behind
But never want to pass 'cause the view's so divine.

And I wear it for the thousands that will run;
Believing that the Peachtree is lots of fun.
And I wear it for Georgia's Marathon for the thousands that will walk;
Still believing that the hills might have been just talk.

Well, there's races that never will be mine I know.
And Pr's are hard to come by every time I hear a go.
But 'till I see all the girls running in a skirt like they do in tennis.
You'll never see me in a split-leg short at the finish.

Oh, I love to wear a skirt everyday!
And I tell the men who stare, "Hey, it's okay."
Yeah, I know it may not be right but I can't help that I'm a flirt.
So 'till I'm faster (and win), I'm the Girl In Skirt!

#785 and the Metaphor of the 22nd Mile

I am dim and not feeling very clever these days. Things are not so bright over here and I feel like I am perpetually stuck in the 22nd mile of a marathon. Maybe it isn't the 22nd mile for you or maybe you have been so lucky in life to never experience the self doubt, fatigue, hopelessness and frustration that happens when you hit a hard spot. Really, I envy you but I also hate you (but not really). Me though? I am not so lucky.

Anyway, that is why posting has been light of late. I've been down. In a rough patch but I am thinking of it as my 22nd mile and I always get through that no matter how much I just want to quit or sit on the sidewalk and cry. So I will get through this too.

Not searching for pity here and I am not trying to be all secretive. But the gist of it is that I am currently looking for a job. Again, maybe you are lucky and never had to look for job but it has never proved a fun challenge for me. The uncertainty, the what ifs and the future is somewhat frightening. I feel quite overwhelmed by life right now. I hope, I really do, but I just don't know if it is all going to work out. So it is, the 22nd mile of the marathon.

I'm dealing but not always so positive these days. Ironically my friend Fishstick commented while I was lamenting my current situation that I am always "so upbeat and positive." Of course I felt flattered because right at that second I felt anything but positive. But I thanked her and explained that I was relieved that is what she saw as that is how I want to come across. I know no one wants to hang out with a self-wallower and people just don't like being around negative people. People want to be around people that make them feel good. And me? I don't like to be alone. I want to be the one people want to hang out with. I want to be the one that makes people laugh and brings them up. And most of the time it is so easy to be that person. But these days, admittedly, I am having a hard time with my commitment to the positive and happy. I'm trying though.

Okay enough of that!

Moving on to the finish line and, hopefully, success! Roll it out: Com'on number 785! THAT is my number for the GA ING marathon. I am bib number 785. And for those that like to race day stalk click here.

My current plan is to go out with the 3:30 pace group--or try to since last year I was unable to line up with them. But if that happens again I promise to not try and chase them down from the 6 hour pace group as that didn't work out so good last year.

I am not hopeful about a 3:30 but I figure it is a reasonable goal to shoot for since I ran 3:37 at Chickamuaga. My main goal is to just do better than last year which is 3:44. And anything under 3:37 will be considered a successful race.

The taper is going as the taper goes: I feel fat and lazy and antsy.

Here is last week's breakdown:
Sunday: 22 miles. I don't know about time but it was a really strong run. Probably one of my strongest long runs.

Monday: Here was where I was really naughty and did a recovery run on the Leita. It was just 4 miles but it did a number on my lower leg muscles.

Tuesday: I took it easy and hit the Greenway for just 12 miles on my bike. I finished in under 45 minutes.

Wednesday: I met Steph and she was naughty and let me run too fast at the Leita. Again it was just 4 miles and my legs were none too happy. I swam for 30 minutes afterwards.

Thursday: 5 miles on the treadmill practicing paces from a sprint to recovery.

Friday: 10 miles with last 6 hopefully at marathon pace. Felt right.

Saturday: 6 miles easy at a recovery pace and then Steph and I were naughty again. We rode 30 miles on our bikes around Roswell. But it was totally worth it because it was so much fun.

Totals:
Running; 51 miles
Cycling: 42 miles
Swimming: 1 mile

And the taper continues:
Sunday: Since it was Easter and Ryan was out of town in the morning I was hard put to get my workout in because the gym nursery was closed and I only had a short window before church. So I after the kids hunted eggs and had breakfast I drug them up to Carmella's school armed with toys, a jump rope and a soccer ball. I instructed them to play on the field while I ran for 30 minutes around the track. You'd think this would have been easy but darn kids kept complaining about hands being cold and wanting to go play on the playground. I relented them on the play ground since they were only out of my sight for half of the track and I gave Beau my socks for his hands and ran sockless. Not ideal but I got it done! I have no idea how many laps since I lost track after the sock hand off. Guessing at least 3 miles but no way was it more than 4.

Monday: 30 minute continuous swim.

Tuesday: 10 miles easy

Wednesday: 6 miles easy

Thursday: Plan is 6 miles with pick-ups.

Friday: Is 3-4 miles on the treadmill with 2 miles at marathon pace. 30 minute swim maybe. I swam way too fast on Monday (was being bit of show off) and now my lat is sore. Dumb ass.

Saturday: Swim or walk for 30 minutes with some strides for good measure thrown in.

Sunday: Marathon!

Okay, now I've got questions:
Half or Full?
What is your number?
What are you wearing?
When are you going to the Expo?
Are you being a rule breaker and wearing your ipod?
Time? Goals?
What are you doing after?

And one last thing . . . I already know what Monday will be like (thanks Baraboo!)

Way to Blow Good Friday

Oh yes, the taper . . .
I ran 10 miles today with Lola. We went out easy. Mostly because the first 4 miles are uphill. Then we hit what I hope was marathon pace for the last 6 miles--could have been too fast but may have been too slow. No Garmin, no watch. It is all a mystery.

Marathon pace, if that is what it was, felt quite comfortable. Yesterday I practiced various paces on the treadmill over 5 miles: marathon pace (8 min), long run(8:45) 10k (7 min), tempo (7:15), and some heart pounding sprints(6:10)tossed in for good measure. The first 4 miles today felt like long run pace and the last 6 felt somewhere between tempo and long run pace. Que sera sera . . .

I ran late morning and noted that I saw lots of men. I don't usually see men. Men are typically at work when I run. Generally, if I see anyone when I run it is women or retired men-- okay, so I do see some men. At any rate, I was puzzled and then it hit me: Good Friday! Oh yeah, Easter! Bunnies and eggs--as if the kids have talked about anything other than that all week . . .

I promised the kids when I dropped them at school this morning that we would dye eggs for Easter this afternoon. So when I got back from my run I googled how to hard boil eggs.

Yes, I have hard boiled eggs before but it is a once a year thing, so I forget the timing. Timing, is everything, you know.

In my search the perfect timing for hard boiled eggs, I also looked up the process for doing blown eggs (snicker).

I really hate eggs and hate even more how hard boiled eggs stink up the whole house and refrigerator. So I was seeking an alternative.

In case you are on the fence about hard boiled eggs or blown eggs,  to help you decide the website had the directions for both processes and offered this gem: if you are going to save the eggs for reuse next year you should do blown eggs.

What! Really?!

You mean you can't pack up your hard boiled eggs like you do your Christmas ornaments? So, that's what that smell in the attic is. . .

And in case you are on the hard boiled or blown fence, let me help.

I do not recommend the blown technique.

But should you not follow my recommendation and  decide to blow eggs anyway,  take my advice and do the following:

1.) Dye the eggs first. They float when empty and it is hard to put weights on eggs.

2.)  Definitely use a nasal aspirator like they suggest to blow out the yolk. Or go to a craft store. Apparently there is some tool made specifically for egg blowing. Egg blowing. (giggle.) It is a thing.

Note: Even though they recommended not to use my mouth, I uhm, used my mouth. (Why would I not?)

3.) Let it be said, blowing out eggs is like giving birth. I was afraid all the blood vessels in my face were going to bust from blowing so hard.

Wow, that sentence is all kinds of wrong. . .

After I blew 14 (Oh my god! So.Very.Wrong.) eggs I was done. I ended up hard boiling the rest. So my house was stinky.

Next, I don't know what the hell happened but I think I was briefly possessed by Martha Stewart. I decided I had to buy some ribbon so that we could use the blown eggs and decorate a tree!

Do not do this.

I am sure there is some trick to it but apparently when I was trying to figure out exactly what that trick may be I was most definitely not possessed by Martha. It took me freaking forever to thread the ribbon through the eggs and yes, there were 3 egg casualties. Nevertheless here is the eggceptional tree:

Hope everyone has a nice weekend!