On Tuesday I braved the frigid temperatures (Hello! 20 degrees is fricking cold on a bike!) and did the 4th annual GA rides to the Capitol. You can click on the link if you want to read more about it but the gist is that this bike ride is organized to raise cycling awareness in the Atlanta area.
You can also read my blogs about the past years I have done the ride here: 2006 and 2008.
Particularly funny is in 2006 Steph commented how she wouldn't ever feel comfortable riding in metro Atlanta on the road. Well, if you read this blog at all you know for pretty much the past 2 years Steph and I have ridden all over metro Atlanta on our bikes. In fact Steph is going to be a wheel chair bike escort for the Georgia ING half marathon and has been familiarizing herself with the course this past week. She also has a pretty great post on her blog on exactly why the ride to the Capitol is necessary. Not sure why she didn't mention that in her post but I'll do it for her.
At the very least I think we should make the Atlanta area as bicycle friendly as we can manage. If cycling doesn't speak to a desire to "go green" or "get fit" in you maybe it will speak to, if you are anything like me, the quickly diminishing size of your wallet. Riding a bike is always cheaper than a car and all the cost involved with operating and owning one (insurance, maintenance, gas, purchasing etc). And considering the traffic in Atlanta (hello! 400? 285?), the 20+ miles you drive from the burbs to work would take you about the same time on a bike--given the appropriate bike lanes and such. Now, I haven't ever done the commute myself (on a bike or in a car) but I have heard you can spend an hour and a half just sitting in your car on 400, inching your way into the Atlanta city limits. Surely you can do 20 miles in an hour and half on a bike. Heck, there are some people in this world that can almost run 20 miles in an hour and half. Also, instead of getting your bp up because you are pissed off about sitting in traffic you get your heart rate up and get all these great endorphins that make you feel high. Well, unless you almost get run over by one of those pissed off people who had to sit in their cars for an hour and half in Atlanta traffic- then you might have a little heart attack yourself. Which probably isn't so good for you. Cortisol, or something like that. . . Anyway, my point of this post is not to be political. I just wanted to encourage people to go out and ride a bike cause it is fun! Also, I for one, would like to be safe while I ride my bike on the city streets that I pay taxes to maintain. Lastly, I wanted to encourage those in the Atlanta area to play hooky from work next year and join us. Do not be intimidated. This ride is very pedestrian. Heck, a guy on a unicycle rode the 20 so miles from Roswell city hall to the Capitol. There were all kinds; time trial bikes, roadies, fixies, mountain bikes, tandems, unicycles etc.
Okay here are some pictures from this year's event: Me and Steph getting ready to roll: Our not so genius idea to keep our tootsies warm with plastic bags over our socks. Did not work. At. All. For about the first hour of this ride I thought for sure I was going to lose several digits. I was painfully cold.
Some of the North Atlanta Multisport Club members that let me ride with them and pretend like I am in the club when really I am not. But if you are in the north Atlanta area and looking for a tri club please feel free to come check them out and join. They are the nicest, most supportive bunch of people.
Like I said. All types. Hello Easy Rider. What you can't see is his spectacular handle bar mustache. I tried to get it but he turned away at the last second. I was feeling stalkerish snapping his picture but really, do you wear a football helmet as bicycle helmet, sport a handle bar stache like you are in a barber shop quartet and wear that outfit to ride your bike through downtown Atlanta if you don't want to be noticed? I think not.
Cyclists converging on the Capitol from the east, west, north and south metro Atlanta areas. Yep! I took that picture while rolling.
Everyone dismounting at the Capitol to hear the speeches, get some shwag (I got free socks! I put them to use!) and have a snack (best Fig Newtons I've ever had).
The best part of any ride: Apres beers with great like-minded people! Jamie, Greg, Courtney and Steph at Cerviche in Roswell.
And I know doing it will just jinx it; ruin it probably. . . but oh my goodness it is eating me up inside and I just have to yell it out loud:
THE RUNNING IS GOOD!!!!
You know what I really want to say is GREAT! But that will jinx it even more. . .
I haven't spoken about running for awhile. Really not since my most awesome marathon ever a month and half ago. And I have struggled with being sick. I was laid up and couldn't run for about week after the race due to a chest infection but mostly because I had a high fever.Definitely not wisely, but I have been known to run with bronchitis so really it is fever that is the running deal breaker for me. And that is what took me out this time.
After I got an antibiotic I kicked that infection to the curb and hit the pavement. The running was there. The paces faster, the distances the same. I was full steam ahead and planning for my 3rd Georgia ING marathon; my 3rd marathon in 4 months.
Then I caught the cold Ryan had been nursing for 2 weeks. I wasted no time and went to the doctor. At this point I was advised by many running compats to give up the ghost and bail on the Ga ING marathon.
After a few days rest for the cold though I hit the pavement again and the running? It was still good. Great even. But 2 colds in a month after not having been sick for over a year left even me a little less than optimistic.
So I've tried to keep it to myself (as best as I keep anything to myself) and weighed it out.
And here is what I've been up to running wise the past 5 weeks: Jan 17th: marathon PR 3:28 7:57 avg pace Jan 18th: one hour yoga Jan 19th: Still sore from the marathon. Surprised at the soreness so I do the elliptical and stationary bike for 40 minutes and then stretch for 10 minutes. Jan 20th: I run 3 trail miles at a 9 min avg pace. It is really cold and my chest feels heavy. I think I am still tired from the race. Jan 21-25: I am so sick that I lie on the couch and barely move because I have a fever of 103. Get drugs on the 24th and feel human on the 25th. Jan 26th: one hour of yoga where I revel in new found flexibility. Who knew all it took was not running to be able to touch my toes and do splits again. Jan 27th: Test out the running legs; 10 hilly miles at an average 7:47 pace. Still coughing and need my inhaler but the pace and legs are back! Jan 28th: Tried to do treadmill intervals and fail. End up with 5 miles at an avg 7:53 pace. Lift weights for 20 minutes. Swim 2000 yds in 35 minutes. Consider entire workout a failure. Jan 29th: Double run day. 6 miles in the am at an 8:28 pace. 4 miles in the afternoon at a 8:06 avg pace. Jan 30th: 16.25 miles at a 8:17 pace. Run was hard but is 30 seconds faster than I usually do this run. Jan 31st: 45 mile bike ride where I have my ass handed to me. Feb 1st: one hour yoga Feb 2nd: 6 mile hilly hangover run at a 8:17 avg pace Feb 3rd: 21 mile hilly long run at a 8:38 avg pace. Still having problems with chest congestion but feel good. Still on antibiotics Feb 4th: Not my smartest move ever. Treadmill intervals. 2 mile warm up @ 8:30 pace. Then 3x 4min @6:35 pace with 4 min recovery. Ran it out to 6miles and an average 7:43 pace. Stretched the gams out real good. Feb 5th: 4 mile trail run at a 8:37 average pace. Dead legs. Feb 6th: 6 mile hilly loop. Everything sucked. 9:52 avg pace. Feb 7th: Another crappy run: 3.3 miles 8:58 avg pace. Bailed on the run. Feb 8th: 30.3 mile bike ride with Steph. Very nice, easy day. Feb 9th: 2.25 mile trail run with the kids. 12 min avg pace. Feb 10th: 12.48 mile hilly run. 8:09 avg pace. Feb 11th: sick. Try to do treadmill intervals. Bail .6 mile in. Feb 12-13: Back on the couch Feb 14th: yoga. Still congested but okay. Feb 15th: 2 mile trail run with Beau. 14 min avg pace. Feb 16th: Flat 6 mile run. 7:22 avg pace. Feb 17th: 12.48 hilly run. 7:58 avg pace. Feb 18th: Push the envelope and try to do treadmill intervals. Bonked half way and ended up with 6 miles at an average 8:05 pace. Swam 2000yds in 35 minutes. Feb 19th: 6 mile hilly run in the am at an avg 8:22 pace. 3.10 mile trail run in the afternoon at a 8:20 pace. Feb 20th: rest day Feb 21st: 21 miles hilly run at a 8:14 avg pace. Freaking BEAUTIFUL run. Feb 22nd: One hour yoga and 2000 yd swim in 35 minutes. Feb 23rd: 12.48 mile hilly run in 7:48 pace in the am. One hour mat Pilate's in the afternoon. Feb 24th: 8.14 mile hilly easy run with the dog. 8:31 avg pace. Feb 25th: Finally showed the treadmill who was boss. Successful intervals: 7 miles at an avg 7:41 pace. 12 minutes stretching. Feb 26th: 4 mile easy run: 8:20 avg pace Feb 27th: 24.62 mile rain soaked hilly run at a 8:26 avg pace with the most stellar Kate Brun. Here is a our picture that we took at our 14 mile-ish pit stop. I just have to say that I am so flattered that she wants to run with me! The girl, and I say girl cause she is 22, has a marathon PR of 2:54 and has many 3 hour and sub 3 hour marathons under her teeny tiny waist. Clearly, it is I who benefits from running with her. Feb 28th: 3.26 miles on the treadmill at an avg 7:39 pace. One hour yoga. March 1st: One hour yoga.
And so, and this brings me to my point, I have gone ahead and signed up for the Georgia ING marathon despite many wiser and more gifted runners telling me not to.
What can I say. I am optimistic. Chalk it up to my new blondness. We'll call it blond ambition.
See, here I am with Ryan a month ago being browner and obviously with a less sunny outlook:
And Ryan did say there is no such thing as too blond. And I did just tell Pookie today that I am feeling I could be blonder. She did mention something about the limits of the hair to bleach ratio but WHATEVER! I say, in regards to blondness and the marathon: Bring. It. On!
I have no ideals of another PR but I think at the very least I can expect in the next 29 days--assuming a 2.5 week taper that at the very least--barring sickness or injury-- I can run a sub 3:40 marathon. And really, I swear, that will make me happy.
Yes, of course, I would loved to run a 3:30 sub 3:30 even.
But I am not planning on it.
Whatever the day brings it brings.
I just want another a marathon before summer gets here and it is too hot. I LOVE the epic-ness of a marathon. I like being out there for a few hours, running, enjoying the world and being with people who like to do the same.
Right now, for me, happiness is running long and far. That is what I want to do.
I just got to keep it together, you know.
I am sure, having put it all down here. Tomorrow will totally suck.
I finished the book! Sorry didn't write a paper though. Off to the book club meeting. By the way. I have only met 2 of the women that are going to be there. I always know how to make a great first impression.
I LOVE that Beau, when asked what he wants to be when he grows up says a vet. Some days he will say a bird doctor but most days he declares his deep passion to someday be a vet and take care of all the animals. I also much prefer his passion to be a vet to his 3 year old aspiration of being a lifeguard and surfer dude.
Carmella also wants to be a vet but her desire to be an artist is stronger.She doesn't think she can have both. Mostly I think she just wants to play with dogs--the other animals she doesn't care so much about.
Beau on the other hand is passionate about all animals. And even though I do get tired of reading encyclopedias on sharks or Arctic animals, or birds instead of real bedtimes stories with a plot and characters, I am proud of his curiosity and eagerness to learn.
I secretly love that Beau and Carmella prefer to watch the Westminster Dog show over cartoons. I'll even admit to finding the conversations such as this completely adorable:
Carmella: Beau, who are you going to marry? Beau: I don't want to get married. Carmella: You have to get married if you want to have a pet. How bout Livi-- or Riley? Beau: Riley, she likes dogs and she has a Boxer. Boxers are my favorite dog, after Huskies.
And even though I don't love to go to the dog park, I'll admit that I think it is incredibly cute and funny that they want to go even if we don't have Lola with us. They actually beg me to take them to the dog park more than they do a place like Monkey Joes or Chuck E. Cheese.
And I love it when they encounter a breed of dog that they have only seen in books and will exclaim excitedly: "My first Yorkie! That is the first real life Yorkie I have seen!"
I wouldn't be surprised if Carmella, somewhere, has a journal listing all the types of dogs they have seen.
But what I do not love is that their passion to be vets has left me with no scotch tape and always searching for a pad of post it notes.
What does scotch tape and post it notes have to do with wanting to be a vet?
Let me give you exhibit A: The Animal Hospital (aka, Beau's top bunk) (note all the scotch tape on the wall)
In case it isn't clear here is a close up of shark and panda with their scotch tape and post it note bandages.
So you see, this is why if you ever recieve a gift from us it will be in a gift bag (recycled no less). It isn't that I don't have wrapping paper. I don't have tape.
Monday through Friday my mornings are nearly always the same. I get up at 6 am. I have cereal and coffee and peruse the Internet in peace. At 6:30 I call up to Carmella and Beau to get dressed for school and ask them what they would like for breakfast: Carmella, never wanting anything, will say "just" cereal or a piece of toast or yogurt and then will be angry when I also put a banana on her plate (or God forbid offer her some juice.)
Beau, wanting everything, will peel off a list dreamily from his bed: waffles, yogurt, cereal, pop tart, eggs and french toast. Oh and bacon if you got some. Mom? We got bacon? I love bacon!
Then he will come downstairs half dressed and blanket toting and spend 5 minutes yelling at me that I only gave him three things for breakfast. Beau likes to get all his daily calories in and done at breakfast. All those other meals are stupid.
By 6:45 they are sitting at the table eating breakfast. And by eating I mean squabbling and being silly. Actually, Beau is eating and Carmella is merely pretending to eat; biding her time in hopes that Beau will quickly finish his feast and then eat her breakfast too when I am not looking.
Around 7 am I send them upstairs to brush teeth. I instruct Beau to also brush his hair--which invariably he won't do or will only get the front combed and the back will be a rat's nest. He takes "party in the back" to a whole other level. I will also instruct him to put on his shoes--which he will do but will put them on the wrong feet, most times I think on purpose. And I don't care. My hope is that his classmates will make fun of him and shame him into no longer doing these things. But so far Beau has proved immune to shame.
While I am directing Beau, Carmella, without being asked, will usually take Lola out and then feed her. After I have Beau in a passable state that won't encourage the school to call DEFACS on me I remind the children to get their snacks, jackets and make sure all papers, folders and anything else is in order in their book bags. By 7:20 we all pile in the car and I drop them at school. I would be lying to not admit the tiny thrill I get each morning seeing them run, jacketed with book bags waving back at me, eagerly through the school doors. I love that they run!
Then I come home and pour a second cup of coffee because I never got to finish that first cup. After properly caffeinated, I clean the kitchen, pick up all the toys, shoes and whatevers because apparently I am the only person in my house that has mastered bending over and picking up objects off the floor. It is a gift, for sure. Then I swap out laundry and then go upstairs to make all the beds and clean the upstairs. You know, all typical boring ass housewife stuff. I know you are all dying from your envy. Don't let it eat a hole in you.
Yesterday though I found a new responsibility added to my chore list. The above picture is what I found laid out on the trunk at the foot of Carmella's bed. I paused, puzzling over it. It probably isn't clear in the picture but the post-it notes on the doll outfits say: Grace (brown) and Carly (blond). Grace and Carly are Carmella's dolls names. Yes, the dolls are named after her. Carmella's full name is Carmella Grace and until she was 2 and told me flat out that she was "a Carmella" we called her Carly. Very imaginative, I know.
I looked at the outfits and then to Carmella's unmade bed. And then I noticed the girls. And I looked back at the outfits and back at the dolls as it all set in for me. To be certain I was understanding, I called Ryan upstairs who was working from home yesterday to confer with.
"Do you think," I asked him, "that she means for me to dress her dolls for her?"
"Looks that way," he said. "You better get on it."
Just so you know I didn't even play with dolls as a child. And I have to admit that I was a little insulted by the implication here: Carmella, too busy with school doesn't have time to tend to her toys. She has more important things to do but clearly felt some guilt neglecting her toys. But me? A housewife? What do I have besides time? Of course I should pick up the slack for her!
So in uncharacteristic passive aggressive form I dressed her dolls for her but mixed up the outfits. Not just putting the wrong outfit on the wrong doll but mixed up shirts and shoes and set them neatly posed on her made-up bed in her cleaned and straightened room. Bwhahahaha.
Later, after I had picked the kids up from school and was upstairs in my room folding laundry, Carmella having finished her homework came up to her room. She was quiet in there for a moment and then called out across the hall to me.
"Mommy," she says, her tone slightly annoyed, "I see what you have done here and I don't think it is funny."
Feigning innocence I call back to her, "What are you talking about?"
"My dolls," she says impatiently, her voice serious; "you mixed up the outfits."
"Oh that. Well maybe you shouldn't leave your dolls for me to dress. Obviously I can't be trusted."
She sighs and says, "I just didn't have time to do it this morning and I didn't want to forget which outfit to put them in."
And then, of course, she fixes the outfits and plays with her dolls.
Funny how I think I am the one in charge but it seems like I keep finding signs to the contrary and that maybe I am the only one who thinks that.
At least that is what I have read is one of the supposed physiological roots of ADHD. I don't know for sure because I just don't have the attention span to read all that medical and psychological mumbo-jumbo to really find out.
But see, unlike most of you slack asses, I actually have a doctor's note for my inherent procrastination.
I really can't help it.
It is a symptom of a disorder.
What can I say?
I's got a free pass.
But really, I am thinking I won't need my free pass.
Sure I just got the book last night--A Thousand Splendid Suns and the book club meeting is Friday but I am already 130 pages in; only 280 some odd pages to go!
At this rate I should be done by Thursday at lunch at the latest. Plenty of time to still write a paper comparing the novel with Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being. I will title it something like The Unbearable Suffering of a Thousand Soviet Oppressions. Of course I will cite examples of existentialism and quote Nietzsche and have a short paragraph on Mikhail Bakhtim's theory of dialogism to tie the discourse between the novels together.
Ah, I knew all those semesters of reading 5 novels a week and endless research papers would come to fruition at some point.
And you see, this is why, for the most part, I stick to only reading Comso and Glamour these days. Nothing like a degree in literature to ruin you on the pleasure of reading.
Sigh, off to use my brain. Feel sorry for me. No good ever comes of that.
This time a soul sucking sinus infection is to blame. Its drippings make me cough like an oxygen tank toting octogenarian with a 3 pack a day habit. But my lungs are clear. Small favors for sure.
Antibiotics are kicking the sinus infection to the curb and I could probably run but I am looped out on cough syrup and some other drug that makes me feel all floaty. The cough drugs are preventing me from coughing which in turn keep my airways from spasming and allow me breathe A OK. Again, small favor since I can't run. All this breathing is just for waste if not spent running (or swimming or cycling), right?
So I may be breathing better but other than that I am a complete waste of flesh. Is this why the lives of people who are addicted to pain killers and other drugs go to pot? Cause I'm kinda in a whatever, that's cool state and I can tell you that I am NEVER like that. I am never chill. But I don't even think I could have an angry thought right now if I tried and it is freaking me out a little. I am almost comfortable just sitting here doing nothing, staring out the window, letting the kids have at their bags of Valentine goodies . . .
I have been questioning this line of treatment the doctor I saw prescribed: Azithromycin 3 day pack, Robitussin DM 2 TABLESPOONS every 4 hrs (triple dose), Tessalon, and Albuterol inhaler. He also prescribed a steroid inhaler but I passed on it since it cost $100. Figured if I really needed it I would go back and get it.
Sinus infections and I have been well acquainted since I was in high school and my allergies took a nasty turn. Of course the severity of infections have varied and sometimes require stronger medication but there is always the usual arsenal (usually antibiotics for 10-14 days, Flonase) and this treatment is decidedly a little different.
I saw a new doctor.
But that really isn't unusual.
I don't have a regular doctor. And that is because as small business owners we pay for our insurance out of pocket. Those of you that work for companies who pay for your insurance should count yourselves extremely lucky. Our monthly premium for insurance rivals (and sometimes has exceeded) our monthly mortgage payment. Never mind co-pays and stuff not covered. And because we own our business and pay out of pocket for insurance the insurance company, after the first year with them, can raise our premiums every 6 months. I continually have to shop other insurance companies for the best rate-- which often means whatever doctor I have been seeing is not covered. Generally speaking we swap about every other year between being covered by Kaiser Permanente and some other insurance company like Coventry (who we currently have). I have regular doctors for myself and the kids at Kaiser that I see when our insurance is under Kaiser. And my stipulation when having to choose an alternative insurance company is that they cover the pediatrician we see when we do not have Kaiser insurance. If they cover other doctors I have seen outside of Kaiser? Great. If not? Doesn't matter. I will find a new doctor. So at the very least I only have to swap medical records between two different sets of doctors for the kids. I have had to do this three times so far since Carmella was born. That is 3 times with Kaiser and 3 times with different insurance companies in 8 years.
(But Obama is going to save me from all this hassle, right?)
For this reason, I have been privy to the insides of many doctor's waiting rooms and offices. Certainly they all have some similar characteristics: reception area, examine rooms, nurses' station, triage/lab area, the doctor's office etc. What differs is the decor. For the most part I think doctor offices strive to have decor that you do not notice. At least that is what I have to think because most of it begs: Do not look at or remember me. I am bland and the same as the next doctor office. Completely uninspiring.
Wait.
That part is not true of offices that cater to children or of psychiatrist offices (not that I know anything about that). Those are usually fairly well decorated and at the very least not bland. Generally they have better art. Sometimes original instead of framed prints of floral arrangements bought probably by the receptionist at one of the side of the road art sales. Oh, and I suppose I will concede that in-town doctor offices do tend to have better decor but really it is all, for the most part, pretty uninspiring, completely forgettable.
And that is what I figured about this last doctor I saw. At first. Ryan had warned me that it was "weird"there but I just kind of ignored him. Ryan is the one who gave me this cold. He has been sick with it for 2 weeks and I finally insisted he go to the doctor. He had seen this doctor over the summer when he had a tick bite and was convinced he had Lyme disease. (He didn't.)
As I mentioned before I was sick a few weeks ago with a nasty chest infection. I had found a doctor I really liked. Now if there was ever an uninspiring waiting room theirs was it. The chairs? The worst. I had to push them together and lay across several when my fever was spiking. I did fall asleep so they weren't totally uncomfortable but then again, I was in no position to be picky that day. It was actually pretty funny. You could have drawn a line down the room. Me on one half and all the other people in the waiting room on the other half. No one wanted to be near me.
They also had a tile floor and a flat screen TV that showed some repeating clip about flu precautions. All that money on a fancy mounted flat screen and you aren't going to put CNN on? Their magazines were crap also. I think they spent all their money on the TV and had nothing left for furniture or decor. BUT the office was new and clean. Huge pluses in my book.
And I would have gone back but I knew they didn't have an x-ray machine and I wanted to get a chest x-ray. Otherwise, what would have happened is that I would have spent $20 to see them and then they would have sent me somewhere to get a chest x-ray for which I would have paid $60 dollars to get and then I would have to bring the films back and pay another $20 copay to have them read the films to me.
I may not be be fabulous at math but after how much I pay per month for insurance I like to try to get the most bang for my $20 copay. When Ryan returned home from his doctor visit he told me that they had taken an x-ray of his sinuses. Prefect, I thought. So I tried to get in Wednesday with his doctor after spending all night coughing but they couldn't fit me in until Thursday. Boo.
Going to the doctor on Thursday was the main event of my day. And it did not disappoint.
Truth told I like to go to the doctor. Exhibit A-- for those that may have missed this from a previous post-- at 23, having not been sick for several years I went to the doctor and demanded a series of tests because I was convinced I had a disease that was killing all the other diseases. Really, I think I just missed seeing a doctor.
I like the attention and usually they say nice things to me since I tend to take fairly good care of myself. Also, when I am sick I tend to illicit lots of sympathy from strangers. They feel really sorry for me and are extra kind to me. This is absolutely not true of people who know me. People who know me are slightly annoyed by a sick Nat. That's okay because I am annoyed by sick people too.
So of course, on Thursday, I arrive early for my appointment prepared to fill out lots of paper work. This is one of my favorite parts of visiting a new doctor-- besides getting to see their office decor. I love that I am given pages that ask questions about ME! In a test like form no less! The only thing that would make this experience even more fabulous for me would be getting to fill out a bubble sheet with a number 2 pencil and write a 4 page essay about my health.
I checked in with the receptionist and handed over my driver's license, insurance card and credit card before she even asked for them and anxiously awaited to be handed the paperwork. All the while I am doing my cough that Carmella says sounds like a car that won't start. The receptionist, who hands me my clip board says "You poor baby. We are going to fix you right up!" A man and his wife who are waiting to be seen echo additional sympathies and further that their grandchildren have similar coughs. It is going around they all chorus. The nurse pops in the waiting room and tells me she will be with as soon as possible. Everyone is so nice! So happy to be at the doctors!
As I go to sit down and fill out my paperwork the receptionist tells me the silver lining to being sick is that my husband will cook dinner tonight. I tell her, between hacks, that isn't going to happen. Audible draws of breath and if they all had feathers they would have certainly be ruffled by this admission.
The receptionist says "Chinese food then. He will pick up Chinese food."
Nothing could sound more terrible to me at the moment, well except eggs and fish which always sound vile. The mention of Chinese food begins a lengthy conversation about where the best Chinese food in Atlanta can be found. Buford Highway. And ends being punctuated that Dim Sum? Is to die for. I participate in this conversation with hacks and failed engine coughs and occasionally by blowing my nose to make my point.
Generally, if I am lucky, there is usually another person filling out new patient paperwork and I can race them. I am a very fast test taker and I think it is pretty clear from this blog that I treat all of life's tiny endeavors as a competition if I can at all make it one. Sadly though I was the only new patient and as a result I was able to be a bit more thoughtful in my answers. And by thoughtful I mean excessively long winded.
The new patient paperwork was rather run of the mill until I got to these questions:
Do you like to have a good time? What do you do for fun? When was the last time you had fun and what did you do?
I started to rattle off my responses and then paused.
Perhaps this was a trick question? One designed to trip me up and contradict a previous answer I had made--you know like in those personality tests that will ask the same question phrased six different ways.
At that moment the music that had been playing stopped. I can't say what the music was exactly only that I noticed once it was gone. And I sat there another minute trying to remember what had been playing a second before. Funny how I don't notice the noise but rather the absence of noise.
So I answer my questions: Of course, always. Run, ride my bike, be outside, go to parties. Saturday, had a party. Sunday, rode my bike. Tuesday, ran 12 miles.
Happy with my answers I turn in my paperwork and the receptionist asks me if she can get me some water and I tell her it won't matter. The gentleman whose wife is now being seen tries to engage me in a conversation. I notice the music is back but I can't focus on it since the gentleman and I are talking. Something vague, uptempo and without lyrics. Like elevator techno music, maybe.
Finally I am called back and told to go to "The Big Room". I look around puzzled and the nurse, who is humming along to the music, points to the room she wants me to go to. On the door is a label. It says, "The Big Room."
I sit on the examining table which is of the newer type. I say newer type to differentiate between the older type. The older type examining tables are like what my children's pediatrician has in their office. The pediatrician office is the same office I went to as a child. Well, and as an adult until my pediatrician complimented me on my bra. I was 25. He was a great doctor! I loved him!
My pediatrician died a few years ago but the new pediatrician kept all of his decor: the examination tables-- which are just plain wood tables with a thin mattress and sheet and shelf beneath for books and magazines, paintings (Rockefeller prints), waiting room furniture (brown plaid couch, blue floral chair, wood backed uncomfortable chair), end tables (chests), monkey lamps (left over from when he had a circus theme, later a zoo theme.)
The nurse flits about the examine room getting my bp, asking me questions and humming along to the music. She looks over my paper work and says, "So you like to run." I confirm that is true and then she leaves. I am sad that I didn't get to tell her more about just how much I love to run. It was like she didn't really care.
I wait for the doctor and look at the room. Pretty boring and typical. Definitely not updated but nothing too out of the ordinary. After a few moments the doctor arrives and introduces himself. I tell him my litany of symptoms and remind him that he just saw my husband. I tell him about my chest infection a few weeks ago and I am worried it might be back and that most of all I just want the coughing to stop. So after a quick listen at my lungs and a check at my nose and ears he orders a sinus and chest x-ray. He seems thrilled about it. Which makes me happy that I am not the only one excited about x-rays. I love getting to see my bones!
He leaves and the nurse comes back and directs me to the x-ray room. I notice as I walk down the hallway that someone has had a good time with a label maker. I don't really notice what the labels say except that there seems to be quite a bit of labeling going on. I am also trying to note the other decor. Decidedly ugly; a bizarre mix of tschotsky and old lady taste. Instantly I wonder if maybe he had his grandmother decorate his office. Then I decide he must have inherited them from her when she died and she left him the contents of her West Palm condo. The tea set I noticed set out in his office just didn't seem like something a man would choose, gay or not.I am not saying this doctor was gay because I don't think he was I am just saying that I don't think even a gay man would want this particular tea set. It just wasn't fantastic; more Pier One than Tiffany's.
Once in the X ray room, which I failed to note what this room was actually labeled, I had to first do a breathing test. I have had to do many of these and I was familiar with the machine they had. Because it was the exact model that I used when first diagnosed with asthma at 18. So it was pretty old school. In fact, so was the x-ray machine. I imagined that he must have obtained the equipment in some sort of doctor office state liquidation auction. Either that or he also got them out of his grandma's West Palm condo. She must have willed breathing machine and x-ray equipment to him on the stipulation he could have them but he must also display her prized tea set.
The best part of the whole breathing test and x-ray was that the nurse cheered me on the whole time. Go go go go! Yes! Score! Okay one more time.Sweetie you can do it! Okay, third time's a charm! And when she wasn't cheering she was humming.
And then as she measured me she cheered at each and every measurement and then told me where to stand for my x-rays. I then noticed more of the label maker at work. Remove your Jewelry. Said one label above the x-ray machine. And then when I got in position-- right at eye level, an inch from my eyes-- another label: Did you remember to remove your jewelry?
After the x-rays I was told to go back to my room. Which she asked if I remembered which one it is. I think maybe she was being funny because I think it was the only one but she reminded me it was "The Big Room."
So I went back to The Big Room to wait and as I walked in I noticed another door in the room that I didn't see before. It said "The Chamber of Secrets".
Yes! I was very tempted to open the door and sat there contemplating it for several long minutes. I am certain this is exactly how Adam and Eve felt about that tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden. Okay kids, I imagine God having said; you can have anything you want in this here garden but you need to leave that fruit on that there tree alone.
The Chamber of Secrets was just begging for me to open it; just like the fruit on that tree was begging to be eaten.
But I guess unlike Eve I am obedient, because I didn't open the door. Though I did think quite a bit about what was in The Chamber of Secrets. . .
And then the Doctor came back and told me my lungs were clear and that I had a soul sucking sinus infection that would last all the days of my life unless I took the medicine.
And as I left and I walked out of the office to my car I swear I saw Cherubim with a flaming sword guarding the door.
Well, unless you like to or(unlike me) are swimming a lot lately. . .
Yeah, I don't know what is up with me lately.
Totally uninspired.
I have had a quite a few ideas for blog posts but I just haven't been motivated to sit down and write them. They kinda die out in my brain. My thinking is that if I am bored by them before writing them then you would probably be even more bored reading them.
But since it has been awhile since my last lame post I'll pen a quick one that I was thinking about yesterday after I drove home from my most delicious bike ride with Steph.
Since the USATF dropped their ban on ipods and you can now rock out legally in a road race (assuming the race doesn't ban them for some lame ass reason) to your heart's desire. And as I have said before: I like having a sound track . . . so here is my list of songs that I like to hear in that final 10k of a marathon.
They are my pick me up and kick it in when I am done, down and in the valley of fatigue.
They get my go-jo going.
But, just so you know, I do not try to plan out my playlist ahead of time. Instead I just make a playlist that is 4+ hours long and hit shuffle and go for it. So I don't always get to hear these songs. So it is an extra boost when they show up in that final 10k.
Sorry if the links look crazy. I wanted you to be able to hear the song in case you were not familiar and cared to have a listen.
Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls And the best thing you've ever done for me was help me take my life less seriously/It's only life after all . . . the closer I am to fine!!!!!!
Jump Around by House of Pain I ain't going out like no punk (bitch!) . . . I'm coming to get ya!
The Sikbed of Cuchulainn by The Pogues No particular lyric I just like hearing Shane McGowan scream in my ear. The ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil's in the chair . . .
Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel because every time I hear this song I want to get up and dance. And because they say "pick it up pick it up" at the end.
Kissing Families by Silversun Pickups
Soon you'll be there too . . .spent too much time now on paths sideways/everything that is connected and beautiful/and now i know just where i stand/thank god it's over....
The Act we Act by Sugar
Hours slipping by as you watch/ The worlds collide/Now you’re nothing more/Than another passerby . . .
The Waiting Room by Fugazi. Just helps me trudge methodically up those last hills.
Breathe by Prodigy.
I like the sound of the whip. I imagine it smacking my slow ass.
Lucretia(My Reflection) by Sisters of Mercy.
Again, the sound of the whip, the fear of the hot metal and Methodrine and the empire falling apart-- who wouldn't want to run faster knowing that was going on?
A Daisy Chain for Satan by My Life with the Thrill Kill Cult.
Okay this song is a little embarrassing but you listen to it not want to run faster just in hopes of getting away from it. Plus it says "Give me a drink! I need a drink now!" And seriously, who doesn't need a drink at the end of a marathon? Also, who doesn't wish they were the white rabbit and could just fall down a hole and end up somewhere else in that final 10K?
Hung up by Madonna Time goes by so slowly . . . those who run seem to have all the fun . . .
See You Again by Miley Cyrus.
Shut. Up.
What can I say?
My inner 13 year old lives a little too strongly in me still.
Because, you know, "I have a heart that will never be tamed". And, "the last time I freaked out"? Well, "I just kept looking down" and ran like hell. And just so you know-- the next time we hang out--me and the marathon--I will redeem myself.
Okay and in other news . . . I "ran" with my kids today. They did 2.25 miles on a hilly local trail at a 12:39 pace. We ran the down hills, flats and walked the uphills. And yes, I am still training for the Ga ING marathon.
And as Beau says of late: Peace out dude! It is all about Elvis.
To the Pokey Puppy Club. But before you rush out and sign up for Carmella's latest club you might want to know what all is involved. Not that I know everything but I have been privy to a few of the secret club on-goings since they meet in my backyard. The Pokey Puppy Club is completely separate from the Super Club (previously The Cuddle Club). Best I can figure is that the Pokey Puppy Club arose because- back in the fall when we use to walk to school and all the neighborhood kids would join us- I would yell at them they were a bunch of pokey puppies because they walked so freaking slow.
Carmella is the leader of this club. Before every meeting she makes them do a "daily warm-up". This involves some stretching, some jumping jacks, and 20 pumps on the swings and a little running. I am thinking in another year or so she will be running her own kid's boot camp after school in the back yard.
I think the idea behind the daily warm up is to get the Pokey Puppies in shape so they won't be so pokey anymore.
Beau hates the daily warm up and pretty much gets kicked out of the club for not completing all his assignments. Carmella then tells him he can't be in the club. Beau then dissolves into tears for being ousted from the Pokey Puppy Club and comes crying to me. Having none of the squabbles I am forced to intervene and get off Face Book and yell out the back door that EVERYONE IS ALLOWED IN THE POKEY PUPPY CLUB! There is also restitution for getting in trouble at school or with your parents or on the playdate. You have to go to the Principal's Office--which is the tower part of the kids' playset-- and have a 10-15 minute time out from the other club activities. Most times whoever has been sent to the Principal's Office comes crying to me and I will have to yet again get off Face Book and yell out the back door that EVERYONE IS ALLOWED IN THE POKEY PUPPY CLUB!
Most of these activities--at least from what I have observed when taking a Face Book break-- is running a muck throughout the yard and house, taunting Lola, playing hide and seek and jumping on the trampoline.
But there is one secret ritual that I have heard spoken about but don't really know all the ends and outs and exactly what happens during it.
It is called the Wishing Deer Circle.
I know.
It totally sounds very paganesque and Stonehenge-like.
The Wishing Deer I have figured out is Ryan's bow target (I know! Could we be anymore redneck? Trampoline? Fake deer target?). And I think they all stand around the deer and say their wishes.
But I'm not sure.
There is to be a meeting of the Pokey Puppy Club this afternoon so I will try to spy and find out exactly what goes down and report back with any interesting findings.
Which you know this means that this is probably the only post regarding the Pokey Puppy Club.
Two days after the Museum of Aviation marathon and 2 days before I became so deathly ill I couldn't move from the couch for three days because walking up a flight of stairs winded me so much I would nearly pass out, I had my hair cut.
No no no.
Not a lot.
It still looks exactly the same as always except it is 2 inches shorter, maybe. The idea of shoulder length hair frightens me so the notion of me with short hair is just completely inconceivable. My short hair phobia is Lala's fault. When I was three and a half Lala chopped all my hair off because I got gum in it and the resulting hair cut made me look like a boy. And considering how offended I was that the Aviation Marathon recorded me as male and that I proudly wear a Run Like a Girl shirt I am sure you understand that I definitely do not want to look like a boy.
Why?
Because I am a girl.
So I will have long hair until I can just no longer have long hair. Which Lala is, well, 21 years older than me and until recently she had long hair--and I wouldn't be surprised if she grew it out again since she tends to favor long hair too. So, I think I will get to have long hair for at least another 20 years if it is at all genetic. I do wonder though how and when that grandma hair happens. Is it a slow evolution or does it just happen when you turn 80?
Darn it all.
I am already getting off the subject. Sorry, I am never one for the short or concise, in anything. Which is slightly ironic considering my short attention span but even when I was an art major I never could embrace the "less is more" concept that was so often parroted to me in critiques.
So anyway, not sure if I mentioned it before but my sister Pookie cuts my hair. She is a hair dresser by profession. She's pretty cute too. Here she is with me at party last month:
Which I should add that she did not last long at that party. Oh, wait here is another of us at the same party:
I know I look like the drunker sister but really I wasn't. I don't need alcohol for shenanigans. It helps; but it isn't necessary.
Anyway the party isn't my point. Just wanted to give you a visual on who is Pookie.
Pookie lives in town--ITP for the Atlantans in the house. Me and most of my extended family are OTP and live in the suburbs north of the city. Pookie is nice and drives up here and cuts or colors all of our hair here so we don't have to drive in town and go to the salon. Which would also cost more. So whenever she is up here with her gear I try to make sure I am around to benefit. Generally she does the cutting at Lala's. Which is fine by me since it is only a 10 minute drive to their house from mine.
Okay, so now I am almost to the point of my whole story. So pay attention. I'll set the scene:
Pookie is cutting my hair in Lala's kitchen. Carmella is sitting on the counter next to where I am standing doing a running commentary of everything. Beau is running around the kitchen talking guns with Pop-- who was eating a bowl of the $100 She-crab soup Lala had made the day before. I joke that after I finish getting my hair cut I am going to the grocery store and hope to spend around $100 for 5 days of groceries.
Lala is walking around with her hair in foils waiting for her grays to go blond or brown or whatever it is Pookie does to her hair. And I am just trying my hardest to hold still-- which by the way is very very hard for me to do and I am failing miserably because Pookie keeps letting out exasperated sighs at me. I am also worried she is going to poke my eyes out with her scissors so I am trying to be quiet, which is also hard for me to do.
Pookie changes the subject to running and asks Carmella if she is going to be a marathon runner like me.
Carmella empahtically tells her, "No. Running is boring. It takes too long."
And Pookie says, "You could run track-- or cross county in high school." And Carmella with her wide brown eyes saucered with disbelief and confusion says: "You mean like run to New York-- or California? People do that?"
Museum of Aviation 2009 Marathon Race Report: From the The Urban Dictionary for those not from Georgia: The gnat line is:
An imaginary line dividing coastal areas from more inland areas in certain southern states in the U.S., especially the Carolinas and Georgia. The term comes from the abundance of gnats in coastal marshlands and swamps in these states and the relative lack of the insects in the inland regions.
In Georgia the gnat line falls just below Macon and as the bugs increase the hills decrease until you can see for miles and miles.
Well sort of.
There are still the all those tall ugly knotty pines pretty much blocking the view to Florida.
And the Nat line? Well, I think we all know that for me-- in regards to the marathon-- the Nat line has been the 3:30 marathon.
I've what?
Only been trying since my 3rd marathon-- almost 3 years ago-- to break or even just get close to 3:30. And after 8 marathons total the closest I have come is 3:37 (twice) and 3:38 (once).
Sigh. To be honest I had pretty much accepted it was never going to happen. I figured I was on the downward spiral.
But apparently all it took was getting the heck out of the Appalachian foothills into the vast flatness of the coastal plain.
But . . . Hell. Yes! I did it! I'll spare you the suspense: 3:28:24 is my official chiptime. Guntime is 3:28:27.
Here is the video of that proud and surreal moment:
Disappointing that it is so blurry but our camera sucks.
Beau chased after me and the lady giving the medals at the finish kept asking me if I had run the marathon and I didn't know she was talking to me since I thought it was obvious.
Oh, and there is icing to this fine cake:
I was 3rd overall woman!
Wanna see my trophy?
Here is me at the finish with first and second overall girls. They both came in a few seconds of each other at 3:23. I'm in the middle with the hat and on my left is Arden who was second and on my right is Christine. Here we are cleaned up at the awards ceremony:
Okay, on to the boring details.
On Friday Ryan, the kids and I drove from Atlanta to Warner Robins. In the car I entertained myself making sock puppets per Stevie Ray's suggestion to use toss away tube socks to keep my hands warm and have a sock puppet theater to entertain myself and all my marathoning compatriots.
I had a hard time coming up with characters and thought I would let my artistic design drive my creativity. As it turned out my artistic creativity was having an off day and my puppets are totally lame. Kids liked them though.
Allow me to introduce: Frostbite the Artic Seal
Ice Kitten (which you know I totally mean that other word for kitten but can't bring myself to write it since my mom reads here). I wrote "Toughen up Kitten" on it too as a reminder to HTFU.
As it was though all my obsessing and freaking out about the weather proved a waste since it ended up being 20 degrees at the start and I didn't end up using the puppets. Maybe at another race I'll break them out.
I slept fitfully the night before because the person in the room next to mine snored so loudly I thought that it was Ryan. After like the 5th time I smacked him and told him to stop snoring he said it wasn't him.
We had a suite so I walked out into the other room to see which of the kids was playing with a chainsaw. I noticed as I got further from our bed though the sound softened. I couldn't believe it. It was the person in the next room! I tried stuffing tissue in my ears and that did not work at all. I ended up turning on the bathroom fan and sleeping at the foot of the pull out couch the kids were on.
In retrospect I probably should have moved them into bed with Ryan and I might have slept a tad better not getting kicked in the face. But then again it probably wouldn't have mattered because snoring person and friend left at 4 am and made much racket arguing while packing up their car. It was so ridiculous it was just comical.
I got at 5:30am and did the usual bagel, coffee, water and Uncle Sam's. Of course, since it was a small room the kids got up with me. Oh but not Ryan. Totally unfair how soundly he sleeps.
So much for pre-race peace and quiet.
This race only had packet pick up race day. This was the first time I've ever done the race day pick up with a marathon. I think it would have been great any other time but since I had the kids with me it was a total pain in the ass. I didn't want to take them to the race any earlier than necessary and we only had one car so I had to go and then get back so they could drive me to the start. A little more stress than I like dealing with before a race-- especially since Beau had to argue with me about the multiple layers I made him wear since it was 20 degrees.
At 6:50 I left the hotel and drove down the street to the museum to get my packet. I used this time to give my outfit a test drive and jogged around a bit.
I had decided on hat, Mizuno therma tights, compression socks, short sleeve run like a girl shirt, long sleeve technical shirt from Chickamuaga (favorite marathon), Sugoi half mock jersey and two pairs of cotton mittens. It was 20 degrees and I was a little cold. However I was worried I would warm up a lot and couldn't decide if I should keep the Sugoi top or not. I did consult a few other runners who advised me to hold on to it. So I did.
I got my packet and went back to the hotel. My Garmin strap broke 3 times in beweeen going, leaving packet pickup and coming back to the hotel. I decided I would have to do without it. I still had my watch but I had planned on wearing both so I would know what my immediate pace was rather than trying to figure it out at every split and going on perceived effort.
Two days before I had run according to feel and ended up running just below marathon pace for the entire run. I was very surprised by this because I had thought I was running--based on perceived exertion--an 8:20ish pace. And since this course was almost entirely flat-- save for a few insignificant elevation climbs-- I was worried I would run myself silly without a hill to keep me in check. I have never run a flat course--even in training-- for more than 13 miles so I was terrified that I would have worn myself out by mile 15. But there was nothing I could do and I just couldn't fiddle with it any longer. I made sure I had my Gu's and had Ryan drop me at the start. Then I ran like mad all over the Flight of Aviation museum trying to find a bathroom. I only found one and the line was ridiculous. Luckily some lady spoke up and convinced the gals who were doing the 5k to let us marathoners and half marathoners cut since we started at 8 am and they didn't start until 8:15. I could tell they weren't thrilled but Southern politeness won out and I got pressed up to the head of the line.
Which was quite lucky. I made it out of the bathroom and over to the start with time enough to get up close to the front of the start line. And ready or not we were running.
Ryan took this video. I pass right at 8 seconds.
I did happen to see them right as I passed them. I am all bundled up in gray with my hat. Not sure what the talk of getting shot is about but I guess there was a gunshot at the start (I was so disoriented that I didn't hear it).
I don't remember being cold or anything and I was just trying to get my bearing. A few minutes in I felt my calf get tight. It had been a little sore for a couple of days but I tried not to worry since sometimes I get these aches and they have no effect on my runs. So I took it as a sign that I was probably running too fast and slow down. Which in that first mile--especially when you start up front is really hard to do. You just have to try and stay out of the way and pretend you don't notice all the people passing you. At any rate the mile went by fast and my split was 7:39. Little too fast. I had thought, if I was feeling good I would shoot for a 7:50 pace after mile 4 but try to stay around 8-8:10 for the first few miles. Best laid plans . . .
Mile two I slowed down even more and that was 7:51. Okay. And then I started chatting with these two men. One was doing the full, the other the half. I asked full guy's goal as I was hoping to have someone to shadow. He said 3:45ish would be good for him. And just then we were at the 3 mile split and I told him he was running way too fast since we just cruised past 3 miles in 23 minutes flat and with that they faded back and I surged ahead.
But I didn't pick up the pace. Instead I started following this guy I had just run up on. I don't know if had been there all long or not but it was right after the 3 mile split that I first noticed him. Every quarter mile it seemed he was checking his Garmin and his form seemed easy and smooth. Jackpot I thought as I contemplated his pace over the next mile.
Mile 4 came in at 30:54. I decided I liked this pace. It was comfortable, easy even. It felt like that walk in the park with your grandma and I decided I would try it. I wasn't sure what the exact pace was or what it yielded since I've been trying for 3:30 for so long and can do the 8 minute mile splits like tens.
So I just followed this guy with a good pace. I would not let myself run with him or pass him. I tried to stay far enough back so maybe he wouldn't notice me and be bothered. I didn't want to make him speed up since I was sponging off his pace.
Mile 5 was 38:55. Just a little over a minute in the bank for 3:30. I contemplated this as I took my Gu slowly over the mile in anticipation of the 6 mile water stop. I know that banking time is a rookie mistake and usually has disastrous results. But then again, I've tried even pacing and hit the half split at 1:45 for 3 marathons (my fastest) and still ran positive splits. So I thought if I was doomed for a positive split I might be better off banking some time. The question for me was how much time could I bank and not blow myself up? I decided I would try find out. But I was not allowed to pass guy with awesome, perfect pace.
Mile 6 I messed up hitting my watch and then I was off for the rest of the race and was very confused. I think it came in right around 46:10 minutes. I probably should have been a little concerned since I had gained almost another minute in the bank in the space of a mile. But I felt awesome so I just kept following perfect pace guy.
And if he wasn't aware of me he was now since I would occasionally yell out "car!" when one would pass or "damn!" when I dropped my chapstick. I was feeling great and I don't even remember miles 7-11 except that man they were going by fast and how awesome that was. I was trying to figure out my pace and potential finish time. I realized I was probably running around 3:25 and got all excited and then reminded myself not to get greedy and stick to the 3:30 plan or PR (3:36).
Around mile 11 it occurred to me that my pace maker might be doing the half. I realized that this would make me really sad. After a few more minutes I couldn't stand it any longer so I sped up and caught up to him and asked.
He was doing the half!
I was so bummed!
I complimented him on the pace and told him I was not allowed to pass him and wished him luck. And then I fell back in my place behind him. One time I did pass him on one of the uphills and threw him a big smile and thumbs up. He didn't seem so happy so I went back to my place behind him.
At the half way mark I lost sight of my pace setter as he bolted to the finish. Inwardly I worried about my 1:41:05 split. I was excited about how good it felt but worried since my second fastest half time is 1:41. My fastest though is 1:36:56 and I tried to console myself that it would be okay. But really I had no idea since I haven't race a half marathon in nearly a year and half. At the turn around volunteers were calling out: "Marathoners do a second loop!" So I cheered back to them: "Woo hoo second loop!" I really was excited to be half way done and I was having fun.
Ryan took this video of the half way point. This me coming back after the turn around and starting my second loop. I am tossing the Gatorade back to him that he had given to me and I decided I didn't need it or want to carry it. The aid stations were working out great for me. The "she" he is referring to on the video that he says is two minutes in front of me is Christine and she did end up winning. I asked her at the finish what her half split was and she said around 1:35 so she was A LOT further ahead of me than 2 minutes. At any rate I knew when he said it that the only way I would catch her was if she broke her leg. My goal for the second half was to run a 1:49 positive split so I could run 3:30. And really, I wasn't even sure that was possible so trying to catch her never even occurred to me. Here she is coming into the finish.
So even though I knew I had gone out too fast I was still feeling good --albeit very alone since my pace setter deserted me. So I spent the next 2 miles wondering when the inevitable blow up was going to happen and what I was going to do about. I was trying to form a plan. I still felt really good. Absolutely no complaints. Still running about the same pace but knew the fade was coming and worse, possibly the dreaded wall; and I was a little scared.
In the 15th mile a guy caught up to me. I had noticed his shadow chasing mine and I didn't want it to catch mine. It was a little freaky. The base is pretty desolate and you are completely alone and here is this shadow encroaching on yours. It makes you run faster. But he caught me and asked if it was bothering me that he was running so close to me.
I told him no because he wasn't bothering me, just his creepy shadow--but I didn't mention that part. I asked him what the pace was, he said 7:45ish and we discussed our goals. His was 3:28 and I told him ideally 3:30 but I would be happy with 3:36 since I just ran Atlanta in 3:37. And then conversation died out and I pulled ahead. Not sure if he was still there or if he ever passed me but he did come up to me at the finish and ask my time and congratulate me. I forgot to ask him his. So rude of me, sorry.
Miles 15-18 I passed quite a few men. I could see people starting to struggle but I was still feeling pretty good. However I could tell it was coming to an end. And in the 19th mile I started to feel heavy in my legs and real concern began to creep in. Was this the beginning of "the wall," I wondered, deciding to eat another Gu.
Just as I was contemplating this a girl passed me. Here she is sprinting to the finish. See how great she looks?I was very surprised to see her. She was the first girl I had seen since about mile 4 or so. It also told me that I was now in third if Ryan was right about there only being one in front of me.
I fell in line behind her and kept pace with her as I finished my Gu. She looked good, easy, like she was still on that walk with her grandma. And me? Well I am sure I looked like I was back packing with a toddler on my shoulders compared to her smooth gait. Still I hung on her heels and didn't let her go and then after a minute decided it wasn't going to happen.
We came up on the aid station and I slowed to make sure I got enough water and she didn't and the distance between us began to grow.
And grow.
I still had her in my sights until almost mile 22. Which at that point I stopped looking at the horizon for her. I just looked down or at my watch and tried to do math. And good gracious I was doing awesome! 22 miles was 2:53. With 4 miles and left to go I knew I would at least Pr.
And this is where I am going to agree with everyone that told me this is an pretty uninspiring course. And the miles 21-25 are by far the most vast and loneliest. The space between you and other runners is huge and there are no spectators. To be honest, as a female, I was little scared.
And then wind started to kick up. It certainly wasn't terrible but it was annoying and particularly acute as I ran over the landing strip. I remember thinking if a plane were to come straight at me I couldn't run any faster and would be run over for sure.
During these later miles I thought a lot about just walking. You know, just for a minute. And then I would do math. I reasoned: I could walk and still run a good PR. But then, if I wanted to break 3:30 I was going to have to keep running sub 9 minute miles. I didn't have to run sub 8's anymore and I was pretty certain I could run the sub 9's that would get me under 3:30--or at least according to my math. Your brain isn't so sharp at the end of a marathon so it is kinda hard to trust your accounting.
The argument would continue: Who cares about 3:30? What's so great about that? And I was so dang tired and geez, my legs felt so very heavy.
But then I looked around at the boring course and thought about how miserable it would be to walk-- despite my fatigue. How it would feel like forever. There was, after all, no one to chat with, nothing pretty to look at--and believe me, I even tried a few times: Aw, look at that crow on the chain link fence; or Hmm, that airplane hanger has a nice curve to it-- I just love the sheen of corrugated metal . . . and wow, the color of this concrete is such an opulent shade of ash. . .
So I kept running. The boring-ness of the course is ultimately what motivated me the most in the end. In fact, I skipped the last aid station because I wanted even more motivation to hurry up and finish.
Since this was a two loop course I knew where the finish would be but I wasn't sure how far until I was there. I kept asking the few people I would pass and all they would do was cheer me on or say "You're under 3:30! Great Job!"
And then finally I saw the finish line and saw the clock and was beyond elated!
Wow! What a fantastic race! FINALLY!!!!
And now I have the dreaded chest cold. I have had this post nearly written for 2 days but haven't had the energy to edit it. I am sure, since I do tend to be on the long winded side, there is much more I could say. For example:
I could go on and on that I am frustrated--despite my emails and the responses that it will be fixed--that the official results still reflect that I am a male and do not list me in the awards. I suppose it really doesn't matter since I have a Boston Qualifier from the Atlanta marathon that I can use but it is a little annoying that my best marathon effort thus far does not have me accurately recorded.
Or I could on and on about how I feel like having broken 3:30 it means I finally earned my ticket to Boston. I know I only needed 3:45 but ever since I very first thought of running a marathon 3:30 has been my goal. And while it is so unbelievably awesome to finally meet my goal I can't help but think what else might be possible. What can I do now? And I will be thinking seriously about that in the Fall but for now I'm not even entertaining the idea of trying to run any faster.
Or I could even talk at length-- assuming I don't die from pneumonia--about how I plan on running GA ING at the end of March. And depending how my training goes I will probably just shoot for a course PR which would be sub 3:38. Seems a little greedy to expect that I can run a PR again so soon especially considering the wonkiness that tends to come with the GA ING marathon.
But really, I think you get the gist of it that this was a fantastic race that I am over the moon about.
