I hate Winter. I like Thanksgiving and Christmas, but that's about where my tolerance ends. If winter only lasted for a month, I'd be OK with it, but instead it drags on for an additional two months. And they are arguably the worst months of the year.
For a long time, I was opposed to Autumn as well, just on principle. I would get irritated when people said things like, "Hooray, Fall is here!" or "Yum, pumpkin spice lattes!" or "I'm so excited about cardigan weather!" I wanted to grab them by the collar and yell, You fools! Fall is bullshit! Winter is on its way! Also, you probably don't even like the taste of pumpkin. It's actually nutmeg, cinnamon, and ginger that you're excited about.
Seriously, though, people need to calm down about pumpkin. It's a nearly inedible gourd, guys.
Anyway, over time I have loosened up about Fall. I can enjoy the changing leaves and crisp air without immediately being filled with despair. I still hate Winter, though. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I have seasonal depression, but there is something about the short days and the awful weather that make me start to think that life will never be good again. What's even worse about my hatred of Winter is that I live in the South, where the Winters are about as mild as you can get and still be able to formally call them "Winter." Imagine what would happen to me if I lived in Canada.
Here, let me illustrate for you the difference between Winter and Spring. The other day, I was out driving. It was 75 degrees, the sun was high and bright, I was barefoot and I had the radio turned up loud. Suddenly, I felt a tightness in my chest. Oh no, I thought, I must be anxious about something. What did I forget? Am I missing an important appointment? And then I realized that the feeling of fullness and expansion in my heart was not anxiety, but rather something that people often refer to as "happiness." Winter made me forget about it, but Spring is here to remind me at last.
Showing posts with label good times. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good times. Show all posts
Friday, March 23, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
When You Hear the Call, You've Got to Get it Underway
I was in marching band in college, and we used to play a lot of older songs from the 70s and 80s at the football and basketball games. We used to play this song, and I really enjoyed marching band, and that is basically the only explanation I can come up with for why I nearly cried today when it came on the radio.
Don't worry, it was a happy almost-cry. Maybe someday, when I finally have my nervous breakdown, we'll look back and recognize this as the first sign that I was losing it.
Don't worry, it was a happy almost-cry. Maybe someday, when I finally have my nervous breakdown, we'll look back and recognize this as the first sign that I was losing it.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Beach Round 2: Wherein Planning Continues Not to Be Our Strong Suit
I haven't posted this week, primarily because my days have been pretty boring. They go more or less like this: Woke up. Worked all day in pajamas. Ran and/or read awhile. Put on grown-up clothes. Ate dinner with Lee. Watched 2 old episodes of Hoarders on Netflix. Went to bed. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying myself. It just doesn't make for interesting reading. It occurs to me, however, that I didn't tell you about our big beach adventure last weekend, so I'll tell you now.
Before I begin, you may want to acquaint yourself with the story of our last big beach adventure, since this one was similar in some ways. Before I came to visit, Lee mentioned that he'd like to take a day trip out to Galveston (an island about an hour away) and hang out on the beach while I was here. Given our past experience with planning and executing trips to the beach, I was a little apprehensive. I pointed out that historically we have not been great planners or early risers, which could have a negative effect on our beach time. He assured me he would take care of it, and that everything would work out.
Friday Lee's uncle asked if we'd like to have dinner at his house Sunday night at 6. He said sure. It would cut into our day at the beach, but we'd just have to be a little more diligent about keeping track of time. No problem.
Sunday morning we woke up at the early hour of 10:30. We got up and started getting dressed in our bathing suits. I packed a bag with the things we would need. I asked Lee if he had any sunscreen. He did not. Alright then. We'd just have to stop at Target on the way to Galveston.
"Do you have any beach towels?" I asked.
"Yes, this one here."
"You mean the one I just showered with?"
"Yes."
"It's damp."
"It will be fine."
"Ok, but what are you going to lie on?"
"This towel here."
"That 3-foot long bath towel?"
"Yes."
"You're over 6 feet tall."
"..."
"Never mind, we have to go to Target anyway, we'll buy beach towels there too."
At around 11:30, we set on our way to Target. Suddenly, Lee remembered he needed to stop at the computer store to buy memory for his coworker's computer. No problem, the computer store is right next to Target. We ran our respective errands, and were back on the road at about 12:15, towels and memory in hand. Lee was glancing anxiously at the memory he'd just bought.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm worried about leaving this memory in the car all day."
"... Ok, you can stop by the office."
"I didn't say anything about that."
"I know. I'm just saying, it will make you feel better to take it to the office, so if you want to I'm telling you that I don't mind."
Thirty minutes later, we were back on the road again. The hour-long drive out to Galveston went smoothly and soon we were on the island, driving past charming old homes side-by-side and buildings that had been nearly demolished by hurricanes. We went through several lights until Lee muttered, "I think I was supposed to turn there..." We kept driving as I pulled out my phone and started trying to figure out where we were.
"The map says this road is going to dead-end soon, and then there will be a smaller road off to the right, which will also eventually dead end. You might want to turn around?" I look up and the road is in fact dead-ending, with a police car at the end of it, facing us. Most of the cars in front of us are turning right onto the smaller road. Lee stops next to the cop car.
"Excuse me, is there public beach access down this way?" The cop looks stone-cold serious. "Yes." he says precisely.
Lee pauses for a second, waiting, and then turns right when the cop doesn't say anything else. Once he's in the rear-view, we both burst out laughing.
Although the road was basically one lane and looked kind of run-down, it did in fact end in a public beach access. Even better, it was gloriously uncrowded. (We later learned from Lee's uncle that we were on what is considered the less desirable end of the island, whatever that means. As far as I'm concerned, the most desirable beaches are the ones where you can spit without hitting someone.) We got in, parked, and set up on the beach between a Latino family listening to Spanish radio, and three college girls drinking Bud light. (Now that I think about it, I guess I know exactly what "less desirable" means to some people.)
We spent about 25 minutes getting sunscreen-ed up. At this point, it was about 2 pm. I lay back to start the sun-roasting process while Lee scampered out to the water. The sun was high and bright. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky for it to sneak behind, not like the treacherous North Carolina sun had done to me on the beach 2 years ago. The water was calm and warm and quietly lapping at the fine, soft sand. Life was good.
Whenever the sun started to make me feel a bit too much like a rotisserie chicken, I rolled over onto my other side. Back to front. Front to back. After a few rotations, Lee returned from the water and laid down to dry. After a few more rotations, he asked me to check the time. 3:15. "We'll have to leave soon. We need to get back and cleaned up for dinner." Fifteen minutes later, he declared it time to leave. My glorious time in the sun (about 2 hours, to be exact) was over. We shook out our brand new towels and headed to the car.
As the beach receded behind us, I relaxed in my sun-warmed seat and gazed happily out the window. "Remember," Lee said, "if my uncle asks, we have to tell him we got up early and spent the whole day out here. I don't want him to know we drove all the way out just to spend 2 hours on the beach."
We're clearly not qualified to be responsible adults, but at least we know how to have a good time.
Before I begin, you may want to acquaint yourself with the story of our last big beach adventure, since this one was similar in some ways. Before I came to visit, Lee mentioned that he'd like to take a day trip out to Galveston (an island about an hour away) and hang out on the beach while I was here. Given our past experience with planning and executing trips to the beach, I was a little apprehensive. I pointed out that historically we have not been great planners or early risers, which could have a negative effect on our beach time. He assured me he would take care of it, and that everything would work out.
Friday Lee's uncle asked if we'd like to have dinner at his house Sunday night at 6. He said sure. It would cut into our day at the beach, but we'd just have to be a little more diligent about keeping track of time. No problem.
Sunday morning we woke up at the early hour of 10:30. We got up and started getting dressed in our bathing suits. I packed a bag with the things we would need. I asked Lee if he had any sunscreen. He did not. Alright then. We'd just have to stop at Target on the way to Galveston.
"Do you have any beach towels?" I asked.
"Yes, this one here."
"You mean the one I just showered with?"
"Yes."
"It's damp."
"It will be fine."
"Ok, but what are you going to lie on?"
"This towel here."
"That 3-foot long bath towel?"
"Yes."
"You're over 6 feet tall."
"..."
"Never mind, we have to go to Target anyway, we'll buy beach towels there too."
At around 11:30, we set on our way to Target. Suddenly, Lee remembered he needed to stop at the computer store to buy memory for his coworker's computer. No problem, the computer store is right next to Target. We ran our respective errands, and were back on the road at about 12:15, towels and memory in hand. Lee was glancing anxiously at the memory he'd just bought.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm worried about leaving this memory in the car all day."
"... Ok, you can stop by the office."
"I didn't say anything about that."
"I know. I'm just saying, it will make you feel better to take it to the office, so if you want to I'm telling you that I don't mind."
Thirty minutes later, we were back on the road again. The hour-long drive out to Galveston went smoothly and soon we were on the island, driving past charming old homes side-by-side and buildings that had been nearly demolished by hurricanes. We went through several lights until Lee muttered, "I think I was supposed to turn there..." We kept driving as I pulled out my phone and started trying to figure out where we were.
"The map says this road is going to dead-end soon, and then there will be a smaller road off to the right, which will also eventually dead end. You might want to turn around?" I look up and the road is in fact dead-ending, with a police car at the end of it, facing us. Most of the cars in front of us are turning right onto the smaller road. Lee stops next to the cop car.
"Excuse me, is there public beach access down this way?" The cop looks stone-cold serious. "Yes." he says precisely.
Lee pauses for a second, waiting, and then turns right when the cop doesn't say anything else. Once he's in the rear-view, we both burst out laughing.
Although the road was basically one lane and looked kind of run-down, it did in fact end in a public beach access. Even better, it was gloriously uncrowded. (We later learned from Lee's uncle that we were on what is considered the less desirable end of the island, whatever that means. As far as I'm concerned, the most desirable beaches are the ones where you can spit without hitting someone.) We got in, parked, and set up on the beach between a Latino family listening to Spanish radio, and three college girls drinking Bud light. (Now that I think about it, I guess I know exactly what "less desirable" means to some people.)
We spent about 25 minutes getting sunscreen-ed up. At this point, it was about 2 pm. I lay back to start the sun-roasting process while Lee scampered out to the water. The sun was high and bright. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky for it to sneak behind, not like the treacherous North Carolina sun had done to me on the beach 2 years ago. The water was calm and warm and quietly lapping at the fine, soft sand. Life was good.
Whenever the sun started to make me feel a bit too much like a rotisserie chicken, I rolled over onto my other side. Back to front. Front to back. After a few rotations, Lee returned from the water and laid down to dry. After a few more rotations, he asked me to check the time. 3:15. "We'll have to leave soon. We need to get back and cleaned up for dinner." Fifteen minutes later, he declared it time to leave. My glorious time in the sun (about 2 hours, to be exact) was over. We shook out our brand new towels and headed to the car.
As the beach receded behind us, I relaxed in my sun-warmed seat and gazed happily out the window. "Remember," Lee said, "if my uncle asks, we have to tell him we got up early and spent the whole day out here. I don't want him to know we drove all the way out just to spend 2 hours on the beach."
We're clearly not qualified to be responsible adults, but at least we know how to have a good time.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
I'm Just Going to Dork Out Here for a Moment
Expelliarmus, and whatnot! I've just returned from seeing HP7 Part 2! (Or, the final Harry Potter film, for those of you who aren't into abbreviations.)
Not only did I just experience cinematic history, but I got to do so at the Alamo Drafthouse! Or, at least, the one in Houston. I guess the original is in Austin. If you are unfamiliar with the Alamo Drafthouse, as I was until recently, let me tell you a few things about why it is wonderful. For one, they are very serious about not allowing talking and texting and obnoxiousness during the movie. This is nice, because it heightens your movie enjoyment, and protects you from the kind of people who think they are adding to your movie-going experience by yelling at the screen.
For two, they recently developed this pre-show ad to remind people of their serious silence policy (perhaps you've seen it floating around the internet?):
If you're somehow still not in love with this place, let me tell you this: they will bring you food and alcohol. To your seat. During the movie. It's true! I myself had green chile cheese french fries and 2 pints of cider*, all while enjoying the magic of Harry Potter. I swear, it's almost enough to make you want to move to Texas.
Almost.
Anyway, Harry Potter was everything I hoped it would be, with the exception that I wish a little more had been made of the showdown between Mrs. Weasley and Bellatrix. I was most interested to see if they would include the nineteen-years-later epilogue, so I was really excited to find that they did. It was a little cheesy, particularly because some of the actors 'aged up' a little better than others, but it was still totally worth it. All in all, I'd say it was lovely and definitely worth seeing.
Although really, you were going to see / have seen it anyway, even if everyone had said it was awful, right? I mean, it's practically our civic duty, really.
In conclusion, let's just take a moment to celebrate Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, the unsung (and unsettlingly sexy) heroes of the Harry Potter series.
Not only did I just experience cinematic history, but I got to do so at the Alamo Drafthouse! Or, at least, the one in Houston. I guess the original is in Austin. If you are unfamiliar with the Alamo Drafthouse, as I was until recently, let me tell you a few things about why it is wonderful. For one, they are very serious about not allowing talking and texting and obnoxiousness during the movie. This is nice, because it heightens your movie enjoyment, and protects you from the kind of people who think they are adding to your movie-going experience by yelling at the screen.
For two, they recently developed this pre-show ad to remind people of their serious silence policy (perhaps you've seen it floating around the internet?):
If you're somehow still not in love with this place, let me tell you this: they will bring you food and alcohol. To your seat. During the movie. It's true! I myself had green chile cheese french fries and 2 pints of cider*, all while enjoying the magic of Harry Potter. I swear, it's almost enough to make you want to move to Texas.
Almost.
Anyway, Harry Potter was everything I hoped it would be, with the exception that I wish a little more had been made of the showdown between Mrs. Weasley and Bellatrix. I was most interested to see if they would include the nineteen-years-later epilogue, so I was really excited to find that they did. It was a little cheesy, particularly because some of the actors 'aged up' a little better than others, but it was still totally worth it. All in all, I'd say it was lovely and definitely worth seeing.
Although really, you were going to see / have seen it anyway, even if everyone had said it was awful, right? I mean, it's practically our civic duty, really.
In conclusion, let's just take a moment to celebrate Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, the unsung (and unsettlingly sexy) heroes of the Harry Potter series.
Aaaaawwww yeah.
*I feel obligated to let you know that for some reason they forgot to bring Lee his food, so we had to flag the waiter down during the show (very risky given the no talking policy!) to remind him. I think we were probably the exception though because it seemed like everyone else was getting their food promptly, and once we let him know it took care of it post haste. Seriously, go to the Alamo Drafthouse! And take me with you!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Netflix and Milkshakes, What More Do We Need?
Since I've missed another day, I guess we might as well let go of the pretense that I'm going to post every day this month. So, uh... welcome to NaBloPoMo 2.0, wherein I post most days in July!
I don't really have an excuse for not posting, but I will tell you that last night I made hamburgers for the first time ever, so clearly that occupied a good deal of my time and concentration. They included ground beef, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and most importantly, shredded mozzerella cheese. They were effing delicious. Since we don't have easy access to a grill here at Lee's place, I had to cook them in pan on the stove, but I'd say they turned out pretty well anyway. I would have taken a picture to share with you, but I was too busy eating them and drinking beer.
Today I didn't accomplish much of note, but I did finally try to run again. I went 4 very slow miles on the treadmill, and I didn't die. My right hamstring is still bothering me, but I think I'll survive. Depending on how I feel, I might make another attempt at running 7 miles on Sunday. Cross your fingers for me!
Tonight I'm trying to see how many different un-Lee things I can talk Lee into watching on Netflix. Thus far I've succeeded in getting him to watch (and more or less enjoy) comedy specials by Craig Ferguson and Janeane Garafalo, and the first episode of the 1980s Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy miniseries. (I should confess that I failed to sell him on the merits of Toddlers & Tiaras*.) (SO FAR.) To top it all off, I think we're going to go get milkshakes soon!
That's really all I have to share with you so far, but there are some fun things coming up this weekend, so I should have stories for you later.
*For now, I leave you with this:
I don't really have an excuse for not posting, but I will tell you that last night I made hamburgers for the first time ever, so clearly that occupied a good deal of my time and concentration. They included ground beef, garlic powder, salt, pepper, and most importantly, shredded mozzerella cheese. They were effing delicious. Since we don't have easy access to a grill here at Lee's place, I had to cook them in pan on the stove, but I'd say they turned out pretty well anyway. I would have taken a picture to share with you, but I was too busy eating them and drinking beer.
Today I didn't accomplish much of note, but I did finally try to run again. I went 4 very slow miles on the treadmill, and I didn't die. My right hamstring is still bothering me, but I think I'll survive. Depending on how I feel, I might make another attempt at running 7 miles on Sunday. Cross your fingers for me!
Tonight I'm trying to see how many different un-Lee things I can talk Lee into watching on Netflix. Thus far I've succeeded in getting him to watch (and more or less enjoy) comedy specials by Craig Ferguson and Janeane Garafalo, and the first episode of the 1980s Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy miniseries. (I should confess that I failed to sell him on the merits of Toddlers & Tiaras*.) (SO FAR.) To top it all off, I think we're going to go get milkshakes soon!
That's really all I have to share with you so far, but there are some fun things coming up this weekend, so I should have stories for you later.
*For now, I leave you with this:
Sunday, July 10, 2011
It's More Difficult Than You'd Imagine to Be This Lazy
Today I chose to continue my winning streak by devoting yet another day to sitting around doing nothing. Last night after I finished blogging we busted out the vodka and Coke (for Lee) and cranberry juice (for me (btw, DO NOT buy Splenda-sweetened diet cranberry juice, trust me)), and I forced Lee to sit down and watch 500 Days of Summer with me. I'm not normally a huge fan of romantic comedies, but I really enjoyed this one, so it went on my list of Things to Share with Lee Next Time We're Together. I'm pretty sure we both have these lists, and I think they're probably mostly populated with things in which the other person is not typically interested. For Lee, it's things like romantic movies; for me, it's movies about terrorism. Nevertheless, I think one of the best parts of being in a relationship (romantic or otherwise) is being exposed to things you wouldn't normally seek out, and being able to gain an appreciation for them by seeing them through someone else's eyes. There. That's my overly sappy way of justifying my tendency to force my boyfriend to watch things he doesn't care about.
What was my point, anyway? Oh right: vodka and movies. After 500 Days of Summer, we watched a few more things on Netflix, so we didn't get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. Between the alcohol and staying up so late, I had no choice but to sleep away half the day. After that, I sat around watching old episodes of Hoarders on Netflix while Lee surfed the internet. Finally, around 4:30, we got it together well enough to do something really productive: go to the movies!
We saw Super 8, and it was sooo good. In addition to a pretty entertaining storyline, it had such a gorgeous aesthetic and well-developed point of view that it almost felt like an instant classic. I would definitely recommend it, particularly to fans of Fringe, E.T., and movies that tell adult stories from the perspectives of children.
After the movie, I attempted to run 7 miles in Houston in July, but I think that's a story I'll save for tomorrow. Spoiler alert: I didn't make it. And to celebrate, I'm going eat some spaghetti. It's basically reverse carb-loading, but I don't recommend it. It's only for very advanced runners like myself, trust me.
What was my point, anyway? Oh right: vodka and movies. After 500 Days of Summer, we watched a few more things on Netflix, so we didn't get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. Between the alcohol and staying up so late, I had no choice but to sleep away half the day. After that, I sat around watching old episodes of Hoarders on Netflix while Lee surfed the internet. Finally, around 4:30, we got it together well enough to do something really productive: go to the movies!
We saw Super 8, and it was sooo good. In addition to a pretty entertaining storyline, it had such a gorgeous aesthetic and well-developed point of view that it almost felt like an instant classic. I would definitely recommend it, particularly to fans of Fringe, E.T., and movies that tell adult stories from the perspectives of children.
After the movie, I attempted to run 7 miles in Houston in July, but I think that's a story I'll save for tomorrow. Spoiler alert: I didn't make it. And to celebrate, I'm going eat some spaghetti. It's basically reverse carb-loading, but I don't recommend it. It's only for very advanced runners like myself, trust me.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Oooh, Shiny
Alright kids, it's late, so I'll make this quick. Today I spent a nice lazy Saturday with Lee, which was easy to take for granted when we lived in the same state, but which feels like a special treat now that we live so far apart. He introduced me to his usual solo Saturday routine, which basically consists of checking out the local coin shops and then eating junk food for lunch. (Maybe next weekend I can show him my usual Saturday - sleeping in, lunch at Panera, surfing the internet, running, and reading.)
Lee collects coins, hence the frequent visits to coin shops. I'm pretty sure I'd be terrible at collecting coins, because my primary basis for evaluating currency is as follows: Is it pretty? If so, I would like it, please. While Lee looked patiently (also not one of my strengths) through boxes of individually packaged coins, I flipped through albums of paper money that was all nearly worthless (except, you know, as currency worth its face value). Although I think that our monochromatic U.S. currency looks much more official than currency from other countries (because I guess in my mind, legitimate government stuff = pretty boring), most other countries are kicking our asses in terms of the artistic merit of their bills. I was particularly impressed with the bills I saw from Zambia:
I really like the fact that they have smiling people on their money. Think how much happier you'd be if your dollar bills smiled at you instead of scowling at you, probably thinking about the old days when white men were the winners and everybody else had to shut up and like it.
I was also a fan of the francs from 1940s France, which look like little works of Renaissance art you get to carry around in your pocket.
Perdonez-moi, would you like to visit the Louvre this afternoon? No thanks, I thought I'd just sit around admiring whatever I can find in my wallet.
While I can't say I fully comprehend the appeal of paying $6 for a coin whose value is quite literally only 50 cents (not that I know anyone who did that today, ahem), I guess I can understand the desire to collect pretty, shiny things, whatever they may be. Who knows? Maybe I'll start up a collection of my own: low-denomination bills from countries with poor exchange rates and an artistic eye.
Lee collects coins, hence the frequent visits to coin shops. I'm pretty sure I'd be terrible at collecting coins, because my primary basis for evaluating currency is as follows: Is it pretty? If so, I would like it, please. While Lee looked patiently (also not one of my strengths) through boxes of individually packaged coins, I flipped through albums of paper money that was all nearly worthless (except, you know, as currency worth its face value). Although I think that our monochromatic U.S. currency looks much more official than currency from other countries (because I guess in my mind, legitimate government stuff = pretty boring), most other countries are kicking our asses in terms of the artistic merit of their bills. I was particularly impressed with the bills I saw from Zambia:
I really like the fact that they have smiling people on their money. Think how much happier you'd be if your dollar bills smiled at you instead of scowling at you, probably thinking about the old days when white men were the winners and everybody else had to shut up and like it.I was also a fan of the francs from 1940s France, which look like little works of Renaissance art you get to carry around in your pocket.
Perdonez-moi, would you like to visit the Louvre this afternoon? No thanks, I thought I'd just sit around admiring whatever I can find in my wallet. While I can't say I fully comprehend the appeal of paying $6 for a coin whose value is quite literally only 50 cents (not that I know anyone who did that today, ahem), I guess I can understand the desire to collect pretty, shiny things, whatever they may be. Who knows? Maybe I'll start up a collection of my own: low-denomination bills from countries with poor exchange rates and an artistic eye.
Friday, July 8, 2011
San Antonio is Nice, Even on 4 Hours of Sleep
One thing I've noticed during the time I've spent in Texas is that there are more state flags displayed here than in any other state I've ever visited. Is it because the flag is so iconic? Is it because Texans want to make sure that visitors remember to associate all of their excellent experiences with Texas? Or is it because Texans are afraid they'll forget what state they live in? (Just kidding, Texans! Keep reading, please!)
I had a lot of time to reflect on these things during our adventure yesterday, which featured (in addition to waking up at 4:30 am) roughly nine hours of riding in the car. I may have been flying by at 70 miles an hour for most of it, but I did get to see a nice swath of Texas yesterday. At least, the parts by the highway, anyhow.
First we woke up and got coffee and biscuits at Whataburger, which is a fast food chain here in Texas that Lee somehow pronounces in a way that makes it sound like "Waterburger!" I don't know, I can't figure it out. The coffee was a condition of my cooperation that morning. The biscuits were just a bonus. Then we drove for almost 4 hours to a small town where Lee had some lawyering to do. Going in the courthouse kind of stresses me out because there's a security guard and a metal detector, and a lot of people who either look out of place and depressed, or who are wearing suits and talking lawyer-shop. I know all of this from the last time I went with Lee on one of these trips, so this time I elected to stay in the car and read. It was still early in the morning and I had a massive 700-page book with me (The Dark Tower, if anyone wants to discuss it with me (PLEASE DISCUSS IT WITH ME)), so it was pretty enjoyable except for the fact that the sun, and the temperature, were quickly rising. By the time Lee came back to the car I was sweaty and ready to hit the road.
Step two was a two-hour drive to San Antonio, during which we passed through Austin. Hi, Austin! Bye, Austin! Perhaps I'll get to visit you someday. Lee had more lawyer business to attend to, so this time I sat on a bench in the hallway and read. Good times. After that, we were finally done with all Lee's responsibilities and free to wander around the city a little. We had lunch at an awesome German deli called Schilo's, which I would definitely recommend. I had a turkey, pastrami, and salami sub, and some delicious hot German potato salad. Lee had chicken and dumplings, I think. I spent a good part of the afternoon testing my iphone's camera so I could have taken a picture of the food for you, but I was too busy eating it.
After that we walked up and down the River Walk, which was gorgeous. It's below street-level and beautifully landscaped with fountains and flowers, and even if it weren't it would have been worth it for how much cooler it was than the sidewalk. Unfortunately, we didn't get to dawdle for too long because we had to get the rental car back by 6, but I guess it was for the best because I wore some slightly uncomfortable flip flops and I was ready to sit down anyway. Regarding San Antonio, I have to say I was a pretty big fan of what little I saw of it. It has a lot of charm and personality that I feel like some other cities (ahem, Houston) are lacking a bit. If you ever decide to visit, take me with you, because I'd like to spend more than 3 hours there next time.
The final leg of our trip was the 4 hour ride back to Houston, which was a little difficult considering how tired we both were. There was one exciting point where I nodded off for a few minutes, and then suddenly woke up. "Are you awake?" I asked Lee, to which he horrifyingly replied, "Mostly". I asked him to expand upon that, and he told me he had fallen asleep at the wheel for a minute or two. After that, I turned on the radio and made a point of talking a lot.
Luckily, we got back safely and everybody took refreshing naps and lived to fight another day. Next time, I'll describe the 2 hours I once spent in a Baltimore airport.
I had a lot of time to reflect on these things during our adventure yesterday, which featured (in addition to waking up at 4:30 am) roughly nine hours of riding in the car. I may have been flying by at 70 miles an hour for most of it, but I did get to see a nice swath of Texas yesterday. At least, the parts by the highway, anyhow.
First we woke up and got coffee and biscuits at Whataburger, which is a fast food chain here in Texas that Lee somehow pronounces in a way that makes it sound like "Waterburger!" I don't know, I can't figure it out. The coffee was a condition of my cooperation that morning. The biscuits were just a bonus. Then we drove for almost 4 hours to a small town where Lee had some lawyering to do. Going in the courthouse kind of stresses me out because there's a security guard and a metal detector, and a lot of people who either look out of place and depressed, or who are wearing suits and talking lawyer-shop. I know all of this from the last time I went with Lee on one of these trips, so this time I elected to stay in the car and read. It was still early in the morning and I had a massive 700-page book with me (The Dark Tower, if anyone wants to discuss it with me (PLEASE DISCUSS IT WITH ME)), so it was pretty enjoyable except for the fact that the sun, and the temperature, were quickly rising. By the time Lee came back to the car I was sweaty and ready to hit the road.
Step two was a two-hour drive to San Antonio, during which we passed through Austin. Hi, Austin! Bye, Austin! Perhaps I'll get to visit you someday. Lee had more lawyer business to attend to, so this time I sat on a bench in the hallway and read. Good times. After that, we were finally done with all Lee's responsibilities and free to wander around the city a little. We had lunch at an awesome German deli called Schilo's, which I would definitely recommend. I had a turkey, pastrami, and salami sub, and some delicious hot German potato salad. Lee had chicken and dumplings, I think. I spent a good part of the afternoon testing my iphone's camera so I could have taken a picture of the food for you, but I was too busy eating it.
After that we walked up and down the River Walk, which was gorgeous. It's below street-level and beautifully landscaped with fountains and flowers, and even if it weren't it would have been worth it for how much cooler it was than the sidewalk. Unfortunately, we didn't get to dawdle for too long because we had to get the rental car back by 6, but I guess it was for the best because I wore some slightly uncomfortable flip flops and I was ready to sit down anyway. Regarding San Antonio, I have to say I was a pretty big fan of what little I saw of it. It has a lot of charm and personality that I feel like some other cities (ahem, Houston) are lacking a bit. If you ever decide to visit, take me with you, because I'd like to spend more than 3 hours there next time.
The final leg of our trip was the 4 hour ride back to Houston, which was a little difficult considering how tired we both were. There was one exciting point where I nodded off for a few minutes, and then suddenly woke up. "Are you awake?" I asked Lee, to which he horrifyingly replied, "Mostly". I asked him to expand upon that, and he told me he had fallen asleep at the wheel for a minute or two. After that, I turned on the radio and made a point of talking a lot.
Luckily, we got back safely and everybody took refreshing naps and lived to fight another day. Next time, I'll describe the 2 hours I once spent in a Baltimore airport.
Fourth on the Floor
Today I had a hectic day riding around Texas with Lee on some work errands. It was actually pretty enjoyable if you don't count the part where we had to get up at 4:30 in the morning. 4:30 in the morning is not generally a time of day I enjoy, as you might imagine, but I'm a trooper so I got through it ok. All that is to say, even though it's late I haven't forgotten about you, and if you're good boys and girls I might even have some pictures of Texas to show you later.
But that's not what we're here to talk about! Instead I want to tell you about my Fourth of July. My main goal for this year's Fourth was to make it as much fun as last year's, which featured a 4 mile race in the morning and a picnic and fireworks in the evening. The first half of that equation was definitely a success. H, the friend I ran with last year, decided not to run it with me this year, so I was a little worried beforehand that I wouldn't have anyone to stand around and talk to before and after the race. Getting up and dressed at 6:45 that morning was kind of lonely, but once I got to the actual race I ran into a girl from work, and some other people I knew from the training program I was doing before I hurt my foot. I really shouldn't have been surprised - it's not like I live in a huge city, so of course I would know at least some of the other runners at a popular local race. But like I always say, if you can't assume the worst, you're not trying hard enough.
The actual running part of the race was fun, although I forgot that the last mile is mostly uphill. The weather was really nice, in the 70s. Since I usually sleep as late as possible and do my running in the evenings, I forget how nice and cool it is in the mornings. Every time I run an early morning race I think I should start running first thing in the morning, but then later I remember how much that sucks, so I don't. I ran a little faster this year, cutting 2 minutes off my total time. My only goal for the race was "run it faster than last time", so I was pleased. That being said, I did the math and I'm pretty sure I still would have had to cut 16 minutes off my time in order to place third in my age group. I totally could have taken the 60-65 age group, though. If I keep running and getting faster and the playing field keeps leveling as I age, I figure I should hit a sweet spot when I'm about 50. So check in 25-ish years from now, when I'll be a real contender. Even though I didn't technically win anything, all the runners got sweet pint glasses with the Four on the Fourth logo on them. (I took a picture of mine, but then my laptop stopped cooperating, and I didn't bring my camera cord with me to Lee's.)
After the race I desperately wanted a nap, but instead I had to run a bunch of errands. Last year's picnic-and-fireworks deal was mostly orchestrated by my friend H, who did all the planning and cooking and driving and et cetera. This year, I was the one who really wanted to go, so I felt like it was my responsibility to make sure we had everything we needed. My friend E and I had figured out ahead of time what we were going to make, and split up the duties. I was to make a pasta salad and buy more juice-box wine, and E was going to get us some delicious North Carolina barbecue and make cookies. So, instead of a nap I went grocery shopping and made up a pasta salad recipe on the fly.
(Here is where I would insert the beautiful pictures I took of the food, if it were possible for me to download them. Sad trombone.)
The pasta salad turned out to be pretty delicious, if I do say so myself, and I should really post the recipe on here sometime. After my success in the kitchen, though, things started to kind of go downhill. First, one of my friends changed her mind and said she wasn't going to be able to come along to the fireworks after all. Oh, and also that she couldn't give me the ride to the airport she had promised me. So I drove, discouraged but not defeated, to pick up my friend E from her place. Unfortunately, when I got there she told me she hadn't put the cookies in the oven yet, so we'd have to wait at least 20 minutes, but probably more because her boyfriend was going to join us and he was driving from a neighboring city. While I sat waiting, worrying about how I was going to get to the airport the next day, and how we were going to find parking at the fireworks, I heard the first thunderclap. Ten minutes later, there was a full-on downpour happening outside.
I was pretty bummed to see my dreams of a lovely explosive-lit outdoor meal slipping away, but I guess at that point I already begun to see the writing on the wall. Besides, trying to recreate the magic of last year's festivities had been a fool's game anyway. E's boyfriend arrived about the time I made my peace with the death of my fantasy Fourth, and at that point we came up with plan B: eat our picnic on the living room floor, drink a lot of wine, and play cards. It wasn't what I'd planned, but of course it turned out to be delightful.
Even though it rained and I didn't get to see anything blow up, the Fourth of July has been pretty good to me for 2 years running now. I've never thought of it as a top-10 event, but depending on how next year goes, it just might become my third-favorite holiday (after Christmas and Halloween, obviously).
But that's not what we're here to talk about! Instead I want to tell you about my Fourth of July. My main goal for this year's Fourth was to make it as much fun as last year's, which featured a 4 mile race in the morning and a picnic and fireworks in the evening. The first half of that equation was definitely a success. H, the friend I ran with last year, decided not to run it with me this year, so I was a little worried beforehand that I wouldn't have anyone to stand around and talk to before and after the race. Getting up and dressed at 6:45 that morning was kind of lonely, but once I got to the actual race I ran into a girl from work, and some other people I knew from the training program I was doing before I hurt my foot. I really shouldn't have been surprised - it's not like I live in a huge city, so of course I would know at least some of the other runners at a popular local race. But like I always say, if you can't assume the worst, you're not trying hard enough.
The actual running part of the race was fun, although I forgot that the last mile is mostly uphill. The weather was really nice, in the 70s. Since I usually sleep as late as possible and do my running in the evenings, I forget how nice and cool it is in the mornings. Every time I run an early morning race I think I should start running first thing in the morning, but then later I remember how much that sucks, so I don't. I ran a little faster this year, cutting 2 minutes off my total time. My only goal for the race was "run it faster than last time", so I was pleased. That being said, I did the math and I'm pretty sure I still would have had to cut 16 minutes off my time in order to place third in my age group. I totally could have taken the 60-65 age group, though. If I keep running and getting faster and the playing field keeps leveling as I age, I figure I should hit a sweet spot when I'm about 50. So check in 25-ish years from now, when I'll be a real contender. Even though I didn't technically win anything, all the runners got sweet pint glasses with the Four on the Fourth logo on them. (I took a picture of mine, but then my laptop stopped cooperating, and I didn't bring my camera cord with me to Lee's.)
After the race I desperately wanted a nap, but instead I had to run a bunch of errands. Last year's picnic-and-fireworks deal was mostly orchestrated by my friend H, who did all the planning and cooking and driving and et cetera. This year, I was the one who really wanted to go, so I felt like it was my responsibility to make sure we had everything we needed. My friend E and I had figured out ahead of time what we were going to make, and split up the duties. I was to make a pasta salad and buy more juice-box wine, and E was going to get us some delicious North Carolina barbecue and make cookies. So, instead of a nap I went grocery shopping and made up a pasta salad recipe on the fly.
(Here is where I would insert the beautiful pictures I took of the food, if it were possible for me to download them. Sad trombone.)
The pasta salad turned out to be pretty delicious, if I do say so myself, and I should really post the recipe on here sometime. After my success in the kitchen, though, things started to kind of go downhill. First, one of my friends changed her mind and said she wasn't going to be able to come along to the fireworks after all. Oh, and also that she couldn't give me the ride to the airport she had promised me. So I drove, discouraged but not defeated, to pick up my friend E from her place. Unfortunately, when I got there she told me she hadn't put the cookies in the oven yet, so we'd have to wait at least 20 minutes, but probably more because her boyfriend was going to join us and he was driving from a neighboring city. While I sat waiting, worrying about how I was going to get to the airport the next day, and how we were going to find parking at the fireworks, I heard the first thunderclap. Ten minutes later, there was a full-on downpour happening outside.
I was pretty bummed to see my dreams of a lovely explosive-lit outdoor meal slipping away, but I guess at that point I already begun to see the writing on the wall. Besides, trying to recreate the magic of last year's festivities had been a fool's game anyway. E's boyfriend arrived about the time I made my peace with the death of my fantasy Fourth, and at that point we came up with plan B: eat our picnic on the living room floor, drink a lot of wine, and play cards. It wasn't what I'd planned, but of course it turned out to be delightful.
Even though it rained and I didn't get to see anything blow up, the Fourth of July has been pretty good to me for 2 years running now. I've never thought of it as a top-10 event, but depending on how next year goes, it just might become my third-favorite holiday (after Christmas and Halloween, obviously).
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I'm Not Gonna Lie, I Think I Already Have a Repetitive Motion Injury
About a month ago I was walking across campus to get myself something for lunch when the sky opened up and started dumping water on me. I had my little pocket umbrella with me, but by the time I got back to the office, my feet were sliding around in my sandals and my skirt was soaked through.
A few days later, my cell phone suddenly realized it had been exposed to a great deal of moisture, and started turning itself off and on, over and over. And over. This unexpected new feature made it so that I couldn't actually place any calls, but the worst part was the fact that it vibrated at length every time it turned on and off. So I took the battery out, which solved the problem of the irritating vibrating, but didn't make it any easier to, you know, actually use the thing.
My uncle was kind enough to let me borrow his old phone for a few weeks while I worked on securing a new one of my own, but it's weird using someone else's phone. There were phone numbers and photos and things on there that I had to just... work around. It was kind of like carrying someone else's old wallet and having to keep all of their old cards and receipts, mixed in with your precious possessions.
Anyway, I spent several weeks debating about what kind of phone I wanted next. How much was I willing to pay? Was I ready to make the jump to a smartphone? Could I afford a monthly data plan? I'm hugely indecisive so I spent a lot of time reading reviews and comparing phones, but finally I made a decision: I found a well-reviewed Android-based smartphone that was on sale for $50 (with a 2-year contract, of course). I walked authoritatively in the store, I told the sales guy which phone I wanted and asked if they had the same deal in the store that I had seen on the internet. He said yes, and took me to the display phone. Just as I was getting used to the feel of it in my hand and familiarizing myself with the menus, he says, "You know, the iphone 3GS is also on sale for $50."
Well, shit.
So, even though I did research for 2 and a half weeks in order to avoid this very scenario, I spent the next hour or two trying to decide between the two phones. It literally hadn't even occurred to me to buy an iphone, because I don't really think of myself as one of the Apple Faithful. As a result, I had to ask a million questions about it and spend lots of time starting at it. It was a trying time for everyone involved, I'm sure. At long last, I made decision, paid, and left feeling much older in years but much richer in phone. So here I am tonight, hanging out with my new phone:
Really, the worst part about the whole experience was having to sign that paper promising to act like I'm better than everyone else from now on.
You win this one, Apple. But my laptop is still an HP.
A few days later, my cell phone suddenly realized it had been exposed to a great deal of moisture, and started turning itself off and on, over and over. And over. This unexpected new feature made it so that I couldn't actually place any calls, but the worst part was the fact that it vibrated at length every time it turned on and off. So I took the battery out, which solved the problem of the irritating vibrating, but didn't make it any easier to, you know, actually use the thing.
My uncle was kind enough to let me borrow his old phone for a few weeks while I worked on securing a new one of my own, but it's weird using someone else's phone. There were phone numbers and photos and things on there that I had to just... work around. It was kind of like carrying someone else's old wallet and having to keep all of their old cards and receipts, mixed in with your precious possessions.
Anyway, I spent several weeks debating about what kind of phone I wanted next. How much was I willing to pay? Was I ready to make the jump to a smartphone? Could I afford a monthly data plan? I'm hugely indecisive so I spent a lot of time reading reviews and comparing phones, but finally I made a decision: I found a well-reviewed Android-based smartphone that was on sale for $50 (with a 2-year contract, of course). I walked authoritatively in the store, I told the sales guy which phone I wanted and asked if they had the same deal in the store that I had seen on the internet. He said yes, and took me to the display phone. Just as I was getting used to the feel of it in my hand and familiarizing myself with the menus, he says, "You know, the iphone 3GS is also on sale for $50."
Well, shit.
So, even though I did research for 2 and a half weeks in order to avoid this very scenario, I spent the next hour or two trying to decide between the two phones. It literally hadn't even occurred to me to buy an iphone, because I don't really think of myself as one of the Apple Faithful. As a result, I had to ask a million questions about it and spend lots of time starting at it. It was a trying time for everyone involved, I'm sure. At long last, I made decision, paid, and left feeling much older in years but much richer in phone. So here I am tonight, hanging out with my new phone:
Really, the worst part about the whole experience was having to sign that paper promising to act like I'm better than everyone else from now on.
You win this one, Apple. But my laptop is still an HP.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Things That Make Me Cry Vol. 58
You know how on live albums there's always the part where the band cuts out and you can hear the voices of hundreds of audience members lifted in chorus together? And the sound is infused with the sheer joy of being able to share a beloved song and a magical moment with so many other people? And you just know that they're thinking that FINALLY this is the pay-off for all the hours and days and months of enjoying this song in isolation and memorizing all the lyrics?
Well, I can't talk about it right now, because I have something in my eye.
Well, I can't talk about it right now, because I have something in my eye.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Consider This the Christmas Newsletter I'll Never Send
The problem with not posting on your blog for months on end is that once you want to post again, it's hard to decide what to do. Should you post excuses for your absence? Updates about what everyone's missed? Or just something unrelated but really interesting, in the hope that no one noticed you were gone in the first place? Well friends, as a consummate overachiever, I've decided to provide you with a combination of all three.
First up, excuses. So of course there was school work, and several trips out of town. Then there were the holidays, and more travel. I've also been a little depressed, which makes it harder for me to write. Plus, the longer I went without writing, the more I debated what to write. As you can see, I have PLENTY of excuses.
Secondly, updates. Since I last posted, I've run two races: a 10k (6 miles) in October and an 8k (5 miles) on Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving race resulted in the fastest per-mile pace I've ever had in a race, around 11:30. To celebrate, I spent the next 4 weeks not running, so now I'm trying to get back on track, slowly but surely.
I finished the Fall semester without having a nervous breakdown, which was my primary goal. I also accomplished my secondary goal, which was to get decent grades in all of my classes. In addition, I attended two professional conferences, met a bunch of people I admire, and didn't embarrass myself. (I wore a pencil skirt, and if that doesn't automatically make me competent and professional, then I've been lied to by women's magazines for years.)
I visited Lee in TX for a couple weeks, which was AWESOME. I ate at three different Mexican restaurants (one of them twice) in a span of 11 days, so I think it was a pretty successful trip. I'm just sad that I have to wait another 3 months before I can see him again. I spent Christmas with my family, which was nice because they're my family, but stressful because they're my family.
Both of my pet gerbils died, one in his sleep and one due to some kind of gerbil cancer. I cried over both of them, which was unexpected and traumatic. But now, my heart is beginning to heal and I'm considering getting a Betta fish (which is essentially a step down, to Remedial Pet Ownership).
I bought a new car, which means now I have to get rid of my beloved Miata, but ultimately I think it's for the best. Now I have a back seat and a larger trunk, the better to haul illicit cargo. Also, if I ever get my pet-owning shit together and get that dog I've always wanted, I'll have room in my car for him/her to go on adventures with me. It's all about the 10-year plan, people.
Most recently, I spent New Year's Eve with my pal MB. We had Ethiopian food and spent a few hours at a bar, and then came back to my place and played Pandemic, which is a board game she got for Christmas. Basically, all the players work together as employees of the Imaginary CDC to battle infectious diseases all over the globe. We beat the diseases twice in a row, so I imagine we'll both be getting calls from the Actual CDC in the next few days. I can't think of a better way to ring in the New Year.
Currently! I'm gearing up to head back to work at my research assistantship starting tomorrow, and back to classes starting a week from now. I'm also painting a bookcase and ignoring the work that I'm supposed to be doing to prepare for tomorrow. Finally, I'm thinking about how much I love everyone reading this right now.
Now that we're all back up to speed, I want to leave you with a video. This is a TED talk that's been linked on a few blogs I read. It's a woman with a PhD in Social Work talking about embracing vulnerability, so I kind of felt like she was speaking directly to me. I really enjoyed it, and I hope you do too.
First up, excuses. So of course there was school work, and several trips out of town. Then there were the holidays, and more travel. I've also been a little depressed, which makes it harder for me to write. Plus, the longer I went without writing, the more I debated what to write. As you can see, I have PLENTY of excuses.
Secondly, updates. Since I last posted, I've run two races: a 10k (6 miles) in October and an 8k (5 miles) on Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving race resulted in the fastest per-mile pace I've ever had in a race, around 11:30. To celebrate, I spent the next 4 weeks not running, so now I'm trying to get back on track, slowly but surely.
I finished the Fall semester without having a nervous breakdown, which was my primary goal. I also accomplished my secondary goal, which was to get decent grades in all of my classes. In addition, I attended two professional conferences, met a bunch of people I admire, and didn't embarrass myself. (I wore a pencil skirt, and if that doesn't automatically make me competent and professional, then I've been lied to by women's magazines for years.)
I visited Lee in TX for a couple weeks, which was AWESOME. I ate at three different Mexican restaurants (one of them twice) in a span of 11 days, so I think it was a pretty successful trip. I'm just sad that I have to wait another 3 months before I can see him again. I spent Christmas with my family, which was nice because they're my family, but stressful because they're my family.
Both of my pet gerbils died, one in his sleep and one due to some kind of gerbil cancer. I cried over both of them, which was unexpected and traumatic. But now, my heart is beginning to heal and I'm considering getting a Betta fish (which is essentially a step down, to Remedial Pet Ownership).
I bought a new car, which means now I have to get rid of my beloved Miata, but ultimately I think it's for the best. Now I have a back seat and a larger trunk, the better to haul illicit cargo. Also, if I ever get my pet-owning shit together and get that dog I've always wanted, I'll have room in my car for him/her to go on adventures with me. It's all about the 10-year plan, people.
Most recently, I spent New Year's Eve with my pal MB. We had Ethiopian food and spent a few hours at a bar, and then came back to my place and played Pandemic, which is a board game she got for Christmas. Basically, all the players work together as employees of the Imaginary CDC to battle infectious diseases all over the globe. We beat the diseases twice in a row, so I imagine we'll both be getting calls from the Actual CDC in the next few days. I can't think of a better way to ring in the New Year.
Currently! I'm gearing up to head back to work at my research assistantship starting tomorrow, and back to classes starting a week from now. I'm also painting a bookcase and ignoring the work that I'm supposed to be doing to prepare for tomorrow. Finally, I'm thinking about how much I love everyone reading this right now.
Now that we're all back up to speed, I want to leave you with a video. This is a TED talk that's been linked on a few blogs I read. It's a woman with a PhD in Social Work talking about embracing vulnerability, so I kind of felt like she was speaking directly to me. I really enjoyed it, and I hope you do too.
Monday, September 13, 2010
And Four Months Ago, I Thought It Was Impossible
Considering it's been a week since I ran the half marathon (and 17 years since I last posted), I reckon it's about time I debriefed the troops.
(Which is you guys. You're my troops, didn't I tell you?)
Alright! So. This is going to be a long one, better settle in. The half I ran was the Rock 'n' Roll Virginia Beach half marathon, which took place on September 5th. I, my co-runner H, and our Official Spectator E all made a weekend of it, going down on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday. When we got there Friday night we took a trip down to the beachfront (our hotel was actually about 20 min inland) to get dinner and drinks and check out the sights. Virgina Beach has an awesome boardwalk that I greatly enjoyed, and which makes up the last mile of the race. Friday night there was a concert near the boardwalk and some booths nearby where people were selling things. We had a delightful conversation with some young men who were selling hot dogs and pickles "that will change your life." Unfortunately (?), no part of that last sentence was a euphemism. We also found a tent where some people were selling air-brushed tattoos. My friend E wanted one, so I took the opportunity to get something intimidating air-brushed on me for good luck.
The hirsute arm to the left is mine, and my tat is (naturally) a hot pink T-Rex. I'm not sure if you can tell, but there's also glitter on it. One of the girls gave it a name, but I can't remember what it was, so let's just assume it was Clancy. Clancy graciously stuck around through Sunday, and I did indeed look to him for inspiration at some point late in the race.
Saturday morning we got up and went to the Health & Fitness Expo. Apparently, most big races have Expos beforehand where the runners can go pick up their bibs, timing chips, and free t-shirts. There's also, of course, a bunch of booths set up selling running paraphernalia. I didn't end up buying anything, but that's really only because I wanted one of EVERYTHING and I couldn't decide what to spend my money on. (This is how most shopping trips go for me, actually.) Walking into the Expo, I had to fight back tears, and I still can't really explain why. Maybe it's because of the cheerleaders they had lined up to cheer for everyone as they walked in (!!), or because it was the first time the whole thing felt really real to me, or maybe it's just because I was walking around with this gigantic, diverse group of people and they were all Runners and I was a Runner too, as far as they were all concerned. Whatever the reason, I got a little emotional, like I do. But once the tears dried, I could more clearly see all the sweet perks. Free granola bars! A card for 10% off at P.F. Chang's, good for a year! Temporary tattoos from Dodge, for some reason! (They were a race sponsor, not that that really explains the tattoos.) My favorite piece of (not free) merchandise at the Expo was a car magnet that said, "In my dreams, I am a Kenyan." That pretty much sums it up, right there.
Sometime Saturday night was when I started panicking about the race. I wasn't ready, I didn't have my stuff together, I couldn't remember how to run. We were going to get lost on our way there, or be late, and miss the start. It all seemed very serious. I picked a fight with my race partner and everyone went to bed in an uneasy mood.
When race day dawned, however, we were all so excited (and punch-drunk from lack of sleep) that we forgot our anxiety in favor of stumbling around in the dark and laughing at things that weren't particularly funny. We got up at about 4:45 and suited up, and then there were bananas and bagels to eat and coffee to drink and who knows what else. Because our hotel was so far away from the beachfront, we had to drive to the amphitheater to park and catch shuttles to the start line. The shuttle ride itself was 20 minutes, and we were (I was) worried about getting to the start line by the time the gun went off at 7. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until we got within a mile of the amphitheater, at which point it became apparent that everyone in Virgina Beach was there, as well as some people from neighboring counties who came out JUST TO GET IN MY WAY. Even once we had finally parked, there was a long line for the shuttles, where we had to wait for about 15 minutes while I vibrated with anxiety.
When we finally arrived at the start line, we still had to use the porta-potties, which of course had lines of their own. The first waves of people were already taking off as H and I sprinted to get in line to pee. Luckily, however, there were about 20,000 people running the race that day and they were arranged in corrals in order of their projected finish time. Which is to say that even though the race "started" at 7am, H's and my corral didn't cross the start line til more like 7:30. Here's some of those 20,000 people:
And here's the start line!!:
When we first started, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to remember how to run. I hadn't run since Thursday (3 days before), and I was so anxiously hyper-aware of my body that everything felt weird. Did my ankle always bend in that way? Did my foot always hit the ground at that funny angle? And what is it I'm supposed to do with my hands, again? After about a mile, though, everything sort of evened out. The Rock 'n' Roll races have bands and cheer squads set up every few miles, and right before the first turn there was a band playing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time," except they had changed it to "Running Time." It was definitely one of the highlights of the race, and it was stuck in my head for days.
Going into the race, my friend H and I had tried to figure out a strategy that would balance my misguided NEED FOR SPEED with her bum hip which had been bothering her for the past month. We decided that we'd try to confine our walk breaks to the water stations (which were set up about every 1.5 miles). In training, I had usually only walked a minute a two for each mile, so I thought it was do-able. For the first few miles we were zooming along at a pace a little faster than our goal pace, but we had to run up a hill early on that apparently made H's hips flare up, and after that things got rough for awhile. We had a goal of finishing in less than 3 hours, but H started stopping for walk breaks more and more often, and sometime during the 6th mile I realized that there was no way we were going to make our goal at the rate we were going. I explained the situation to H and she tried to rally, but it wasn't going to happen. She kept telling me to go on without her, but I didn't want to because I was afraid she was going to give up. Finally, I made her promise to at least run some if she could, and then we hugged and high-fived and I took off to try to make up some time.
During miles 7 and 8, I was running at a pace much faster than I had planned, trying to get back on track. I felt OK though, so I didn't let up until I had 8 miles behind me and I was sure that I could finish on time. After that, I took a break to walk and eat the free packet of Gu some volunteers had handed me about half a mile back. During the race I carried a little bottle of water to drink from between water stations, so at each station I would drink a small cup or two of water and then take another cup or two to refill my bottle. Apparently at some point during my snack break, juggling the water bottle and the Gu packet and keeping my feet moving became too much for me, because about 10 min later I looked down and there was sticky blackberry-flavored gel dripped all across the front of my running shorts. Sexy! Something about running by myself, covered in Gu, while my friend struggled along somewhere behind me struck me as both hilarious and sad, all at once.
Of course the bright side is that when you're running for hours on end, the scenery is always changing, so I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on my berry-scented shorts. Overall, the route was really pleasant, as were the bands and the cheering crowds. The only part that dragged a little was the few miles in the middle that went through the naval base. At that point, there weren't a lot of trees for shade, and there weren't a lot of spectators either, so you were sort of on your own for motivation. As the race went on and I started to get tired, though, everything sort of faded into the background. After 10 miles, every step I took was officially The Farthest I Had Ever Run. From mile 10 to mile 11.5 or so, all I could think about was making it to the water station that was supposedly set up around mile 11.3. I say supposedly because it was definitely about a quarter-mile farther down the road than that, and at that point in the race a quarter mile was about 2 miles too far. I finally gave up and started walking early, only to see it in the distance about 30 seconds later. I ran again to mile 12, where I walked for a minute or two and gave myself a pep talk. It went something along the lines of, "You have to run now, and you have to run for a mile, and you can't stop until you're on the other side of the finish line. Don't be a loser, OK ready set go!" And then I ran.
The last mile is along the boardwalk, which you turn onto just past the 12-mile marker. As soon as I was by the beach there was a nice strong breeze in my face, which I think really helped sustain me through the end. My feet were so beaten up at that point that they were just kind of numb, and it felt like they were coated with concrete. I had that all-over tingly feeling that I get when I've pushed myself to the limits of my endurance, and even though my stomach wasn't exactly growling I had the distinct impression that food would be necessary soon. I was running as hard as I thought I could (and still maintain it for another mile), but I felt so worn out I was sure I must be going incredibly slowly. And yet... I looked at my watch and I was going a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! All of the myths about race day adrenaline were true! After I got done being excited about how quickly I was going, I realized I was going to have to maintain that pace until the end and I became a little alarmed. Although it felt like the loooooongest mile of my life, I persevered, mostly because I started mentally listing people I was running "for." When I ran out of people to dedicate the last mile to, I moved on to abstract concepts, like social justice and H's hips. THEN I started listing things I wouldn't stop running for, as a way to convince myself that I was more dedicated to finishing the race than I was to money and happiness. Things that wouldn't have made me stop running included: a free PhD, a billion dollars, a brand-new dream home, a bear covered in razor wire, a threat on my family's life, and who knows what else. Finally, 8 years later, I crossed the finish line, arms over my head, a determined look welded to my face.
Time: 2:52:30ish. Under my goal by 8 minutes. And I'm confident I would have been faster if it weren't for the rocky start.
After that, it's all kind of a blur. There was free beer on the beach, and cooling our feet in the ocean, and naps and showers and dinner at P.F. Chang's (10% off!). And of course, celebratory booze. And then the next morning, we got up and returned to the scene of our recent glory for bike riding along boardwalk and a little lounging by the ocean. It was the best Labor Day weekend ever.
Postscript about my running buddy: She finished about 15 min after me, sprinting across the finish line like a champ, and then we dragged her to the medical tent to ice her hip. She went to the doctor today and they told her she might have a stress fracture, so now she has to be on crutches until they can take a picture of her bones. Basically, if you haven't run 13 miles on a broken hip lately, you can't touch my girl H. ;)
(Which is you guys. You're my troops, didn't I tell you?)
Alright! So. This is going to be a long one, better settle in. The half I ran was the Rock 'n' Roll Virginia Beach half marathon, which took place on September 5th. I, my co-runner H, and our Official Spectator E all made a weekend of it, going down on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday. When we got there Friday night we took a trip down to the beachfront (our hotel was actually about 20 min inland) to get dinner and drinks and check out the sights. Virgina Beach has an awesome boardwalk that I greatly enjoyed, and which makes up the last mile of the race. Friday night there was a concert near the boardwalk and some booths nearby where people were selling things. We had a delightful conversation with some young men who were selling hot dogs and pickles "that will change your life." Unfortunately (?), no part of that last sentence was a euphemism. We also found a tent where some people were selling air-brushed tattoos. My friend E wanted one, so I took the opportunity to get something intimidating air-brushed on me for good luck.
The hirsute arm to the left is mine, and my tat is (naturally) a hot pink T-Rex. I'm not sure if you can tell, but there's also glitter on it. One of the girls gave it a name, but I can't remember what it was, so let's just assume it was Clancy. Clancy graciously stuck around through Sunday, and I did indeed look to him for inspiration at some point late in the race.
Saturday morning we got up and went to the Health & Fitness Expo. Apparently, most big races have Expos beforehand where the runners can go pick up their bibs, timing chips, and free t-shirts. There's also, of course, a bunch of booths set up selling running paraphernalia. I didn't end up buying anything, but that's really only because I wanted one of EVERYTHING and I couldn't decide what to spend my money on. (This is how most shopping trips go for me, actually.) Walking into the Expo, I had to fight back tears, and I still can't really explain why. Maybe it's because of the cheerleaders they had lined up to cheer for everyone as they walked in (!!), or because it was the first time the whole thing felt really real to me, or maybe it's just because I was walking around with this gigantic, diverse group of people and they were all Runners and I was a Runner too, as far as they were all concerned. Whatever the reason, I got a little emotional, like I do. But once the tears dried, I could more clearly see all the sweet perks. Free granola bars! A card for 10% off at P.F. Chang's, good for a year! Temporary tattoos from Dodge, for some reason! (They were a race sponsor, not that that really explains the tattoos.) My favorite piece of (not free) merchandise at the Expo was a car magnet that said, "In my dreams, I am a Kenyan." That pretty much sums it up, right there.
Sometime Saturday night was when I started panicking about the race. I wasn't ready, I didn't have my stuff together, I couldn't remember how to run. We were going to get lost on our way there, or be late, and miss the start. It all seemed very serious. I picked a fight with my race partner and everyone went to bed in an uneasy mood.
When race day dawned, however, we were all so excited (and punch-drunk from lack of sleep) that we forgot our anxiety in favor of stumbling around in the dark and laughing at things that weren't particularly funny. We got up at about 4:45 and suited up, and then there were bananas and bagels to eat and coffee to drink and who knows what else. Because our hotel was so far away from the beachfront, we had to drive to the amphitheater to park and catch shuttles to the start line. The shuttle ride itself was 20 minutes, and we were (I was) worried about getting to the start line by the time the gun went off at 7. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until we got within a mile of the amphitheater, at which point it became apparent that everyone in Virgina Beach was there, as well as some people from neighboring counties who came out JUST TO GET IN MY WAY. Even once we had finally parked, there was a long line for the shuttles, where we had to wait for about 15 minutes while I vibrated with anxiety.
When we finally arrived at the start line, we still had to use the porta-potties, which of course had lines of their own. The first waves of people were already taking off as H and I sprinted to get in line to pee. Luckily, however, there were about 20,000 people running the race that day and they were arranged in corrals in order of their projected finish time. Which is to say that even though the race "started" at 7am, H's and my corral didn't cross the start line til more like 7:30. Here's some of those 20,000 people:
And here's the start line!!:
When we first started, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to remember how to run. I hadn't run since Thursday (3 days before), and I was so anxiously hyper-aware of my body that everything felt weird. Did my ankle always bend in that way? Did my foot always hit the ground at that funny angle? And what is it I'm supposed to do with my hands, again? After about a mile, though, everything sort of evened out. The Rock 'n' Roll races have bands and cheer squads set up every few miles, and right before the first turn there was a band playing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time," except they had changed it to "Running Time." It was definitely one of the highlights of the race, and it was stuck in my head for days.Going into the race, my friend H and I had tried to figure out a strategy that would balance my misguided NEED FOR SPEED with her bum hip which had been bothering her for the past month. We decided that we'd try to confine our walk breaks to the water stations (which were set up about every 1.5 miles). In training, I had usually only walked a minute a two for each mile, so I thought it was do-able. For the first few miles we were zooming along at a pace a little faster than our goal pace, but we had to run up a hill early on that apparently made H's hips flare up, and after that things got rough for awhile. We had a goal of finishing in less than 3 hours, but H started stopping for walk breaks more and more often, and sometime during the 6th mile I realized that there was no way we were going to make our goal at the rate we were going. I explained the situation to H and she tried to rally, but it wasn't going to happen. She kept telling me to go on without her, but I didn't want to because I was afraid she was going to give up. Finally, I made her promise to at least run some if she could, and then we hugged and high-fived and I took off to try to make up some time.
During miles 7 and 8, I was running at a pace much faster than I had planned, trying to get back on track. I felt OK though, so I didn't let up until I had 8 miles behind me and I was sure that I could finish on time. After that, I took a break to walk and eat the free packet of Gu some volunteers had handed me about half a mile back. During the race I carried a little bottle of water to drink from between water stations, so at each station I would drink a small cup or two of water and then take another cup or two to refill my bottle. Apparently at some point during my snack break, juggling the water bottle and the Gu packet and keeping my feet moving became too much for me, because about 10 min later I looked down and there was sticky blackberry-flavored gel dripped all across the front of my running shorts. Sexy! Something about running by myself, covered in Gu, while my friend struggled along somewhere behind me struck me as both hilarious and sad, all at once.
Of course the bright side is that when you're running for hours on end, the scenery is always changing, so I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on my berry-scented shorts. Overall, the route was really pleasant, as were the bands and the cheering crowds. The only part that dragged a little was the few miles in the middle that went through the naval base. At that point, there weren't a lot of trees for shade, and there weren't a lot of spectators either, so you were sort of on your own for motivation. As the race went on and I started to get tired, though, everything sort of faded into the background. After 10 miles, every step I took was officially The Farthest I Had Ever Run. From mile 10 to mile 11.5 or so, all I could think about was making it to the water station that was supposedly set up around mile 11.3. I say supposedly because it was definitely about a quarter-mile farther down the road than that, and at that point in the race a quarter mile was about 2 miles too far. I finally gave up and started walking early, only to see it in the distance about 30 seconds later. I ran again to mile 12, where I walked for a minute or two and gave myself a pep talk. It went something along the lines of, "You have to run now, and you have to run for a mile, and you can't stop until you're on the other side of the finish line. Don't be a loser, OK ready set go!" And then I ran.
The last mile is along the boardwalk, which you turn onto just past the 12-mile marker. As soon as I was by the beach there was a nice strong breeze in my face, which I think really helped sustain me through the end. My feet were so beaten up at that point that they were just kind of numb, and it felt like they were coated with concrete. I had that all-over tingly feeling that I get when I've pushed myself to the limits of my endurance, and even though my stomach wasn't exactly growling I had the distinct impression that food would be necessary soon. I was running as hard as I thought I could (and still maintain it for another mile), but I felt so worn out I was sure I must be going incredibly slowly. And yet... I looked at my watch and I was going a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! All of the myths about race day adrenaline were true! After I got done being excited about how quickly I was going, I realized I was going to have to maintain that pace until the end and I became a little alarmed. Although it felt like the loooooongest mile of my life, I persevered, mostly because I started mentally listing people I was running "for." When I ran out of people to dedicate the last mile to, I moved on to abstract concepts, like social justice and H's hips. THEN I started listing things I wouldn't stop running for, as a way to convince myself that I was more dedicated to finishing the race than I was to money and happiness. Things that wouldn't have made me stop running included: a free PhD, a billion dollars, a brand-new dream home, a bear covered in razor wire, a threat on my family's life, and who knows what else. Finally, 8 years later, I crossed the finish line, arms over my head, a determined look welded to my face.
Time: 2:52:30ish. Under my goal by 8 minutes. And I'm confident I would have been faster if it weren't for the rocky start.
After that, it's all kind of a blur. There was free beer on the beach, and cooling our feet in the ocean, and naps and showers and dinner at P.F. Chang's (10% off!). And of course, celebratory booze. And then the next morning, we got up and returned to the scene of our recent glory for bike riding along boardwalk and a little lounging by the ocean. It was the best Labor Day weekend ever.
Postscript about my running buddy: She finished about 15 min after me, sprinting across the finish line like a champ, and then we dragged her to the medical tent to ice her hip. She went to the doctor today and they told her she might have a stress fracture, so now she has to be on crutches until they can take a picture of her bones. Basically, if you haven't run 13 miles on a broken hip lately, you can't touch my girl H. ;)
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Four on the Fourth Race Report
So, that whole "posting the whole month of June" thing kinda fell apart at the end there, huh? I hope you can forgive me. I got wrapped up in traveling and visiting people and then June was just over. If it's any comfort, I have a race to tell you about now!
I've been reading a lot of The Athena Diaries, which is a blog written by an Athena runner and triathlete. 'Athena,' I've come to learn, is a competition category for women who weigh more than 150 lbs. They don't have it in every race, though, and in fact I've yet to find a race in my area that does have it. Anyway Misty, the author of the blog, usually writes 'race reports' after she does a race, and it seems to be, like, a thing that runners do. And since I have recently declared myself a runner, I too shall write a race report.
There's a series of three summer-to-fall races put on by a running club out here, and the first one is a 4-mile race on the 4th of July. It is the aptly named 'Four on the Fourth.' Because my running buddy H and I long ago hit the 4-mile mark in our training, and because we're trying to gain experience at running races in general, we signed up for this one. (Also, I hear if you do all three races - including a 10k in October and an 8k in November - you get a jacket!)
The night before the race H stayed at my place, since I live really close to the course. Unfortunately, we were both up pretty late because she had to babysit until around midnight and I had to wait up for her. Our 6:30 wake-up call came really early, which reminds me that I need to start practicing getting up and running in the early morning. The half marathon does start at 7am, after all. Temperatures in the week preceding the holiday weekend had been inching toward infernal, so imagine my delight when I checked weather.com and found out that it was a refreshing 65 degrees outside! It appears that there is a Santa Claus, and he's in the business of granting 4th-of-July wishes you didn't even realize you'd made.
I ate most of an English muffin and gave H the good news about the weather, and then we headed over to the race. When we got there, there were Runners, with a capital 'R,' doing freaking warm-up drills and shit. My mind was blown. To cope, I started trying to pick out normal-looking people that I thought I could take. They were mostly people over 40. I made the mistake of mentioning this to H and she made me feel guilty about it, but what was I supposed to do? There were 80-pound bird-people running sprints within my field of vision, and I needed to maintain a winner's outlook.
Unlike the Susan G. Komen race, this one was much smaller and a little more informal. The course was a mostly flat and shady loop around town that started and ended at a middle school and stayed in residential areas. The first tenth of a mile was on a major-ish road which apparently could only be blocked off for a short period of time, so all the runners had to wait until the last minute before lining up on the starting line. About 10 minutes before the start, we all herded from the school parking lot down to the starting line, and H and I dutifully took our places at the back of the pack. While she was setting up her ipod and I was nervously babbling about something-or-other, we suddenly heard the loud POP! of the starting gun. "Oh shit, was that it??" "I guess so, let's go!" We half-jogged across the start and for the first few yards while H got everything situated. (Someone later told me that they heard the guy yell "15 seconds!" before shooting off the gun, but I guess we were too far away back in Slowburg to hear him. He couldn't have rented a megaphone? I ask you.)
I'm still not used to racing, but I know enough to know that adrenaline can get the better of you and cause you to accidentally run way too fast at the beginning and wear yourself out, so I kept my eye on my fancypants watch to make sure we weren't going too quickly. I also wanted to help H pace herself because she was really disappointed with how she did at the Komen race and I hoped this would be a better experience for her. As a result, the first mile or so was a continuous loop of this conversation: "How fast are we going?" "Too fast, we've got to slow down." "Ok." It just felt so good outside and it was so pretty and there were so many people moving around us that it was hard not to get carried away.
As we tried to rein it in to a reasonable pace, I reassured H that all the people ahead of us were the fools that would have to stop and walk later, allowing us to pass them and be the ultimate champions. She looked over her shoulder and reported that there were only a handful of people behind us. We were passed by a man and his 6-year-old son. But no matter! We didn't come to beat anyone but ourselves.
H tends to take more walk breaks than I do, and also doesn't have a great time with hills, so when we got halfway up our second hill (at about mile 1.3), she stopped to walk and waved me on. And so I was off on my own. I maintained a pretty consistent pace (about 12:00, which was faster than I expected) throughout the race, trying to balance my desire to let loose and go flying down the course, and my fear that at any moment I would hit a wall and have to stop and walk. Ultimately, I felt good enough at the end that I think I probably could have done it a bit faster, but I figure it was better to be safe than sorry, and I'm glad I ended in good shape.
Although I don't consider myself to be particularly competitive, I found that I could not stop myself from passing people. It's just that there were a lot of people, going about the same pace as me, spread out every few feet in front of me. I'd be coming up on one and think, "oh, I can definitely pass her, and after that, I'll slow down a little." But as soon as I passed that person I'd be within range to pass another. It went on like that from the time I left H to about the 2.5 mile mark, at which point I had passed everyone that was easily passable. The next closest people were a pair of women about 50 feet ahead of me, and I was too afraid of wearing myself out to risk speeding up and going after them. When I realized I had passed everyone I could, I thought with some satisfaction, "This is it. I am officially the fastest of the slowest." My place as President and Benevolent Dictator of the Slow Motion Running Club has been validated. Stick with me, kids, and you too can be marginally faster than the slowest 10% of runners out there.
I'd like to pause here for a word about pace. If you are not a runner, you may not have much perspective on this, so I thought I'd fill you in. People who consider themselves to be Runners with a capital 'R' (the ones inexplicably doing the warm-up sprints before the race) would probably tell you that a 7:00 (that's minutes per mile) pace is respectable. At my fastest, I probably manage about a 10:00 pace, although I hope to get a bit faster in the future. For the half marathon, I'm thinking that the best-case scenario will be about a 13:00 pace, which is where I had set the bar for Four on the Fourth (and which is admittedly a pretty low bar, but that's how I like it). Thus, I was quite satisfied that I ran the race with a consistent 12:00 pace, but it's worth noting that in the Wide World of Sports this is really pretty slow. You'll see what I mean when I get to the part about the awards ceremony.
Anyway, back to the race! The best part about passing all of those people and assuming my rightful place as Queen of Slowburg was that there was one last decent-sized hill to climb as we closed in on the final mile, and eventually I was even able to pass the two women that had previously seemed untouchable. Take that, MediumPaceVille! Slowburg is out to annex you!
The end of the race was three-quarters of a lap around the school's track, which was just awesome. Almost as awesome as running into the school's parking lot and passing a volunteer who said, "Good job, you're almost there! Great stride!" He probably says that to all of the sweaty and disheveled novice runners, but he sounded like he really meant it when he said it to me. I was going to stop and hug him, but you know; I was running a race, and all. Once you get to the track, you have no choice but to continue running, because who stops and walks on the track?? No. You must come into the finish like you mean it, which I did. And then I gratefully stopped and guzzled some water.
My finish, however, was nothing compared to my pal H's. I was anxiously awaiting her arrival, concerned about whether her race had gone well this time, or if it had been as painful as the Komen race. A few minutes after I finished, though, I saw her come breezing onto the track. When she reached the straightaway leading up to the finish line, homegirl started SPRINTING. It was beautiful. I yelled her name as she streaked across the finish line, and then she collapsed onto the grass and didn't speak for awhile.
In the end, I finished in about 48:00, right on track with my steady pace. H finished around 53:00, I think. My enthusiasm over having beaten my goal faded a bit when the awards ceremony started and I realized that I would have to quite literally cut my time in half if I ever want to win anything. Well, that's not entirely true. I think the winner of the female 70+ age group finished in about 46:00. So it's either cut my time in half, or continue training for the next 50 years and bide my time until my competitors slow down enough that I can overtake them. I don't mind, I'm patient. In this decade, though, I placed 638 out of 686 overall (in your face, 50 people slower than me) (except you, H, sorry) and 40 out of 51 in females ages 25-29. And I'm pretty damn pleased about it.
In addition to the glory of being the fastest of the slow, we also got these commemorative race socks:
And then we (H and I and our biggest cheerleader E) went to see fireworks and eat a picnic dinner and drink juicebox wine.
I've been reading a lot of The Athena Diaries, which is a blog written by an Athena runner and triathlete. 'Athena,' I've come to learn, is a competition category for women who weigh more than 150 lbs. They don't have it in every race, though, and in fact I've yet to find a race in my area that does have it. Anyway Misty, the author of the blog, usually writes 'race reports' after she does a race, and it seems to be, like, a thing that runners do. And since I have recently declared myself a runner, I too shall write a race report.
There's a series of three summer-to-fall races put on by a running club out here, and the first one is a 4-mile race on the 4th of July. It is the aptly named 'Four on the Fourth.' Because my running buddy H and I long ago hit the 4-mile mark in our training, and because we're trying to gain experience at running races in general, we signed up for this one. (Also, I hear if you do all three races - including a 10k in October and an 8k in November - you get a jacket!)
The night before the race H stayed at my place, since I live really close to the course. Unfortunately, we were both up pretty late because she had to babysit until around midnight and I had to wait up for her. Our 6:30 wake-up call came really early, which reminds me that I need to start practicing getting up and running in the early morning. The half marathon does start at 7am, after all. Temperatures in the week preceding the holiday weekend had been inching toward infernal, so imagine my delight when I checked weather.com and found out that it was a refreshing 65 degrees outside! It appears that there is a Santa Claus, and he's in the business of granting 4th-of-July wishes you didn't even realize you'd made.
I ate most of an English muffin and gave H the good news about the weather, and then we headed over to the race. When we got there, there were Runners, with a capital 'R,' doing freaking warm-up drills and shit. My mind was blown. To cope, I started trying to pick out normal-looking people that I thought I could take. They were mostly people over 40. I made the mistake of mentioning this to H and she made me feel guilty about it, but what was I supposed to do? There were 80-pound bird-people running sprints within my field of vision, and I needed to maintain a winner's outlook.
Unlike the Susan G. Komen race, this one was much smaller and a little more informal. The course was a mostly flat and shady loop around town that started and ended at a middle school and stayed in residential areas. The first tenth of a mile was on a major-ish road which apparently could only be blocked off for a short period of time, so all the runners had to wait until the last minute before lining up on the starting line. About 10 minutes before the start, we all herded from the school parking lot down to the starting line, and H and I dutifully took our places at the back of the pack. While she was setting up her ipod and I was nervously babbling about something-or-other, we suddenly heard the loud POP! of the starting gun. "Oh shit, was that it??" "I guess so, let's go!" We half-jogged across the start and for the first few yards while H got everything situated. (Someone later told me that they heard the guy yell "15 seconds!" before shooting off the gun, but I guess we were too far away back in Slowburg to hear him. He couldn't have rented a megaphone? I ask you.)
I'm still not used to racing, but I know enough to know that adrenaline can get the better of you and cause you to accidentally run way too fast at the beginning and wear yourself out, so I kept my eye on my fancypants watch to make sure we weren't going too quickly. I also wanted to help H pace herself because she was really disappointed with how she did at the Komen race and I hoped this would be a better experience for her. As a result, the first mile or so was a continuous loop of this conversation: "How fast are we going?" "Too fast, we've got to slow down." "Ok." It just felt so good outside and it was so pretty and there were so many people moving around us that it was hard not to get carried away.
As we tried to rein it in to a reasonable pace, I reassured H that all the people ahead of us were the fools that would have to stop and walk later, allowing us to pass them and be the ultimate champions. She looked over her shoulder and reported that there were only a handful of people behind us. We were passed by a man and his 6-year-old son. But no matter! We didn't come to beat anyone but ourselves.
H tends to take more walk breaks than I do, and also doesn't have a great time with hills, so when we got halfway up our second hill (at about mile 1.3), she stopped to walk and waved me on. And so I was off on my own. I maintained a pretty consistent pace (about 12:00, which was faster than I expected) throughout the race, trying to balance my desire to let loose and go flying down the course, and my fear that at any moment I would hit a wall and have to stop and walk. Ultimately, I felt good enough at the end that I think I probably could have done it a bit faster, but I figure it was better to be safe than sorry, and I'm glad I ended in good shape.
Although I don't consider myself to be particularly competitive, I found that I could not stop myself from passing people. It's just that there were a lot of people, going about the same pace as me, spread out every few feet in front of me. I'd be coming up on one and think, "oh, I can definitely pass her, and after that, I'll slow down a little." But as soon as I passed that person I'd be within range to pass another. It went on like that from the time I left H to about the 2.5 mile mark, at which point I had passed everyone that was easily passable. The next closest people were a pair of women about 50 feet ahead of me, and I was too afraid of wearing myself out to risk speeding up and going after them. When I realized I had passed everyone I could, I thought with some satisfaction, "This is it. I am officially the fastest of the slowest." My place as President and Benevolent Dictator of the Slow Motion Running Club has been validated. Stick with me, kids, and you too can be marginally faster than the slowest 10% of runners out there.
I'd like to pause here for a word about pace. If you are not a runner, you may not have much perspective on this, so I thought I'd fill you in. People who consider themselves to be Runners with a capital 'R' (the ones inexplicably doing the warm-up sprints before the race) would probably tell you that a 7:00 (that's minutes per mile) pace is respectable. At my fastest, I probably manage about a 10:00 pace, although I hope to get a bit faster in the future. For the half marathon, I'm thinking that the best-case scenario will be about a 13:00 pace, which is where I had set the bar for Four on the Fourth (and which is admittedly a pretty low bar, but that's how I like it). Thus, I was quite satisfied that I ran the race with a consistent 12:00 pace, but it's worth noting that in the Wide World of Sports this is really pretty slow. You'll see what I mean when I get to the part about the awards ceremony.
Anyway, back to the race! The best part about passing all of those people and assuming my rightful place as Queen of Slowburg was that there was one last decent-sized hill to climb as we closed in on the final mile, and eventually I was even able to pass the two women that had previously seemed untouchable. Take that, MediumPaceVille! Slowburg is out to annex you!
The end of the race was three-quarters of a lap around the school's track, which was just awesome. Almost as awesome as running into the school's parking lot and passing a volunteer who said, "Good job, you're almost there! Great stride!" He probably says that to all of the sweaty and disheveled novice runners, but he sounded like he really meant it when he said it to me. I was going to stop and hug him, but you know; I was running a race, and all. Once you get to the track, you have no choice but to continue running, because who stops and walks on the track?? No. You must come into the finish like you mean it, which I did. And then I gratefully stopped and guzzled some water.
My finish, however, was nothing compared to my pal H's. I was anxiously awaiting her arrival, concerned about whether her race had gone well this time, or if it had been as painful as the Komen race. A few minutes after I finished, though, I saw her come breezing onto the track. When she reached the straightaway leading up to the finish line, homegirl started SPRINTING. It was beautiful. I yelled her name as she streaked across the finish line, and then she collapsed onto the grass and didn't speak for awhile.
In the end, I finished in about 48:00, right on track with my steady pace. H finished around 53:00, I think. My enthusiasm over having beaten my goal faded a bit when the awards ceremony started and I realized that I would have to quite literally cut my time in half if I ever want to win anything. Well, that's not entirely true. I think the winner of the female 70+ age group finished in about 46:00. So it's either cut my time in half, or continue training for the next 50 years and bide my time until my competitors slow down enough that I can overtake them. I don't mind, I'm patient. In this decade, though, I placed 638 out of 686 overall (in your face, 50 people slower than me) (except you, H, sorry) and 40 out of 51 in females ages 25-29. And I'm pretty damn pleased about it.
In addition to the glory of being the fastest of the slow, we also got these commemorative race socks:
And then we (H and I and our biggest cheerleader E) went to see fireworks and eat a picnic dinner and drink juicebox wine.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Oh, Just Shut Up and Say Thank You
I've been in a little bit of a funk for the past few days, and I think it has to do with my birthday last week. It's not because I'm having some kind of existential crisis about aging, though. I know I'm still young, and even if I weren't I think it's a little silly to get all worked up about the process of aging. You might as well cry when the sun sets every day. (Although we'll see how serene I am about it when I turn 30... or 40... or 50...) No, what I have is an existential crisis about something else.
I had a really great birthday week, I'd say. It revealed a virtual embarrassment of riches, in both material gifts and in the form of people that love me. The problem I'm having is that, to me, it is also a literal embarrassment of riches. When you're faced like that, all at once, with an overflow of pitch-perfect kindnesses and love, it's a lot of pressure. I'm suddenly conscious of my great luck, my privilege, my blessedness, to be loved by these people, and fearful that I don't deserve it.
I don't always receive gifts and compliments well, is what I'm trying to say. It makes me anxious and melancholy. What if I don't deserve it? What if this poor person's affection is misplaced? How will I ever thank them adequately? What if I disappoint them, and then they rue the day they were ever kind to me? All of this good fortune can't possibly be a good thing. It might as well be frogs raining from the heavens or blood filling my bathtub, so certain are the terrible consequences that will follow.
You have no idea how much work it is, finding a way to twist a blessing into a curse. I'd make a joke about Jewish guilt, but I'm not Jewish (or Catholic) and thus have no cultural stereotype to fall back on.
Ultimately I suppose I'm just as deserving of a great birthday as anyone else is, and it's not very gracious of me to go around questioning the wisdom of those who care about me. So, just to be polite, I'm trying to accept it gratefully and without skepticism.
Dear Diary: Last week was my birthday and it was awesome. I am a very lucky girl, and there's nothing wrong with that. So there.
I had a really great birthday week, I'd say. It revealed a virtual embarrassment of riches, in both material gifts and in the form of people that love me. The problem I'm having is that, to me, it is also a literal embarrassment of riches. When you're faced like that, all at once, with an overflow of pitch-perfect kindnesses and love, it's a lot of pressure. I'm suddenly conscious of my great luck, my privilege, my blessedness, to be loved by these people, and fearful that I don't deserve it.
I don't always receive gifts and compliments well, is what I'm trying to say. It makes me anxious and melancholy. What if I don't deserve it? What if this poor person's affection is misplaced? How will I ever thank them adequately? What if I disappoint them, and then they rue the day they were ever kind to me? All of this good fortune can't possibly be a good thing. It might as well be frogs raining from the heavens or blood filling my bathtub, so certain are the terrible consequences that will follow.
You have no idea how much work it is, finding a way to twist a blessing into a curse. I'd make a joke about Jewish guilt, but I'm not Jewish (or Catholic) and thus have no cultural stereotype to fall back on.
Ultimately I suppose I'm just as deserving of a great birthday as anyone else is, and it's not very gracious of me to go around questioning the wisdom of those who care about me. So, just to be polite, I'm trying to accept it gratefully and without skepticism.
Dear Diary: Last week was my birthday and it was awesome. I am a very lucky girl, and there's nothing wrong with that. So there.
Monday, June 21, 2010
And This is What You Hum, You Hum...
Since my last post about running music garnered some positive feedback (in real life) (shut up, yes it did), I thought I would post some more stuff that gets me pumped when I run. These are both on the album Keasbey Nights, which I have listened to for a many a run.
(Note: If loud and fast isn't your taste, you might want to skip this one and go read a book instead.)
Speaking of many a run, my current music is getting a little stale. If anyone has any recommendations for power songs, let me know. You can tell it's a good song if
a) it would work as the soundtrack to an 80s sports movie training montage, or
b) it might inspire a music video about misfits stickin it to the man.
(Note: If loud and fast isn't your taste, you might want to skip this one and go read a book instead.)
Speaking of many a run, my current music is getting a little stale. If anyone has any recommendations for power songs, let me know. You can tell it's a good song if
a) it would work as the soundtrack to an 80s sports movie training montage, or
b) it might inspire a music video about misfits stickin it to the man.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
This Post Brought to You By Lowe's Home Improvement*
For whatever reason, this weekend finds me positively brimming with energy to get things done. I've scheduled appointments, gotten my hair cut and my license renewed, done laundry and dishes, and hung pictures that I've been meaning to hang for months.
The picture-hanging thing is interesting because it's one of those little "if only I had the time" kind of projects that seems so unbearably tedious to think about. I kept thinking, in a whiny sort of way, I'd like to do it but then I'll have to pick out pictures to print and then go to the store and plus I've got to buy frames and what if I hang them crooked? And then I would lie down, overwhelmed with the pressure of it all. Of course, when it came down to it, it was actually kind of enjoyable picking out the pictures and getting them printed, and the picture-hanging itself didn't take more than 20 minutes. It all required relatively little effort, considering the satisfaction I get every time I glance at my handiwork.
It's really kind of alarming how easy and pleasant it was, and it makes me wonder what other things I've missed out on just because I've built them up to be some impossibly complicated task. Here's a small sample of other things that I'd like to do, but haven't done because it seems like too much work:
1) Paint my raggedy Goodwill desk a delightful shade of lime green
2) Finally hang the adorable hanging lamp I got from Ikea (if I told you how long ago I bought it, I'd have to kill you)
3) Sell last year's textbooks online for a hefty profit of one meeeellion dollars
Maybe I can ride the wave of picture-hanging success right into another project. It's all about momentum, baby.
So what about you guys? Anyone want to share what fantasy project they'd tackle if they suddenly woke up with buckets of energy and motivation?
*Not really.
The picture-hanging thing is interesting because it's one of those little "if only I had the time" kind of projects that seems so unbearably tedious to think about. I kept thinking, in a whiny sort of way, I'd like to do it but then I'll have to pick out pictures to print and then go to the store and plus I've got to buy frames and what if I hang them crooked? And then I would lie down, overwhelmed with the pressure of it all. Of course, when it came down to it, it was actually kind of enjoyable picking out the pictures and getting them printed, and the picture-hanging itself didn't take more than 20 minutes. It all required relatively little effort, considering the satisfaction I get every time I glance at my handiwork.
It's really kind of alarming how easy and pleasant it was, and it makes me wonder what other things I've missed out on just because I've built them up to be some impossibly complicated task. Here's a small sample of other things that I'd like to do, but haven't done because it seems like too much work:
1) Paint my raggedy Goodwill desk a delightful shade of lime green
2) Finally hang the adorable hanging lamp I got from Ikea (if I told you how long ago I bought it, I'd have to kill you)
3) Sell last year's textbooks online for a hefty profit of one meeeellion dollars
Maybe I can ride the wave of picture-hanging success right into another project. It's all about momentum, baby.
So what about you guys? Anyone want to share what fantasy project they'd tackle if they suddenly woke up with buckets of energy and motivation?
*Not really.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Damn Ladies, You Awesome
Although it would make a much better story, I didn't throw up or cry or drop dead at the race this morning. As a matter of fact, I think it went quite well. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night because I stayed with my running buddy H (who is also running the half marathon with me) and at least two of her neighbors decided to have loud, outdoor parties to mark the occasion. I would have been tired this morning anyway because we had to get up at 6am, but I don't think the less than 4 hours of sleep I got helped the situation any.
Once we got out to race site, though, excitement took over and I perked up. If you're not aware, the Susan G. Komen races raise money for breast cancer research and prevention. There were women everywhere wearing fancy pink shirts that said things like "The Cureinators: Hasta la Vista, Cancer!" and women who had written "ta" on the back of each calf so that when they ran it flashed "ta-ta" over and over again. Breast cancer survivors got to wear special hot pink shirts, and whenever one crossed the finish line her name would be announced. It was fantastic.
There were three separate 5k runs this morning, and we ran in the women's-only recreational race, thinking it would be empowering to our inner Wonder Women. It totally was, and I got choked up countless times. From the personalized shirts, to the "In memory of" and "In celebration of" placards that people were wearing, to the volunteers on the sidelines holding signs saying things like "Fight like a girl" and "You're almost, almost there." One lady who lived along the route was on her porch with a stereo blaring "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and dancing along. There were several churches along the route, too, and outside one of them was a whole damn ladies' choir singing "We Are Family." Every time we passed people cheering for us I would pick up the pace (even if it was just briefly), so that they'd know they weren't cheering in vain. I didn't stop running once, even though coming up the hill toward the end I seriously wanted to. I highly recommend the experience to any one, even if you just walk. It was the best thing I've done with a Saturday morning in months.
Once we were all done (and had a nap), we went out to lunch and window-shopped around town a little bit. We visited the running store because we were high on our accomplishment and we wanted to show people what real champions look like. To celebrate my new life as someone who does nothing but run and spend money, I bought this:
That, in case you can't tell, is a hot pink, skull-and-crossbones-themed headband. It symbolizes that I am both fashionable and the finest slow-motion runner on the high seas.
So, to wrap up: Remember your breast health, ladies! Monthly self-exams, yearly exams by your doctor, and regular mammograms starting when you're 40 years old. Engage in these preventative measures, and I promise that tomorrow I'll do my best to talk about something other than running.
Once we got out to race site, though, excitement took over and I perked up. If you're not aware, the Susan G. Komen races raise money for breast cancer research and prevention. There were women everywhere wearing fancy pink shirts that said things like "The Cureinators: Hasta la Vista, Cancer!" and women who had written "ta" on the back of each calf so that when they ran it flashed "ta-ta" over and over again. Breast cancer survivors got to wear special hot pink shirts, and whenever one crossed the finish line her name would be announced. It was fantastic.
There were three separate 5k runs this morning, and we ran in the women's-only recreational race, thinking it would be empowering to our inner Wonder Women. It totally was, and I got choked up countless times. From the personalized shirts, to the "In memory of" and "In celebration of" placards that people were wearing, to the volunteers on the sidelines holding signs saying things like "Fight like a girl" and "You're almost, almost there." One lady who lived along the route was on her porch with a stereo blaring "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and dancing along. There were several churches along the route, too, and outside one of them was a whole damn ladies' choir singing "We Are Family." Every time we passed people cheering for us I would pick up the pace (even if it was just briefly), so that they'd know they weren't cheering in vain. I didn't stop running once, even though coming up the hill toward the end I seriously wanted to. I highly recommend the experience to any one, even if you just walk. It was the best thing I've done with a Saturday morning in months.
Once we were all done (and had a nap), we went out to lunch and window-shopped around town a little bit. We visited the running store because we were high on our accomplishment and we wanted to show people what real champions look like. To celebrate my new life as someone who does nothing but run and spend money, I bought this:
That, in case you can't tell, is a hot pink, skull-and-crossbones-themed headband. It symbolizes that I am both fashionable and the finest slow-motion runner on the high seas.
So, to wrap up: Remember your breast health, ladies! Monthly self-exams, yearly exams by your doctor, and regular mammograms starting when you're 40 years old. Engage in these preventative measures, and I promise that tomorrow I'll do my best to talk about something other than running.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A Japanese Vampire Party, Just As God Intended
This evening, I ran farther than I've ever run in my life! Five miles! I'm sure that sometime during the next 3 months of training the novelty of setting new records will wear off, but for now I think it's cause for celebration.
How am I celebrating? Well I'm glad you asked!
So to recap: run 5 miles, spend $50. I think maybe after I finish running the race, I'll buy a car.
How am I celebrating? Well I'm glad you asked!
So to recap: run 5 miles, spend $50. I think maybe after I finish running the race, I'll buy a car.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Circuit City Transit Authority
Because I'm lucky enough to live in a town with free local bus service, and because there is a bus line that stops right across the street from my apartment and gets me to the School of Social Work in less than 15 minutes, I ride the bus to and from school everyday. And since I'm working for the school this summer, my bus riding adventures continue.
Recently I was riding the bus home and I happened to look around and notice that every one of the 7 or 8 other passengers on the bus at the time were engaged with some electronic device or another - either listening to music, texting, or talking on the phone. I'm sure my bus in my town is no different from any other bus - or any other public place, for that matter - in any other town.
I'm not one of those people that believes that the spread of technology is destroying society and degrading the moral fiber of humanity. I do believe, however, that it's probably best if you just wait 10 minutes and schedule your next dental appointment in the comfort and privacy of your own home, rather than when you're on a bus with 35 other people and you have to yell to make yourself heard. The other day I actually heard a girl return someone's phone call and THEN refuse to answer any of the person's questions because "she was on a crowded bus." She gets points for discretion, but she should still probably have some kind of legally appointed guardian to make her decisions, just to be on the safe side.
As stupid as that girl was, she's still far more intelligent than 95% of people talking on cell phones in public. Everyone seems to think that when they initiate a conversation on a cell phone, a magical cone of privacy descends around them. This is simply not true. Girl who sits in the back of the bus baby-talking to her long-distance boyfriend every day at 8:30 in the morning? I CAN HEAR YOU. Guy in the airport loudly having a conversation about your dying mother(!)? I CAN HEAR YOU. Girl who calls her grandmother on the bus every couple days, and then repeatedly says, "I can't hear you very well grandma, I'm on a bus"?? Your grandmother may not be able to hear you, BUT I SURE AS HELL CAN.
Anyway, now that I've got all that off my chest, I can tell you about the hilarious thing that happened on the bus this morning. There was some guy in the back of the bus with his ipod turned up so loudly that you could hear the faint sounds of hip hop all the way up in the front where I was sitting. About the same time I noticed this, another guy in the back of the bus (sans headphones) said, "Man, somebody's got his headphones turned up waaaay too loud." Some nearby girls giggled. Emboldened, he added, "You're gonna lose your hearing that way, man... Is that the last song you wanna hear??" The girls laughed some more, and I smiled quietly to myself.
Suddenly the other guy, who is apparently not losing his hearing at all, responded, "Man, I can hear everything you're saying. You asked me if this is the last song I ever want to hear."
At that, the girls sitting nearby laughed even louder, but I'll never know what happened to that guy, because that's when we got to my stop.
Recently I was riding the bus home and I happened to look around and notice that every one of the 7 or 8 other passengers on the bus at the time were engaged with some electronic device or another - either listening to music, texting, or talking on the phone. I'm sure my bus in my town is no different from any other bus - or any other public place, for that matter - in any other town.
I'm not one of those people that believes that the spread of technology is destroying society and degrading the moral fiber of humanity. I do believe, however, that it's probably best if you just wait 10 minutes and schedule your next dental appointment in the comfort and privacy of your own home, rather than when you're on a bus with 35 other people and you have to yell to make yourself heard. The other day I actually heard a girl return someone's phone call and THEN refuse to answer any of the person's questions because "she was on a crowded bus." She gets points for discretion, but she should still probably have some kind of legally appointed guardian to make her decisions, just to be on the safe side.
As stupid as that girl was, she's still far more intelligent than 95% of people talking on cell phones in public. Everyone seems to think that when they initiate a conversation on a cell phone, a magical cone of privacy descends around them. This is simply not true. Girl who sits in the back of the bus baby-talking to her long-distance boyfriend every day at 8:30 in the morning? I CAN HEAR YOU. Guy in the airport loudly having a conversation about your dying mother(!)? I CAN HEAR YOU. Girl who calls her grandmother on the bus every couple days, and then repeatedly says, "I can't hear you very well grandma, I'm on a bus"?? Your grandmother may not be able to hear you, BUT I SURE AS HELL CAN.
Anyway, now that I've got all that off my chest, I can tell you about the hilarious thing that happened on the bus this morning. There was some guy in the back of the bus with his ipod turned up so loudly that you could hear the faint sounds of hip hop all the way up in the front where I was sitting. About the same time I noticed this, another guy in the back of the bus (sans headphones) said, "Man, somebody's got his headphones turned up waaaay too loud." Some nearby girls giggled. Emboldened, he added, "You're gonna lose your hearing that way, man... Is that the last song you wanna hear??" The girls laughed some more, and I smiled quietly to myself.
Suddenly the other guy, who is apparently not losing his hearing at all, responded, "Man, I can hear everything you're saying. You asked me if this is the last song I ever want to hear."
At that, the girls sitting nearby laughed even louder, but I'll never know what happened to that guy, because that's when we got to my stop.
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