Ha! Gentle reader, I ask myself that question daily. Non-Sequitor girl is at it again. Fast forward many months since my last post. Fair warning - there will be no continuity here. One day will be recipes, one day will be parenting, one day will be leaden. One day will be funny and one will be boring and one will be sad. Because this is how my brain works. It's a veritable Vitamix of thought and emotion.
I still cry every day, and I definitely cannot hear "I Lived" by One Republic without my sadness and memories running down my face, but with a smile here and there as I blubber through the lyrics. "With every broken bone, I swear I lived." No doubt, big brother. Still surreal - and probably always will be - because each day is a new day of remembering, and grieving for, my big brother, gone now almost a year. Don't get me wrong, I am not speaking of grieving as if I am consumed with his passing. I am speaking of grieving as learning to navigate life after a heavy, shifting loss. The kind of loss that changes your cells inside, your heart inside, your life lens, and your foundation. Grief that shifts your thinking from minute to minute, day to day, or month to month, as you process what seems like an intangible and bizarre thing. It's physical, emotional, spiritual, physiological grief. And there are days when it IS OK, because I know he is OK. Truly OK. And that should be my focus because there is peace, and reconciliation, and space, and breath in that place. But there are also days soaked with tears, and anger, and denial, and resentment, and guilt, and feeling betrayed and anchorless in a room where the air is thick, and someone is pressing on my throat, and there is no space or breath. The days and moments were switching back and forth much faster a few months ago. They are slower in their switch in recent days, but sneakier in their ambush.
A very good friend, who has entirely too much experience in dealing with traumatic loss, and life moving excruciatingly forward thereafter, has coined it perfectly as "this is the year of firsts". First Christmas without him, first birthdays (mine and his), first time finding things of his unexpectedly, first time able to get through a conversation about him without losing it. She has a book of angel numbers that says when the number 13 keeps appearing in your life it means the angels are with you, taking care of everything. I know this to be true - our angel just happens to ride a motorcycle that looks like something out of Road Warrior, and wears an Aerostitch riding suit with a NASA patch on it. The one year mark is coming.
Ah 13. 10/13/2013 is the day my big brother left this world for a far better one, and the day our family's paradigm permanently shifted. He is 13 years older than me (yes, realize I speak in present tense about him sometimes, and other times in the past). He is my Godfather and the Godfather of our son and to me that's a big deal. I think he thought it was important, too, but not so much from the church/organized religion perspective. More from the "I will lay down in traffic for you because you're my family" perspective. Every 13th day of every month is a reminder of a burning, gaping hole in our family. But on the 13th of September this year, it was an absolutely perfect day in the PNW, much like the day John Charles was killed in NJ. I have never thought of 13 as unlucky, and I still don't. I know on that day he was soaking in the glory of the day at the church of blue sky and sunshine. It is a small consolation that he was killed doing that which he loved - that which defined him as the " World's Toughest Rider". It's small because I am selfish. I want him back here, with us and for us.
Life keeps going, life keeps going, just keep swimming - isn't that how it goes? Life moves forward, but we are still allowed to step off the treadmill once in a while. I am taking the day off from work on 10/13/2014 because I want to step off the treadmill for a bit. I want to find some way to breathe easy that day and I honestly don't know if I'll be able to do that when I am taking care of my people. It wouldn't be fair to them because I can't truly say if I will be focused on their needs that day, and that is my job. That is why I am privileged to take care of amazing people. They need healing, too, and I need to be able to deliver on my part. I am the instrument, they are the healers, and I can't be a focused, fine tuned, instrument, serving my patients with love when my brain and heart are heavy with grief.
Space, breathing, and hopefully a little sunshine on that day. Most definitely a drive somewhere he would've liked and he (in his little blue urn) can ride shotgun. Man he hated riding in cars. Hope he doesn't mind this time. Love and light to you, John Charles. Miss you every day. It's a beautiful day for a ride. ❤️
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Non-Sequitor
This timeline is all out of order. It will probably be like that for a while because I can start to write and then I have to stop because I have to stop. Then I won't pick it up again until the middle of the night, the next morning, the next time my mind is racing, or I have a random thought.
The last two weeks have been a hellish blur and I can't believe I am flying back to Washington in two days. Church this morning was a flashback to the funeral when I did the second reading - a reading from the second letter of Saint Paul to Timothy. I could see the casket at the front of the church and smell the flowers and I feel heavy and sleepy and sad, sad, sad.
I have had a panicky feeling in my chest all morning and I finally figured out why.
I drove to Sayreville today to drop off my sister and nephew and had about an hour of quiet on the ride back to Long Valley by myself. Tears were just rolling down my cheeks and my throat was tight. I realized that I have been sleeping in my brother's room, smelling his smells, folding his laundry, walking on his carpet, and when I leave Tuesday that will mean he's really gone. Not just on a long ride, but gone. My brain can't comprehend that he's not coming back for his stuff, and someday how his things smell like him will fade. And I won't hear his boots on the tile in the kitchen anymore. I can hardly breathe. I am packing up some mementos to ship home for me and my kids. I feel like a thief, even though I know he won't need these things. He wasn't much for material things in life anyway, which is probably adding to my criminal feeling because anything he kept had a lot of meaning to him. I found a birthday card I sent him when he turned 50 in 2010. He kept that from me.
The last two weeks have been a hellish blur and I can't believe I am flying back to Washington in two days. Church this morning was a flashback to the funeral when I did the second reading - a reading from the second letter of Saint Paul to Timothy. I could see the casket at the front of the church and smell the flowers and I feel heavy and sleepy and sad, sad, sad.
I have had a panicky feeling in my chest all morning and I finally figured out why.
I drove to Sayreville today to drop off my sister and nephew and had about an hour of quiet on the ride back to Long Valley by myself. Tears were just rolling down my cheeks and my throat was tight. I realized that I have been sleeping in my brother's room, smelling his smells, folding his laundry, walking on his carpet, and when I leave Tuesday that will mean he's really gone. Not just on a long ride, but gone. My brain can't comprehend that he's not coming back for his stuff, and someday how his things smell like him will fade. And I won't hear his boots on the tile in the kitchen anymore. I can hardly breathe. I am packing up some mementos to ship home for me and my kids. I feel like a thief, even though I know he won't need these things. He wasn't much for material things in life anyway, which is probably adding to my criminal feeling because anything he kept had a lot of meaning to him. I found a birthday card I sent him when he turned 50 in 2010. He kept that from me.
Shifting Gears
I started this blog over two years ago to chronicle my shenanigans in running and training for a measly 5k, during the course of which I was worried I would throw up or pass out. I haven't run in a while, so I didn't feel like I could post anything. Given the unfathomable shift that has recently occurred in my world, I have decided to chronicle not just running, but life in general, and my perspective on it. This is for me. If I never have another single reader, it's ok. For anyone who may read this, if one thing I say makes someone feel connected, I will considerate a blessed bonus. I am shifting gears because I have to, for me.
My brother is gone. If ever there were a punch to the gut letting me know it was time to think more about some things in life, this is it. It even sounds ridiculous to me that it would take tragedy to get me to realize this way. I have no answer for that. I am not writing for sympathy. I feel like I have to write because there's a lot coming in and out of my brain at once and I want to write it down, rather than talk about it. If anyone knows me, they know my ability to tell a cohesive story is challenged, at best. And right now I just don't want to talk about it very much. It sounds like a recording every time I say it - like a robot that is not me is saying these foreign, awful words. I keep thinking the more I say it, the more real it will become and it won't seem so strange and painful. That theory is not working.
My brother is gone. He was killed in a motorcycle accident on October 13, 2013. He was 53 years old, a world record setting long distance endurance motorcycle rider with over one million miles on a bike, and he was hit by a car on a perfectly sunny, dry, gorgeous fall day, and he died. It will haunt me for a good long time that no one from our family could be there with him when he left this planet. He was conscious at the scene for a bit and I keep thinking when he was laying there he thought, "Shit - that was a bad one." I know he would have never made an error in judgement that could have possibly caused this accident. I would stake my life on it. My family knows it, and the thousands of other people who rode with my brother know it, too.
He always wore a watch that was a gift from my grandfather. When I say "always", I mean the only day that watch has left his body since the late 80's was on the day he died. The stainless steel bracelet broke from the impact and flew into the grass median of the highway along with him. Thank God, thank God for an amazing fellow rider and good friend to my big brother that went to the accident site and found the bracelet part of the watch. He returned it to my mother on the day of the wake. The main watch case part is still missing.
The New Jersey State Police are a crew of absolute earth angels. They have offered sincerest condolences and any help they can provide. Today, they escorted my cousin and me to the accident scene to look for the watch. There we were, on the side of the highway, armed with a giant magnet on wheels scouring every inch of a section of the median, seventy feet long and twenty five feet wide. There is a race bib from a Garden State Motorcycle Rally with my brother's name written on it attached to the guard rail, placed there by someone who loved and admired my big brother. I placed an Iron Butt Association sticker there right next to it today. We didn't find the rest of the watch. I went in knowing the chances were minuscule, and that if he wanted us to have it, we would find it. Today I knelt down in the grass in the spot where my brother died. I kissed the ground, said a prayer and told him how much I loved him, and told him that he really must have loved that watch because I guess he took it with him. I came home with my cousin, shared the news with my parents, and ate pie. I decided that on the day I visited where my brother was killed, I was eating pie. It was the biggest thought I could wrap my head around today.
My brother is gone. If ever there were a punch to the gut letting me know it was time to think more about some things in life, this is it. It even sounds ridiculous to me that it would take tragedy to get me to realize this way. I have no answer for that. I am not writing for sympathy. I feel like I have to write because there's a lot coming in and out of my brain at once and I want to write it down, rather than talk about it. If anyone knows me, they know my ability to tell a cohesive story is challenged, at best. And right now I just don't want to talk about it very much. It sounds like a recording every time I say it - like a robot that is not me is saying these foreign, awful words. I keep thinking the more I say it, the more real it will become and it won't seem so strange and painful. That theory is not working.
My brother is gone. He was killed in a motorcycle accident on October 13, 2013. He was 53 years old, a world record setting long distance endurance motorcycle rider with over one million miles on a bike, and he was hit by a car on a perfectly sunny, dry, gorgeous fall day, and he died. It will haunt me for a good long time that no one from our family could be there with him when he left this planet. He was conscious at the scene for a bit and I keep thinking when he was laying there he thought, "Shit - that was a bad one." I know he would have never made an error in judgement that could have possibly caused this accident. I would stake my life on it. My family knows it, and the thousands of other people who rode with my brother know it, too.
He always wore a watch that was a gift from my grandfather. When I say "always", I mean the only day that watch has left his body since the late 80's was on the day he died. The stainless steel bracelet broke from the impact and flew into the grass median of the highway along with him. Thank God, thank God for an amazing fellow rider and good friend to my big brother that went to the accident site and found the bracelet part of the watch. He returned it to my mother on the day of the wake. The main watch case part is still missing.
The New Jersey State Police are a crew of absolute earth angels. They have offered sincerest condolences and any help they can provide. Today, they escorted my cousin and me to the accident scene to look for the watch. There we were, on the side of the highway, armed with a giant magnet on wheels scouring every inch of a section of the median, seventy feet long and twenty five feet wide. There is a race bib from a Garden State Motorcycle Rally with my brother's name written on it attached to the guard rail, placed there by someone who loved and admired my big brother. I placed an Iron Butt Association sticker there right next to it today. We didn't find the rest of the watch. I went in knowing the chances were minuscule, and that if he wanted us to have it, we would find it. Today I knelt down in the grass in the spot where my brother died. I kissed the ground, said a prayer and told him how much I loved him, and told him that he really must have loved that watch because I guess he took it with him. I came home with my cousin, shared the news with my parents, and ate pie. I decided that on the day I visited where my brother was killed, I was eating pie. It was the biggest thought I could wrap my head around today.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Intermission - Sing It Sister!
I didn't run yesterday, but I am running tonight - flying solo - which means the companion of choice will be my trusty, fabulous, pink skinned 80G IPod. Just me, my tunes, my burning lungs and hammering heart out on the pavement this evening. Music holds a special connection to many things for me, as I'm sure it does for a lot of people, and if anything can get me moving, keep me moving, and distract me enough to pass the time faster (especially when my legs are on fire and I can't breathe), it's the tunes. Many times, I find a little (or a lot) of a story for me in the lyrics, or the music itself is enough to move me to tears, harmonies that blow my mind, beats that send me into uncontrollable groovy moves I call "dancing", and melodies that make me curse myself for not listening to my Aunt Dororthy and letting her teach me to play the piano. Whatever the music, I almost ALWAYS sing. My music collection is a broad, somewhat schizophrenic selection from Ministry to Andrea Bocelli to Harry Connick Jr. to Lady Gaga. If I wouldn't pass out, I would sing along with every step (I give an awesome concert in my kitchen, especially when I'm baking), but when I'm Grandpa running, mouthing the words is the best I can do. A few of my old and new faves for pounding out the minutes on the macadam are below. I hope you test them out for some great booty-shakin', pump you up minutes, whether you're rockin' out a load of laundry or an extra quarter mile when you never thought you could. Enjoy! See you on the road, maybe someday even singing ;)
1. Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall - Coldplay
2. That's Not My Name - The Ting-Tings
3. I Am Woman - Jordin Sparks
4. Breathe In, Breathe Out - Matthew Kearney
5. Mastermind - Grace Potter and The Nocturnals
6. Golden Age - The Asteroids Galaxy Tour
7. This Is The Stuff - Francesca Battistelli
8. Free Me - Joss Stone
9. Sugar, We're Goin' Down - Fall Out Boy
10. Touch - Natasha Bedingfield
11. Shimmer - Shawn Mullins
12. Dogs Days Are Over - Florence and The Machine
13. Born This Way - Lady Gaga
14. Tightrope - Janelle Monae
15. One Tribe - Black Eyed Peas
1. Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall - Coldplay
2. That's Not My Name - The Ting-Tings
3. I Am Woman - Jordin Sparks
4. Breathe In, Breathe Out - Matthew Kearney
5. Mastermind - Grace Potter and The Nocturnals
6. Golden Age - The Asteroids Galaxy Tour
7. This Is The Stuff - Francesca Battistelli
8. Free Me - Joss Stone
9. Sugar, We're Goin' Down - Fall Out Boy
10. Touch - Natasha Bedingfield
11. Shimmer - Shawn Mullins
12. Dogs Days Are Over - Florence and The Machine
13. Born This Way - Lady Gaga
14. Tightrope - Janelle Monae
15. One Tribe - Black Eyed Peas
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Day Eight - Who Is Saying These Things?
Tonight I had another run date with my friend Jen. I am feeling somewhat confident because of my successful run yesterday, children in tow, and having run further than I had before (YES - I KNOW I stopped in the middle for a cookie, among other things, but I am still counting it as a big success). On the other hand, I KNOW Jen will do her best to push me a little bit (I keep telling myself she does it because she loves me. Oh, AND she's paying me back for all of those post-run upper thoracic adjustments that are a tad sensitive...). She told me not to bring my watch this time (read, "You're screwed and at my mercy. MUAH-HA-HA-HA!!!"). So I'm going in blind, which is good for my brain and body because trickery is very effective for a novice runner like me. You keep checking your watch and you think, "OK far enough, I'm tired, turnaround time!", or you look and say, "Dear God - THAT'S IT!?!?! I'm going to die out here - no doubt. The slugs can have their way with my innards - I'm done." Jen is a smart cookie because she knows the brain of the desperate runner (ummmm....that would be ME), and how hard it is and how much it sucks to train when you are ridiculously out of shape (mentally and physically).
I know - for those of you who know me, I don't look out of shape. I have a really long frame on which to hang a lot of desserts, and heaven knows I've packed on more than a small country's fair share of scrumptious goodies in my day. Clothing also hides a multitude of sins (can I get an AMEN?), but truth be told I am the heaviest I've been, outside of pregnancy, in 20 years, and even if it is not a lot of weight to shed, things are settling in strange ways and places I'd like to rearrange, preferably to higher and firmer regions (arent' the gifts of motherhood such precious gifts?). I am A shape - Q-tip with eyes - but that is vastly different than being IN shape, and my body continues to remind me just HOW vastly different every time I set my size 13 running shoes on the pavement. So I am watchless, at the trailhead with Jen, and I am preparing myself for a good old fashioned mental slug-fest between the part of me that wants to get more fit and enjoy running (this half we shall heretofore call "Nut Job"), and the other half that relishes in the luxury of a fabulous nap, a sleeve of Oreos dunked in ice cold milk, and Tivo 'til my eyeballs burn (heretofore referred to as "Common Sense"). Clearly sanity lies somewhere in between. OK, it REALLY probably lies a hair closer to the "Nut Job" side, but were splitting hairs - aren't we?
I had a long overdue chat with my good friend and walking teammate Kathy today (let's give her a round of applause - it's her debut here on the blog, folks...). She just finished the Rock N' Roll Marathon here in Seattle this past Saturday. Oh yeah, and she, like Andrea and Jen, is fab Mom, PTA Goddess, business owner, the list goes on .... She is AWESOME. Even signing up for a marathon or a running event or walking event or swimming, biking, knitting, gum chewing, hula hooping, spelling bee, yo-yo-ing, reading, hot dog eating - ANY kind of event that requires you to focus your time and energy, push your limits and sanity and train your brain and body to do something even a step beyond your usual routine - makes you a rock star in my book. (I am so proud of Kathy and ALL of my family and friends who push themselves everyday, in ways I can't even imagine - far more than I could even cope with, no doubt. These people keep the "pity parties" at bay for me.) We were talking about this blog and my newbie running efforts and I found myself saying, "I am going to complete the Warrior Dash, the obstacles, and have fun, and I don't care how long it takes me. That's my goal for this thing. I will finish. Then want to put together a schedule because I'd like to do just a regular 5k run." WHAT?!?!? WHO IS THAT?!?! WHO IS SAYING THESE THINGS?!?!? Kathy. Hmph. Why does she have to be so cool and laid back and fun about just running a marathon? HELLO?!? That 26.2 freaking miles, ma'am. Oh yeah - no biggie. Seriously? Go inspire someone else, super runner. It's Andrea's fault, too. Cheering me on, laughing with me, training hard and sending me sweaty-faced post-run pics and pushing me to GO RUN! Telling me, "We can totally DO this!" Jen is laughing right now, I KNOW it. She's patting herself on the back - she's congratulating herself for "planting the seed". How dare she lend me a great book about running moms and type up a training schedule for me? (No joke. GO GET IT!! "Run Like A Mother" - it's fabulous and guaranteed to give you a chuckle while you're nursing your sore calves.) How dare she run with me and chat and encourage me and push me to run further than I've run in 20 years all the while slowing her pace to my super suave Grandpa style to keep me company? She is evil to the core I tell you - they ALL are. Friends that run. Don't let them get YOU hooked on the Kool-Aid. Alas, gentle reader, it may be too late for me.
I ran with Jen tonight, watch-free, wrestling match between Nut Job and Common Sense going on in my brain, lungs burning, legs cursing, sweat sweating. Yes, of course she pushed me. I definitely talked less tonight than last time. Knowing I would be running further tonight, I tried to conserve my energy and really, really tried to focus on a nice relaxed breathing rhythm (read "cough, gasp, suck in air, spit, wretch, exhale, repeat"). It was REALLY hard and I think I sort of found one, in spurts. Jen and I (briefly) talked about a mantra - this I am familiar with because another fabulous, super Mom, sister of my heart, Trish (another round of applause for her debut here on the blog, folks...oh and she's on vacation so she's not even around to defend herself - neener, neener!) had a "pep talk" inspirational card with her on our 60 mile walk last year. She would shout it out (if you know Trish, you know she is awesome at rallying a group and shouting with zest comes as naturally as breathing for her) and we would repeat it back to her, like a military cadence, but with a bunch of women, decked out in pink, followed by a lot of "WOOHOO!"s. Always good for another 5 miles. My mantra tonight was, "I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything." Did I believe it? Not nearly as wholeheartedly as I would have liked, but just like my husband coaching me in labor, it distracted my brain long enough to get through the painful parts and come out on the other side, knowing I could, and feeling stronger for it. No, running is not exactly like labor (I would probably rather be in labor to be honest...), but distraction and encouragment are wildly effective during both. Mantra it is. Reminds me of a favorite artist of mine, Brian Andreas. His prints are drawings and funny/emotional/thought-provoking lines from life. One of his prints is called "Affirmation" and the line on it is, "Remember to use positive affirmations. I am not a dork is not one of them."
Mantra and desperately trying to focus on some semblance of breathing carried me a long way tonight. Oh yeah - and of course Jen (she actually leapt and skipped a couple of steps because she was so excited for how far we'd run at one point tonight - I told you - this running thing is a sickness). She may poo-poo this fact but she actually might have been physically carrying me at some point tonight so it's a good thing she loves to run and is in great cardiovascular shape. This 6'5" frame dead weight is no joke people - you do not want this unconscious, gangly, sweaty mess on your hands. And I drool. The tally? 3.57 miles tonight in 39:35! 11:05 per mile and I didn't even walk one step. Further than I've run since Kelly Clarkson was born and I even did my little pseudo-sprint at the end (told you Jen was a taskmaster). I can officially Grandpa run the distace of the Warrior Dash, sans barf or loss of consciousness. This is a weight off my mind because I know I can make it, but I'd certainly like to feel a whole heck of a lot better running it the day of the event. That shouldn't be too much of a stretch, given I felt like a one-legged girl in a butt-kicking contest at many points on the trail tonight, but I know it will require more runs of at least tonight's distance. Off I go! See you on the road ;) I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything......
I know - for those of you who know me, I don't look out of shape. I have a really long frame on which to hang a lot of desserts, and heaven knows I've packed on more than a small country's fair share of scrumptious goodies in my day. Clothing also hides a multitude of sins (can I get an AMEN?), but truth be told I am the heaviest I've been, outside of pregnancy, in 20 years, and even if it is not a lot of weight to shed, things are settling in strange ways and places I'd like to rearrange, preferably to higher and firmer regions (arent' the gifts of motherhood such precious gifts?). I am A shape - Q-tip with eyes - but that is vastly different than being IN shape, and my body continues to remind me just HOW vastly different every time I set my size 13 running shoes on the pavement. So I am watchless, at the trailhead with Jen, and I am preparing myself for a good old fashioned mental slug-fest between the part of me that wants to get more fit and enjoy running (this half we shall heretofore call "Nut Job"), and the other half that relishes in the luxury of a fabulous nap, a sleeve of Oreos dunked in ice cold milk, and Tivo 'til my eyeballs burn (heretofore referred to as "Common Sense"). Clearly sanity lies somewhere in between. OK, it REALLY probably lies a hair closer to the "Nut Job" side, but were splitting hairs - aren't we?
I had a long overdue chat with my good friend and walking teammate Kathy today (let's give her a round of applause - it's her debut here on the blog, folks...). She just finished the Rock N' Roll Marathon here in Seattle this past Saturday. Oh yeah, and she, like Andrea and Jen, is fab Mom, PTA Goddess, business owner, the list goes on .... She is AWESOME. Even signing up for a marathon or a running event or walking event or swimming, biking, knitting, gum chewing, hula hooping, spelling bee, yo-yo-ing, reading, hot dog eating - ANY kind of event that requires you to focus your time and energy, push your limits and sanity and train your brain and body to do something even a step beyond your usual routine - makes you a rock star in my book. (I am so proud of Kathy and ALL of my family and friends who push themselves everyday, in ways I can't even imagine - far more than I could even cope with, no doubt. These people keep the "pity parties" at bay for me.) We were talking about this blog and my newbie running efforts and I found myself saying, "I am going to complete the Warrior Dash, the obstacles, and have fun, and I don't care how long it takes me. That's my goal for this thing. I will finish. Then want to put together a schedule because I'd like to do just a regular 5k run." WHAT?!?!? WHO IS THAT?!?! WHO IS SAYING THESE THINGS?!?!? Kathy. Hmph. Why does she have to be so cool and laid back and fun about just running a marathon? HELLO?!? That 26.2 freaking miles, ma'am. Oh yeah - no biggie. Seriously? Go inspire someone else, super runner. It's Andrea's fault, too. Cheering me on, laughing with me, training hard and sending me sweaty-faced post-run pics and pushing me to GO RUN! Telling me, "We can totally DO this!" Jen is laughing right now, I KNOW it. She's patting herself on the back - she's congratulating herself for "planting the seed". How dare she lend me a great book about running moms and type up a training schedule for me? (No joke. GO GET IT!! "Run Like A Mother" - it's fabulous and guaranteed to give you a chuckle while you're nursing your sore calves.) How dare she run with me and chat and encourage me and push me to run further than I've run in 20 years all the while slowing her pace to my super suave Grandpa style to keep me company? She is evil to the core I tell you - they ALL are. Friends that run. Don't let them get YOU hooked on the Kool-Aid. Alas, gentle reader, it may be too late for me.
I ran with Jen tonight, watch-free, wrestling match between Nut Job and Common Sense going on in my brain, lungs burning, legs cursing, sweat sweating. Yes, of course she pushed me. I definitely talked less tonight than last time. Knowing I would be running further tonight, I tried to conserve my energy and really, really tried to focus on a nice relaxed breathing rhythm (read "cough, gasp, suck in air, spit, wretch, exhale, repeat"). It was REALLY hard and I think I sort of found one, in spurts. Jen and I (briefly) talked about a mantra - this I am familiar with because another fabulous, super Mom, sister of my heart, Trish (another round of applause for her debut here on the blog, folks...oh and she's on vacation so she's not even around to defend herself - neener, neener!) had a "pep talk" inspirational card with her on our 60 mile walk last year. She would shout it out (if you know Trish, you know she is awesome at rallying a group and shouting with zest comes as naturally as breathing for her) and we would repeat it back to her, like a military cadence, but with a bunch of women, decked out in pink, followed by a lot of "WOOHOO!"s. Always good for another 5 miles. My mantra tonight was, "I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything." Did I believe it? Not nearly as wholeheartedly as I would have liked, but just like my husband coaching me in labor, it distracted my brain long enough to get through the painful parts and come out on the other side, knowing I could, and feeling stronger for it. No, running is not exactly like labor (I would probably rather be in labor to be honest...), but distraction and encouragment are wildly effective during both. Mantra it is. Reminds me of a favorite artist of mine, Brian Andreas. His prints are drawings and funny/emotional/thought-provoking lines from life. One of his prints is called "Affirmation" and the line on it is, "Remember to use positive affirmations. I am not a dork is not one of them."
Mantra and desperately trying to focus on some semblance of breathing carried me a long way tonight. Oh yeah - and of course Jen (she actually leapt and skipped a couple of steps because she was so excited for how far we'd run at one point tonight - I told you - this running thing is a sickness). She may poo-poo this fact but she actually might have been physically carrying me at some point tonight so it's a good thing she loves to run and is in great cardiovascular shape. This 6'5" frame dead weight is no joke people - you do not want this unconscious, gangly, sweaty mess on your hands. And I drool. The tally? 3.57 miles tonight in 39:35! 11:05 per mile and I didn't even walk one step. Further than I've run since Kelly Clarkson was born and I even did my little pseudo-sprint at the end (told you Jen was a taskmaster). I can officially Grandpa run the distace of the Warrior Dash, sans barf or loss of consciousness. This is a weight off my mind because I know I can make it, but I'd certainly like to feel a whole heck of a lot better running it the day of the event. That shouldn't be too much of a stretch, given I felt like a one-legged girl in a butt-kicking contest at many points on the trail tonight, but I know it will require more runs of at least tonight's distance. Off I go! See you on the road ;) I am strong. I feel good. I can do anything......
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Day Seven - BOO-YA!!
I haven't run since last Thursday. As my pre-teen (Heaven help me) son would say, "Epic fail." This is a mistake for me, as I would imagine, for any newbie runner. Ahhhh, Rest - you are a dark and twisted mistress, calling out, "Look how well you did the other day! You deserve this break. Given how great you felt after your longest run yet last week, you will bounce right back into those relaxed steps and even breathing you discovered just 1, 2, 3,......SIX days ago." Ugh. Time to get it in gear, Grandpa girl.
Today I decided to embark on a journey like no other. OK, let's be clear, I did not sign up for an Antarctic marathon or a hike up Mt. Ranier. This is a journey ripped from the diaries of motherhood, career, sanity and running, now apparently fused into a bizarre and haphazard fabric that has become the new hat I wear these days (I know, thankfully, I am not alone in this wacky place). Now that I think about it, a trip to the Antarctic might be a lovely vacation....anywho, my quest for today was to run while my kiddos (Brooks, my son, age 12 and Samaya, my daughter, age8) cruised along on their bikes with me. I almost laugh out loud as I type it. You see, like many other parents in their pre-kid years, I was lulled (read "duped") somehow into thinking, "My children will never be those horrid beasts screaming in the grocery store about a new, beloved box of cereal, wearing a Halloween costume, rain boots and a parka in December. Who dresses these kids anyway?". I have to admit, my kids are definitely not those kids (they are actually fabulous kids, 98% of the time as long as my husband and I aren't around), BUT they do LOVE to supervise each other on every aspect of daily living, right down to how and when food should be consumed and how much toothpaste to use per brushing session. They keep score on who did what chores and when, and they love to report each other's behavior to us, often feigning concern for the safety and well being of the other, us, the dog, the house, the neighbors, or the universe at large, just so they can reveal that a certain someone is stepping out of line and that they themselves are simply being a good citizen in telling us. Sound familiar? This is the recipe I was cooking up for today's run. Fitness and family all in one? Hmmm... yes - a journey like no other. I was definitely anticipating this to take 3 times as long as it normally would - even flying solo at my Grandpa running pace. Onward and upward people!
I get a little backpack together with snacks for the kiddos, a protein bar for me, and water for all. We were only going 3 miles total (the longest running distance I've attempted since cruising well into my 30's) - 1.5 to my office, break for an adjustment (AMEN!), potty as needed, and 1.5 back home - so I knew we wouldn't really need snacks, but if you have children, or have ever even met one, you know that you are never more than 3 minutes out the door before they are testifying on a stack of bibles that they are about to collapse from thirst and/or starvation (this continues even at ages 12 and 8, for all you toddler parents out there). Toss ID, tissues & eyedrops (it is cottonwood season, after all), keys and chapstick in the bag and we're ready to go. While I'm tying my shoes, we have what I like to call a little "Come To Jesus" meeting. I explain that for safety we will stop at all intersections and parking lot driveways and only proceed when we've checked both directions twice, and only on my go ahead. We also discuss that fact that there is no whining of any kind. A valuable piece of advice I learned from my many miles of walking training is that whining causes blisters. OK, not REALLY, obviously, but I was not tolerating the chants of, "I'm hungry", "I'm hot/cold", "I have to pee", "He/she is in my way", blah, blah, blah....and yes, for the record, I AM the meanest mommy in the world - just ask my kids. They can tell their therapists in years to come that it's all my fault - I am running today and I really want to try to do well and avoid distractions. Work with me, people!
We set out and the kiddos are brilliant! They are excited to be out and about on their bikes on roads I would never let them travel alone at this age, and they also have the opportunity to see their dear old mum suck some wind and look kind of gross along the way - double bonus! I give signals as to direction, where to stop, when to go, all of them in an out of breath kind of bark, but the kids knew I was serious about being safe and us all having a good little workout, so they complied 100%. I am so glad I am writing this down because it will be documented for future reference, for both their benefit and mine (I have proof that they CAN listen and they have documentation we can trust them for other adventures, which I'm sure they will try to get the most mileage out of...).We cruise along to my office, park the bikes inside and I hit the stopwatch - 16:38. Nice! Given crosswalk stops, a few small slopes, etc., a pretty good pace for a mile and a half after 6 days rest (read "lollygagging and blowing off exercise"), kids in tow. We go into my office, greet my hubs and hop up on the tables for our adjustments. This is the perfect time to make sure my brain-body connection is humming along at top speed, given that I am conquering a distance further than I've gone before (albeit with a break), and along a somewhat new route with company other than an experienced runner. In case you hadn't picked up on it, I AM making a big deal of this because, admittedly, I am a bit high maintenance. I also have high (read "HIGH!" ) expectations of myself (and usually others, especially my kids) and get really irritated when I need something to go well, like this run today. I decree this expedition will hereby pave the way for all future family running/biking jaunts with any kind of anticipation of enjoyment. So it has been decreed by the Queen of Grandpa Running and shall be made known throughout the kingdom. No pressure. HA!! Post life-altering, body-healing, energy-cranking Chiropractic adjustment, we pop in to the grocery store next door for an anniversary card for my parents, and a free sample cookie from the bakery (a shout-out to George and the bakery crew - Albertsons make the best chocolate chip cookies - thank you!). Upon returning to my office, my great friend and fabulous staff member, Lisa, points out that what I'm noshing doesn't really resemble a protein bar. This is why I love her. I retort with, "I just ran 1.5 miles. These calories are already gone! I feel them leaving my body instantly!" Right? Right.
A cookie for each belly, a swig of water and out the door again. I start the stopwatch again and we're off. Up a slope, down (mercifully) a slope, across the street, around some corners and into our home territory. The kids quickly abandon me for friends playing outside and, with a wave goodbye, I press on to the corner of my street. It's sbout 75 yards to my house. OK Jen, you win - I turn on the jets (pause here for doubled over, face hurts, tears streaming down, out loud laughter) and sprint (read "Grandpa run with zeal and reckless abandon") all the way home and up my driveway. Hit the stopwatch - 15:40! BOO-YA!!! A quick calculation (OK, not really - I did the math later, on paper, while I chugged down my electrolyte drink at my dining room table, because my brain was too busy concentrating on breathing to do it in my head the moment I stopped running) and I realize I averaged 10:46 mile. I am super excited!! Yes, I had a potty break, and yes, I had an amazing adjustment, and yes, I had a cookie and card-shopping break, but even with breaks I am SO giving myself credit for coming in under 11 minutes per mile AND running (all totaled) further than I've run before - 3.05 miles to be exact. I say again to you, gentle reader - BOO-YA!! BOO-DEE-HOOTIE-DOO-BOO-YA!!!
Only .45 miles further for the total mileage for the Warrior Dash, and the obstacles will require me to at least slow down, if not stop and wait for others ahead of me. Granted I will be expending energy climbing ropes, bellycrawling in mud and jumping over fire, but the madness and muck of it all will distract my brain at least a little. My goal is to finish the dash and all the obstacles, keep mud out of my mouth and lungs, and have fun. Besides, there will be rockin' tunes, good friends, my very own Viking helmet and a cold beer waiting for me at the end. How can I NOT succeed? Finish and have fun I will - no doubt! See you on the road - possibly with awesome kiddos in tow ;)
Today I decided to embark on a journey like no other. OK, let's be clear, I did not sign up for an Antarctic marathon or a hike up Mt. Ranier. This is a journey ripped from the diaries of motherhood, career, sanity and running, now apparently fused into a bizarre and haphazard fabric that has become the new hat I wear these days (I know, thankfully, I am not alone in this wacky place). Now that I think about it, a trip to the Antarctic might be a lovely vacation....anywho, my quest for today was to run while my kiddos (Brooks, my son, age 12 and Samaya, my daughter, age8) cruised along on their bikes with me. I almost laugh out loud as I type it. You see, like many other parents in their pre-kid years, I was lulled (read "duped") somehow into thinking, "My children will never be those horrid beasts screaming in the grocery store about a new, beloved box of cereal, wearing a Halloween costume, rain boots and a parka in December. Who dresses these kids anyway?". I have to admit, my kids are definitely not those kids (they are actually fabulous kids, 98% of the time as long as my husband and I aren't around), BUT they do LOVE to supervise each other on every aspect of daily living, right down to how and when food should be consumed and how much toothpaste to use per brushing session. They keep score on who did what chores and when, and they love to report each other's behavior to us, often feigning concern for the safety and well being of the other, us, the dog, the house, the neighbors, or the universe at large, just so they can reveal that a certain someone is stepping out of line and that they themselves are simply being a good citizen in telling us. Sound familiar? This is the recipe I was cooking up for today's run. Fitness and family all in one? Hmmm... yes - a journey like no other. I was definitely anticipating this to take 3 times as long as it normally would - even flying solo at my Grandpa running pace. Onward and upward people!
I get a little backpack together with snacks for the kiddos, a protein bar for me, and water for all. We were only going 3 miles total (the longest running distance I've attempted since cruising well into my 30's) - 1.5 to my office, break for an adjustment (AMEN!), potty as needed, and 1.5 back home - so I knew we wouldn't really need snacks, but if you have children, or have ever even met one, you know that you are never more than 3 minutes out the door before they are testifying on a stack of bibles that they are about to collapse from thirst and/or starvation (this continues even at ages 12 and 8, for all you toddler parents out there). Toss ID, tissues & eyedrops (it is cottonwood season, after all), keys and chapstick in the bag and we're ready to go. While I'm tying my shoes, we have what I like to call a little "Come To Jesus" meeting. I explain that for safety we will stop at all intersections and parking lot driveways and only proceed when we've checked both directions twice, and only on my go ahead. We also discuss that fact that there is no whining of any kind. A valuable piece of advice I learned from my many miles of walking training is that whining causes blisters. OK, not REALLY, obviously, but I was not tolerating the chants of, "I'm hungry", "I'm hot/cold", "I have to pee", "He/she is in my way", blah, blah, blah....and yes, for the record, I AM the meanest mommy in the world - just ask my kids. They can tell their therapists in years to come that it's all my fault - I am running today and I really want to try to do well and avoid distractions. Work with me, people!
We set out and the kiddos are brilliant! They are excited to be out and about on their bikes on roads I would never let them travel alone at this age, and they also have the opportunity to see their dear old mum suck some wind and look kind of gross along the way - double bonus! I give signals as to direction, where to stop, when to go, all of them in an out of breath kind of bark, but the kids knew I was serious about being safe and us all having a good little workout, so they complied 100%. I am so glad I am writing this down because it will be documented for future reference, for both their benefit and mine (I have proof that they CAN listen and they have documentation we can trust them for other adventures, which I'm sure they will try to get the most mileage out of...).We cruise along to my office, park the bikes inside and I hit the stopwatch - 16:38. Nice! Given crosswalk stops, a few small slopes, etc., a pretty good pace for a mile and a half after 6 days rest (read "lollygagging and blowing off exercise"), kids in tow. We go into my office, greet my hubs and hop up on the tables for our adjustments. This is the perfect time to make sure my brain-body connection is humming along at top speed, given that I am conquering a distance further than I've gone before (albeit with a break), and along a somewhat new route with company other than an experienced runner. In case you hadn't picked up on it, I AM making a big deal of this because, admittedly, I am a bit high maintenance. I also have high (read "HIGH!" ) expectations of myself (and usually others, especially my kids) and get really irritated when I need something to go well, like this run today. I decree this expedition will hereby pave the way for all future family running/biking jaunts with any kind of anticipation of enjoyment. So it has been decreed by the Queen of Grandpa Running and shall be made known throughout the kingdom. No pressure. HA!! Post life-altering, body-healing, energy-cranking Chiropractic adjustment, we pop in to the grocery store next door for an anniversary card for my parents, and a free sample cookie from the bakery (a shout-out to George and the bakery crew - Albertsons make the best chocolate chip cookies - thank you!). Upon returning to my office, my great friend and fabulous staff member, Lisa, points out that what I'm noshing doesn't really resemble a protein bar. This is why I love her. I retort with, "I just ran 1.5 miles. These calories are already gone! I feel them leaving my body instantly!" Right? Right.
A cookie for each belly, a swig of water and out the door again. I start the stopwatch again and we're off. Up a slope, down (mercifully) a slope, across the street, around some corners and into our home territory. The kids quickly abandon me for friends playing outside and, with a wave goodbye, I press on to the corner of my street. It's sbout 75 yards to my house. OK Jen, you win - I turn on the jets (pause here for doubled over, face hurts, tears streaming down, out loud laughter) and sprint (read "Grandpa run with zeal and reckless abandon") all the way home and up my driveway. Hit the stopwatch - 15:40! BOO-YA!!! A quick calculation (OK, not really - I did the math later, on paper, while I chugged down my electrolyte drink at my dining room table, because my brain was too busy concentrating on breathing to do it in my head the moment I stopped running) and I realize I averaged 10:46 mile. I am super excited!! Yes, I had a potty break, and yes, I had an amazing adjustment, and yes, I had a cookie and card-shopping break, but even with breaks I am SO giving myself credit for coming in under 11 minutes per mile AND running (all totaled) further than I've run before - 3.05 miles to be exact. I say again to you, gentle reader - BOO-YA!! BOO-DEE-HOOTIE-DOO-BOO-YA!!!
Only .45 miles further for the total mileage for the Warrior Dash, and the obstacles will require me to at least slow down, if not stop and wait for others ahead of me. Granted I will be expending energy climbing ropes, bellycrawling in mud and jumping over fire, but the madness and muck of it all will distract my brain at least a little. My goal is to finish the dash and all the obstacles, keep mud out of my mouth and lungs, and have fun. Besides, there will be rockin' tunes, good friends, my very own Viking helmet and a cold beer waiting for me at the end. How can I NOT succeed? Finish and have fun I will - no doubt! See you on the road - possibly with awesome kiddos in tow ;)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Day Six - Silly Girl, Tricks Are For Kids!
My dear friend, Jen, is a runner. I mean that in the truest sense of the word and NOT in the same category that I consider myself a runner. I guess in this process of training (is THAT what I'm doing?) I have developed a runner "caste system" in my own little brain (it's wedged in there between the grocery list, new marketing ideas for the office, field trip permission slips and the dog's grooming appointment). Oh I know all of you super die hard runners out there (marathoners, tri-athletes, rock hard calf and butt owners) SAY that we beginners are just as fabulous as you are, blah, blah, blah.... but we both know your bad-ass, super wicking, tastefully reflective, supremely comfortable running clothes and GPS/heart monitor/stop watch/defibrillator/jumper cables/Aquaman homing device say differently. We beginners are slobbering, panting, waddling armadillos on the road next to you long strided, slender legged, completely-at-ease, sub-7:30 minute per milers who glide effortlessly across asphalt like graceful swans on a tranquil lake. But I digress... My dear friend Jen is a fabulous runner who has run half-marathons to raise funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma society, she is a super Mom of 2 adorable boys, business owner, PTA board member and volunteer teacher at her son's school. She is on fire. AND she thinks she's sooooooo sneaky. She invited me to run with her on Thursday, June 23rd (yes, I'm WAY behind on my blog posts, among other things...) so I was thrilled. As awesome as a runner as Jen is, she is also a great cheerleader and is convinced she will get me to not only get better at this running thing, but that I will actually enjoy it at some point. Silly girl!
So I meet her Thursday after work and we drive to one of the trailheads of a well known paved trail near where we live, and park. She is reassuring me this will be great, telling me it's just an easy flat trail, and filling me in on a really cool book she is going to lend me (more on this later, but it IS a really cool book). Before we begin, I tell her that I won't be able to talk while we run because I will die. I can plug into my IPod when I'm alone and pound through 5 to 6 songs, knowing I've made it about 2 miles and through about 22-24 minutes of running and go home, all the while mouthing the lyrics to everything from Enya to Jane's Addiction and feeling reasonably well oxygenated. Talking? Ummm..... no. Just won't happen. Jen tells me she'll talk enough for the both of us. THIS is why you pick someone cool like Jen to run with. She rocks.
We start and she let's me dictate the pace - grandpa boogie and all. She even tells me we can stop to walk if I want, and at this point I've reached a stage of my running where I think walking is a step backward, unless I'm on some God-awful hill. On a flat trail, I mentally kick the walking option right out the door. As we go along, surprisingly, I do chat with Jen, and I don't die. I have to take a few more breaths and definitely limit my chat to short responses, but the conversation (still more Jen than me simply because my cardiovascular fitness sucks, not because I didn't want to talk) is a wonderful distraction and the steps feel less laborious and more relaxed. She gives me a few pointers on form (long since forgotten from the last time I ran, back before ER made it's TV debut), which are also helpful in keeping me from expending more energy than I absolutely have to to stay upright, conscious and moving in the right direction. We also bond over the fact that we both slobber a little and spit regularly when we run. Spitting, wiping running snot on my shirt, and peeing in the woods are not above me in a outdoor exercise situation. I have walked 60 miles in three days, and given birth to 2 children. I'm pretty sure at this point any shred of humility is shot and I have at many points been considered a human napkin. S'all good in my world, spit and everything.
Next, our coy little Jen tries to slide one past me. I come from a long line of loudmouthed, opinionated, fiercely loyal, unconditionally loving people who, for lack of a better description, can sling it, and this brings to mind one of my favorite Big John-isms (Big John is my Dad - he is Big, with a capital B, and his name is John. This nickname is not a stretch). For the family viewing audience, I will keep it rated G - as Big John would say, "You can't BS a BS-er." True dat, Big Daddy (yes, I do really call him that and am proud of it).
So sweet Jen says, "When we get to a mile I'm just going to have you go about a tenth of a mile further and then we'll turn back so it'll be just over 2 miles." My manure meter is sounding off with bells and whistles and I just say, "OK, sounds good", knowing fo' sho' she ain't takin' me just an extra tenth of a mile. We reach our turnaround point and being heading back. I am feeling a little more fatigue at this point and am glaring with my best evil eye at all of the cottonwood fluff that we are weaving and bobbing through as we run. Ahead, just above the shrub line, I can see the outline of the roof of the little building that sits in the parking lot where we started. It's probably about 200 yards away. Jen was scheming again...
There was a small sign coming up on the left of the trail. Jen says, "Do you see that sign coming up on the left?" I am suddenly transported back to a time when Coach Doll ran track practice and we ran stairs and trains and the dreaded "bridge and back". "Oh God. You're going to tell me to sprint." "Whatever that looks like for you," she says with a chuckle. Something about "emptying your tank" and "leaving something for the end so you don't toss your cookies", blah, blah... lies, lies, all lies. So cute. I swear I used to do this regularly - just half my life ago at a time when I thought I was invincible and could down a Snickers and a Coke before a 5 mile run, no worries. Knowing full well my version of a "sprint" was little more than my grandpa run, Jen at least gave me a little time to mentally psyche myself up for the 100 yard dash I was about to attempt. The sign came up and off we went. Jen dusted me, naturally, but I finished strong (in my feeble, middle-aged mind...). When I caught my breath, I asked Jen, "OK, so how far did we REALLY go, 'cause I know we went way further than 2 tenths of a mile extra." She grins and says, "2.75 miles! See? And just think it's only another .75 miles further for the Warrior Dash!" This I know, and am happy she pushed me further than I would have done, at least that day, on my own. Silly Girl! Tricks are for kids! I was on to her the whole time ;) See you on the road...
So I meet her Thursday after work and we drive to one of the trailheads of a well known paved trail near where we live, and park. She is reassuring me this will be great, telling me it's just an easy flat trail, and filling me in on a really cool book she is going to lend me (more on this later, but it IS a really cool book). Before we begin, I tell her that I won't be able to talk while we run because I will die. I can plug into my IPod when I'm alone and pound through 5 to 6 songs, knowing I've made it about 2 miles and through about 22-24 minutes of running and go home, all the while mouthing the lyrics to everything from Enya to Jane's Addiction and feeling reasonably well oxygenated. Talking? Ummm..... no. Just won't happen. Jen tells me she'll talk enough for the both of us. THIS is why you pick someone cool like Jen to run with. She rocks.
We start and she let's me dictate the pace - grandpa boogie and all. She even tells me we can stop to walk if I want, and at this point I've reached a stage of my running where I think walking is a step backward, unless I'm on some God-awful hill. On a flat trail, I mentally kick the walking option right out the door. As we go along, surprisingly, I do chat with Jen, and I don't die. I have to take a few more breaths and definitely limit my chat to short responses, but the conversation (still more Jen than me simply because my cardiovascular fitness sucks, not because I didn't want to talk) is a wonderful distraction and the steps feel less laborious and more relaxed. She gives me a few pointers on form (long since forgotten from the last time I ran, back before ER made it's TV debut), which are also helpful in keeping me from expending more energy than I absolutely have to to stay upright, conscious and moving in the right direction. We also bond over the fact that we both slobber a little and spit regularly when we run. Spitting, wiping running snot on my shirt, and peeing in the woods are not above me in a outdoor exercise situation. I have walked 60 miles in three days, and given birth to 2 children. I'm pretty sure at this point any shred of humility is shot and I have at many points been considered a human napkin. S'all good in my world, spit and everything.
Next, our coy little Jen tries to slide one past me. I come from a long line of loudmouthed, opinionated, fiercely loyal, unconditionally loving people who, for lack of a better description, can sling it, and this brings to mind one of my favorite Big John-isms (Big John is my Dad - he is Big, with a capital B, and his name is John. This nickname is not a stretch). For the family viewing audience, I will keep it rated G - as Big John would say, "You can't BS a BS-er." True dat, Big Daddy (yes, I do really call him that and am proud of it).
So sweet Jen says, "When we get to a mile I'm just going to have you go about a tenth of a mile further and then we'll turn back so it'll be just over 2 miles." My manure meter is sounding off with bells and whistles and I just say, "OK, sounds good", knowing fo' sho' she ain't takin' me just an extra tenth of a mile. We reach our turnaround point and being heading back. I am feeling a little more fatigue at this point and am glaring with my best evil eye at all of the cottonwood fluff that we are weaving and bobbing through as we run. Ahead, just above the shrub line, I can see the outline of the roof of the little building that sits in the parking lot where we started. It's probably about 200 yards away. Jen was scheming again...
There was a small sign coming up on the left of the trail. Jen says, "Do you see that sign coming up on the left?" I am suddenly transported back to a time when Coach Doll ran track practice and we ran stairs and trains and the dreaded "bridge and back". "Oh God. You're going to tell me to sprint." "Whatever that looks like for you," she says with a chuckle. Something about "emptying your tank" and "leaving something for the end so you don't toss your cookies", blah, blah... lies, lies, all lies. So cute. I swear I used to do this regularly - just half my life ago at a time when I thought I was invincible and could down a Snickers and a Coke before a 5 mile run, no worries. Knowing full well my version of a "sprint" was little more than my grandpa run, Jen at least gave me a little time to mentally psyche myself up for the 100 yard dash I was about to attempt. The sign came up and off we went. Jen dusted me, naturally, but I finished strong (in my feeble, middle-aged mind...). When I caught my breath, I asked Jen, "OK, so how far did we REALLY go, 'cause I know we went way further than 2 tenths of a mile extra." She grins and says, "2.75 miles! See? And just think it's only another .75 miles further for the Warrior Dash!" This I know, and am happy she pushed me further than I would have done, at least that day, on my own. Silly Girl! Tricks are for kids! I was on to her the whole time ;) See you on the road...
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