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.

More Tortoise than Hare

Getting it done.

I guess.

If that matters.

Really, if anything, I feel like a turtle on a fence post just watching-- unfortunately not participating in-- the race that forever goes quickly by.

I wish I could say everything is fantastic over here but it isn't. Everything is pretty crappy and I am just hoping that this is a phase of some days must be dark and deary and it will all pass soon enough into brighter, sunnier, happier, easy breezy days. Physics, you know: the ball will bounce and all that. Or am I thinking of Newton? Whatever. Lit major, art minor; BA. Creative writing, rhetoric; MA. Stats for poets and bio for art brats: so yeah, no science. Whatsoever.

And yes, I know all that is part of the problem. Moving on now. Metaphors abound--neither here nor there. Relevant or irrelevant. It is what it is. Word?

I usually count on my running and stuff to get me through the times when everything else is crappy so it really brings me pretty far down when the running is going crappy too.

See, that is not suppose to happen. It does but it isn't suppose to.

Nonetheless, I am trudging diligently ahead and am sticking with my plan of running 40 miles a week-- including a 2 hour run, until Sept. In Sept, hopefully it will be cooler and things will have calmed down and I can--without guilt-- begin in earnest to start training for a marathon(s). I will add a 3 hour run and build up the weekly mileage towards 60 mpw, and maybe--but doubtfully-- 70 miles per week. I tend to sort of mentally and physically fall apart once I hit 70+ miles a week so I am not sure there is much value in going to that mileage. And lately I've seriously been wondering if there is anything to be gained in going over 60 miles per week. 50 is really probably ideal for me.

Quality, not quantity is going to be priority this year in the training. Okay. Really, not getting injured or burnt out is the goal. I plan on keeping the bike and the swim too. My bike makes me happy and the swim makes it all feel better. I also like how swimming keeps my arms lean and tone. When I was lifting weights I was tone but bulkier. With my body type I look like a line backer if I have any bulk on top and all I have to do is look at weights and I Hulk out. Turn green and everything. Roar.

Lately I am trying my best to deal with the heat. And it has been hard and not so fun. See, the thing I love most about running is how unencumbered it is. All you need is your shoes and the road. Well--if you're like me-- your ipod and your garmin too. And I do like to have my phone--you know, just in case. But otherwise you are unencumbered. Free. So having to carry water or food or stop for either is very annoying. Totally messes with my groove, my rhythm.

Now, don't get me wrong; I definitely think it is necessary, once the mileage starts getting up there to fuel. But for me? In cool weather? Yeah, the need for fuel doesn't usually happen until I am 2 hours into a run. I have pretty much since I started running been able to do 2 hours with out water. ( And yes, certainly I run better, faster if I have something after an hour or so but what I am saying is that it isn't necessary for me in training.) But sadly, I have found in this heat I can't even make it an hour lately and even then water just isn't cutting it. It is driving me crazy.

After my most disastrous run on Tues and equally bonked bike ride on Wed I went by Big Peach to pick their big running brains. Steve Demoss-- as always-- was very helpful and gave me an impromptu seminar on fueling and electrolytes and what to do and what not to do. I left with some more
Crank gels --that have been working okay-- and some EFS Steve recommended I try.

Friday I needed to do 10 miles. Less would have been fine but the more I did on Friday the less I would have to do on Saturday to reach my goal. I like only being less than 6 miles from my weekly goal on Saturday because 6 is almost always doable for me.

So Friday I made a bottle of the EFS and set out down by the river (read, flat) for a 10 miler. I carried it with me--something I haven't done in forever-- and I sipped the entire way and I felt-- in comparison to lately-- most excellent. I finished up in an hour 20--an 8:04 pace. Best outside run in weeks.

I attributed the well feeling to the electrolyte mix but wondered if maybe it was just because it was 15 degrees cooler than it has been. The temps were in the low to mid 80's Friday when I ran and on most of my other runs the range has been mid 80's to 100 degrees.

So yesterday morning, after a quick 2 mile warm up with Lola I decided to test out if it was the cooler weather or the electrolyte. I dropped puppy girl off and grabbed a swig of water and headed out for my 6 mile hilly loop. It was overcast in the high 70's/low 80's. I finished up in just under 49 minutes. So fairly consistent with my run on Friday-- probably a bit better since it was tougher because of the hills.

Okay so all this really has told me is that my body can't deal well with the heat and until it gets cooler no amount of fueling is going to make me run faster when it is this obnoxiously hot. I am just going to accept that when it is hot I am the tortoise and maybe once it gets cooler I can see how hare like I am--if at all. Slow and steady they say. So who cares, right? Bugger off bunny, I say. I'm just going to keep on plodding.

But, you know, at the very least I think to keep from looking like a turtle it would be in my best interest to bring water, drink water and possibly have all that other gooey fueling stuff too.

So the break down this week:
Sunday: Nada. Too hot.

Monday: 5 mile run am--easy-- and then 1600 meters in the pool in the afternoon. I swam solidly for 1200 meters then did some 100 sprints. First 100 came in at 1:16. Rested 30 seconds and the second one came in at 1:19. Rested 45 seconds (I was dying!) and it came in at 1:26. I quit and just did a cool down for 100 meters and called it a day.

Tuesday:Very sad bonked run that only ended up being 4 miles. Gross.

Wednesday: Pathetic but got it done 16 miler in 2 hours and 29 minutes.

Thursday: 30 miles on the bike at 17 mph pace. I rode out Azalea to Willeo up Timber Ridge to Little Willeo and then out to Riverside and up Eve's road, got confused in a neighborhoods and came back down Eve's and onto Martin Road and around and back out Riverside to Azalea. It was okay but I was out of gels so I only brought 20oz of water that I didn't remember to drink any of until about 20 miles in so the last 10 were just hell. I about died on the hills in Martin's Landing.

Friday: 10 miles in the darn right arctic low of 80 degrees.

Saturday: 2 mile warm up and then 6 miles in 49 minutes. Then hours of swimming at the lake with the kids.
Totals:
Run: 43 miles
Bike: 30 miles
Swim: 1 mile

Poo-tee-weet?

And so it goes. Too many times over. And me, we--life?-- just goes on. And on?

Really, I just don't know why this is so hard for me to understand, but it is. I'm not getting it.

Last week we lost one of my favorite novelists, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Which is why the repetitive quote "so it goes" kept running through my mind on Monday while I flipped the remote back and forth between watching Cheruiyot and Grigoryeva triumphantly press the finish line tape and the VA Tech tragedy unfold on Fox News. I honestly can't say if the tears I wiped from my face were from watching the marathoners triumph over adversity or from the horror of the VA Tech tragedy. I do know that I don't even cry when I am the one finishing a marathon.

I know that those touched intimately by this tragedy feel like the world has stopped spinning--and for them it has. They are standing in a suffocating fog while just outside of the thick it is all going madly on-- just as it always has and will?

And even though I sit on the other side of that fog I have spent the past few days reaching into it and thinking of those enveloped by it. Yesterday as I went on about my dailies I was boggled at how much it really does just go on. Yeah, maybe I am an idiot-- the slow one-- but it does truly baffle and astound me how things just go on for some while everything is frozen for others. Which, I guess, falls right in line with what my Dad has always told me: "That life isn't fair." And that too has perplexed me since I was 4 years old. And like Beau of late annoyingly says, I too have asked my entire life Why? why?why! why! why.why.why. . . You'd think--at 35-- I would have reconciled that too by now, but no, I still can't quite put my finger on it either.

Really, these are ideas that I just vaguely sort of get. It hurts my head too much if I try and think them all down. I don't know how he did it but I am so thankful to Vonnegut for hashing it all out and putting it in print and making a go of explaining it. That has helped me some and let me try to put it all in its place.

So it goes? Sigh, deep breath, exhale. Wow. Okay. So it goes, he says and yesterday as I went on running, finishing up some work for Ryan, rushing off the get the boys from school, meeting with Beau's speech teacher to discuss next year's therapy plan and watching my sister try on and then buy her wedding gown I was again and again reminded of how gifted my life is right now and how unfair it is for those mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, wives and husbands to have all lost something so irreplaceable. How inexplicably lucky I am to be on this side of the fog and how frighten I am to know that the edge of that fog is such a perilously thin and permeable layer. My safety net is as thick as a molecule.

On and on and on, wildly it goes.

May those that have lost somehow find some comfort in each other. My heart, prayers and thoughts are with you.

What happens when I wear make up to the gym

I figure I'll go ahead and do my update now since I can get it in.

I have kid who is napping, puppy who is napping and sick kid who has spent all afternoon coloring and drawing.

And I should say that I really appreciate that she can entertain herself so easily and has so much focus. Really, I do. I even admire her for it and wish I had a quarter of it. The problem? You ask? Well, everything is a master piece. Do you know how small my house is? How I am suppose to save every. single. masterpiece? I am always relieved when she tells me some of them are meant for others. Then I won't have to wait until she is at school or in bed to throw out the masterpieces nor will I have to deal with the subsequent and inevitable guilt of throwing out a masterpiece.

So I digress. Anway . . .I am probably not going to get much running or writing in Friday or Saturday since Carmella has to stay home from school and I have social commitments on Saturday and a race on Sunday.

Sunday: Rest, went to Monkey Joe's, jumped around, took kids for a walk.
Monday: 4 miles speed workout on the treadmill 31 minutes--little slower than usual. 20 minutes weights.
Tuesday: 10 miles-- no idea about pace or time.
2 mile walk with kids and Lola
Wednesday: Long run. According to Garmin it was just under 19 miles in 2 hours and 51 minutes. But I didn't think that was right so I checked the route again here and it was just under 20 miles. My GPS kept going out the first 8 or so miles and I made lots of turns. It is frustrating that I can't really depend on Garmin.
1 mile walk with Lola to work out the kinks in the afternoon.
Thursday: 35 minutes on the elliptical and 4 miles on the treadmill in 31 minutes.

Today I went to the gym around 2pm. I never go at this time since the nursery is not open but Ryan was home today and watched the kids so I could go. Since I had to take Carmella to the doctor today I put makeup on and fixed my hair. Normally I spend my day in my running attire with wildly knotted hair and no makeup. Doing hair and makeup takes time away from running or doing one of the other million, I think, more important things I have to do. However, I do try to make an effort to look good whenever I need to be my child's advocate in person. Going to doctor's appointments is one of those times. I think people are more apt to listen to me if I looked pulled together (even if, really, I am not). Plus I have found that I never run into anyone I know when I do look good. I only see old classmates, ex boyfriends, old co-workers when I am hideous and disheveled. So getting dressed up when my kids are sick assures me that while I am tending to sick kids I won't also have to worry about making social niceties and small talks with blasts from the past.

I know, I know, get to the f-ing point. Sorry, like I said I have sick kid who is entertaining herself and napping kid and napping puppy. I can afford to be slightly self indulgent right now. Go write your novel you say? Shush, I am being frivolously self indulgent not lofty pursuits indulgent.

Point is that I went to the gym today looking much better than I normally do when I am there. For the most part there was no one there. I was on the elliptical and this guy came over and started talking to me. He offered me a magazine first and this forced me to take my headphones off. Then we started a conversation. We talked for the 20 minutes I had left on the elliptical. All the while I couldn't decide if he was hitting on me or not. I kept thinking either he was or that he was just trying to figure out the appropriate moment to ask me if Jesus was my personal Lord and Saviour? And would I? Like to come to bible study with him?

But that never happened and instead he offered me a pamphlet on triathlon training. Mmm, the cult of tri-ing. Interesting and very nice and all but I am a runner and an idiot on a bike and while I am a good swimmer I don't like getting kicked in the face or swam over or peed on. I even told him all this.

Then I went and did my treadmill run and afterwards he called me back over to chat. After dropping the husband and the kids and puppy into the conversation several times he asked if I had a sister. So I don't know maybe he was hitting on me, maybe he was selling me on some tri program, maybe he was just being friendly. All I am saying is that no one ever talks to me at the gym--except my pal Mike and that is because he is friends with everyone at the gym and feels sorry for me because I have no gym friends(even though I have been going regularly for over 3 years)--I am persona non grata. I am gym loser. See? Amazing what a hair brush and little make up can do for a girl.

Well, yeah, so anyway I don't know if I am going to get run anymore this week. I'd like to try and get to 50 mpw but it isn't looking hopeful. I am at 37/38 mpw. A few rest days is probably a good idea though if I want to do well in the half on Sunday. So I'll just be okay with whatever.

As far as novel pursuits go . . . it is coming along, slowly. Not sure how much I got in today-- at least another page, maybe 2. My time got cut short and I find I spend too much time editing, reworking what I did the day before. This has always been a problem for me. I know it is probably a better idea to just keep writing and then go back but I like to work stuff in, change it, move things around every time I come back to it. So at this rate I am thinking I will be finished in a year. Nora Roberts? Joyce Carol Oates? Obviously, I am not.

Owning Time

The snooze button has been passed.

In our almost 8 years of marriage Ryan has always had control over the alarm clock. (Yes, we only have one. It does have 2 alarms on it though.) He has always had to be the first up and if I was getting up earlier--like for a race--he would set it for me. But last night, after I told him I would be getting up at 5 am, he relinquished control of the alarm clock to me.

Me!

I can hardly believe it myself and I have to admit that I was ridiculously excited to have the alarm clock on my side of the bed.

And now? Now that I am in control things? Things are going to be different. Time is going operate differently.

Last night, since I have to get up so early now, I went to bed first and set the alarm. Ryan came in a bit later and checked the alarm.

"5 am?" he said, "You are going to be getting up at like 4:15," he laughed. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking: poor, foolish, naive Nat. She knows not what she does.

"No, I'm not. I set the time right," I informed him.

"What! Why would you do that? You really are crazy!"

"I don't like doing math in my head. It doesn't make any sense to set the clock ahead 45 minutes if I know it is 45 minutes ahead. That is just dumb. I am not tricking myself into getting up earlier because I know it is fast."

And then I really upset him when I told him that I don't do snooze. I tried to explain how research has shown that you are more tired from hitting the snooze button than just getting up. This of course flies in the face of everything he has ever known. He has the alarm go off almost an entire hour earlier than he needs to get up so that he can hit snooze 5 or 6 times. He thinks there is pleasure in the snooze.

But to me? It is so fucking irritating. I've been pissed off about it for years but since I don't have to go to a job I have been powerless to change it.

You see. Unlike Ryan, I don't sleep through snooze. So I am up after the first time the alarm goes off. And then I will have to wait nine minutes for it to go off again and for him to hear it, reset it and set again. All the while I just lie there not sleeping--even though I could be since I don't have to be for up another hour or so.

But now? I am happy to say that I am slave to snooze no more.


Because now? In our house? I own time. Mwahahahahaha

And anyone who has ever come to my house will tell you that time is held hostage here because we have no clocks--at least none with the correct time displayed.

And yes, I got up at 5am and wrote/typed for an hour. And let me just say it is amazing anyone ever got anything written at all with there being that delete button. But God bless the keyboard for it and whoever invented cut and paste. Typewriter? Can't imagine it. Long hand? No way. But I got 3 more rough pages and a sketch of how chapters 1-4 are going to go. So progress.

I forgot how hard it was

I really think I am a masochist after all.

Why else would I continually choose difficult--for me--endeavors? The easy? I guess, shrug; it bores me.

Some people out there can just run a few miles and be fine with that.
Not me, I need to run marathons. It isn't easy, ever. I do keep thinking it will get easy but so far it hasn't.

Some people get both their kids potty trained and think: Yeah! No more poop.
Not me, I get a puppy.

I guess I like a challenge.

I must because I generally think of myself as a lazy person. I really want things to be easy. And I even go so far as to think things should be easy but most things are not--for me. (See, life is hard! Dad, you were totally right about the "real world.")

So for things to be easy must not really be what I want in life after all because it seems like I continually choose to do things that-- for me-- are difficult and challenging-- if not fly completely in face of good sense.
I guess maybe masochist is just a fancy word for dumb ass.

A couple of weeks ago I was reading somewhere on the Internet an article about ultramarthoners and the effects of cortisol. The article said that the stress of running 50 miles causes the body to release cortisol and that causes runners to have that runner's high from endorphins. They said it can cause epiphanies --hallucinations even. Well, I didn't need to run 50 miles to have one--an epiphany that is. Maybe I got lucky because it is Lent and even though I am not Catholic I do have a lot of Catholic friends (guilt by association hahaha). And, I did celebrate fat Tuesday last Monday with a bunch of them. We even talked about Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday. So maybe all that is why on Thursday's long run--the 2nd day of Lent--I had an epiphany. Or maybe it was just the cortisol.

Oh, here I am with some of my Catholic buddies celebrating fat Tuesday a day early:

So what was my epiphany?

Well to tell the truth, when I was discussing Shrove Tuesday with my friend I remembered a short story I had written. It is set in the forty days of Lent. One of the characters gives up her sanity for Lent, the other finds hers. So on my run on Thursday I was thinking about that story and out of the blue I remembered another story. It was the second story I had ever written. I wrote it almost 14 years ago.

There was a lot I liked about this story. My professor actually said he was jealous of the title and wished he had thought of it. How huge of a compliment is that? Which is also why I will not be blogging about the title since titles are not copyrighted and I'll just have to hope and chalk it up to ethics as to why he won't use it-- or anyone else from my writing class. I did at the time have a boyfriend read it. He liked it too. So much that he adapted it and made a short film based on it for a school project. He swears he gave me credit and that I gave him permission but I don't remember that and I really wasn't too happy about that he used my story-- mostly because I have never seen said film and he was, by that point, an ex boyfriend. Oh well.

At any rate this story has haunted me. It has always had problems that I could never reconcile. I had rewritten it once and tried a second time but just couldn't take it anywhere new. I was at a dead end and set it aside. Not once-- even in graduate school-- have I pulled it out to look at it and try again.

On my run Thursday --after remembering it--I decided to give it another look. When I got home I dug it out of my trunk--the trunk which Ryan has begged for years for me to throw out but I won't. It has "my papers" in it.However, I haven't even opened the trunk since before we were married. It just moves with me and sits in the garage covered in dirt and dust.

So on Friday--Lala this should please you-- I started writing again. And immediately I remembered why I had placed all that aside--the writing, not just the story.

I had forgotten how hard it is for me to create something out of nothing.

The pressure of it. The pressure that I am the only one with the answers is maddening. Can I tell you that since Friday I have googled to no end, gone to my bookshelf and asked people off the wall questions. Why? I am looking for answers. I know that I will not find them in any of those places but nonetheless I look, I search, I ask, and I google.

The problem is that when I started writing I thought I knew. I thought, for the most part, that I knew what was going to happen and that all it would take was some fleshing out and finally I would have that story out of my head. I thought it would be easy.

But it hasn't worked out like that at all. By the third sentence three new characters showed up. I was very surprised by them and at first I thought they were nothing but then in the second paragraph I gave one of them a name that in my heart I knew was too big for her to be just a background character. And once I wrote her? There was no taking her back.

Still, though, I didn't think it was a big deal.I thought I could easily work it in. But then I handed out another name and I realized that this wasn't just one story anymore, it was two. I have only written three pages but already I know so much more.

And it is invading my mind like you wouldn't believe. I dreamed about them--the characters-- the other night and today on my 10 mile run I thought about them the whole time. It has been stressing me out worrying about how I am going to make all this information work in one little short story. And it was then, today, somewhere in that 7th mile that I realized this isn't a short story at all. It is a novel and while they aren't yet written I know what the first two chapters are going to be.

Have I written them yet? No, not yet. I did have to go pick up my kids and play with them today, but tomorrow. Tomorrow I will make a go at it.

It is very hard for me to make myself sit down and write. It isn't so much the writing but rather the sitting still and intensely focusing. I feel overwhelmed and the need to get it done right then--afraid that if I leave it? I may never come back to it. But the sitting still is the hardest part. It is antithetical to my nature.

Really, it is. Just ask Lala and the pediatrician who diagnosed me withADHD at age five and prescribed Ritalin for 15 years of my life. But I-- regardless of difficulty-- really think that I am suppose to be a writer. Why else would I be plagued by these people and these stories that only exist in my imagination?

And so I am going to take the lead from that same professor who once liked my title so much and write first thing in the morning like he does. He once told me that writing is one of the hardest things he does: so he does it first thing everyday-- before he does anything else. So starting tomorrow, I am promising to get up at 5 am and write for one hour before I have to get the kids up for school. I am going to try to do it every week day.

And I am writing this here because blogging about running some days is the only thing that actually gets me out that door and running. So I am hoping that if I commit here to writing a novel I will actually do it.

Twenty-buck Happiness

I once wrote a short story that I could never reconcile called "Twenty-buck Happiness".

It became a joke in my undergrad creative writing class-- the title that is. The guys in the class were eager to get my story for critique because they felt certain it would be about a blow job.
It wasn't.
And it was sort of hard to go back and edit after learning that what the title conjured in the mind was some sort of jack shack plot.

At any rate, my story, was about this guy who went AWOL and with $20: bought some fabric and made a dress and stole a moped and wore a football helmet (a la Jack Nicholson in Easy Rider) to drive from Utah to Minnesota to give the dress to the love of his life and propose marriage. Little goofy, I know, and I won't tell you how it ended.

But I will tell you the story was drawn from family lore that I borrowed greatly from. And, imagine that. Here I am calling you out, uhm Vinton-- should you be reading-- to tell what the true story is. . .

I don't know guys, maybe that one involves a blow job . . .

Anyway . . .I am having a better week. Back to feeling like myself and for the past 2 days I have gotten shit done. Some of you may recall that I was whining here about how I miss the Nat that gets shit done. Tentatively, she seems to be back. I am feeling less like Atlas who shoulders the world on his back and more like a DJ diva that spins it. I most definitely prefer the diva. She's got dance hits.

This is not to say there still isn't this huge mountain sitting in front of me stacked high with financial woes and emotional roadblocks-- not to mention some mild injuries-- but I just feel stronger about scaling and conquering it than I have for the past few months--well, I should say that at least for today I do.

And hey, things have to be looking up.
You see, I found $20 bucks on the sidewalk this afternoon!
I feel like the universe is saying: yeah, I'm sorry I've been robbing your ass for the past few months. Please accept this small token as an apology and know that things are going to get better.

Okay, yeah, I know; I am reading way too much into 20 bucks-- But people, I'm that desperate for any kind of positive sign.
And hey! It's 20 bucks.

So, running this week is going better. Yesterday I ran 6 outside in the morning and then did a 5k speed workout at the gym and then did a full workout of weights: arms, legs, back, abs-- the whole Nat and caboodle.
Today I ran 10 outside and it wasn't easy because it was cold and windy and my ass was numb but I got it done.
Later, I even took the kids and Lola for a walk at "the trail". Then we indulged in hot chocolate at Starbucks.
So it was a good day.
Tomorrow I hope to do 6, maybe 10 again if I'm feeling good, and then 20ish on Thursday and either rest, cross train or 4 on Friday and then 13-15 on Saturday.

I am of course, hesitant about this optimism: but what the heck, I found 20 bucks.

I took the night train to Epiphany and missed the stop

I feel like there are two of me lately.
There is the me who is out there doing the usual things; running, being wife and mom. She is out there doing wife and mom stuff: volunteering, kissing boo boos, work for husband, hanging with friends, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, shuttling kids around and doing errands.

But there is this other me that is wondering where all the time I use to have went. I feel like everything is taking me so much longer to accomplish and I am just not getting stuff done at the speed and efficiency I use to. I am thinking that the me who gets shit done is distracted by this new me that zones out on thinking about time, wondering where her missing hours went.
She is a wasteful thinker; she is a putzer.
I hate putzing.

I couldn't sleep last night.
I sometimes have this problem. It is nothing new. Eventually I get so tired-- because I can't take naps-- that I will inevitably get a good night's sleep by default just from being so damn tired. Then I fall back into my regular getting eight hours of shut eye and will be blissfully well-rested for months at a time. But the not sleeping--when it is happening-- really sucks.
I will lie awake for hours worrying and thinking about random things. I will try to think up things that do not cause me panic but inevitably all thoughts will fall to anxious things. And I will worry and my heart will race and sleep will edge further off into the distance. I will get up, give up and come downstairs and jump from hyperlinks to hyperlinks--a stream of consciousness for the technological age, I guess. James Joyce would have a field day.

So that is what I did last night-- along with designing and ordering my Christmas cards from Shutterfly. But even with that being crossed off my list I couldn't fall back asleep.

I tried though:

I lie there in the quiet; listening to the house sounds and passing cars and watching shadows change on the wall.
My thoughts inevitably fall to Evan.
I think about how awful it was when he was in the hospital and my mind relives those sad days and I have to see everyone crying and experience it all again in my head.
This makes me realize how fragile life is.
How precious Carmella and Beau are and I am overwhelmed that it is up to me to keep them safe.
I am reminded of those races we use to have in elementary school.
I make the metaphorical leap that the egg race was to prepare me for raising children.
I am carrying two spoons, balancing an egg in each one. My arms are outstretched to keep my balance. I want to hold the eggs--the spoons-- close to my body, cradle them but this is impossible with two eggs and two spoons.
I manage what I can.
I find that I can run with outstretched arms balancing eggs on spoons.
But I see that I am not only in the egg race but the three-legged race and the potato sack race.
It is ridiculous but I find that I am also trying to pin the tail on the donkey and all the while I am blindfolded.
I race out of the school yard and I am remembering James Dickey's poem The Eye-Beaters.
It is about blind children who beat at their eyes.
Dickey thinks it is because they are seeing cave images in their heads.
While I was in graduate school I spent a good bit of time in the Emory library in the special papers room looking at the Dickey papers. I found some notes on The Eye-Beaters and I wrote a paper about Jungian archetypes , cave art and The Eye-beaters based on my research and my own ideas. It was a pretty good paper and I got a good mark for it and was even invited to present it a literary panel.
I declined.
I don't really like James Dickey.
I think he is a great artist, writer, poet, whatever but I also think he was a failure at being a human being. I never knew that an artist could do great art but be terrible at empathy, kindness, humanity. That still seems so antithetical to me. So sad and just wrong. He didn't get it.
But at times it seemed he did.
So, yeah, it was neat to delve into another writer's notes and see how they work but even then I thought: this isn't important.
I knew then that neither James Dickey-- nor I studying James Dickey-- was going to change or impact the world in any important way.
And that brought me back to thinking about Evan.
And really, here is what I think about a lot:
At Evan's funeral the minister, Davis Chappel, said something along these lines: Three years is not long enough.
But it is enough to change the world.
Jesus, was in Galilee for less than 3 years preaching his ministry and he did change the world.
The world was changed by one man
and what he said
and what he did.
In less than three years.

So, yeah, maybe three years is enough.

And I have been thinking about that ever since.
The complexity of it boggles me:
How can three years be enough?
It riddles me like it does for Beau that Parker eats turkey.
Beau tells me everyday that Parker eats turkey.
He is amazed, baffled by it.
In awe of it.
That Parker eats turkey is some sort of fantastic, brilliant mystery for him.
Me too; because Beau tells me so often that Parker eats turkey that I am wondering if it is a code.
I have begun to think that if I can crack it I will solve not only why my little boy doesn't speak well but maybe even how three years is enough and how to change the world.
I know, that is a huge, ridiculous leap.
But still I circle around the thought daily-- not Parker and his turkey--but about Evan and how much he has changed my world and how I want to do more to honor that, respect that.
Show that.
It is maddening and I just can't quite get to the answer, the how, the Tao.
It needles me.
I know there is something I am missing, not doing, not seeing.
And I wonder, endlessly, what. I. Can. Do.
No. No, I'm not looking to save the world or really even change it but maybe be a little Ghetto fabulous and change my little corner, you know make it better, brighter, nicer. Find a way to reconcile the senseless loss and that three is enough.
This idea though--it is big-- and the feeling that I am getting is that not only am I missing the point but worse, that I might be being wasteful of this here gift.
And that is what is keeping me up at night.

Still here, still running . ..

Nothing like training for a marathon and then finding yourself on the other side of that marathon much fitter, much faster. December though, is always my downfall.

I was never a runner until I was 27. I was one of those: I'll-run-when-chased-and-only-then-if-it-is-really-necessary kind of people. Not to mention I was a social smoker too. Running quickly put an end to that. Still a social drinker though. Everyone needs a vice, you know. Just keeping it real, you know.

The reason I started running was mostly for my vanity. I was recently engaged. I wanted to look fit and pretty at my wedding. Unlike most of my friends, who when they got engaged they were able to hire personal trainers to achieve the same goal, I was a poor graduate student. I couldn't afford a gym membership and with a full course load and 2 jobs running was the only thing flexible enough for my schedule. I ran because it was a last resort.

I have to admit that I really envy those runners who've been at it since high school. I guess if I have a regret it might be that I didn't start running earlier. I know that it is totally gay but I really do regret never going out for track or cross country in high school. My gymnastic coach had even encouraged me to do so but no way-- I hated running. I wanted to do flips and splits. I thought running was so dumb. I comfort myself now by thinking I probably would have suffered an injury or burn out if I'd started any younger.

Oh well, it is what it is.

Six months after I started running I ran my first race, which was the Atlanta half marathon at Thanksgiving. Every year the half has always been my goal to work towards until last year and this past year when I stepped up to a full marathon. Then every year in December I always take time off--or rather, not "off" but cut back. I usually start running in earnest in the spring when it is warmer and I have found my jeans are getting tight. Usually around the time I finish off the last of the Samoas.

This year though I have set my goal for the GA ING marathon in March and I am loath to let all this good training go to waste. My plan was to take December and try to focus on speed and run about 30 miles per week. I wasn't planning on tackling any run longer than 10 miles until January.

But I am finding that I need my long runs. I miss them. I'll run 5 or 6 miles and think; that's it? Last week I ran 12 and it was very nice, leisurely even. I didn't wear my watch but just ran and thought and ran. It was comforting. Yesterday I tried a new route and it proved quite punishing with many the hills. I did wear my watch and the course surprised me by being just over 16 miles. What surprised me most though was that it was 16 miles at an 8:45 pace and it was pretty easy. Not easy in that it was effortless but I felt light, relaxed. (Sore as heck after though-- my ass is hurting! Damn hills.) I didn't even bring any water with me and only had 2 shock blocks. I stopped around 6 miles and grabbed a little water at the fountain at a gas station. Normally on long runs I always carry my fuel belt and drink a lot.

I didn't feel done when I was done, but I had to be done. I could have kept going but I had other, more pressing things to do. I have to be honest here and say I really am feeling a little wayward and pretty overwhelmed these days.
Is it the holidays?
Post marathon blues?
Or just the devastating sadness at the loss of Evan?
I don't know.
All of the above?
This is just a hard time of year anyway. It can be really joyous but I just don't feel a part of that-- at all this year. I want to and I am trying but I'm not feeling it. At all.

And I don't know.
Part of me feels like it is a bad idea to start another training cycle not even a month after a marathon but I think that is what I have done and maybe what I need to do right now. I really don't know what to do. I worry that I am setting myself up for a lot of frustration since I know I won't be able to set and/or meet weekly goals with all that December seems to demand. And not meeting my goals will bring me even further down. I do aim low for a reason. I like to succeed and setting the bar low is definitely one way to do that. However you can get your ego boost, I say.

So what is a girl to do?

Currently, I am thinking I am going to shoot for 40 miles a week and try to do one long run a week of 2 or more hours. That might be doable. It never has been in the past for this time of year but I am a more efficient runner so maybe I can do it now.

Okay, so I need to hear how everyone else's training/races have gone/ are going. And post your race plans for the spring too. I don't care if I know you or not. I want to hear it.

--Bruce, best wishes at LV marathon this weekend. I read somewhere that the weather is not in your favor. I hope that changes. You've been a great cheerleader for me so I'll definitely be thinking of you and hoping you have a great race. BQ is yours for the getting.
--Steph, are you ready for Disney? You've been a bit quiet. I know your knee has been frustrating but I think you will be fine. What about Joe--how is his training going? If he did 1:40 a month ago in a half I am sure he can expect 3:35 at Disney.
--Anne, Camille--any future race plans?
--Charlie, have you done your marathon yet? What do you need to BQ?
--Jason, what are your plans? Will you do the GA ING? I think you should. But then I want everyone I know to do the half or the full.
--Lala, Pop, Bubbles, Vinton, Pookie, Danielle and anyone else I have forgotten are you ready to start your training program for the half?
--Poppy, can I count on you to join me for the full?
--Meme, can't let baby sister be fitter than you. . .
--Tracy? the half, the full?
--What about you Paul and hey, Wes, you too. How about you boys put your bikes down and come get a real workout.
--Hunter? I know you run too. . .
--Barbie??
Who else is up for the challenge?

Let's hear it.

The thing that you do

My friend Anne wrote here about how in light of my family's recent tragedy everything else seems quite trivial, especially blogging.

I feel that way too. My world is greatly darkened. And I have to think that if my world feels this way I cannot begin to imagine the blackness that is my brother and Pam's life right now.

Anne is right, everything by comparison is trivial. But I think we need those trivial things. If we spend our life weighing in on the heaviness of death and life I think our heads and our hearts would explode.

We need the trivial.
We need laughter.
We need the mundane.
We need the heavy.
And we need whatever it is that will get us by.
You see those two little cherubs in the picture with Evan?
That is what gets me by. And I know Duncan is helping Justin and Pam. He helps me too.

Right now though, even with my little angels-- sometimes devils-- I am having a hard time picturing when the world will not be this way-- so dark and so sad. And as a person who long ago aligned herself on the side of happiness I am particularly fearful and disgusted at this sadness-- this darkness that I once called my nothingness.

There was a time in my life where I was depressed. How depressed? Well, I can't say or honestly, don't care to-- and I suppose it doesn't matter now as it was long ago. I rarely think of that time but it sits there in the corner of my mind, a crouching reminder of darker days.

That was a time where daily I thought about killing myself. Most days I just hoped I would die but there were other days that I spent daydreaming on how to do it. Once, I even half heartedly tried. I saw a therapist twice a week and tried a bunch of different anti-depressants. I never slept but I wasn't exactly a productive member of society either. You know, unless you call Olympic beer consumption as productive.

During this time period I also had extreme guilt over what I saw as my obsessive self-indulgence into my nothingness. I felt guilty because I knew I had no real reason for being sad. This made it all the more terrible and me all the more self destructive. I suppose my thinking was: I will make things terrible in my life so at least then I will have a good reason for this depression. I thought about myself and my sadness-- my nothingness, obsessively. I might even be inclined to say I reveled in it. It was truly disgusting.

The only positive thing that I did do during that time was read lots of books and write. Mostly this was because when you don't sleep and are awake when everyone else is asleep there isn't much else to do other than read or write. So that is what I did.

I read a lot of Tom Robbins's books and so I am not sure from which one I got this notion but it was probably Jitterbug Perfume but possibly Still Life with Woodpecker, maybe even Another Roadside Attraction. Anyway, in one of those books, Mr. Robbins wrote about happiness being a "learned condition". He furthered that by saying that you have to make happiness a habit and went on to say how it takes 2 weeks to break a habit and 3 weeks to create one. Or, something like that.

At any rate, that was for me, as Oprah would say, "a lightbulb moment". Before that I really thought of happiness as something that some people had and others didn't. I guess it is sort of like how it is easy, even natural, for some people to sit still and for others this is something you have to learn and work really hard at--see, that I am still working on. Understandably, I am way less committed to sitting still than happiness.

So, you see, anyway, I never thought about having to work to be happy. Once I understood that happiness took work, I committed myself right then to the habit of being happy. I quit my therapist. I quit my antidepressants. And most importantly, I quit feeling sorry for myself. The habit of sadness took much, much longer than 2 weeks to break and the habit of happiness took even longer to adopt. Being happy is work. Really hard work, sometimes. I have also learned that part of being happy means learning to be grateful and humble. Those were really hard for me too. I. Try. Every. Day. To be all those things. And, obviously, since all this that has happened to Evan, to Justin, to Pam, it really has been so much easier to be grateful and humble. I just wake up now and it is there.

It has taken years and honestly, until I discovered running, I can't say I truly achieved my "habit" of "happiness".

You knew it was coming, didn't you?

That somehow I would work this into another boring post about running. But really, I think it is about more than that. Give me a chance to get there. Running, while a big piece of the pie is not the sum of the whole. I have a point, damn it!

And I well know I am not the only person who has discovered the art of self medication through endorphins. I always have to laugh when I spot some article "scientifically" affirming what thousands of runners already know.

And here is where I am going to wax romantically for a moment about running. Read if you want or skip head. Whatever.

Running is what untangles me.

After I had Carmella I was in a horrible knotted state. Sure, I was ecstatic with my baby but I was so anxious, worried and scared. I was totally freaked out about my new status as mother. I desperately needed to feel like myself, look like myself and know myself again. Going back to running-- even though I certainly didn't feel like it-- I knew would be my quickest route to me. Even after Beau's birth I felt that same anxious snarl again but was less frightful of it because I was confident running would save me again.

Running, crazy as it sounds, relaxes me. As the miles fall away I unravel and can see clearly, think or even feel. My mind can divorce my body and I can actually focus on what it is I need to.

Running is the thing that I do.

I have to say that since last week when Evan got so sick and then--even worse--once he was gone, everything has felt viciously empty.

Even running.

Even being with my kids.

Everything feels very, very, empty.

This has killed me that running has become a dark place. It has always been my savior.

I have not wanted to run-- or really, do anything. But not doing anything feels worse.

You might be surprised to hear that my sister and I did go and run the Atlanta half marathon on Thanksgiving. We didn't yet know the exact nature of Evan's condition and had to wait anyway until the neurologist came on duty later that morning to find out. We'd been up since 1 am and were just sitting at the hospital, not far from the start, hand wringing and pacing. Mom kept saying we should go run and around 4 am we decided to go run since just sitting idly was worse. I think one of the hardest parts of this has been that there is nothing "to do". There is nothing you can do and you just feel so worthless.

It was a prefect day for the race and besides being really sleep deprived I felt physically great. The first few miles were so easy but then "How to Save a Life" by the Fray came on my iPod and I lost it. I. Could. Not. Stop. Crying. If I had seen a single person I knew race side I would have thrown myself in their arms and had them take me back to the hospital.

I wish I could say the race was cathartic. That I solved something or gained some perspective but I didn't. It did not even make me feel better. It did though, let me feel. Time wise I ran the best race I have ever run at Atlanta, so did my sister but instead of triumphant I felt defeated, empty. All I wanted was to do was get back to the hospital.

It was about an hour after we got there that we were told the devastating news.

I didn't run for several days. But I told Ryan he had to make me go on Sunday. And he did and I went and I cried the whole time again. But crying while running has allowed me to be strong in front of my kids. I cried again on Monday when I ran too.

So yes, like blogging, running right now does feel incredibly frivolous, so selfish and absolutely trivial. But those are things that I do. I do not think that by doing them I am going to rid myself or miraculously heal me or anyone of this gaping hole. But I do think it will help heal me and in turn let me help those around me.

Please, do not think that for one second I don't feel horrible guilt and sadness and anger. I am so angry. At what? Nothing. There is no where to place blame but the anger is still there and running is working it out of me. While I run I think about Evan and I talk to him. I don't know. I just don't know. I guess, that probably sounds crazy-- but it is helping me.

Yesterday I ran for 12 miles and it was the first time I did not cry while running. I still thought of Evan and Justin and Pam and Duncan with every footfall. I didn't solve anything or find myself on the other side of this grief but I managed it a little better yesterday. And nope, I don't feel the joy or the happiness or the laughter I normally feel when I run. I did find though that when I laughed with my kids later in the day it wasn't forced or false. I didn't want to shut myself away and sob.

So this brings me back to the thing that I do. I had thought that I would stop blogging because really, where do I go from here? My intention when I started my blog was to make this a positive place. And I just don't know if I can live up to that anymore. And believe me, I know I write about a lot of frivolous crap and silly, self-indulgent things. That is who I am. I have intentionally avoided the more thoughtful topics and tried not be too "deep". (Well, I may still be succeeding on that count but you know what I am saying.) My point is that I certainly do not feel optimistic or positive or like life's little cheerleader anymore-- and that was the well that I was drawing from when I wrote most of my blog entries.

Right now that well is dry and there is a lot of bitterness. A lot. And, who wants to read about that?

But, you know, I think I am going to continue on. You see, while running allows me to workout a lot of emotions; writing really does help me to spill my head. I think right now I really need both to get me through this. So I can't promise that this will be a happy place for awhile, if ever. And, I'll understand if you don't want to come here and read anymore because of that. But, if you asked me, I would say I would like it very much if you would stick around. It is nice to know that people are listening.