Soled Out ... a running blog

Up the hill, but not over it.

2012-02-13T22:16:00.000-08:00

Pressure is building because it's been over two weeks since my last post. I usually formulate ideas while running, which I shall call Method A. But since nothing has come to mind lately, I'm deferring to Method B, which is sitting at the computer with fingers poised on the keyboard, and waiting .....

Hmmmmm..... okay, here it comes. As I said in the sidebar of this blog, advice written to the older, senior-type runners, is in short supply. At races, older age divisions are called Masters. It's the typical make-grandma-and-grandpa-feel-important-instead-of-feeling-hopelessly-over-the-hill philosophy. Well Runner's World magazine, in its latest issue, offers an article addressed to us geriatrics. Finally. Except it includes the 40-somethings in our group. Do you know how long it's been since I was forty??? Don't answer that.

So let's talk about that article. What does it say WE need to do differently, than the rest of the running crowd?

~More rest days. Done. I'll take it.
~Lower expectations. Don't try to compare your today's Best, with your Best of 10 years ago. Since I don't HAVE a ten-year-old Best, that's a non-issue for me. I'm just trying to keep up with last week!
~Train by time, not by miles. This means if six or seven miles used to take you an hour, stay with that hour even though you cover less distance now. I'm considering this approach.
~Cross train. This means adding to your regimen, any type of exercise that is NOT running. I tried that with weights and I lasted four months. I keep hearing that yoga is almost better than chocolate. Is that possible?? So I'm considering it too.
~Slow down. I've been slowing down since my first mile over three years ago.
~Keep pinning on bibs. Ha! Your mind immediately went to drool, didn't it. I'm not to THAT point yet. We're talking about racing bib numbers. Although, I suppose, you COULD use them to catch drool .... Keep entering races. It says there's something valuable about competition and accountability. Here's the GOOD news: The older you get, the less competition there is in your age group. If you hang in there long enough, odds are you'll eventually win a medal. And when you do, you have MY permission to wear it everywhere for at least a month or two.

That's about it. Well, there was more, but overly long posts tend to bore the reader. But before I close, I'd like to add a few suggestions of my own:

~Cute running clothes. I may not FEEL as perky on the inside as my striped leg warmers would imply, but I can look the part.
~Remember how many in your age group are NOT outside, running up hills. Feel superior to all self-imposed couch potatoes, especially the YOUNG ones.
~Do NOT compare yourself to younger, stronger, faster runners. Instead, keep in mind fond memories of your own dear grandmother, who ALWAYS wore sensible shoes and a flowered dress. Fifty is the new forty. Yes, it is. And in a few years, SIXTY will become the new forty. Just wait. You'll see.

Sometimes life demands tough decisions

2012-01-29T22:55:00.000-08:00

I have made an executive decision. I am not going to run tomorrow. Instead I'll walk on my treadmill for my hour of exercise. And it's for a good cause -- my hair.

Here's the story: I was "fortunate" to inherit curls. Or so people tell me. People with straight hair. People who don't know what the heck they're talking about. To make it worse, with the curls I was also blessed with frizz. And to top it off, I live in a damp, frizz-inducing climate.

As a teenager, (this is really going to date me) before curling irons and the myriad of hair-appliances available today, we had actual curlers -- the plastic kind. And we had bobby pins, but don't ask me who "Bobby" was because I haven't a clue. We also had hair dryers, but not the gun-shaped type we use today. Ours had hoses with bonnets and you had to sit there for 45 minutes, tethered to the machine, waiting for every strand to dry. If I had grown up in the 40s when curls were "in", all would have been fine. But I grew up in the hippie-era 60s and 70s, when long straight hair was practically a religion. So in pursuit of that ever-important straight look, I used REALLY big curlers. In fact, I used empty cans. Yes, you read it right. If you're familiar with Hershey's chocolate syrup cans, those were the very ones, only with the ends cut off. And believe it or not, I slept on them! So my hair issues and I go waaaaay back.

In my early 20s, I gave up the battle and got my hair cut short, and stayed that way for the next 30+ years. Still frizzy, but at least I could throw some gel in it and get by. Then fate happened.

I was sitting with my mother-in-law during her lunch at the assisted living center to encourage her to eat more than just her jello and dessert. We shared a table with another woman visiting her grandmother and the subject of hair came up. Other Visitor told me about Chi flat irons.

"They work." She said. "Don't bother with the cheap ones you get at the local Walgreens."

Hmmm. I went home and did the research. Interesting. So off I went to the mall where the authentic ones are sold and made the investment. They retail for over $100, but I luckily hit a sale with a coupon.

It's miraculous. It straightens like nobody's business. Gone were the curls. Gone was the frizz. So I immediately started the growing-out process. I was actually going to have long-ish hair again before I completely surrendered to old age. Another happy discovery is that once the hair is straightened, it'll last for days. I don't have to do a thing to it in the morning after sleeping on it. Life changing!

The miracle of "Chi"
(and an excuse to show off a spectacularly cute granddaughter.)

Getting to the point FINALLY. I get up each morning with perfectly ready-to-go hair and then promptly proceed to RUIN IT with a run. I admit, I cannot run without sweating. In fact I sweat buckets! And by the end of my run, the hair is toast. And then I have to start over with the straightening regimen. Therefore, so as to not totally fry every hair off my head, I try not to do it everyday and sometimes opt for curly which means going into hiding with occasional covert dashes to the grocery store.

See what I mean? This is the after-effect of a couple of runs
(and very little sleep) during the Hood to Coast relay.

Hence, my executive decision. I will walk on the treadmill tomorrow because I'm feeling rebellious and by dang, I'm giving my hair, (and me) a break.

Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

10 Week Fitness Challenges .... NOT for dummies

2012-01-24T23:06:00.000-08:00

In perusing my posts, (all 91 so far), I can't help but notice that this post has received the most hits. I'd like to think this is due to my entertaining and witty style of writing ..... but it's more likely that the subject simply generates a lot of interest or maybe there are just a lot of fatties out there .... JUST KIDDING! If you have been faithfully following my blog, you would know from this recent post that I'm in another 10 week "challenge". Since this challenge is somewhat different than the first, I thought I'd devote a post to how it works, because I think I prefer this format over the previous one. And maybe it'll get more hits!

So here we go:

An awesome and organized person steps up and decides to form a challenge group. We'll call our leader Ellen, since that happens to be her name. Ellen sends out the word, mostly through facebook, and anyone who is interested in losing weight or developing healthier habits, signs on. Everyone sends Ellen $10, who dutifully tucks it safely away, plus we send a goal sheet describing our diet plan and goals.

Then everyone is invited by Ellen to join a blog which she has set up for the challenge, and we all post a picture and an intro paragraph. Kind of like a group meet 'n greet. For sending the money, goal sheet, and posting an intro post, everyone earns points. Plus we all record our starting weight .... but don't panic, we don't post it.

On the starting day, everyone begins to earn 1 point each day for each of the following:
1. Drinking at least 48 oz. of water.
2. Keeping a food journal.
3. Sticking to chosen diet plan. (We each are free to choose whatever plan we want.)
4. Exercising. One point for each half hour, 2 points maximum per day, six days a week.

Participants keep track of their own points, and each Friday, we weigh in, email our weekly points to Ellen, and add an new post in the blog telling about our week, earning even more points.

Plus there may be random "pop challenges". Each afternoon, Monday - Friday, Ellen flips a coin. Heads - no pop challenge that day. Tails - she picks one of the following, like drawing one out of a hat, so to speak, and sends it out in an group email.

1. No sweets.
2. No fried foods.
3. 4 servings of vegetables.
4. 3 servings of fruit.
5. No soda.
6. Eating breakfast that day.
7. Extra points for each additional half hour of exercise.
8. Sleeping 7-9 hours the night before.

If we have done that particular pop challenge we get extra points. (The nifty thing is that, with the exception of numbers 6 & 8, you have the rest of the day to make sure you do it ..... or not ..... as in "No pop challenge today ..... now I don't have to finish my brocolli!")

At the end of five weeks, we earn 5 points for completing a 5K. At the end of 10 weeks, we earn 10 points by completing a 10K (run, walk, or crawl).

We also earn one half point for every percentage point of weight lost at the end. Then we all tally our points and the winner gets the money.

You can decide for your own group, the number of points earned for each item.

So there you have it. And you thought weight loss couldn't be fun.

Rainbows and purse racks

2012-01-19T14:16:00.000-08:00

Rainbows are supposed to be God's promise (Gen. 9: 13-15) that he'll never again flood the entire earth .... but I'm beginning to wonder. Yes, I live in the Pacific Northwest, and yes it's supposed to rain here, and NOT that I'm doubting scripture, but let's be reasonable. This deluge we've been having is a bit over the top. (And the normally quiet little stream-now-turned-raging-torrent behind my back fence is almost literally over ITS top.) An axiom that one often hears about our weather is that if you don't like it, wait ten minutes. Well, I've been waiting ..... and waiting .... and we're into our third soggy day of this downpour. It's long past wearing out its welcome.

You see, the BIG problem is not the flooding and random power-outages here and there. No, those are just minor annoyances. The REALLY BIG problem is that the storm outside has forced me to transform what is normally a handy and convenient purse-rack, back to a treadmill. And then I've had to .... USE IT.

Runner's World magazine wisely had this to say: "Treadmill (n.) A torture device perfected in the 20th century designed to destroy one's mind through sensory deprivation and monotony."

So there it is. In spite of what one would think is an ideal setting for one of these beasts: In my bedroom, next to a picture window with a lovely view, in front of a large flat screen TV (with cable!) and a fan, and a few steps from my bathroom and shower. And not to mention the lock on my bedroom door .... but, as I said, in spite of these attempts to make it tolerable, running indoors was never meant to be. It's just not natural. It's kind of like fake Christmas trees in this evergreen corner of the world. Running is for the great outdoors! To run into an arctic headwind, dogs yapping at your ankles, flash-judgments between stopping for that traffic light or sprinting across the street, realizing that you really should have "gone" before you left the house because your bathroom is now miles away, and having to wipe your faucet-like nose with your gloves and/or sleeve because you forgot to bring a kleenex. THAT is the joy of running!

When I'm running on a treadmill, it's a constant battle with myself. Just make it to a mile! - I growl to Self. Just one mile ... you can do it. Running a mile outdoors is easy. Indoors it's a miserable test of endurance because I know I can jump off anytime. But when I'm outside, if I've ran three miles from home, I pretty much have to run those three miles back again. There's no getting around it, so there's no battle. You just do it.

Maybe tomorrow the clouds will let up. Maybe tomorrow my purses will return to their proper home. And maybe tomorrow I can return to the streets, and the exhaust fumes, and the traffic lights, and the puddles, and ..... why am I suddenly humming that song from Annie?

Hippo birdie two ewes .....

2012-01-14T14:56:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know, I just put out a new post yesterday, and I'm trying to not wear out my welcome in the Blogosphere. But tomorrow is Husband's birthday and he doesn't want me to get him anything and we're both in hot competition to not eat (see previous post) so dining out is difficult. Therefore, I will blog about him. Won't that be a fun surprise? Who doesn't want to be paraded across the internet!

A brief history: Neither of us remembers when we first became aware of each other. My early memories begin in a Sunday School class somewhere near the age of 12. He was just another gross, geeky boy.

Fast forward into high school when we both attended an early morning scripture class and were carpooling together. Our backyards met at one corner so we always seemed to be grouped in the same car for church events. Good thing. Being painfully shy, it took a while for the sparks to ignite.

He asked me to a semi-formal dance for our first date. I was 16, he was 17. My older sister and brother were home at the time and both were suddenly much too interested in my "love life". He showed up at the door, corsage in hand, only to learn I wasn't ready because I wasn't actually sure WHEN he was supposed to come and was too shy to ask. Anyway, awkward start.

Senior prom. Different dance.

More fast forwarding - two years later. He decided to heed the call of the Lord and serve a two-year mission on the other side of the country. We had been together for two years and seeing him go was hard, to say the least. I spent those two years dutifully missing him and writing letters twice a week, all the while having the time of my life at college. Yes I DID miss him, and yes I WAS having fun. Can't explain it. It just was.

He came home a week after I graduated and about two months later, we were engaged. He kind of blew it with the question-popping, which he is the first to admit, but I married him anyway in Logan, Utah, nearly four months later. Our honeymoon was one of those unfortunate occasions you laugh about years later. Basically it consisted of limping back to our humble little apartment in Oregon, in a $300 car that was threatening to quit on any random deserted stretch of the highway, and with only a few dollars left to our now-married name.

Even more fast forwarding, 36 years and four grown kids later, I must say, life with this man has been nothing short of delightful. He may be messy, disorganized, and forgetful, but he knows how to work hard and better yet, how to play even harder. He's smart, kind, generous, and genuinely cares about others. He has a heart the size of Wyoming and an optimistic tendency to get carried away when planning fun events. He loves people and people love him. Every pet we owned, bonded with him over anyone else. Not to mention he loves his family, his kids, and best of all he adores me. For what more could I ask?

I look forward to a bazillion more years with the LOML, after which we'll take stock, reassess, and sign up for a bazillion more.

Happy Birthday to my BFF.

Game on!

2012-01-13T16:14:00.000-08:00

Another fitness challenge begins! Remember this post? With some significant format changes from the first one, I am joining my second (and one half, counting the one I didn't finish) 10 week challenge to lose some weight. The Christmas weight, plus some pre-holiday, non-festive, pounds is/are coming off. And three hours into it, here's how it's going:

First of all, I must confess, last night I binged. We went out to eat since Husband and I are out of town, and that shrimp-filled chili relleno with the cheesy sauce was TO DIE FOR. Then while visiting Cabela's, Husband's FAVORITE store on the planet, I bought a quarter pound of maple nut fudge that we devoured in our hotel room later that night. If you are familiar with fitness challenges, you would know that it is a competition within a group and there is a cash prize at the end. And to any of my "competitors" who might read this - admit it - you binged yesterday too. Yes you did.

So this morning it officially began. And of course, the complementary breakfast at our hotel, was FULL of evil. All kinds of sweet pastries (my weakness), waffles, breads, etc. I dutifully ate a TON of fruit while pocketing a banana for later, a ridiculously small bowl of Total cereal, and a piece of toast. *Sigh*

Don't tell anyone at Weight Watchers, but I've decided to just count calories this time. Not that the WW plan isn't good - it absolutely is! In fact, WW has won national awards and we, as employees, get to wear nifty little lapel pins that brag about it .... But after 3 1/2 years, I just needed a change. Something different.

And so it's almost 11:00 a.m. and I have "spent" 240 calories so far. (There was some cream cheese and marmalade on that toast.) I'm allowing myself 1400 per day and that leaves ...... 1160! I'm also using a WW tactic of not counting most veggies and fruits, so I haven't abandoned WW altogether.

Here's an earth shaker: Husband is doing it with me. And I didn't make him. And he plans to WIN. (It's adorable!) He's so clueless about calories ... but there are apps! And he has a fancy new phone! So three hours into this, he's going strong! heheheheheh, as I said, clueless .... As someone who has been calorie-conscious practically since first donning panty hose at the silly-and-much-too-young age of 14, I have to chuckle.

There is much more to fitness challenges than just losing weight. We also gain points for getting enough sleep, eating healthy food, drinking LOTS of water, and exercising. As you know, I get plenty of exercise, so no issues there, but the water thing is problematic. I'm not a water-bottle carrier. Drinking fountains work just fine, IMO. I grew up with them and I'm still alive. But we're supposed to drink at least 48 oz. daily and this always sends me on a mad search for a bathroom every couple of hours.

http://www.clipartguide.com/_pages/0511-0708-2917-4844.html

So you can happily look forward to updates, because the challenge lasts 10 weeks. Husband is probably planning our next trip to Cabela's because that prize money is already burning a hole in his pocket.

Run FOR the cure? ... It IS the cure!

2012-01-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

In the city near my small home town - and in many other cities as well - you will find annual races titled something like Run (or Race) for the Cure. They are usually to raise awareness and funds for breast cancer research. Having lost my mother to the disease many years ago, I appreciate the cause. But a far more deadly disease that takes more victims is heart disease, which can be a result of too much body fat. And the Battle of the Bulge never ends.

In my own personal battle, I have logged 28 miles this week. I'm not sure if I've ever done that many miles in one week before, except for Marathon Week. The motivation is that I'm still packing some Christmas pounds and a little nervous about weighing in on Monday.

You see, Weight Watchers employees, which I am one, are all former members who have successfully lost weight on the program. Once you lose your weight and maintain for six weeks, you reach what is called "Lifetime" status and you remain in the program for no cost for the remainder of your life as long as you: 1. Weigh in at a WW meeting at least once a month and 2. don't gain more than two pounds above your goal weight. If you DO go over that two-pound limit, you simply start paying again and jump back into the program. The stupid truth is that you are never cured from the reality of calories-in VS calories-out and there are no shortcuts nor magic pills. *Sigh*

So I've pushed extra hard this past week to run some pounds off. In a perfect world, weight would come off as easily as it goes on. But a perfect world, this isn't. And in a perfect world, the above picture would have shown female feet so that no one leaves here wondering ....

One thing I've noticed in my three years at WW -- most enrollees are former members. I'd say easily 70%. Why? There are a multitude of reasons as to why they didn't stay in the program the first time. Discouragement. Cost. Looking for an easier way - (Hint: There isn't). Or a false sense of security in thinking maintenance is a done deal as in, "Oh yeah, I've got this beat!" Trust me, losing is the easy part, compared to maintenance. That's why so few "losers" can keep it off long term.

If it wasn't for running, I would have gained it back. How do I know? Because I've been down that road before. Twice. I'm good at logging miles, but NOT good at logging every bite that enters my mouth. It's so blasted tedious. I yearn for my youth when I could almost eat with abandon, all the while THINKING I was fat. -- (Yeah, right! If ONLY I could be at my college weight again ..... I'd actually APPRECIATE it now)

Not that I'm THAT far above it. Ten pounds, or so. Including those Christmas pounds which WILL come off, By Dang!

Back to the program and on with the battle because if there's one thing I've learned, it's being slender is better than donuts ... and I LOVE donuts.

Resolutions and COOL things to come

2012-01-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

My running resolutions for this new year can realistically be summed up in one word:
MAINTAIN

Or IOW: Just keep it up. Carry on. Don't get fat. Hang in there. Don't die .... yet.

So no, I DON'T plan on another marathon, at least not at the moment. I DON'T plan on another trek ... And I'm NOT captain of our 2012 Hood to Coast team.

I just plan to continue slogging along as usual, with the atypical-to-me Plan of NOT focusing on PRs. I met my goal of a sub 60-minute 10K in September, so check that one off The List. (And if you're underwhelmed at my 10K goal, you might recall my age .....) Just run for fun, I say to Self ...... and .... well, we'll see how that goes. It's all part of the eternal effort to squeeze a few more drops of youthful energy out of this aging soul before I resign myself to the well-earned title of OLD.

Second thought, I DO have an actual goal: In 2012, NO ONE will get lost on a 10K route for which I am responsible. Never again! And if I have to personally escort every runner to keep them on track, I will do it .... somehow.

And this year Delightful Running Friends and I will test out an additional relay called The Epic! (Sounds OMINOUS, doesn't it. There's something about the word epic.) More on that later.

I also plan to accompany Husband to Utah this summer for his debut into the Saints-to-Sinners Relay, in which I will NOT be participating because it's done entirely on bicycles. My goal for him is to simply survive this potential widow-maker. You'll also hear more on this later.

Finally .... there's some crazy (an adjective which cannot be emphasized enough!) talk afloat about a summer solstice run in the Arctic Circle. And I'm not talking burgers. It makes one wonder about the sanity level of the company with which I've been associating lately.

Stay tuned ....

A Very Brady Christmas

2011-12-27T14:58:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. Officially. The trappings are still out, ie. lights, tree, other stuff, and too much left over food. But all company is gone and the house is quiet. The floors are quiet. The walls are quiet. The AIR is even quiet. All I can hear is the fridge humming and my fingers on the keyboard.

I don't mind the rain outside because my run is done. 5.25 miles this morning. And that's all you'll hear about running in this post. Because I'm going to talk about Christmases past.

We used to live in the semi-country, on a couple of acres, with a long driveway. In the early years, before our driveway was paved, the gravel used to scatter out onto the street below. I don't remember ever actually walking down there and sweeping the rocks off the street. But we talked about doing it.

So one Christmas morning, after our resident Sugar Plum Fairies dutifully waited until the hallowed 7:00 hour when they were FINALLY allowed to make any noise or disturb their parents --- they tripped, stumbled, danced, wrestled their way down the stairs announcing in full volume: It's time to open presents!

"Not yet." said Dad. "Gotta sweep the street first."

Oh the wails of agony. The sheer torture of child abuse. The demands for justice.

"No!!!!!!! Dad!!!!!!"

Of course he was teasing, and the rocks on the street were forgotten. Until the next year.

"Dad, are you going to make us sweep the street first?" asked one small resident fairy. "I don't want to sweep the street! Do we HAVE to??"

So for many years thereafter, it became the family Christmas tradition. Not to actually sweep those rocks off the street. But just to talk about it. I'm not sure, but one year there may have been a broom set out by the Christmas tree as a reminder of the all-important chore.

Fast forward to 2011. Christmas day. We're all here in fully-grown adult-status, and in addition there are six NEW sugar plum fairies and a son- and daughter-in-law who helped produce them. Favorite Daughter, and mother of three of the above-mentioned next-generation fairies, presented us all with copies of a drawing, neatly framed.

All who'd grown up in this household instantly got it. Poor Daughter-in-law didn't have a clue why we were all suddenly laughing and exclaiming our delight.

The driveway was eventually paved and no more rocks spill out onto the street. And we don't even live there anymore ....

But the memory continues.

Happy Birthday Dear Blog

2011-12-23T00:40:00.000-08:00

One year and 85 posts old.

Recaps, thoughts, and lessons of Blog's Year One:

I discovered I like to write. Honestly, this was news to me.
I got to run in New York City! -- Okay so it was only about a mile because we were hurrying to catch a boat for a harbor tour to get my first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty.
I learned a Garmin GPS watch doesn't work very well on a moving cruise ship.
Favorite Daughter became my Favorite (& indispensable!) Running Partner.
I faced my demons, met my goal, and became a marathoner. Still no plans to do another, but learning to never say never.
I learned that training for and fretting about a marathon is far worse than running it.
I ran four more 10Ks and finally did one in under an hour.
I helped organize two official running events. One went flawlessly. One didn't.
Third year in the Hood to Coast. The last half of the route was a disappointing and over-crowded mess, but we're not giving up on it yet. We get to do it again next year!
I found kindred spirits on facebook in our Runner's Anonymous group.
I am still completely dependent on my iPod and music playlist.
I ran over 100 miles in one month and over 1000 miles in one year, for the 3rd year in a row, and intimately know every stretch of road in this town.
Biking is not my passion. At least not like running. And that's okay. I still plan to ride.
I converted to Asics Cumulus running shoes and wear the largest size EVER. So far the toenails are intact, but I haven't really put them to the test.
I endured four days "trekking" back in time as a pioneer, following a handcart through miles of dust and sagebrush, giving me a keener appreciation for my heroic ancestors and for modern conveniences, as well as confidence in the upcoming generation.
I'm still lousy at committing to supplementary forms of exercise, ie. weight lifting. I lasted four months.
My dream job is motivational speaker.
I still hate treadmills and all forms of indoor exercising ... and flying .... and cilantro.
It has been confirmed yet again that I have awesome kids and the dearest husband on the planet.

T'was a good year.

Runner's HIGH?

2011-12-21T07:09:00.000-08:00

I've never been able to pinpoint what, exactly, is a "runner's high". Have you heard of it? I was perusing an article in the NY Times that ran too long for my attention span, but told of actual studies, using actual science - neuroscience to be exact, that it does indeed exist.

It's all about endorphins that get released in the brain during exercise, causing mood changes. We're talking about the same parts of the brain that kick in when one is involved in a love affair or when a piece of music gives you the "chills". One researcher said he could see blissfulness in runners' faces after two hours of running.

So that brings me to wonder. I have done runs that lasted two hours. And runs that lasted three, four, and over five hours. And I'm pretty sure I wasn't feeling any endorphins. There may have been some mood changes along the way, but nothing that fits the description of euphoria. Not even close. The only "high" I feel happens afterwards when I've STOPPED running -- when I'm in my shower and my run is DONE for the day. But even that wouldn't fit what the article described. It's more like relief. Or satisfaction. Or comfort in the perceived belief that I am safe from getting fat that day. One acquaintance, who mentioned that he often sees me out on the road, said he might consider taking up running if he ever saw me looking like I was having fun. So far he hasn't.

The article also mentioned a follow-up study about how running affects pain perception. Meaning - tolerance for pain increased to the point that some runners kept running with stress fractures and even during heart attacks.

Not me. Albeit I've never had a stress fracture nor a heart attack, I have had nasty leg cramps wherein my calves morphed into painful wooden stumps and although I tried to keep running, it just wasn't going to happen. The upper body was willing, the lower body was in revolt. It did cause a mood change to be sure. But again, euphoria just doesn't come to mind.

I've heard that some runners "hit the wall" somewhere during those last few miles of a marathon which means the bodily revolt mentioned above, turns into full-fledged mutiny. Some marathoners also experience dark feelings of discouragement and/or anger. Typically-cheerful Favorite Daughter had some of this and her husband, who waited in a supportive-husbandly manner to see her cross the finish line, briefly thought she was mad at him for being there. I, on the other hand, felt joy crossing the finish line because at that moment I was thinking I NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN!

So I've given up the hope of euphoric highs when I run. My bliss happens at the Sees Candy counter - free samples! Or at Dairy Queen with a Chocolate Extreme Blizzard in hand.

Or when I find the perfect pair of boots marked 75% off. Score!!

Class envy

2011-12-13T13:42:00.000-08:00

Not to be overly snit-ish, but on the same theme as this post, and although I passionately admire people who can do them, I resent the whole concept of an ultra-marathon. In fact anything beyond the established, commonly-and-respectfully-known entity of 26.2 miles doesn't set well with me. Why? Because the ultras (100 stinkin' miles!), the 50 miler, the 50K (31 miles) all diminish the accomplishment of finishing your standard time-honored marathon.

"Ho hum. You ran a marathon? Well, bless your heart. I used to do those. Then I got serious and bumped it up to an ultra. THAT's a REAL challenge. But only for the really Hard Core. Nowadays I use marathons for warming up."

Not that I've actually heard anyone say that. Nor seen it written..... But surely they're thinking it. ...... Buncha show-offs.

I liked the whole idea that the number of marathon finishers is less than 1% of the population. And that I was one of them. And that somehow, it set me apart from the Rank and File. Whether or not that number is a myth, it felt good. It was validating.

But now there is an even smaller elite group that is gaining too much recognition, crowding MY group out of the top tier.

Again, these mega-runners deserve our highest admiration. A body can burn calories and grow weary just THINKING about a such a feat! Nevertheless, to them I say - Calm down! Go climb a mountain, or swim the English Channel. Or get the most hits on You Tube. Whatever! Just stop pressuring those of us who barely survived a marathon and can't THINK past 26.2 miles. Enough is enough!

Besides, I'm not convinced it's POSSIBLE to run 100 miles. Unless of course you're a Kenyan, made of nothing but lean muscle, carbon fiber bones, and the lungs of Lance Armstrong. Not to mention the discipline and determination of a Jedi Warrior. Which I'm not.

So those of you who think a marathon is just a breezy morning jaunt, I strongly suspect there is some Kenyan and/or Jedi DNA floating around in your bloodline. Surely you don't have to WORK as hard as the rest of us. It MUST be easier for you. Forget the proverbial silver spoon - obviously you were born with a tattoo of a Nike swoosh.

Just saying.

;-)

Lace up your shoes and grab a jacket ...

2011-12-08T11:08:00.001-08:00

... because I'm taking you on one of my typical five mile runs. This is what I see day after day after day after day .........

Just leaving my neighborhood. In the spring, this seemingly harmless stretch of road is the scene of vicious and unprovoked harassment by birds.

Through the small recently-built college campus next door.

Past the first of several "round-abouts". (Remember to roll your Rs and pronounce round like rooond (as in balloooon), according to my sister who has been to Scotland and KNOWS.)

Past our lovely golf course.

Around the back of the hospital where we catch a glimpse of my shadow. This spot is where I often see hospital personnel go to smoke. Reminds me of high school.

To the local highway that funnels too much of Oregon's traffic through our small town.

Another rrrroond-about. (IMO round-abouts are only good for cyclists. I don't like them as a driver, nor as a pedestrian. But when on a bike, they're great! They don't force me to stop which involves unclipping and re-clipping into the pedals.)

A small but notable hill. With bicycling, you can get some momentum going down to carry you partway back up again. Not so with running, unfortunately.

The intersection I know all too well. I cross it in 99% of my runs. Note to drivers: Go ahead and go! Don't wait for me. Let me stand (and rest!) here for a minute. Really. I don't mind.

Back to the highway and past one of the few remaining outdoor drive-in theaters in the country.

Looping around Walgreens. Just before this spot, we've hit the 5K point. 1.9 miles to go.

Here's where I feel smug. Just run, Curves-members. Once you're outfitted, it's free! .....

One of the more eye-pleasing(?) sections of my run, through a back parking lot and behind Les Schwab. This shot failed to include the ambient trash bins.

More smug thoughts.

Here we are within a stone's throw from a quick finish at my house, straight ahead down the road. But to add another 3/4 mile, we're turning left ....

... down this asphalt path. Note my shadow in the corner. I actually took some shots of my shadow, but I looked like a fat Dr. Seuss creature.

See what I mean .....

Back to that same ol' intersection where we stomp on a few seed pods from the oak trees.

On the home stretch! I SHOULD be sprinting now. Ha! As if.

The end of our run! (AKA Home)

Off-topic side note: The Christmas garlands on the posts look scrawny during the day, but at night it's pretty. Actually, there is a respectable amount of lights on the house and bushes which YOURS TRULY put up all by herself! Using REALLY BIG ladders! (P.S. Vote for Rob!)

A happiness check list

2011-12-06T09:16:00.001-08:00

Recently, on one of my favorite talk shows, the host stated that he believed three ingredients were necessary for a happy life: Purpose, Structure, and Camaraderie. Lacking any of these three, one will not be truly happy, he claimed. It made sense to me so of course, I inserted my life into this formula, to see where I stood.

Purpose: For me, my religious faith fills this one. I know where I came from, why I'm here, and where I'm going. You can't get much more purpose than that. IMO, one needs faith in both God and an afterlife to have true long-term purpose. I understand, of course, there are plenty of people who would disagree with me; nevertheless, this is my blog and my opinion counts here. They are free to write their own blogs. But what about other purposes in life? Short-term stuff. Like goals. Again IMO, all short-term goals are lessons or types if you will, of the one larger eternal goal. Setting and achieving short-term goals teaches us that we CAN achieve the BIG one. Running plays a role here. Learning that I CAN do things I never thought I'd even try, has added confidence and purpose to my life and has increased my happiness. Check.

Structure: Here again, my religion plays a big part. It is a 24/7 lifestyle with plenty of structure which to some, might appear to be confining. But actually, it has kept me free of many forms of bondage. By following its tenets, I have avoided many of life's pitfalls and poor choices with all their unintended consequences. Work is also a great source of structure. But in another sense, running, like any type of exercise, also promotes structure because of the discipline involved. My schedule and mileage goals each week have given me a sense of control and security that I can remain strong and (somewhat) lean despite age. Check.

Camaraderie: Again back to religion. Activity in my church throughout my life has been the source of many friendships. Family, of course. My husband most of all. They have taught me how to care about others. And running has enhanced my social circle. When I started running, my camaraderie level took a leap upward. There's nothing like sharing a common love for something that the rest of the world looks at with total dismay. I have kindred spirits among my friends and most importantly, I feel valued by them in return. THAT's camaraderie. Check.

Take a moment and assess your life. Are you happy? If you are missing any of these three ingredients, you might consider raising your level of activity at a church.

Then I suggest you go outside and run.

Born to run?

2011-12-02T19:00:00.001-08:00

One of my earliest memories takes place at what must have been a church picnic at a park somewhere in Portland. I was about four. There were organized activities for the little kids, including a short running race. I remember my mother coaxing me to participate. But I, being extremely shy, just clung to her leg. Then once she gave up on me and the race began, I burst into tears. I was upset that I had missed out. And of course it was her fault.

That was the only organized running event I can recall in my youth, although there must have been others. However, nothing comes to mind because I avoided sports whenever possible. I preferred climbing trees and building forts. I obviously was a proficient cyclist (see above) and I could hold my own in foursquare and hopscotch. I even played a decent game of ping pong, but never anything involving speed and endurance or throwing something farther than a few feet. I still can't throw a ball - well actually I can, but as Husband jests, I do it "like a girl".

Anyway, this is one of the many appealing things about running. It takes no skill. You just run as we were all born to do. Well, actually there is SOME skill involved called form, and if you want to learn from a master, just watch a kid ..... which may be difficult to do when they're clamped onto their exasperated mother's leg, bawling.

Birthdays, PRs, etc.

2011-11-29T20:03:00.001-08:00

Today is my 57th birthday. There. I admit it. One thing I don't like about "pushing" sixty is that Heaven knows I get ENOUGH exercise without also having to push something. So I proclaim that NO ONE HERE is even CLOSE to sixty until they are AT LEAST 59 and 11-1/2 months old. Then we'll broach the discussion about pushing things. Maybe ... well ... no ... probably not.

Speaking of exercise, today is also noteworthy because I just completed a new PR! For the first time ....

(drum roll ....)

... Yours Truly has ...

(more drum rolls ...)

... ran 100 miles in one month!

ONE HUNDRED MILES, PEOPLE.

Yes indeedy! And we're not talking 100 miles of running and walking breaks. I still break to walk quite a bit, but when I do - the Garmin is PAUSED. (That also brings to mind: Happy birthday to my Garmin! One year ago today, it replaced my stopwatch and we've been a team ever since.)

The sign denotes MILES, not age!

I didn't set out to run this mileage on November 1, but because I've been obsessively logging my miles as described here, several days ago, after a fun 6+ mile run with friends, I realized that I was within 15 miles of 100.

"You can do it!" cheered Husband and Favorite 3rd Son. So I went out and did another two miles that day, and these last 72 hours have been a scramble to meet this new goal. Who knows when I'll get this close again?

It should also go without saying that I don't plan to do another 100 next month, or any other month for that matter, so please don't hold me to anything. No one is raising any bars here. If it happens, it happens.

Another significance about today: It was exactly one year ago when I signed up for my marathon. What a birthday present THAT was! --- For six months the "gift" never stopped giving! My gift to myself THIS year is that I'm NOT signing up for a marathon. Yay!! Best present ever.

For now I will just feel proud of, and grateful for, these very tired legs of mine which, for 57 glorious years, have hauled me across a lot of miles ... with a LOT more hauling to go .... But remember, NO ONE is pushing anything!

(P.S. After listening to my many moans and complaints of exhaustion, Husband supports the plan of not running 100 miles next month. Deal!)

Just so you know .....

2011-11-24T20:26:00.001-08:00

.... I sometimes do things other than running. Like tonight, Husband, Favorite 2nd Son, and I went bowling! It's been at least 10 or 15 years since I've even lifted a bowling ball. Afterwards I was pleased that I didn't come away smelling like cigarette smoke. Not that anyone ever smoked near us when we used to go there. It's just that too many years of housing smokers has caused the smell to permeate every bowling alley in which I've ever been. But not anymore! Nice.

My bowling skills are still as random as ever. In one game I can get several strikes and spares earning a decent score, and the next game I barely break over 60. But all in all, I'm not too bad at it and I think some of the credit for that comes from the principle of cutting fabric. Let me briefly explain.

Another insight into my past - I used to sew a LOT. When cutting fabric, I learned that if I look at the point where the scissors need to go, they will usually go there. I don't need to watch the scissors or my hand as I'm cutting. Just keep my eyes on the end point. It works. The cutting-fabric principle seems to apply in bowling. Utilizing the arrows on the lane, decide which arrow you want your ball to roll across. Then really focus on that arrow. Keep your eyes on it. Generally, if you keep your wrist straight, your ball will indeed roll across that very arrow.

Now since I only bowl once every 10 or 15 years, I haven't tested this method that much, but so far, it's proving out. At least it did tonight because I WON our last game. HA! Oh yeah!!

Another valuable bowling lesson I remember from years ago: Guys: Unless she asks, NEVER give bowling advice to your date WHILE SHE IS TRYING TO BOWL. Don't offer suggestions on how improve her skill. Just sit there and smile. Act happy if she knocks down a pin. Ignore her gutter balls. Tell her she looks really good and ask if she's lost weight. Even if your wise and valuable advice would improve her game, it'll do no good because she won't want to go with you again ... or if she does, it won't be for a long time .... say 10 or 15 years.

And for THAT advice, you can thank me later.

Home-made Turkey Trot - where's my camera?

2011-11-24T07:06:00.001-08:00

Our family opted to do our Thanksgiving a few days early this year. Hence as the rest of the world gears up for the annual feast ..... I'm feeling a bit liberated because the only remnant of the big bird in my fridge is a pot of turkey stew, which will soon become turkey pot pie before it disappears entirely. Last night Husband and I went to the local grocery store in search of ice cream, and mingled with the last minute shoppers and their bulging carts. I wondered about the people digging through the frozen turkey bin. Do they actually think it'll thaw over night??

Anyway, it's officially Thanksgiving and this morning I got to join in on a home-made turkey trot. Why pay when you can run for free with your daughter and her friends? (Well, actually I could give several good reasons for paying, but today I don't have to.) We ran amid the pumpkin patches on Grand Island, my old marathon training grounds. (Note to self: Next time bring camera! - Fortunately Daughter, aka Photographer Extraordinaire, pulled out her camera for a quick shot before we dispersed for our homes/showers.)

Besides good company and picturesque scenery, some highlights of our 6-mile run were: 10 year old grandson Garret got to lead the way in his special stroller, bundled in multiple layers plus a blanket. (See, I needed that camera.)

Plus, although we've had three days of almost non-stop rain and wind, the clouds parted long enough and revealed a few temporary patches of blue. (Dang. I had my phone and IT has a camera.)

This is a much better way to spend Thanksgiving morning, instead of mixing roll dough and chopping onions. Better than parades on TV? Much MUCH better! Better than football? Um ... YES. And in honor of the actual reason for the season, I am reminded of one of my myriad of blessings - the ability to run.

Best Laid Schemes ....

2011-11-20T07:47:00.001-08:00

I admit that in some things, I am a perfectionist. Not in the neatness of both my bathroom counter and my sewing room ... and our garage ... but rather when I take on an endeavor that involves other people. Added to my perfectionism, is an absolute abhorrence for asking for help. When I MUST ask others to participate or to help with something, I am hell-bent to make it all flow as efficiently as possible. My obsessiveness over details, is due to my ~~respect~~ reverence for other people's time and resources. I will do everything humanly possible myself, only asking for help in those things I absolutely cannot manage alone.

For example, the last time we moved, almost eight years ago (.... wow, time flies!) Husband and I hauled every box and every item we could carry before we asked for help. Then when our helpers (dear friends) arrived, the truck was ready and all that remained were the large furniture and appliances that couldn't be disassembled into smaller pieces. Our helpers were here less than two hours, after which I fed them donuts and gratefully sent them home to their families. Unless it is an emergency of tsunami proportions --- if I feel I need/want something, I will start it, do it, and finish it myself. And I would never THINK of asking anyone to clean up after me.

That said, as you know, I have been in charge of several 10K runs, or have been in charge of portions of the events. And I have encouraged (nagged) people to come and participate, along with those dreaded, but unavoidable pleas for help from my priceless friends and family. When the event is free, my perfectionistic nature isn't quite so obsessive .... after all, you get what you pay for ... right? But when the runners arrive with their checkbook, along with their trust that the event will be worth their time and money, I am almost driven over The Edge, trying to make everything go FLAWLESSLY.

But in spite of "best laid schemes of mice and men", it often doesn't.

There are circumstances that dwell in that hideously evil place called Beyond My Control. Or in that other equally evil place called the Land of Unforeseen. Sometimes those evil places spew their contents onto my event, sending my world into a tailspin.

So what does one do? Live and learn, I guess. Chip away, little by little, at the uninvited from the Land of Unforeseen, and learn to roll with whatever arrives from Beyond My Control.

And appreciate anew, those trite little sayings we often share on face book like, "The only failure in life is the failure to try", which offers some comfort. But not as much as, "No man (woman) is a failure who has friends".

So true.

Run for the babies

2011-11-16T08:13:00.001-08:00

I think I can officially add a new item to my Should-I-Ever-Need-One resume: 10K Route Planner.

Remember this post? I've found The Answer to 10K-planning stress gremlins and it is simply to NOT be in charge. Just be on a committee! YES, we are putting on another 10K (and 5K) ... (and kids' run) ... (!!) this Saturday morning featuring another custom-designed route by yours truly.

The PURPOSE is to raise much needed funds for a nonprofit birthing center in Haiti, called Mama Baby Haiti. You can read more about it here. The poorest of the poor in the Western Hemisphere can receive free medical care and education to help combat Haiti's higher mortality rate for newborns in this fledgling little clinic. A worthy cause if ever there was one.

So the 6.2 and 3.1 mile routes are ready and our ever alert volunteer spotters are standing by. (Spotters are those highly indispensable people who stand at an intersection and point the way. Remember this post? I, for one, owe MUCH to volunteers at organized runs.) I've learned, in my impressively vast route-designing experience (note the modesty), to plan around sidewalks and wide road shoulders, painted crosswalks and stop signs. The local police department assures me that we don't need special permission or training for crossing guards -- they just need to wear one of those chic, trend-setting vests and hold a colorful flag. And deep down, who doesn't want to be a crossing guard? Now really, think of the power ....

I've tweaked, measured, and have personally run and walked all parts of the route several times and Google Earth has verified the mileage. This is my home running turf and I know the roads in this town well. So come and join in the fun, rain or shine, and run (or walk) for the babies!

http://www.mamababyhaiti.org/fundraisers/

http://www.mamababyhaiti.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/jen-with-baby.jpg

P.S. For added good news, we're already talking about the NEXT Mama Baby Haiti Benefit 10K. Possibly next spring - in more dependable weather. So stay tuned .....

The Inner Beast

2011-11-10T20:59:00.001-08:00

Soooo, some of us in our Runners Anonymous facebook group, to whom you were all introduced in this post, have begun recording our miles online. The purpose is to show support for Brandon, one of our members whom I've never met, who is currently stationed in Japan and is shipping off to Korea next spring. Brandon wants to run 500 miles by then and a bunch of us jumped on board with the idea. As of November 1, we've been tallying our individual miles.

Now ..... I never thought I was the competitive type. But apparently I am. We are ten days into it and I was in 3rd place (with total miles) for several days, but slipped into 4th place today. First and second places are waaaaay beyond my reach because some of our awesome group members are MACHINES -- including Brandon. But my goodness, this is motivating ... and it's even .... fun.

Remember my 20 miles per week quota? Not good enough. Last week I totaled over 22. This week will probably top that. There is no prize nor is there any logical reason to crank out more miles than was in The Plan. Twenty miles per week is over ONE THOUSAND miles a year for Pete's sake! But somewhere down in my soul, this competitive Cut-Throat Alter Ego which had been lying dormant for 50+ years, has now sprung to life. I may not regain 3rd place, or even keep 4th, but By Dang, I'm going to make a good showing.

Let's see. Tomorrow, if I can manage five more miles maybe I can edge back into 3rd place, and then another five miles on Saturday ..... no, make that 5.6, then I'd have an even 30 miles for the week! And next week, if I run six miles every day but Sunday, and maybe more than six on Saturday .... say eight or ten .....

Gads!! Don't get me wrong -- I LOVE the motivation and I adore my friends who motivate me -- it's just what I need! But it was never meant to be a competition and therefore, before I drop dead from exhaustion, please tell me how one reigns in one's inner beast. And don't bother suggesting I sedate it with banana milkshakes or chocolate .... or coconut ice cream.

Tried that. Didn't work.

(By the way, you're welcome to think this is a picture of me. Unfortunately it's not, but you're still welcome to think it.)

Break out the campaign buttons!

2011-11-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

In the World of the Ridiculous, let's say there exists a country of runners with sole voting power, and to add MORE of the ridiculous, let's say I was "running" (no pun intended) for president of said country. What "dirt" would my opposition uncover as they attempted to smear my name in the campaign?

My first guess would be that they'd find nothing shady in my past. No criminal record, no illicit affairs with other sports, no scandals whatsoever. In fact my past is so boring that simply BEING boring might be my biggest hurdle. But digging deeper, there is one skeleton in my closet. A skeleton so unspeakable, that it might cost me the election ....

....... I used to hate running. And I told people I hated running, hence ..... there are witnesses. I tried running a few times over the years and outwardly rejected it. Yes. It's true. I am a flip-flopper. Therefore, my campaign strategy is to "out" myself right up front, and deal with the fallout. Transparency through and through. After all, it's seldom the crime alone that brings you down, it's often the coverup.

My inconsistent history may cast doubt onto whether or not I am a true runner. Do I espouse the love of the Daily Run? Am I sincerely out there braving the pavement regardless of rain, blisters, spandex, and looking dangerously close to being a frizzy, schlepping .... frump? Or am I running with my finger in the wind ... feigning devotion for my Asics?

I say YES! A person CAN change! We, as human beings, can evolve, grow, and become BETTER. In fact, if one fails to change, when presented with new information and experience that teaches one that there is a point of view that might be a step above one's previous opinion, then SHAME on .... one. Thus I, as a fictional candidate for the office of President of the United States of Runners, have decided to wear my flip-flopping proudly. I used to be .... (fill in the blank) ... but not anymore. I have learned. I have grown ... (NOT in the waistline! No! Yikes!!) ... but in spirit, endurance, and in my own delusion that I don't look THAT bad out there.

So VOTE for ME! If I win, I promise health, prosperity, and free GUs for all!!

Runners Anonymous

2011-10-29T19:21:00.000-07:00

Hello. My name is Brenda and I am addicted to running.

I am also addicted to a motley assortment of fellow runners, most of whom I've never met. We are a facebook group comprised of kindred spirits scattered across several states including our tenacious little chapter from the military base in Japan. All deal with this common affliction of which we hope to never be cured.

It started about a year ago when I was invited in by ... um ... actually I don't remember who brought me into this then small group. Fearless Leader Kevin was the founder, whose warmth and friendly support provided a strong foundation. He is currently taking a break from fb and we look forward to his return. The group grew and we high-fived as the 100th member was welcomed in. Today it's over 230 and still growing.

In Runners Anonymous, I have found friends who understand. They don't roll their eyes and look for an exit if I mention the R-word. Instead, we latch onto each other as we slip blissfully into our gibberish of odd words such as: halfs, 10Ks, tapering, hitting the wall, cross-training, intervals, fuel belts, and GUs. I think my other fb friends were all relieved when I disappeared into this outlet and they no longer are burdened with constant updates of my latest session out on the road. (Perhaps I also need a Politics Anonymous fb group to spare my ever-patient friends of my occasional right-wing rants, but then I'd rarely show up on my main "wall" ..... maybe that'd be a good thing? ....)

We post about injuries, bad weather, and life's challenges that mess with The Run. We share our triumphs, PRs, exhilarating finishes, as well as our jitters about The Next Run. We talk running fashion, shoe brands, chafing, favorite iPod music, muscle cramps, the woes of early morning runs before the spouse leaves for work and the kids awake, in addition to what-do-you-eat-before-a-marathon?? We also plan group runs to meet a few more new faces in our merry band.

Best of all is the encouragement. Whether it's someone's first 5K or first marathon, the group sends support and cyber hugs, and then waits anxiously to hear how it went. We're brimming with advice and empathy and for every victory, the cheers and congratulations gush in.

How does one qualify for exclusive membership in RA, you ask?

The only requirement is that you either: 1. Love running, or 2. Want to love running.

What are the entrance fees? 1. A generous sense of humor, and 2. A quick mind that can follow tangents of odd and unrelated topics into which we tend to wander and get lost. (ie: Easter peeps and helicopters .... don't ask .....)

So hail to RA! Live long, run strong, and don't forget to charge your Garmin.

Crispy, crunchy, GORGEOUS fall!

2011-10-25T17:57:00.000-07:00

Autumn was MADE for running. The hot days are gone and one can procrastinate one's run until late in the morning or even into the afternoon, if one has a flexible schedule, as I usually do. The leaves are crunchy and colorful, assuming it hasn't rained rendering them soggy and slippery. The neighborhood kidlets are neatly tucked away in school ... not that that has anything to do with running ... I just tossed it in as a happy benefit of fall. On a dry October afternoon, maybe even with a blue sky, the Pacific Northwest can deliver up a day so gorgeous that you could swear you were living in a calendar page. Add some cool crisp air and this song on your iPod, and you've got the makings of a great run.

To illustrate just what I mean, here's what greets me as I head out the door.

... I try to ignore atrocities like this:

When this all fades away into wet and mucky winter, I hope time then kicks up its pace and quickly we can all trot happily into spring. But for a little while, I'm just going to soak in this color and fall in love yet again with Oregon.

Enough already!

2011-10-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

I just heard on the news that a 100 year old man just finished a marathon. Fauja Singh, born in India, and currently a British citizen, finished the 26.2 miles in Toronto. His time was 8 hours, 11 minutes, beating his previous time. (He was shooting for 9 hours.) He didn't start running marathons until he was 89.

(http://www.nydailynews.com/blogs/running_dialogue/2011/10/100-year-old-fauja-singh-sets-world-record-oldest-runner-to-complete-a-mara)

Are you feeling amazed and ashamed of your own paltry attempts at greatness? Does it make you rethink your reasons for vegging on the couch?

Then there's this: Gladys Burrill, of Prospect, Oregon, recently finished a marathon in just under 10 hours. She's 92, and she ran her first marathon at age 86.

(http://www.nydailynews.com/blogs/running_dialogue/2011/10/100-year-old-fauja-singh-sets-world-record-oldest-runner-to-complete-a-mara)

Not finished yet.

Get a load of this: Amber Miller from Chicago, finished her hometown marathon and then promptly went into labor and delivered a healthy baby girl. Amber's pregnancy was 39 weeks along AND it was her second marathon within the past few months.

(http://www.nydailynews.com/blogs/running_dialogue/2011/10/100-year-old-fauja-singh-sets-world-record-oldest-runner-to-complete-a-mara)

Inspired? Or annoyed? For me ... a little of both.

I mean, who do these people think they are?? Why must they do things that mess with my psyche, making me think I've got NO EXCUSES! My own meager little marathon is fading fast, evidenced by my nearly re-grown toenails. I can't milk the glory from it forever, and THAT sad fact isn't setting well with me. THE PLAN was to earn the title and wear it proudly for years.

Not, mind you, that I don't stand in utter and complete AWE of champions like Fauja, Gladys, and Amber. I KNOW how long 26.2 miles is, and I cannot fathom traveling it by foot in an aged or advanced pre-natal condition. You must be half crazy to do it even at the height of youth and physical toughness, much less attempt it with any sort of limitation.

So I stand here, in all my mediocre-ness, facing that bar which has been raised so high. Not wanting to try another marathon ... heck, I'm only in my 50s ... there's no glory in it for another 30 or 40 years! And a pregnant run is no longer an option, thank goodness. I have to continue to remind myself that mediocre is JUST FINE. My only competition is ME. And ME is willing to call it a draw.

Do MAPS come with this run??

2011-09-26T12:38:00.000-07:00

Usually I am reasonably organized. I hate being late for anything, and I seldom get lost. But I have discovered in running events that, for some reason, my inner sense of where I'm at and where I need to go, occasionally shorts out. Often there's someone to follow, but the problem with THAT is others have been known to follow ME, which is highly risky.

This was confirmed once again last Saturday in the Best Dam Run. I mistook the finish line, placing it about 20 feet sooner than it was, and slackened my pace as I THOUGHT I had crossed it. When you're trying to shave a few seconds off your time and have been sprinting the last couple of blocks, THAT is never a good thing to do. Another runner mentioned that her GPS matched up perfectly with the mile markers. ....... There were mile markers? I never saw one. I don't know what on earth I'm looking at, other than the ground in front of me ..... maybe that's my problem. All I SEE is the ground, or the runner who just passed me, .... or the one I'M passing .... HA! YES, it's happened a few times! No lie!

On my first leg of the Hood to Coast this year, I dutifully followed what I THOUGHT were the instructions from a volunteer, whom I'm sure said, "Go straight till we tell you to turn!" So go straight I did, which promptly sent me off course, adding an extra mile to the 6.38 I was supposed to run. At the time it felt like something wasn't right because there was no indication of anyone or anything relay-ish ahead of me. I looked back and saw other runners coming my way, so I figured I was okay. Unfortunately for those other runners, they were foolishly following ME. Hence we ALL added a mile to our leg. If that wrong street hadn't eventually turned back towards the right street, we might be out there still.

Then there was the 10K last spring in Sherwood. It was a 10K and 5K and we all started together with signs to direct us onto our different courses. You can already guess what I did and as I crossed the finish line, I yelped, "Where do I go now??!"

"You're done!" chirped a cheerful official person.

"That wasn't a 10K!" ........ Oh C--P! Somewhere around that point I realized what I had done and jumped back on the 5K course to run it again. Fortunately a few of the 5K signs hadn't been removed and I found my way back to the finish line for a 2nd crossing. Husband, who came late to snap pictures along the 10K route, wondered where the heck I was. Why, out of a large group of runners, was I the ONLY one to mix up the routes??

Typically, my directional problem kicks in at finish lines. Like the Dam run. I've been known to run NEXT to finishes, rather than through them. Or I stop short. Or like at my marathon, I nearly missed the turn which would have sent me right past it. Fortunately alert volunteers pointed and hollered, saving me from running off into oblivion.

So if you ever see me plodding down the road with a confused look on my face and a bib number pinned to my shirt, please point the way. And try NOT to see the schlepping, frizzy hair, and over-sized shoes.

New PR!

2011-09-24T22:38:00.000-07:00

I'll just come right out and explain AGAIN that PR means Personal Record without shaming any of you for not knowing basic running lingo. And yes, I have a NEW one!

In my vast running history of just over three years, I have run eight 10Ks. (10K = 6.2 miles ... again, no shaming; however, a BIG eye roll if you don't know what a 10K is by now! ... get with it People!) Plus I've done countless practice 10Ks with just me and my Garmin. It has been my goal to break an hour, meaning to run it in less than that. I got very close in the Newberg Camelia 10K last spring, with a few seconds over an hour. Typically I hover around 62 to 63 minutes.

Today I met my goal. 59 minutes and 18 seconds. (It might have been a few seconds faster if I hadn't miss-placed the finish line thinking it was a street-width sooner than it actually was and had kept my pace up ..... one of those annoying regrets that might keep me awake tonight.) Even MORE satisfying than THAT was my average pace -- 9:33 minutes per mile. For this grandmother of six, an average pace of 9:33 is dang good. At least it is for me. So indulge me in a little bragging please.

If you are wondering which 10K I ran this morning, it was the Best Dam Run in Estacada, OR. This run is definitely a keeper, partly because of its COOL name, and also because we were bused from City Hall, up to the starting line which was situated next to a gorgeous, scenic-in-typical-Oregon-fashion, river. Did you notice I said UP? Yes! We then ran back DOWN to City Hall. (When one is running, down is always a good direction for one to go.) Added to the gorgeous scenery: summery weather, that mostly-downhill run (there were a couple of uphills), some fun friends, ... and you have a winner of a morning. Now, you may be thinking that my pace and time were due to the descent in elevation, but we need not go there.

Here's our merry group at the start. We didn't bother herding the many other runners and walkers into the picture. They would have crowded out the background anyway.

Favorite Daughter and I with our Happy-It's-Done grins. She ALSO got a new killer PR! (Less than 54 minutes. She'll have to comment, because I can't remember her exact time.)

T'was a good day.

Dedicated to my Big Bro

2011-09-15T13:28:00.000-07:00

I've often said what got me started in running was my ~~interest~~ desperation to maintain my weight loss three years ago. And that is mostly true. But I had other sources of motivation and one came in the form of one of my siblings.

About six or seven months prior to my discovery of Weight Watchers, (or maybe it was longer ....) we went on a Caribbean cruise with a delightful group of friends and family, including my sister, brother, and their spouses. As I've mentioned several times here, I was a confirmed walker who disdained running, and during this cruise I'd sometimes be on the upper deck, doing laps. Once or twice I met my brother Larry up there while he ran.

Larry has been running for years. He ran in the Hood to Coast several times long before it entered my world. He has joined in various races and biking events through the years and would casually mention it now and then. Since I hadn't yet started running and was painfully clueless, I never understood how completely AWESOME this was. He has always been the model of discipline and moderation. Some people would go all out and attempt marathons, Ironman events, or other examples of emotionally-driven craziness, often overdoing, then dropping off, stopping and starting, revving up and burning out, while Larry just continued on with his regular routine of healthy exercise and active lifestyle, year in and year out. I can't begin to express how I have always admired all that he does. And it goes without saying that ALL my siblings stand solidly on pedestals, IMO.

So back on that cruise ship, I ran a few laps with him. I wasn't even wearing proper running shoes. But it was fun and I remember being a little surprised at that. Those few laps with my brother stuck in my head. THAT seemingly little thing helped to fuel my interest enough to eventually start running.

Larry also, years prior, inspired my husband to start biking, which was life-changing. See this post.

When I was about 20 lonely miles into my own emotionally-driven marathon last June, I thought about calling my brother, two states away, on my cell phone. I wanted to hear him tell me that he was proud of me. Second in value to my husband's opinion of me and what I was doing, my brother's opinion ranked very high. I didn't make the call, partially because I probably would have started bawling at that point, but I knew he was proud of me and just knowing that was what I needed as I pushed through those last endless miles.

So my humble thanks goes to my big brother for his inspiration, example, support, and love. I hope to always be worthy of ALL my terrific sibs, and to make them proud of me, as I am of each of them.

You know you're a runner if .....

2011-09-09T17:17:00.000-07:00

.... this strikes you as totally normal.

Back to the basics

2011-09-09T11:53:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure why, but it doesn't feel like I can run as well as I did a couple of years ago. Back then I ran 13.1 miles (my own half marathon) with only one stop to visit a bathroom that a wise and helpful person placed in a park on my route. No walking at all. I can't do that today. Is it that I'm just getting older, or something else?

As you know by my previous post, I walked regularly for many years with my friends. When I started running, I wasn't willing to give up the walking so I tried to do both. Many mornings I'd go out early and run 5 miles, then do our hour of walking. I'd count each walking hour as one running mile and my quota was 24 running miles each week. It was tough, but I kept it up for months. When I got my bike, I realized I couldn't do all three so, after 20+ years, I abandoned my walking friends. I put over 600 miles on my bike that year, which has slacked off since, even though I do still feel the awesomeness of that vehicle every time I climb on. My quota settled at running 20 miles each week and it remained there for another year or so. That amount of running adds up to over a 1000 miles each year. THAT is an accomplishment of which I am proud. It all went well until The Marathon took over.

Marathon training upset everything. I adopted the philosophy of Jeff Galloway, published running and marathon trainer, with his walking breaks because that was the only way I could realistically see myself traveling 26.2 miles on foot. I religiously followed his schedule which interestingly enough, had me running less than before, except on the weeks when a long run was mandated. Galloway is very generous with his permission to stop and walk for a minute or two, whenever you feel like it. So of course, I felt like it a LOT. Plus he stressed the importance of frequent rest days for those of us who are not-young-anymore, and I was happy to oblige.

In an online running forum recently, I was indulging in some self-pity about my negative progress. One person responded with the thought that I need to go back to what I was doing when I was stronger ....... Hmmm. Okay. Well. That makes sense.

So now, three months post marathon, I've been weaning myself OFF those walking breaks. It hasn't been easy. Before Galloway, in my head, walking breaks were forbidden, cloaked with disdain and shame. During Galloway, they were expected and encouraged. After Galloway, I'm pushing them back towards forbidden like a bad habit; but for the sake of reality, I try to keep them tucked somewhere between rare and occasionally. And it needs to be said -- Galloway enabled me to finish that marathon. For that, he deserves a lot of credit.

My weekly quota has been reset to running 20 miles (including hills and a weekly date at the local track doing intervals) plus my two weights classes. Walking breaks still happen, but less frequently. Rest days (AKA non-running days which can still find me at the weight room or on my bike) have been pushed back to two, maybe three, per week, depending on how many miles I can manage on the running days without collapsing.

With no marathon to stir up my life this year, it feels good to have a plan. Back to the basics. Maybe I'll get back to being able to run 13.1 miles non-stop, but since I would have to actually TRY it to find out, I may never know. And that's okay ... for now.

Bragging rights

2011-09-03T16:35:00.000-07:00

It was about three years ago this month that I began running in earnest. Having made a few disinterested attempts, including in my childhood, (I was primarily a tree-climber) it had, thus far, failed to impress. I was a confirmed walker, which I think I originally inherited from my dad. Along with hardcore walking friends Barb and Sue, we had it down.

I'm just now realizing how odd it is that I don't have a picture of us walking. This shot was taken right after a bike ride. Maybe that's because we walked for over 20 years together and took it entirely for granted. Biking was rare, once with Barb actually, and apparently more deserving of the camera. I also have a picture of us right after running a 10K (their first!), but to preserve the friendship, we'll leave it at this.

Then, as described in this post, my life changed unexpectedly when I walked into my first Weight Watchers meeting, hoping to do what all those years of walking didn't.

The dominos began to fall and my weight loss motivated my first real attempts at running which led to a passion for the lifestyle and then to events that I never before saw myself joining. Many thanks to good friends who helped me build a solid aerobic launching base.

Three running years later and WELL into my grandmothering/menopausal years, I have accumulated this:

Who would have thought? (Not ONE award for the walking.)

Note: I have another 10K coming up in a couple of weeks, "The Best Dam Run", and I hear they're giving out medals!

Michael Phelps and Mark Spitz, MOVE OVER.

Don't mess with my Hood to Coast!

2011-08-29T12:56:00.000-07:00

I love the Hood to Coast relay, in case you haven't noticed. But I'm in a very large fan club. So large that it's about to burst out of its own skin. And maybe it already has, considering what happened this year.

We hear that they added 250 more running teams to make a total of 1700 running, walking, and high school teams. These numbers aren't verified, just mostly word of mouth. 250 means 500 additional vans and 3000 more runners funneling through those tight roads to the coast. And we all paid the price. The traffic was endlessly backed up at every exchange (where runners trade off) and what used to be a rare occurrence, of when your next runner wasn't there in time to start his "leg", became the norm. It was faster to run to each exchange, than to drive it. This meant endless hours in the van stalled in traffic and no time to sleep because we couldn't get to the sleeping areas, which were full anyway. Add to that, teams couldn't get into Seaside before their last runner got there. Not good.

But, that said, I'm going to focus on the MANY good parts of this year's HTC. First of all, Team Van Hailin' was beyond FABULOUS and each member is imbedded deeply into this team captain's heart.

Here are the highlights: Lightening and thunder woke me up much too early Friday morning, and I listened to the radio broadcasting severe storm warnings for east Clackamas county. Half of our team was heading into the thick of it. The skies unleashed on them at Timberline, and (studly) Dave ... (shown here in a later shot) ...

was literally pelted by the hail as he ran down the steep hill of leg 1 at 5:15 a.m. (Our team name may have been prophetic, although we had a completely different definition of hail in mind.)

The storm passed and the heat followed. It got close to 90 degrees by that afternoon.

Chery, suited up, waits to run leg 2. Anne B. is revving up for leg 3. It's a psyched-up moment when your leg is about to start.

Anne B. hands off to Jeff. (Judging by Jeff's face, the wrist thingy must not have been sweaty this year.)

Jeff breaks Mark's cardinal rule. "No hands on knees, Jeff."

Anne M. aka The Road Runner (She's DANG fast!) brings it in to Steve.

Then Steve, finishes his leg in Sandy, where we all meet up.

Van 2 is ready to go. Van 1, (nicknamed the vAnne or the Anne Van) heads off for a rest.

Ben covers leg 7.

Followed by Mark. Then Johnny.

Followed by Laura.

Then Justin hands it to me.

This pattern continued for the next 24-30 hours.

Some of my favorite pictures:

Lindsay's team passed through at the same time. She's just finishing one long HOT, sparsely shaded leg.

Van time.

Dave takes off on his 2nd leg, and I'm blubbering about how I got lost and added an extra mile onto my already long leg. (Friend Lori commented something about my "warrior yell".)

Driver Bill. The MASTER of fun and food!

Van 1

Van 2, in dire need of a bath.

Don't ya love it!

We almost killed Justin with the longest leg of 8 miles.

Then there were the ever popular porta -potties.

We were all trying to stay hydrated, due to the heat, and as a result, couldn't wander far from a toilet.

To appease Anne B. for including that last picture, here's this:

T'was at the Hawthorne Bridge in downtown Portland where the trouble began. This is the starting point for the Portland to Beach walkers and the high school teams. Lots and lots and LOTS of merging.

More favorites:

Chery. Next year she wants the dreaded leg 5. Then she wants legs 1, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12, in other words EVERY leg.

The two Annes and Chery.

Laura and me, the frizz-monster. Did you know we're 4th cousins?

In spite of my vows to NEVER do the HTC again(!), within 24 hours, I was already planning our next year. There's something about this relay. It gets into your blood. And THIS is why:

HTC 2011 Team Van Hailin'

(L-R) Chery, Johnny, Jeff, Mark, Ben, Anne B., Steve, Dave, Justin, Bryce, Anne M., Brenda, Bill, Laura

The tightrope over the pre-HTC abyss

2011-08-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

As a tool that I'm going to need in a few weeks, or even in a few days, when I'm coming down off my Hood To Coast high and I am again tempted to don the captain's hat, I'd like to document how I'm feeling on the eve of this annual event.

My thoughts/fears at this moment:

1. The phone will ring and one of our runners will cancel.
2. One or more of our runners in either of our vans, will come away HATING their van-mates, or the whole relay, or life in general.
3. One or more of us will succumb to any one of several heat-related crises -- yes the forecast says hot.
4. I will not be able to sleep tonight - ONE of the few nights in the entire year when, on a 1 - 10 scale, its importance hovers somewhere around 17.
5. I will forget to pack something SO important that my eternal salvation will plunge into jeopardy.
6. Some other disastrous thing that hasn't occurred to me yet.

Let me put it this way: I am walking on an imaginary tight rope, suspended above an abyss. The last two years I skittered across triumphantly with cheers and joy on the other side. But I'm back up on that tight rope again, with NO guarantees I'll be able to pull off another successful crossing.
And in the past, AFTER I have made it across, I ALWAYS forget how deep and threatening that abyss was. I just remember the cheers and joy. Hence this post.

I have my list. I'm packed. I survived a last minute, potentially epic problem that was solved via a few phone calls and some dependable friends. There are a few issues with one of our van's AC, but I'm trying to not think about it because it's in capable hands ....

Husband, who is one of our drivers, is swamped at work. It always happens just before we go out of town. I should be used to it by now. He will be up late tonight and I will worry about him getting enough sleep. Again, all normal. Once we get rolling, I will be fine ... as long as all glitches remain small and pocket-sized.

Beloved Daughter and a few assorted friends flew through here a few hours ago on their way to spend the night with their team near the starting line. Their excitement alone could have fueled their car. So if the stress doesn't kill me, the adrenaline might. I'm vulnerable on several fronts ..... and along with the Van Halen hit, "Jump", that's playing in my head right now, I think I can also hear the opening strains of the theme from "Jaws".....

da-da ...... da-da ...... DA-DA ...... DA-DA

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ...

2011-08-17T15:59:00.000-07:00

.... AKA "The Highs and Lows of being a Hood to Coast Team Captain".

I was thinking about my two previous years in the world-famous "Mother of All Relays", as covered in this and this post. Which year was the BEST?

Now typically, you can't duplicate your "first time" with anything. The "first time" sets the expectation level, and often that level is at a point that defies repetition. An exception to this would be my honeymoon which was so disastrous that we've been making up for it ever since. (Another post.)

My first year in the HTC left me giddy for weeks afterwards. I went into it with no expectations and no responsibilities other than to run when told. THAT I cannot duplicate. It was that giddiness that drove me to blithely volunteer to be captain of our next team. Having experienced the magic, I was now on a mission to share it with the world.

I blended old and new runners into a team, strapped on my pompoms and began cheerleading. "Run!! You can do it!!" The year was a bit stressful, because I was determined to my bones, that everyone was going to have the good experience that I had had. The thought of an unhappy teammate would send me into despair. They will LOVE it too, or I will die!

As the days wound down and the date got closer, my stress began to rise. Being the Detail Person that I am, my brain launched into warp speed. Make lists, send another email, collect money, check on vans, gather supplies, study the website & the route, arrange for rest spots, think, think, think --- did I remember everything? Better buy a tarp; find someone to unlock the church where we plan to nap; do we have safety pins for the bib numbers? OH, and make another copy of the handbook for the other van. And WHERE did I put the window paints for decorating???

One doesn't expect glitches specifically, other than that there WILL be some. One of our vans wasn't registered -- pay the fee for that. Start time assignment -- 6:30 a.m. -- are you kidding me??? (The previous year it was noon!) Head speakers are no longer allowed on runners??? I can't run with my music??! NO!!!!! Breathe.... breathe.... One of our three mandatory volunteers is in the hospital! Quick, gotta get a sub. OH NO, we lost that volunteer's assigned spot and have been reassigned a new spot in the remote mountains near Astoria at 2 a.m. Who can I talk into doing that!!?? Breathe ..... breathe ..... Yikes! Forgot one of my own bags - call Favorite Third Son - It's the red & white bag on my bathroom counter! Get it to Van 2 before they leave home!

All in all, however, it was awesome. The weather was great. The vans worked. We had fun! Real honest-to-goodness feel-the-joy FUN. Lives changed as teammates did what they didn't know they could actually do. We met the challenge with gusto. Every pre-race crisis slipped off into distant memory.

So in nine days, we're heading off for my 3rd HTC. Being captain was decidedly easier this year, as I initially agreed to do it only with help. Yes, we've had some glitches, but they're being handled. Last minute volunteer sub again. (Feeling GREAT appreciation for our dependable volunteers Leon and Alan who happily step up each year.) Some last minute runner subs, one due to ill-timed appendicitis. ("Walk it off", teammate Ben says, "walk it off!") Watching the weather -- so far so good. Gotta collect more money which I HATE doing, and again I don't remember where the window paints are. And we got an even worse start time -- 5:15 a.m.!!!

But I'm excited. This MAY be my last year as a team runner. This WILL be my last year as a captain. And it WILL BE FUN. How will it compare with years One and Two? Who knows, but one thing is for sure ....

We're already feeling giddy.

How to pull off (organize) a 10K and/or age prematurely.

2011-08-09T22:50:00.000-07:00

With the second annual Run, Run, Ye Saints successfully completed, I am prepared to share my expertise:

1. Ask for NO help. Intend to do everything yourself. In case there may be some things that you absolutely CANNOT do, plan to have married a wonderful, supportive spouse. (This will take substantial forethought.) Inform him/her that he/she has an assignment. Follow up with much love and appreciation.
2. Keep the route simple. The fewer the turns, the better. Runners run. They don't necessarily think. I can say this because I am one of them.
3. Make your chalked arrows BIG and have one at every intersection. Even if there is no turn intended, mark it anyway. If you make maps, highlight the route by hand on each copy, and do it VERY late the night before.
4. Advertise. Make posters. Turn into a nag on facebook. Pester the people who print up the weekly announcements at church. Again remember - Do this all yourself! No delegating if you can help it. That way the stress level can really build.
5. Hope for good weather. Prepare for a serious guilt trip if it's too hot.
6. Buy food. You CAN TRY to guess how many you will be feeding and if so, good luck with that. Spend $5 in gas driving all the way to the next town to the store where it SHOULD have been cheaper, to save a whopping 8 cents on four gallons of chocolate milk. Thank your lucky stars for the nearby dollar store because they sell the cups, cookies and helium balloons.
7. Also thank those same lucky stars for RoadID and their free bib numbers.
8. Give birth many years prior, to a talented son who can write a computer program with which to time all the participants. Then step back and let him and Husband do it. Don't try to simplify their plan. Don't suggest that their plan is a bit over-kill. Just worry about the weather and the price of chocolate milk.
9. Give birth even more years prior, to a cheerful daughter who has a key for the church building where we were based. Ask her to arrive early and be grateful when she does, and also when she stays after to help clean up.
10. Give birth, also many years prior, to another helpful son who willingly drove all the way to Portland to pick up stuff for the Hood to Coast that is happening in three weeks. Make a mental note to NOT ALWAYS schedule your 10K on the same morning as the annual HTC team-captain-meeting-and-stuff-pickup.
11. Most of all, LOVE all the people who actually showed up (84 total!) and obediently ran/walked your route through the flat little town of Dayton without getting lost! Then challenge them ALL to do a little more next year!
12. Resolve to NOT volunteer again next year, knowing full well that you will.

Eager runners and walkers gather to sign up. Husband Dear is at the keyboard.

Waiting for the signal to go.

They're all heading in the right direction!

Helpful spotters Jo and Dorothy keep them on course.

1st one in.

FRP and ..... friend?

Talented Son finishes his 1st official 5K. Can you say Future Marathoner?

10K runners. "Sue made me run the whole *#%^* thing!"

Note about my previous post: If I'd really been on the ball, I would have taken a photo of the little garage sale sign sitting quietly nearby. But I didn't. It even had balloons. Don't be alarmed though, because this year ... no garage sale monster in sight! I heard from alert witnesses that the monster was busy ravaging the same neighborhood of last year's run. (hehehehehe)

How the garage sale monster ate my 10K

2011-08-04T13:21:00.000-07:00

Last year Favorite Daughter and I came up with the nifty idea of a church-sponsored running event. I submitted the idea to the Powers That Be. With an enthusiastic response/approval, and as a reward for said nifty idea, I was asked to be in charge. I pulled together a talented little committee of Favorite Daughter and awesome-friend/fellow-runner Kyndra. We titled the event, "Run, Run, Ye Saints". If you are not affiliated with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you might not understand this title. So let me explain:

One of our best-known "Mormon" hymns was written in 1846 by William Clayton. Its lyrics are full of encouragement and comfort for the early pioneers as they traveled across the plains, via covered wagons and handcarts, to the Salt Lake valley. The title? "Come, Come, Ye Saints".

Back to the run. We based the event at one of our chapels in McMinnville, OR. I plotted a 5K (3.1 miles) route that wound from the church through a quiet, friendly, harmless-looking neighborhood and back to the church. I was careful to avoid crossing busy streets and THOUGHT we had marked it well with chalked arrows and signs. 10K runners would run the route twice. Favorite Daughter handled publicity and Awesome Friend made prizes for the winners. I also recruited Brilliant-Techie-Guy Chris to handle the timing via his computer set-up, and a few others to cover the smaller jobs. And as always Husband Dear was there in full support. Everyone came through like champs.

We had a great turnout, numbering close to 80 running or walking participants. We even had stroller-pushers. The elite recovery drink--chocolate milk, and cookies were all set out for the finish. It all went smoothly until the run actually started.

There is no way we could have anticipated the MONSTER-sized neighborhood GARAGE SALE that roared to life in the harmless-looking neighborhood that same morning. It snuck in like a stealth bomber, completely hidden from our radar screen. Bargain shoppers and their cars flooded onto our route, covering the arrows and blocking the signs. It was a windy (long i) route anyway, and with muddled directions, runners & walkers were criss-crossing everywhere. Some even stopped to browse through the merchandise and haggle a few deals. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to have a good time. I'll never know if our prize-winners REALLY were the fastest, or just missed a turn and lopped off a bit of distance. Oh well ... at least it was a free event.

Run, Run, Ye Saints, 2011, is happening this weekend and yes, I am in charge again. We moved it to nearby Dayton, OR, in hopes of avoiding the monster. For added insurance/weaponry, I made maps. Hopefully I'll remember to take pictures this time. And if the monster rears its head in Dayton, I'll get photos of it also. And maybe I'll check out a few sales.

Jello, weights, and the rude truth

2011-07-28T11:29:00.000-07:00

I recently joined a weights class. I've had gym memberships before, but was notorious for fizzling out after a few weeks. Plus, even with the mandatory orientation, I never quite knew what I was doing. But then I heard Dr. Oz mention the rude truth that at my age, I'm burning about 200 calories per day LESS than I use to, and for no good reason other than apparently I'm losing muscle, which adds additional validation to the statement that Life Is Not Fair. So, says the good doctor, I need to build up that dwindling muscle, particularly CORE muscles, whatever those are.

Concerning upper body strength, on scale of 1 - 10, I've probably hovered around Minus Two. The most pushups I remember doing in one set was 30 and that was using the "girl" method, meaning on my knees rather than my toes. On my toes I can barely do two, if that. Each spring I unveil my upper arms and assess the damage. Remember school-teacher-arms? The arms that jiggled whenever she wrote on the chalkboard. I have NEVER taught school, but I have the arms. It's not pretty.

My strategy now is to pay lots of money and take an actual class. It's cheaper than a personal trainer and hopefully will get me over there. I had the option of a women's weights class, or a senior bone-building class. I qualified for either, but opted for the first. I was concerned that I'd be the oldest one; however, I seem to be right in the middle age-wise. It makes me wonder who's building their bones in the senior class.

Our feather-weight, whisper-thin instructor Patty, pops around the room, chatting, spotting us on the bench, tweaking our stance, posture, grip, etc, and reminding us to breathe. This week was my first experience on the bench lifting a barbell. I did 45 lbs, and later proudly told my son about it.

"The empty bar?" he said.

"Well yeah, but it was HEAVY!" At least he didn't pat me on the head.

My most dreaded machine involves sitting and lifting weights up and down with my legs. It's humbling to admit that so far I've kept the weight at ZERO and cringe and wince as I struggle to lift what can't REALLY be zero pounds. No wonder I'm not a strong biker! No wonder my thighs look like jello when I run. Today Patty had me do 6 reps at 25 lbs, and then 15 more at "zero". Just one set, thankfully.

So I'm committing to the long haul. Running and weights. And bicycling. Till I die. Or until I acquire actual dementia and forget. Or until I just don't care anymore. Thanks to Dr. Oz. Thanks to my dwindling muscles. Thanks to aging and all that unfairness in life. By the time I hit 60, maybe I'll have added some actual weights to that bar, and to that dreaded leg-lifting machine. And maybe the jello will go away.

Slumping (not to be confused with schlepping)

2011-07-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

After several months of firing out blog posts every few days, I've fallen into a slump. No ideas. No inspiration because I'm not excited about running right now...... and although I refuse to panic, it IS a concern. This is a first for me, at least since I proclaimed myself to be a runner. I hope that if I remain positive I'll be able to successfully weather through it and recapture the LOVE. Then it will become a useful resource for future slumps. So I'm perusing potential remedies such as:

New songs on the playlist. ANY change to the "same old" is good. I've added a couple of new ones, "Billie Jean" by MJ, and "Rolling in the Deep" by Adelle, but sometimes I just want to revamp the whole list. However, coming up with close to 50 new songs is not going to happen, even though, no doubt, iTunes would appreciate the revenue.

New running clothes. Although I am a complete sucker for a new outfit, particularly when found on a clearance rack -- I don't need anything. Being a die-hard shopper, <actual need> seldom motivates my purchases; however, sometimes I just can't ignore the lack of it. I just bought some jazzy new socks in assorted festive colors which I really DID (sort of) need, but they're not pulling me out the door. I already have more shorts than I can wear in a week and too many t-shirts as they are often parceled out at running events. I'm also well stocked in sunglasses - extra dark and gradual-tint, three hats that are more helpful during the rainy season which this isn't, and my shoes have another three good months left in them. Sometimes I wander through running stores in search of a new and intriguing gadget promising to invigorate my whole running routine, but so far .... nothing. Sigh.

Sign up for another event. Really?? I'm IN CHARGE of one in a few weeks and am team captain in the one after that. Shouldn't that be enough? Sheesh.

Run with fun people. I ADORE my running friends BUT I usually can't keep up with them and I've found THAT can be counter-productive.

Expore a new route. My town is small. I've covered it like a two-year-old scribbles on paper - over and over, around and around. I know every sidewalk and intersection like my own closet. I could get in my car and drive to the next small town, but ... well, I'll think about that.

Appeal for help from my facebook group. Did that today. Encouragement and advice poured in. FRP trotted out Beyonce, meaning her Single Lady video. Motivating maybe... but no amount of hill work nor intervals will ever give me hips like that. THAT ship has sailed.

This morning I scrounged up some umph and ran up Zimri. Every time I face that hill it's a battle. If I don't walk, I win. If I walk, it wins. Last time I lost, but this time I won. That felt good. That helped. Maybe, just maybe, the answer to this slump is all too simple. Maybe the remedy is just to run. Maybe.

Trek Pictures!!

2011-07-25T11:50:00.000-07:00

For the full story, go here. (These pictures feature me and mine, a small portion of the hundreds of photos taken.)

Last night was the Big Reveal and we got to see the talents of Lindsay (aka Beloved Daughter, FRP, and Trek photographer) on the big screen. Her slide show, which just became available to all, was top notch and here is a small taste: (Any blurriness is due to my down-loading/computer ineptness, and/or gremlins.)

Our "Family"
(Clockwise from upper left:) Tabasco, Ma, Pa, Lambo, Winchester, Peach Pie, Tannerite, Carrot Cake, Poptart, Mini Muffin, and Rocky Road.

A couple of old geezers, aka Pa Haupt and Pa Brady

Pa & me

My little spray bottle was a hit.

Good bye Melly Bean.

Zion

I said I'd never do it again. .......... I've since changed my mind.

My drug-free "high"

2011-07-13T18:17:00.001-07:00

I've never ventured into the world of illegal drugs. But as I understand it, people use them to get "high", which supposedly is some kind of euphoric feeling. Then as the high fades, such people seek larger doses, or stronger drugs to repeat that feeling and then the drug becomes necessary to simply forestall a mental and/or physical hell. This is called addiction, a common tool of Satan to strip away our freedoms. (Wow, THAT was a depressing lead into a post!)

BUT I want to talk about another addiction. Another type of high. Another kind of euphoria. It's called The Finish Line. And happily, other than maybe some Advil, no drugs are needed. All that's required is to cross it.

The Finish Line is WHY people run marathons. It's why they pay perfectly good money, that could have gone towards a spectacular new pair of shoes, to wedge fear and dread into their lives for the next four to six months. It's why they force themselves into a training regimen that WILL inevitably fall short somewhere around mile 20. (It's also why they put up with black toenails right before sandal season ... )

For some, The Finish Line High, needs increasingly larger doses to maintain. Doses like: another marathon, or --- qualifying for the Boston, or --- completely bizarre things like ultra marathons and Ironmans. As much as I admire those people, thankfully, I appear to NOT be one of them so far. I crossed my Finish Line and the high was euphoric, but I hope I never feel the need to repeat or up the dosage.

My new and improved plan is to be Queen of Moderation. To maintain good sense and balance. To run approximately 20 miles per week (or however much I want), some workouts with weights -- my new age-fighting endeavor, and bicycling with friends and/or Husband Dear.

There will be more Finish Lines in my future, for there is one at the end of every 5K, 10K, relay, etc. So my own personal addiction will be fed adequately. And I hope always to remember that euphoric high whenever I think about a certain Finish Line near the beach in Newport, when my spirit changed forever.

Story Time

2011-07-11T12:36:00.001-07:00

Remember this photo from this post?

Lindsay, featured artist extraordinaire, takes the task of van-decoration in the HTC Relay very seriously.
Her finely detailed and thought-provoking drawings tell the epic STORY of Team GoLDS ......

Once upon a time .....

... a group of seven silly people got into a van VERY EARLY in the morning and drove to Mt. Hood to run in the Hood to Coast Relay. Brenda was the first silly runner to start down the mountain.

See Brenda run.

The other silly runners in Van 1 each took their turn,

and brought their half of the team into the friendly town of Sandy, OR, where Van 2, filled with seven more silly people (the other half of the team), awaited. The driver of Van 1 ....

... got them safely where they needed to be. He then filled in as an alternate silly runner when teammate Jon injured his knee. Ouch! Poor Jon. :-(

Meanwhile, where were the silly runners of Van 2 during those first early morning hours? Asleep in their beds. Shhhhh! Sleep tight, Van 2 runners!

After 197 miles, Amy finished their VERY long run to the beach. See Amy run! See Amy happy to stop running!

Afterwards, all the silly people of Team GoLDS drove home and ~~lived~~ ran Happily Ever After.

End of story.

________________________________________________

Thank you again, Chery:

For being there with your camera.

HTC 2010 .... "Life is a hiiighway. I'm gonna RUUUN it ... all night long."

2011-07-02T12:40:00.001-07:00

Part 2 of this post. (Thanks Chery. I stole some of your pictures.)

<-- (Jeff's aversion to all things sweaty, including old girlfriends and wrist wraps ..... you had to have been there .... )

It only took one experience with the Hood to Coast Relay to be completely hooked. It rocketed up to the top of my list of MOST Fun Things Ever! So needless to say, we set our sights on 2010. Husband and I naively volunteered to co-captain a team. Previous teammates were invited and new ones were recruited to fill the gaps, including Daughter .... also known in this blog as FRP. A couple of newbie-runners (spouses of teammates) decided to give it a go, signed on, and instantly began stressing. (My mantra was, If I can do this at my age, after one year of running, ANYONE can. No excuses. Buck up.) ;-)

It's fun to watch the newbies fret and worry, because we were all there once. And I was the worst of them.

"Aren't you scared to run alone in the dark?" they ask.

"Nah, you're never really alone. Not with all the axe-murderers and drunk drivers out there. It's a regular party!"

"But when do we sleep?"

"Sleep? You can do that when you get home. Or just shove the pop cans and food wrappers aside and stretch out on the floor of the van. Here, take my Reeboks for a pillow. No problem."

"I dunno if I can run that long."

"You can walk some if you have to - just not until the van passes. But you didn't hear that from me."

"And what about showers?"

"Showers?? Hahahahahahaha!"

Our team, named GoLDS, consisted of me, Bryce, Lindsay, Chery, Jon, Jeff, and our driver Steve in Van 1. And Brent, Amy, Kimberly, John, Mark, and Ben, with driver Bill in Van 2.

Each team has a specific start time in order to spread out the congestion of over 2000 vans on the road, which is assigned just a few weeks prior to the event. To my dismay, we were put in the FIRST wave of runners, 6:30 a.m. That meant our trip to Timberline Lodge began at 3:30 a.m.! It was still dark and COLD when we pulled into the parking lot. I was the first runner and had to dress up like a Christmas tree with all the required reflectors, blinkers, headlight, bib number, etc. even though by then, daylight had arrived.

The infamous First Leg of the HTC is 5 miles of steep downhill. It's a knee-killer. But it turned out to be my favorite. A new wave of runners started every 15 minutes, and being in the first one, I was hailed by a lot of arriving vans as I ran down the road. "There's a runner!! It's started!!!" HONK! Wave! Cheer!!! SO exciting! But the best cheering happens when your own van passes you as it drives ahead to wait at the next exchange. Some people need drugs or alcohol for a high. They should try this.

Bryce hands the wrist-wrap "baton" to Chery.

From Jeff to Jon, literally father to son. Due to a knee injury, driver Steve took over for Jon for his last two legs.

Lindsay brings it in to Brent and Van 2 takes over. Sad to say, I don't have photos of Van 2.

Naptime.

Here comes Amy, our final runner, approximately 31.45 hours from our start on Mt. Hood. The team waits on the sand to cross the finish line together.

How could anyone not LOVE this group??

This was the year we saw lives changed. My favorite quote came from Amy, just after she finished her last leg: "I didn't know what I could do. Now I know."

In less than two months, I will run in my 3rd HTC with team Van Hailin', and the excitement/stress is building. You'll see some familiar faces in the photos and some new ones. The addiction continues to spread. It's this time of year when we all think- Why did I agree to this?? What was I thinking?? But afterwards, we can't wipe the silly grins off our faces nor can we WAIT until next time! Each year I say will be my last. We'll see.

Care to place a bet?

Doing hard things

2011-06-30T09:05:00.000-07:00

I teach an adult scripture class and the crucifixion is the subject of our next lesson. Not an easy thing to ponder; however, my point is Peter's vehement claim that he would NEVER deny his Master, much less do it three times. Within a few short hours, much to his horror, he did just that.

As a Christian, I believe in a God who knows all. He knows what we will do before we do it. Therefore, some may ask, What is the point? Why are we even here if our fate is already sealed? Well, God does know our outcome, but the point is - we don't. We are here to figure it out. In a sense we are here to get to know ourselves. We learn of our weaknesses and we learn our strengths. Peter THOUGHT he knew himself. He honestly THOUGHT he was stronger than he was. He learned a bitter yet valuable lesson. He learned he needed more strength. He overcame and stepped up to become a powerful prophet of God.

I, like Peter, thought I knew myself pretty well. I thought I knew my weaknesses and my strengths. But I've learned these past couple of years, that there's a lot yet to discover. And much of it I won't know until I'm tested. Again, like Peter.

One of the ways to learn about yourself is to attempt something hard. Something outside the old Comfort Zone. You may fail ... but you may not. And as my favorite YouTube video says, “If you never try, you'll never know”.

Running has taught me that I CAN do things I never knew I could do. I have strengths I didn’t know I had. I can run with people who are much younger and stronger than I am. I can organized a large athletic event. I can finish a marathon. I can run five miles at 3:00 a.m. on three hours sleep. I can be a team captain. I can put up and take down a tent by myself. I can toil and camp in heat, wind, and grit without my shampoo and a shower. I can climb to the top of a climbing wall AND to the top of a volcano. I can do a triathlon ... well, okay, with a lot of liberties in the swimming portion since I don't swim. I can sleep in a spider-infested tent .... after the spiders are gone .... but did we get them ALL? Most of this has happened since I started running nearly three years ago. This may not sound like much to some of you, but I’m not measuring myself against anyone but me. The me I used to be. And remember, I am not in my 20s or 30s (or even my 40s!) anymore.

I used to be the spectator or the support vehicle driver. Never wanting to try or get dirty or wet. (I still don't!) Never wanting to fail and look stupid. (I still don’t!) Hence I never really knew myself nor what I could do. I didn't even know what my fears WERE, much less if I could overcome them! That marathon was SO frightening! I didn't want to do it. It took a long time to beef up my courage to register and then face six months of strict training with my Day of Reckoning looming closer and closer. And not only did I fear the 26 miles .... I feared the 22 miles, the 20 miles, the 18, the 17, the 16, the 14, etc., that punctuated my winter and spring every couple of weeks.

Doing hard and scary things builds confidence for the next hard and scary thing. With each success, we are empowered to try a few more "miles". That empowerment changes who we are. With each failure we can learn, as Peter did, to fight through the remorse, make whatever changes are needed, and try again. Peter reached his potential and though I would never compare sports or tent assembly to what HE became, it's still growth from challenges .... from doing what we’re afraid to do, and learning a little more about the process of becoming what God knows we can become.

THE TREK (Sorry, it's long. Pictures are coming.)

2011-06-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

Early last December, we were asked to participate in a re-enactment of an 1800s handcart trek that would take place this summer. I'll explain the reason for treks further down.

Those of you who don't know me personally, may have guessed by now that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), nicknamed (not by us) "Mormon". The original members of our religion were mobbed, persecuted, and driven out of their homes time after time, until ultimately they were pushed out of the (then) country. They chose to settle in an unwanted, desolate valley that is now beautiful Salt Lake City, Utah. Many of those "saints" were immigrants from Europe, who arrived in this country virtually penniless, yet desirous to gather with others who worshipped in like manner. This western exodus (1847 - 1868) was headed by Brigham Young, who was handed the reins of leadership after Joseph Smith, the Church's founder, was murdered. Brigham Young was truly one of our nation's great colonizers, for he accomplished the near-impossible.

Those European immigrants could not afford to outfit themselves with covered wagons and oxen to traverse over a thousand miles. So an idea was formulated to use handcarts which, though they only represented about 10% of the exodus, became symbolic of the Mormon Pioneers. Most of them arrived safely. But the two Martin and Willie companies, (named for their company captains) comprised of families of all ages - over-zealously started out too late in the summer. They were caught in early winter snow storms and many of them perished. If not for the rescuers, who were sent back by Brigham Young with supplies and wagons, they would have all died on the barren prairies of Wyoming, 1856.

These people sacrificed everything for their religion. Their suffering was almost unspeakable. We feel it's important to remember and honor them, hence many of us take our youth out to re-enact a portion of the journey, and to somehow get a glimpse of their courage and commitment to their God. These re-enactments are a huge undertaking involving hundred of adults and teens, both on the trail and behind the scenes. But we want our kids to know their heritage. We want them to remember.

I was not excited to go. Though I had not participated in the last trek that was put on by our stake, (a group of nine LDS congregations in our area) I heard a little too much about it from the man in charge - my husband. I had a pretty good idea what to expect.

So after several trips to resale and fabric shops, we were outfitted in our pioneer clothes, involving long skirts, aprons, suspenders, bonnets, and all. Husband even grew a beard, which is a Whole Other Story ...
We were divided into "families" with a ma and pa, approximately ten kids, and a doll as the "baby". There were 13 families like ours - each family had one handcart, and the families were grouped into four companies, each company headed by a "captain". This type of organization is historically accurate.

Our trek took place in SE Washington on a privately owned farm with hundreds of open acres between the crop circles. It's desert country - very dry, potentially hot, and shadeless. We arrived via school buses after a five hour, teen-infested journey - and due to our strange garb - sprinkled with curious looks at the rest stops.

Upon arrival, family photos were taken, handcarts (stored on site in a warehouse) were assigned and loaded, and we were off. (This facility is used by hundreds of LDS stakes from Oregon and Washington for treks like ours. A missionary couple provide things like our water and the best-smelling porta-potties I've ever experienced, that conveniently popped up wherever we needed them.)

Our family consisted of nine kids, the doll, Pa, and me. Drawing from my own heritage of an odd fondness for nicknames, we dubbed our kids: Rocky Road, Tabasco, Lambo, Carrot Cake, Winchester, Mini Muffin, Poptart, Tannerite, and Peach Pie. Our baby was promptly named Melanie, which shortened to Melly, which then progressed to Melly Bean (giving a strong clue as to her innards). We grew quite fond of them all. I think I can honestly say we had the BEST kids. Seriously. I wanted to tell each of their actual parents: You did well.

The plan was four days and three .... repeat - THREE nights on the trail, ending at the lush (although historically it was anything BUT lush) "Salt Lake Valley", aka Base Camp. The first day was HOT. The porta-potties provided the only shade. I brought a spray bottle filled with water and was instantly popular. Estimated distance for Day One: 3.8 miles, ending with a long and STEEP hill requiring ropes and many hands to drag the carts to the top. We camped at the summit in wind that had me fearing that in the morning, we'd have to search for some of our little 90-pound girls who had blown away in the night. The mas and pas had tents, some of which were nearly gale-launched, had it not been for the human-ballast snoring inside.

The next day the wind continued to blow. And blow. And BLOW. Ohhhhhh, the dust. It was in our hair, our eyes, our teeth, every layer of clothing and equipment. It coated everything. I tied my hair up, Aunt Jemima-style, in bandanas. Anyone who attempted to wear a hat would have to chase after it every so often. We were pelted, sand-blasted, and whipped. The dirt that stuck to my eyelashes mixed with the sweat and looked like a bad case of running mascara. I have never felt so wretched. We did around 7 miles that day and finally were able to set up camp and retreat to our tents. Thank goodness for baby wipes. They kept me from the brink of despair, as a shower was still two days away. I can truthfully say, sitting in a porta-potty was a welcome break from the wind. I could have taken a book in there and been content for hours. No joke. And I must say, our kids were awesome. No complaints. They didn't have tents. They are heros. One of the highlights of that day happened when we were climbing a long hill. After we reached the top, many of the men and boys ran back down the hill to help those still coming up. As I said .... heros.

The third day the wind relented. The boys needed to burn a little energy, so an impromptu hike took them off for an hour or so, while the girls sat on their buckets and talked. Buckets? We each had a 5 gallon bucket with an attached cushion on top. My thanks to whomever hatched this idea, as the buckets carried our stuff and provided a seat up off the ant hills. When we stopped for a rest, we popped our buckets out of the cart and sat down in whatever hint of shade we could find. They were a life-saver. When the guys rolled back into camp, the girls lined up and welcomed them with the hymn, "The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning". At times like that, my emotions render me totally useless for singing.

The third day also presented the "women's pull". I had high expectations for this event because I choked up just hearing about it on the first trek. At the bottom of a challenging hill, the men and boys were taken away and the girls were left alone with the carts. This was to simulate when historically, on the actual Mormon trail, the US Government recruited the men whom they had previously rejected as citizens with constitutional rights, to go fight in the Mexican War. So the women were left on their own. We pushed our carts up that long hill and towards the top, there stood the boys, lined on either side of the trail. They silently stood at attention, hats off, watching us trudge past them. They had been instructed to stay still and let us do the work. Why? It was to help them appreciate womanhood. At the signal, they were finally allowed to jump in and help. They couldn't get to us fast enough. It was harder for the boys to watch and not help, than for us to push alone. I don't think the impact was as meaningful as it was on the first trek because the kids knew it was coming; nevertheless, the boys got the message. These girls were daughters of God and deserved the utmost respect and honor.

That night I was in bed before dark, relieved that a shower was coming the next day. The dusty wind had picked up again, and I didn't want to step out of the tent after my nightly date with the baby wipes. It got cold that night, as I discovered when I made my way to the porta-potty at 4:30 a.m. Poor kids, no tents. But they all claimed later that they were fine. Heros.

The last day the babies died. Including our Melly Bean, whom we had carried every step of the way. Our kids sobered up as we talked about the children who died on the trail from hunger and cold many years ago. Of the fathers who died because they'd give their meager food ration to their kids. Of the women who died leaving orphans. As we left our blanket-wrapped Melly on the ground and walked away, I made the monumental mistake of thinking of my own babies. That did it. I cried for the next quarter mile.

Walking into base camp, some three or four miles later, was glorious. Tall shady trees and soft green grass represented Zion after our long hike through the grit and sagebrush. We were among the first to get there and we cheered in the later groups. The kids frolicked and the adults who had any remaining energy, joined in on the games. I sat in an actual chair, in actual shade, and watched.

Bottom line: I appreciate all who made this happen - including the endless planning meetings, the sewing, gathering, recruiting, training, trips to the trail, and on and on. The volunteered hours by our medical team, photographers, equipment movers and cooks. There was a lot of behind-the-scenes scrambling when Plan A failed and Plans B, C, or D were hatched on the spot. They are all heros in my book. The trek was the most miserable experience of my life, at least as far as I can remember. I can hike, bike, climb, dig, build, scrub, haul, and run a marathon. Just let me clean up afterwards. I would not choose to do it again. But am I glad I did it? I am more than glad, I am honored. My own ancestors were not among those destitute handcart pioneers, but some were among the rescuers. This is my heritage and I am a part of the legacy. I learned to appreciate what they did, why they did it, what I have, and to Whom I am grateful. And I will never forget.

My random milestone

2011-06-21T19:37:00.001-07:00

I just noticed that it has been SIX months, to the day, since I started this blog. And this is my 50th post. There was no forethought, planning, nor maneuvering to make this anything but the sort-of-coincidence that it is. Completely random. And I have nothing significant to say at the moment, other than to acknowledge this festive little milestone. One question does come to mind though .... What the heck did I fill 50 posts with? (Yes, I know, poor English, but if said properly, I can't fit heck in there and the sentence definitely needed a heck.)

Fifty posts! Good grief, have I bored you all to death yet .... assuming you're still here??

I had no idea where this blog would go when I started it, how long it would last, nor did I foresee what it would teach me. Such as ....
I learned I like to write, as long as I like the subject. I learned I don't have to put a lot of thought into it --- the words just come. (Should I admit to that?) The tweaking and editing AFTER it's written, is much more work than the initial writing and may drag on for days after it's "published" online .... another thing I've learned. I've also learned that once I start a post, I cannot tear myself away until it's done. So I have to be careful at times like this. There can be no pressing deadlines ..... nowhere I need to be ...... because time stops and responsibilities evaporate once I start typing.

I've also learned that ANYTHING can inspire a post. It doesn't have to be a BIG EVENT like a marathon or the Hood to Coast Relay. It can just be this - my 50th Post on my blog's Six Month Anniversary.

The Mother of All Relays - Part 1

2011-06-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

This is the unofficial,

yet boastfully descriptive,

title of the enormously popular

Hood to Coast (HTC) relay.

I first heard of it years ago when my brother ran in a team. Those were the days when I was basically ....... clueless. I had no appreciation for running whatsoever. To emphasize just how horribly clueless I was - Favorite 2nd Son ran a half-marathon AND a full marathon while at college in 2006 and to my total shame, I WASN'T THERE. My response had been - How nice! I had NO IDEA of the significance of this monumental feat. Granted, I was 700+ miles away, but at the very least I should have been cheering him via long-distance and then demanding a play-by-play account afterwards and crying as I pictured him crossing the finish line!

Likewise, when my brother ran in the HTC, or would mention that he'd ran in any event and won first place in his age group, I was dutifully impressed .... I really was .... but today, I would have gushed with pride and offered my VERY heart-felt congrats along with an enthusiastic high five!

I next heard about the HTC from a friend whose husband had joined a team from his workplace. Friend and I heartily agreed that the whole thing sounded bizarre. Pay money to run all those miles, spend the non-running time in a crowded van with non-showered teammates, and sleep on the ground in some field for ten minutes, then repeat it all again. Seriously??

Then Friend's husband decided to form his own team, titled "Stormin' Mormons" (a name I found to be endearingly obnoxious) and invited my husband - who, by the way, was not a runner. My husband does not have the capacity to turn down ANY potential fun, so he agreed immediately. Some months later, after establishing myself in the running community with my first unimpressive 10K, I was offered a spot on the team, that had opened up due to a pregnancy. I thought about it for a week or so. Could I do it? Do I dare?? Scared silly, I signed on and began training like my life depended on it. Unlike my Husband, who likes to do his training mentally until almost the last minute. In other words, he procrastinates. "Running?" I imagine him saying. "Anyone can run. Nooooo problem."

The HTC is a 200 mile relay involving over 1200 teams with twelve runners per team. (Plus 2 vans per team - you can imagine the traffic mess in Seaside.) That's A LOT of people CHOOSING to do this crazy - expensive, sweaty-smelly, run-at-any-hour-of-the-day-or-night, thing. In fact, to illustrate how popular it is, registration (which uses a lottery system) fills on the same day it opens, and hundreds of teams are turned down. (Then the moaning begins on the message boards, "If any team needs a runner, I would DIE to get in .... PUL-LEEEEZE!!!!)

Needless to say, if your team DOES get picked, the giddy reaction is a happy dance of "YES!!! WE GOT IN!! Wooo Hooooooo!!!!! While at the same time, the wide-eyed newbie teammates are: "C--P, does this mean we're really going to DO this??"

Continuing on ..... the relay begins at historic Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood and ends on the beach at Seaside, where they say you'll find the biggest beach party ever. Your team never stops running until it reaches the sand, which means you may find yourself at 2:00 a.m., trotting along on an obscure, no-cell-phone-reception-cow-path, somewhere around Mist OR, aka the Middle of Nowhere. Each team uses two vans with six runners, plus maybe a driver, in each van. One van attempts to rest/sleep while the other van is on the road, alternating throughout the event.

My first HTC was in 2009. Husband and I were assigned to Van 1. Van 1 carried teammates Bryce, Mark, Kyndra, Anna, Amanda, and me. Our Fearless Driver was Greg, Anna's dad. I regret that I didn't get a photo of Greg because he was an indispensable part of the team. He kept track of our timesheet and always knew when to send our next runner out there to grab the baton.

Van 1

Amanda started us out.

That year our start time was around noon on Friday. Unfortunately, we only see our Van 2 five times during the relay plus at the end. So my pictures miss half of our team.

Mark finishes his first "leg" and Anna is ready to go.

Kyndra hands it off to me.

Our final runner, Chandler, from Van 2 finishes on the sand. Van 2 also carried Ricky, Christian, Brent, Jeremy, and Jon. With Bill as our second Indispensable Fearless Driver.

I don't remember when our team reached the beach - sometime Saturday afternoon. The entire team waits at the end for its final runner, then we all trot across the finish line together, drivers and all.

As I read back over this post, I'm feeling like I didn't do justice to this experience. How do I express the fun, the camaraderie, the grunginess, the exhilaration, the bonding with my teammates? How do I convey the feeling of being on a team ... the headiness of actually participating in something this HUGE??

I can't.

I remember how I felt, somewhere around ZigZag, OR, the first time I took that baton and began to run. Wow. I am doing this! I CAN do it! I'm running in the Hood to Coast! The thrill, the excitement, the rush of love for my teammates as they cheered me on, was almost overwhelming. The High lasted for weeks afterwards.

No, I can't do it justice. Was it fun? Oh yeah. Would I do it again? Are you kidding? Um ... YES!!!!!!

Coming, this summer, to a computer near you: Part 2 - 2010, My 2nd HTC.

Life before running

2011-06-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

Before running, there was biking. This started long ago when my brother inspired my husband to get rolling. That he did and for a few years, he and his friend Dave, ruled the STP in that they were the lone Yamhill County representatives (as far as we knew) and put everyone in awe. The STP is the annual Seattle to Portland bike ride event that most do in two days, but some, including Husband and friends, do it in one day. 200 miles. They start before daylight and pedal like mad so as to finish before dark. As with too many hair-brained ideas, the plan was to do it once. That was the first of ELEVEN times. I never rode it, but I was in many of the support vehicles over the years. His biking group mushroomed and one year there were over 20 of our friends making that long one-day ride.

This photo was taken the year our guys were sponsored by Vitamin Water, which provided matching shirts. The color was perfect. You could spot them for miles.

You've got to love this photo. Resting. Trying to keep the lactic acid from pooling in the legs.

The group has evolved over the years, and Husband has since retired from the tough training that the STP demands, taking on a more ~~sane~~ leisurely approach to biking, with plans to divert his love for the sport in different direction. Along the way, I acquired my first bike. (Word from the wise: Save yourself some money and never buy a hybrid bike if you plan to ride with road-bikers. You will most certainly, and sooner than you think, want to switch to a road bike. Unless of course, you LIKE being in the rear, working your legs into jelly, trying to keep up.) We evolved into a tandem, AKA a bicycle-built-for-two. A tandem allows us to ride together, meaning I can always keep up with him! Together and with Dear Friends, we have packed on a lot of miles. We've biked in the San Juan Islands, Vancouver Island, Coeur d'Alene Idaho, the Oregon coast, and just about everywhere in Yamhill and adjoining counties.

This photo was taken atop ridiculously tall and steep Mt. Constitution (lovingly nicknamed "Constipation") on Orcas Island, WA. Which we climbed. On our bikes. But oh, the view! (When biking, I suffer from a frightening and debilitating condition called, "helmet hair", which is evident immediately upon removal of the helmet. Therefore, it stays ON for most posed pictures.)

This was on a boat taking us from Victoria BC to the San Juans. (See what I mean about the hair?)

Columbia Gorge

Newport Oregon. (Little did I know then, that nearly three years later, I would run down this very road in a marathon. THAT was totally off my radar screen!)

I love this shot. Fellow tandem friends, Dave and Nancy. He's pedaling hard, crouching to minimize wind resistance, and she's peeking over his head.

This is my view when on our tandem.

Here is one of the rare shots of us on the ol' tandem, disembarking from the Wheatland Ferry, just north of Salem. (It must have been cold, judging by my multiple layers.)

Last year I splurged on my current bike and though I'll never be completely worthy of it, I still feel that same sense of awe every time I clip into its pedals. I discovered I like it better than the back of the tandem, but at the same time, I also learned that biking had been EASIER (for me) with a stronger rider aboard.

Biking has been a great part of our lives. Yesterday we rode in our third (and likely our last) Strawberry Century based in Lebanon Oregon. The name must be from the season during which it always takes place. With organized biking events, the word century means 100 miles. (I know a guy who hadn't ridden much and didn't know this, when invited to do one. He figured it out along the way and managed to finish the distance. He eventually became an ironman, so don't feel too sorry for him.) Having spent my winter/spring in marathon training and off a bike, I wasn't prepared to go the whole way, so we just did 77 miles, unlike previous years when we did it all. We got to ride through this:

And see scenery like this:

Many of our biking friends are still hot into the STP and they train obsessively, so we can no longer keep up. Nor do we really want to, as we cheer them on. While riding yesterday through some of the most beautiful country that Oregon has to offer, I saw one lone woman running along the road. My first thought was, "Fun!" That thought never jumps into my head when I see a cyclist, so at heart, I am and hopefully always will be, a runner.

Post note: There's a running debate (Ha! No pun intended.) .... change that to friendly debate ... in our household. Which is more difficult, a marathon or the STP? What do YOU think? (Your answer may depend on whom you like better ... him or yours truly. Just keep in mind whose blog this is.)

Post M thoughts

2011-06-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

I'm five days into Post-Marathon Life with NO plans for another. So far ... so good.

After practically ruining my toes, I was almost ready to consider going up yet ANOTHER shoe size, from boat to pontoon. However, I'm experimenting with a better way to do the laces that may allow room for my high arches, yet keep my foot firmly held to the back of my shoe. I've also found that with more reasonable running distances, like 10Ks or less, I usually don't have a problem. I'm tossing this onto my barricade against marathon #2! (I'm also keeping a picture of my battered toes on file, as a helpful reminder and no, I will not post it.) But with the Hood to Coast coming, I may just buy some black polish and be done with it .... does anyone know where I can find a tiny decal of a Nike Swoosh ..... ?

Got a good pep talk from mentor/friend Mark who gave me lots of great advice that I could have used last week. Potassium is NOT what I need. I need Magnesium. Well, darn. Too late now. Plus the unhappy news that leg cramps are a manifestation of not-strong-enough muscles. "They go away after time," he says. (Understood to mean: As long as that "time" is packed with lots of track and speed work and overall working the poor ol' muscles to DEATH. It doesn't just happen with time ALONE. Double darn.) I AM feeling inspired to get to the track and work on some 400 meter repeats - notice how I'm finally beginning to talk the talk? And what's more, I understood what I just wrote. Progress! Anyway, apparently a woman my age should be able to run one 9-minute mile (or faster) to be statistically safe from nasty heart issues. Just one mile, according to Mentor Mark. (For men, it's an 8-minute mile.) So as soon as the ol' legs are rested ..... I'll probably have a coronary just trying to hit that 9 minute goal.

I did run two sluggish miles yesterday because I'm allowing myself some serious down time and I believe in thoroughly milking what I went through last Saturday. And two miles IS considered restful, in my book.

This weekend, Bryce & I are planning to do one of our favorite annual bike rides, the Strawberry Century, except that we're lopping off a few decades and plan to just do 70 miles on our tandem. (Still milking.) I'll probably blog about it, so be warned.

Finally, those two pitiful, yet glorious pounds that I lost running those 26 miles, are back with gusto. That just about puts the finishing touch on my suspicion that life, age, and weight loss, are really not fair.

The BIG M

2011-06-05T21:04:00.000-07:00

My sister wants details. So here goes.

I felt far less trepidation going into this, than I expected. The past two weeks I was actually a little excited. Besides, any time I get to spend with Lindsay, my FRP, I'm excited. She is, for lack of a more worthy adjective, awesome.

We headed for Newport Friday afternoon and checked into the Embarcadero Hotel, AKA Race Headquarters, putting us into the middle of the hubbub. Packet pickup was exciting and intimidating. We sized up the other runners. Was anyone older, fatter, or sporting our clueless newbie look? Nope. They mostly looked lean, experienced, and nonchalant. “Oh yes,” I imagined one saying casually to another. “This is my 3rd marathon this week. Let’s grab breakfast at the Pig and Pancake, after we finish. I’ll meet you there at nine-thirty. That’ll give me time for a shower.”

This was the 13th Newport Marathon. Good thing we were not superstitious. Little did we know that it would turn out to the the hottest.

After dinner, we drove the route. And drove. And drove. Oh my. It was a long way. It starts at the famous Newport lighthouse which sits in a park at the north end of the Scary Bridge. (Said bridge is, in my opinion, fashioned from the Wicked Witch's castle, by the look of the pillars.)

Then the route rambles around on some roads that are a blur to me now. It heads back under the bridge and down to the old waterfront, which is a also a blur. I do remember running on the boardwalk. I love running on boardwalks. The bounce is perfect. Then it heads inland along a river. For miles. And somewhere around mile 15, it doubles back for an ungodly long distance before it finishes in front of our hotel.

So back to us - after pinning our numbers on our shorts and making the final decision as to which shirt to wear in the morning, we swallowed some Ambien, set the alarms, and went to bed. I think I slept maybe 6 hours.

Bryce dropped us off at the starting line about 6:30 a.m., and headed off to find a parking spot.

As you can see, I chose my biking shirt with the bulging back pockets, full of food-type-stuff. Lindsay beelined to join the very long potty line to deal with some Ensure that wasn't sitting well in her stomach, and I was immediately spotted by friends from our fabulous facebook group, Runner's Anonymous (RA).

900 participants. It feels pretty amazing to be a part of something like this.

At 7:00 we were off. I remembered the advice of a friend: “In the first six miles, pass no one.” T’was good that all 900 of us didn’t heed this advice because those six miles would have kept us in one huge human-glob. Instead, I was passed almost immediately by nearly EVERYONE, and Lindsay was out of sight in the first minute. I didn’t see her again until somewhere around mile 15, shortly before I got to the turn-around.

Bryce kept the camera going at strategic places, or wherever he was allowed access. (He was and is, by the way, the most supportive spouse a person could ever hope for.)

Later I texted Bryce, “9 miles. Feel good.” That was about the last point I actually did feel good. It all went down hill (my strength, not the road unfortunately) from there.

My biggest fear was leg cramps. They had bothered me occasionally on some of my previous runs and they are crippling. There is no way I can run when they set in. So I did everything I knew to prevent them. Potassium supplements. Plenty of water. Plenty of food. Walking breaks. But somewhere around mile 12 or 13, I could feel them coming on. When my calf really seized up, it reduced me to a hobble. I did the only thing I could. Pray. “Heavenly Father, what do I do now?”

“Eat”, was my next thought. So I did. My bulging pockets were full of Power Bar “Energy Blasts”, those chewy things that are full of carbs and calories. The cramps subsided and I kept going. Throughout the entire run, each time the cramps flared up, I would continue my conversation with God. “Help! I can’t do this alone. Please carry me a little.” And I kept going. Eat what I could swallow. Drink every two miles. Pray.

The water stations, manned by cheerful high schoolers, offered Gatorade and water. Towards the end, I learned to dump water on my head and down my shirt, and drink the Gatorade. I’m happy to say, I never got the two liquids confused.

When I finally got to see Lindsay again, she looked great! She reached the turn-around ahead of me, so we were running in opposite directions. She came at me with arms out and we hugged, cheered, and yelled our I LOVE YOUs! Then off she went and I didn’t see her again until the finish.
Bryce was waiting at the turn-around with cold juice and PB&J sandwiches. Now I fully admit I have made claims in this blog that I can eat anything during a run and usually this is true. But this time I was up against a horse of a different color. I needed to eat, but it wasn't easy. I managed to down a few bites of a small sandwich then took the remainder with me with promises that I'd finish it. Which I did. Eventually. At least it wasn't an Energy Blast.

The rest of the run was grueling. My run-with-walking-breaks turned into walk-with-occasional-running-breaks. I had a goal to get in under 6 hours. That meant a finish before 1:00. I was going to do it, come hell or whatever.

The mob of runners had long ago disappeared. There were just a few of us in sight. I met a nice woman from Arizona who would pass me, then I’d pass her, and repeat. Again and again. She said she hadn’t trained, and was taking it slow. For some reason, I didn’t hate her for that. With all my many months of training, and her lack thereof, we were still comrades on the road. Battling the same beast.

It got hot. The forecast had said mid 60s. It actually got up to around 80 which is great for just about any activity, other than running. The heat didn’t bother me, but Bryce said it probably slowed us down. Well, okay. So it wasn’t my slowness and age? It was the heat? Works for me.

I knew at some point the Scary Bridge would come back into sight and that would mean I was on the home stretch. So I watched for it for miles. Stupid Bridge!!! WHERE IS IT?? Finally it appeared off in the distance. Approximately 5 more miles to go. At this point my legs absolutely refused to run. The cramping wouldn’t allow it. So I brisk-walked. Hard. I was grateful for all those years of hard walking before I discovered running, because it paid off. I’d run for a minute or so, and walk some more. I was watching the time, still determined to meet my under-6-hour goal. My legs were DEAD, but I couldn’t stop or even slow down. I’m somewhat proud to say, I passed several other walkers.

At one point I was about 10 feet behind another walker. I started running and got just ahead of him then had to walk again.

“The legs just won’t do it.” I said. “I hear you.” he said. That was the extent of our conversation, but we shared a complete meeting of the minds.

“Just 1.4 miles left!” the high schoolers cheered at the last water station. Push. Push. Push. Can’t slow down! I was at about 5.6 hours. Push. Push. Hurry!! Then up ahead, Bryce appeared. He brought much love and encouragement, a bottle of cold water which he ordered me to drink, and then he dumped the remainder on me.

“You’re almost there! It’s just up ahead, around the corner!” The last stretch took us up a small hill, then descended down to the finish line. I pushed to the top, then, by the grace of God, began to run. No cramps. I ran down the hill. I heard my name shouted out -- RA friends! The finish line, oops, no, go here .... turn right, into a parking lot. I heard my name announced over the loud speaker. Someone handed me the hand-made-of-glass medal and I put it on. DONE!! Where’s Lindsay?? There she is!! (She got in an hour ahead of me.) WE DID IT!!!!! I remember the look on her face. HUGE grin! We did it. My FRP and I did it. (Note the words on the yellow shirt.)

We are MARATHONERS.

Aim the camera elsewhere, please

2011-06-01T08:59:00.000-07:00

We walked along the beautiful Portland waterfront this week. (Still tapering.) It's a great place for people-watching. It's also a good place to observe runners since the waterfront is one of their favorite haunts (mine included). It's easy to see why.

This time I was particularly tuned into their foot strikes (how the foot meets the pavement) as they cruised by. I'm always looking for a clue as to how others make it all look so easy. Heel first? Not good. Mid-foot? Good. Toe first? Also good. At the same time I studied their form, something of which I'm always mindful (and a bit envious), when watching others run. Most of them glided. The pavement seemed to rise up to meet them as they floated along. It's like poetry in shorts. Smooth, effortless, rhythmical. As opposed to this:

(I have to constantly remind myself that MOST of the other runners out there are the ages of my kids. No doubt, 20 years ago, I would have floated with the best of them. Really. Oh yeah.)

However, as you can see, I am a schlepper. In my head I feel trim, perky, and cute -- but on film, the truth comes out. My stride is better described as a ga-lumph. And who knows what kind of foot strike I have. But in spite of my inelegant form, my running history of almost three years is injury-free. So something's working. And I figure I best NOT try to mend what isn't broken.

So it's probably better for all, to just keep the camera pointed towards the poetic gliders and the pretty scenery, so that we schleppers can ga-lumph along in the shadows unnoticed. That way, at least my perky fantasies can remain intact.

My favorite holiday for all the wrong reasons

2011-05-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

It is Memorial Day weekend. I love Memorial Day. Last year I bequeathed it to be my favorite of all holidays because:
1. It is the morning of my summer and I am most definitely a morning person.
2. I start out with high expectations for the season. Plenty of hopes, plans for some fun outings, and lots of activity - stressing the root word ACTIVE in activity.
3. Nothing is expected of me on this day, compared to other holidays. I don't have to decorate anything, nor must I feed, entertain, nor change sheets and clean for anyone.

I have been known to visit the cemetery to honor our brave military who fought for our country. Particularly that of my own father, who served in Europe in WWII. And I appreciate and acknowledge our duty to never let their memory die, nor let their sacrifice be forgotten,

for this would be a different and scarier world without them. I confess that this is an obligation that I've sometimes neglected.

So as I crouch on the season's starting line,

waiting for the signal to launch, I'm perusing some of what's ahead:

1. The Marathon, about which I won't talk THIS time, hence you can all collectively sigh with relief.
2. The Trek, a re-enactment of an 1800s pioneer handcart trek, honoring our religious forebears who literally walked a thousand miles across our country, to find a sanctuary where they could worship freely. More on this later.
3. Favorite Third Son's college graduation and perhaps a little jaunt through Yellowstone afterwards.
4. "Run Run Ye Saints", a church-sponsored running/walking event that Favorite Daughter and I co-authored and of which I have been in charge since its inception last year.
5. The Hood to Coast, that rip-snortin' all-too-much-fun relay, that y'all will most certainly hear more about in this blog, as it draws closer.
6. Some, as of yet, loosely planned bike rides, hikes, visits with family.
7. A dozen other things that inevitably get thrown in along the way.
8. And, OF COURSE, lots of running!

Memorial Day is also when the calendar is suddenly jacked up in May, and we slide all-too-quickly and before-you-know-it into September. The pressure is on to pick up the pace so as to not miss a moment.

Ready, set .....

My oasis before the poppies

2011-05-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

I'm enjoying a lovely little oasis called "Tapering". This is supposed to begin approximately two to three weeks before the marathon, so it might likened to the Calm Before the Storm. Ironman Friend Mark offers this wise advice:
"From this point, no workouts will help you," he counsels. "The training is done. You need to go easy. Stay loose (whatever THAT means); and get plenty of rest."

Really? I don't have to cram in some last minute hill work? No more head-to-head matches with Zimri? No more long runs for added insurance? I won't do any back-sliding or lose any ground? (As if I HAD actual ground to lose ...!)
"Not in three weeks," Friend Mark mentors reassuringly.

I've read that some runners struggle with tapering. They get antsy. They have to restrain their urge to get out and sweat off some miles. Not me! I am the Queen of R&R! I LOVE some well-deserved laziness. Give me a barcalounger and a TV remote, and I am SO there!

The only problem with my oasis is that annoying storm cloud off in the distance. A distance that is quickly shrinking. It's the nagging reality that I've not quite reached Emerald City. I still have that one last stretch across the poppy field.

And that little jaunt ..... to the witch's castle ...... ("You're out of the woods, you're out of the dark, you're out of the niiiiiight" ......)

Love Messages ad nauseum

2011-05-19T11:14:00.001-07:00

I've learned that during my LONG runs, (anything more than a half-marathon) my Jeff-Galloway-walking-breaks are vital. If I neglect them during the first hour, then around miles 14-15 my calves start to cramp up. When that happens it's like running on painful wooden stumps. Till now, I've been using a stopwatch to remind me to stop and walk. I could hear the beep of the watch because I wasn't plugged into my iPod. And I wasn't plugged in because I was with FRP.

However, FRP and I have mutually decided that, during the marathon, we will not run together. She is faster than I and doesn't espouse as many walking breaks as I do. So no doubt she'll leave me behind early on. And I hope she does. She has agreed NOT to wait for me, and I have agreed NOT to stop if I find her dying on the side of the road. "Just keep going!" she says. I'll get there!!"

But here's the dilemma. Since running without FRP means I will be plugged into my iPod on the Big Day, how will I hear the beeps? (No, my music is not THAT loud. The stopwatch is just really quiet.) During the LAST half of the run, Sheer Exhaustion is also a helpful reminder, but Galloway stresses that it's in the early miles when the breaks are the most important. Then Dear Husband came to the rescue with a solution. Via something called "Garage Band" on our Mac, he recorded his voice telling me to stop and walk .... in an endearing just-between-him-and-me way. Then I duplicated it a gazillion times and spliced it into my playlist. How smart is that!?!

So by the end of the marathon, I will either be all the more in love with him for his thoughtful and blessed life-saving reminders to walk, or I'll be sick to DEATH of his voice/message repeating over and over and over and over ..... I'm kind of afraid it will be the latter.

But who cares? Time heals all and by then the run will be DONE.

Slogging along in Paradise

2011-05-16T09:14:00.000-07:00

Last November when I signed up for the marathon, I was clueless and naive. I thought I could do it on my own. I thought all I'd need was a little fortitude and a training schedule. Wrong.

Fortunately, before I realized my foolishness and before I knew I'd need rescuing, FRP/BD (Favorite Runner Partner/Beloved Daughter) stepped up. I have since learned that I COULD NOT HAVE DONE THIS WITHOUT HER.

Not only has she provided me with hours of sanity-saving companionship and conversation on the long runs, she introduced me to Runner's Paradise, AKA Grand Island. Since it's a few steps out her door, and since she's a professional photographer, I assigned her the job of taking some photos. And she did.

Last Friday we barely completed our FINAL long training run. It was too warm - a whopping 70 degrees. (I know ... pathetic.) We dragged ourselves through the last few miles. Legs cramping. Motivation gone. But the scenery, (and her company) were flawless.

So I'm posting this in honor of all the miles, we logged there together. I didn't love the pain nor the anticipation of more increasingly-long runs-to-come throughout the winter. But I DO look forward to future non-mandatory-just-for-fun runs along the quiet roads of this picturesque bit of earth, with my FRP/BD ....

AND with mileage goals in the SINGLE digits.

Food (the sequel), and my stomach

2011-05-14T22:03:00.000-07:00

If you've been following this blog, you should, by now, be educated on the definition of an ironman. If not, then shame on you. We'll all pause and wait patiently while you check the link. That said however, this post is not about ironman events. It's about my stomach. Which is made of iron. Yes, there's logic there .... somewhere.

I seem to be able to eat just about anything. I've never experienced food poisoning as far as I know. And almost everything sent down there, stays put nicely. You might even compare my stomach to Lance Armstrong's lungs ... which is NOT helpful for dieting! Because not only can I eat almost anything, I can eat a LOT of it.

A friend of mine has often remarked that she can't eat dinner if she's had a big lunch. But, says I, dinner is still FIVE hours away! Lunch is a distant memory by then. (It's like those people who can actually sit and work next to a decorative dish of candy, like at a bank. You might as well parade a marching band through the office to describe the level of distraction a dish of candy presents to me.)

Often heard amongst runners, "I can't eat before a run". Or they say they must eat very lightly to avoid the dreaded "lead-weight-in-the-stomach" syndrome. Not me. I can happily run on a double stack of whole wheat pancakes, with bacon and an extra tall glass of OJ.

Not that I do! But I could. If I let myself. Being a proud graduate and employee of Weight Watchers, I have learned that Nature is against me at every turn and each calorie I consume sticks like fly paper. Chiseling it off via exercise is a constant uphill effort. Temperance is required even on my 20 miler days. Yes, my GPS SAYS I burned 2000 calories ... just tell that to my scales!

Anyway, ol' Iron Stomach and I do fairly well. During a run, I don't have to worry about tolerating the Powerbars, the sport drinks, the Ensure, or even the GUs. It all goes down and mingles happily with my breakfast. The only types of food that DO cause some ruckus are the really healthy things, like broccoli. I've learned NEVER to eat it before I .... um ..... let's just leave it at that.

Interestingly enough, my up-coming marathon of choice enjoys the unusual distinction of offering, (since it's at the coast) raw oysters.

Seriously! I MIGHT be willing to give them a sporty try on almost any other occasion. But during a marathon ... I think I'd be pushing my luck a little too far. So no thank you. But bring on the rest! The bagels and cream cheese. The M&Ms. The bananas and grapes. And those shortbread cookies with the chocolate frosting-stripes across the tops ......

How do I carry the Krispy Kremes?

2011-05-10T11:05:00.000-07:00

Time is winding down. The marathon is just a few weeks away, and I'm in the fine-tuning stage. Not with my actual running, but with the details. What will I wear? What should I bring? What services will be provided along the route? Water. Check. Gaterade. (I'd rather have grape juice, but oh well.) Check. Porta-potties. DOUBLE check! Food ...... ? No mention of food on the marathon website. Okay then, I'll have to carry my own. I turned to some friends for advice. "Food?" they say. "I don't eat until after." Or "Breakfast usually carries me through". Now I'm realizing I'm talking to people who can run 26.2 miles in under 4 hours, a class of runner in which I have no connection. For me, I need food. And I'd rather it be REAL. Not the gooey, gummy 100-proof sugar stuff that you squirt into your mouth. I mean, if I'm expected to eat sugar, why not something GOOD? Like oreos, or donuts. Or pie. If you don't think one can eat while one runs, just watch me.

I've done enough ridiculously long runs to know that the ol' tank does better with regular refueling. Our training runs have been 8 mile loops, with regular stops at FRP's house, where we have stocked a substantial pile of cookies and juice. And string cheese. And bananas. And chocolate milk. And adorable grandkids for hugs. It has worked well.

However, the marathon will not rotate back to her house every now and then. In fact her house will be nowhere near! I will be on my own. So, how do I carry it all?

I've been experimenting with big pockets, but anything heavier than a chapstick, produces a bothersome bounce. I've tried a fuel belt, but since drinks are provided, I don't want to wear it the whole way. And from what I've gathered online, fanny packs scream NERD. Besides, they also bounce.

My iPod rides in an arm band, as does my cell phone. No bouncing there, but no space for more arm bands. A hat like Carmen Miranda's? Or I could place spotters along the way, drawing on every favor owed to me from the past 50 years, who could dole out ham sandwiches as I trod by. But I've read that spotters are a highly undependable, shady type of people who have been known to wander off and miss the rendezvous.

So I'm still working on the perfect solution. Maybe Carmen would let me borrow her hat. I could even sew on a few ruffles and add some lively salsa music on my iPod ....

The one problem with this festive option is that if I trip, fall, and/or DIE along the way (another item on my list of details), none of my family will voluntarily step up and claim any knowledge of who I am.

It's not the event. It's the training.

2011-05-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

Ironman-Friend Mark, who has done 10 of those mind-boggling events all over the world, said, (paraphrasing) "The amazing thing isn't that I DID 10 Ironmans, but that I TRAINED for 10 Ironmans."
A regimen building up to twenty-plus hours of training per week takes a kind of discipline that very few can muster up from his/her soul.
Fellow Ironman-Friend Ty, concurred. (Again paraphrasing) "It isn't the race we are so concerned with, it's whether or not we have the time, energy, and perseverance needed for all those months of hard work, to prepare for it." (I don't remember how he really said it, but you get the point.) Add to that, the sacrifice of whatever else one should, or want to do with all those hours and days.

With less than a month until MY big day, I'm contemplating the past five months of my own training program. Actually, as Patient Husband pointed out, it hasn't been very different from my pre-marathon-training days, other than the regular and increasingly long runs. And a lot more hill running. And more stress. And fear.

Since I started running over 2.5 years ago, my weekly quota was 20 - 24 miles. But now with the exception of the Long Run Weeks, I usually do less. My chosen trainer advocates more rest days, a concept I happily latched onto, then hitting it hard on the running days, which I sometimes do ..... or at least TRY to do ... sometimes .... Has it been enough? I don't know. I hope so.

This week is FRP/BD's (Favorite Running Partner/Beloved Daughter) and my last long training run.
"You've got this." wrote Comforting-Friend Rachael, who recently ran in the legendary Boston Marathon. And you know, I think she's right. I can do it. That realization came after our 18 miler. And after we did 20. And after we did 22. As Supportive Husband said, "The marathon is the graduation of all the months of hard work".

I'm not afraid of failure. But I AM afraid of the pre-run-jitters. I AM afraid of those last six miles and the gut-wrenching GRIT to get to the finish line. I AM afraid of those things over which I have no control ... like the weather ... or leg cramps ... or just circumstances ... you know, the glitches.

And I'm STILL afraid I'll sign up for another one.

My carbon fiber temptress

2011-05-04T08:26:00.000-07:00

Just so you know that I am a multi-dimensional person (IOW, I do more than run), I thought I'd write a post about my bike. Yes, I have one and she's a beaut!

For years Bryce and I rode our tandem bike, AKA the "comfy-family-station-wagon-complete-with-useful-luggage-rack-and-squishy-gel-seat-cover", on many adventures with our hardy friends. And not to abandon "Old Wagon", we have more adventures on the Wish List. Some of those adventures will likely pop up in future posts. (Note: I'm the one who insists on a gel seat cover. Bryce gave up trying to convince me how NOT-cool it is.)

But with the tandem, I could never ride when Bryce didn't. So we went shopping. We narrowed down our choices to three top contenders, with a certain Cannondale standing out above the others. Since Bryce had to work and couldn't devote yet another day to the decision process, I headed out alone on day two. My plan was to take said Cannondale out for some serious road testing. Which I did. But alas, there was no spark between us.

Wondrously-patient-salesperson, Jason, suggested that the fit wasn't quite right and brought out another bike so that I could try a different size. This size-testing bike was a luscious blue women's-specific Specialized Amira, and it was love at first sight. No one else in the store seemed to notice the heavens opening nor hear the angelic choirs as he carried it down from the upper room. I took that seductive piece of bicycle mastery outside and cautiously rode it up the hill. We floated. The gears were, as they say, like butter. After circling the block, we went back inside and I gingerly asked, "How much does THIS one cost?"
"You don't want to know," said Patient Jason.
I went back to the Cannondale, but it was no use. My heart was still floating in butter and my usual very-frugal-nature was abandoning ship. I called Bryce. He and Google promptly launched into the research. Good reviews. Good components. Carbon fiber. Lots of technical stuff that didn't mean much to me. If he liked it, I knew it was good. He did.
"Go for it." says he.
"It's expensive." says I.
"I don't care." says he.
So I took Blue Temptress out for another, longer test ride and we explored a bit of SE Portland together. All in all, some five hours AFTER I first entered the store, AFTER price negotiations, AFTER Patient Jason & I added each other to our Christmas card lists, ... I took my blue buttery-bike home. That was 13 months ago, and I'm still dazzled by her sleek beauty. She's my mid-life-crisis Ferrari.

The down side is that a new bike fails to come with a new motor, and Dazzling-Ferrari and I are forever hampered by my middle-aged legs, lungs, heart and utter lack of killer-bike-rider spirit. I'm all for a vigorous ride but, oddly enough, I prefer some FUN in the process. Competitive, blood-and-guts racing just isn't me. Plus, as I quickly learned, strong bike-riding legs must come from ACTUAL BIKE-RIDING and don't necessarily come from running 10Ks. (My ego took a big hit on that one.) So Dazzling-Ferrari might also be called "Overkill" because with me, she'll never be able to really show off what she's made of. But we can have fun together.

And one year, 608 miles, later (without the seat cover) .... we do!

Bird Battles

2011-04-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

I used to like birds. We even owned a few as pets. There was Heber our cockatiel who learned to imitate the beeping sound of the microwave buttons, and a parakeet named Howard, who never learned anything useful. Both came with the assumption that a bird in the house would add the perfect touch to domesticity. And both, along with their cages, were eventually unloaded on gullible, yet highly appreciated people who had similar delusions about a bird in the house. Ever since, I have been in one battle after another with various members of the fine-feathered species.

First came the woodpeckers. They had some weird attraction to a particular corner of our house, in close proximity to the bedrooms, and an ungodly hour of the early morning. After their little jack-hammer-like beaks finally broke through the metal grates of our attic vents, they'd signal the starlings that it was now their turn.

Starlings would then alert their extended family and friends and all would gleefully move into our attic and erect a community of nests, complete with sidewalks, terraces, and indoor plumbing.

At our next house, we became prey to robins. These birds have no concept of glass in windows, other than if they slam into it enough times, eventually either: 1. It might open, or 2. They will find True Love with their reflection. The result is a window (usually of one of our hard-to-reach upper floors) covered in bird spit. Plus they love to build nests on anything horizontal, leaving their poop dripping down our posts, siding, and large portions of our patio. Not to mention on my freshly-washed car.

Without going into further tales of woe involving my picked-over blueberry bushes, I'll get to the point. A couple of years ago in the spring (apparently "nesting season"), I noticed that a certain type of black bird seemed to take a lot of interest in my running. It, and a few of its friends, would dart from tree to tree, following me as I plodded along our neighborhood street.

"Well, that's kind of fun," I mused. Running with birds. Like Mary Poppins .... or Cinderella and her merry band of critters. But I failed to notice Alfred Hitchcock, who must have been lurking in the bushes. Nor did I notice that the background music to this scenario (had this been one of his movies) had turned low and threatening. The birds started getting aggressive. They swooped low between the trees. They swooped towards me. They swooped AT me. One actually hit the top of my head and at that point, I was flailing in self-defense. Fleeing to the other side of the street, I could still see the shadow from over my shoulder, of one of the little kamikazes in full pursuit.

The next year they were back, and each day as I'd cautiously step outside for a run, I would scan the trees. Seeing that the coast was clear, I'd start off and within minutes, one by one, the black demons would begin to flutter into the trees to set up their radar screens and machine guns. Pretty soon they were swooping and again, I was their target.

This year, even though I've come to accept Bird Battles simply as part of Spring, a season I love, I'm ready for them. I'm armed. I have a camera. I may even "pack some heat" in the form of a tennis racket. I will gather solid evidence that I am not losing my mind and the birds REALLY DO HATE ME. Next, I plan to get an ariel photo proving that they have, with their poop, pelted my roof in the pattern of a large bullseye.

Stay tuned.

Post Easter thoughts

2011-04-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

It's Monday morning, the day after Easter. We basically didn't celebrate Easter this year, so it seems. No eggs, no candy, no parties, no new clothes as we've done in many years past when the kids were small. We just went to church as usual. I did make goat cheese pizza, a yummy favorite of those currently living at the home front. And I prepared my lesson for next week's Sunday School class. Pretty humdrum.

Then I read a few entries in Facebook from people who celebrated the holiday by veering off from their normal Sunday routine and attending church ... and that got me to thinking. Celebrating a holiday by attending church. Maybe once or twice a year? Interesting concept. Any church attendance is better than nothing I suppose. But if one's chosen church worships Jesus Christ and follows the Bible then IMHO, once or twice a year is not going to cut it. For that is not what He taught.

So although my Easter celebrations have become a bit lack luster, I did go to church. As I do every week. And I attempted to honor the Sabbath, as I do every week. So in a sense I, and those in my household, celebrate Easter every Sunday. For to truly celebrate Easter and acknowledge the wondrous fact that HE actually LIVES, is to simply do what He asked us to do.

Me Today VS Me Tomorrow

2011-04-16T22:53:00.000-07:00

(This blog has taken on a life of its own. I never know when Inspiration-For-a-New-Post will come and when it does, I just follow, picking up the wrappers, dishes, and socks left along the way.)

***********************

My oldest friends ..... that sounds bad .... they aren't old, I've just known them a long time. Anyway, my longest friends ... that doesn't sound right either, but you get the point .... know me well enough to take many of my declarations with a HUGE grain of salt. For example:

I don't want a dog because I KNOW that at this stage of my life, owning a dog would be a BAD IDEA. But because my declarations have been known to melt into gooey, spineless blobs and because I easily get swept up whenever I see a cute little brown dachshund, my friends have all been recruited to NOT LET me get one. (You've got to admit though, "wiener" dogs are ADORABLE!)

Also: "I think I'm done with cruises." That one always gets eyes rolling.

More gooey, blob-like declarations:

The day after my first Hood to Coast relay: "I don't think I'll do the HTC next year." (Less than a week later, I decided to be a team captain!)

The next year: "I'm DEFINITELY NOT going to be the team captain again." (I am the team captain again.)

After heading up our local church's first annual "Run Run Ye Saints", a 5K & 10K run/walk in 2010, I said I didn't want to be in charge next year but would gladly advise whomever does it. (Not only am I in charge again, I ASKED for it!)

Now I'm training for this darn marathon. "Please!" I plead to Future Self. "Please let this be the only one! Don't get carried away and sign up for another! Remember the months of training! Remember the pain! Remember your age!" But I (the Me of today) feel totally helpless pitted against the Me of tomorrow, or the Me of next week, or of next year.

So I guess I'm calling for help. I'm rallying the troops again to help me to stand firm against the Future Me with this marathon issue just as with the dog issue. Because alone, Today's Me, is completely out-matched.

(Post note: After reading this, Husband said "No Way. If you decide to do another one, I'm totally with you." Oh c--p!)

Make it DARK, Dah-ling.

2011-04-15T14:19:00.000-07:00

Chocolate. It has nothing to do with running; however, chocolate doesn't have to. It stands on its own merits. But it must be dark. In my younger, less-enlightened years, I THOUGHT milk chocolate was good ... and it still is as long as it's wrapped around a peanut M&M or a See's rum nougat truffle. (Side note: I heard after the fact, that See's temporarily offered this near-perfect choice of truffle in dark and THEY DIDN'T CALL ME!)

Anyway, I've now matured and have honed my usually-non-discriminatory taste buds to accept only this:

I used to buy 85%. Then they came out with 90%. I tried it and at first thought it was too not-sweet, but after finishing the bar, there was no going back. So none of that overly sweet, cream-filled stuff for me. I'm strictly hard core. And since my family doesn't follow suit with this, there's no need to hide it. They won't touch it. They don't even like it! (Strange people.)

Plus ... as another small step towards a perfect world, there is the happy benefit of healthiness! According to this and many other sources, dark chocolate has antioxidants and can be helpful for lowering blood pressure. The catch is: small quantities. So I TRY to make a bar last at least 4 days. (BIG emphasis on try.)

They say that a daily moderate amount of red wine can give similar benefits; however, due to personal and religious standards, I don't drink alcohol. So for me, my little square of dark chocolate is MY glass of wine. Not a bad alternative, IMHO.

The BEST thing EVER!

2011-04-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

For the handful of you out there who don't need to lose a few pounds, you may ignore this post and go have a donut. For the REST of you, pay attention! This is GOOD.

About a month ago I noticed my friend and former-walking-buddy had gotten smaller! (Horizontally, not vertically.) Whenever I see this phenomenon, I want details and I want them NOW. What did she DO? It turns out she had been part of a 10 Week Fitness Challenge group, set up by her daughter. And it worked. Big time. So I snatched up the info, passed it on to my daughter, who caught hold of it and started her own group, of which I am a proud participant. We are now in our 2nd week and I haven't experienced this kind of motivation since I first joined Weight Watchers back in 2008. And if you've ever dieted, you've discovered that MOTIVATION is EVERYTHING.

Let's pause here for a moment and discuss motivation. Do you recall times when you've had the will power to exist on grass clippings and felt like you could do it FOR LIFE!? Then other times when you can't stick to a diet for 5 minutes before you're rummaging for the Oreos. It's motivation. Sometimes you have it and sometimes you just ... don't.

So what is a 10 Week Fitness Challenge? Loosely explained, you (as the group leader in case you don't have a daughter on whom to slough this off) invite, via emails or facebook or (gasp) in person, a group of friends to do it with you. Prepare for a larger-than-expected-group because your friends also have friends. Everyone submits $10, or whatever amount the group leader decides, to said group leader who beelines to the mall. Kidding! He/she dutifully sets the money aside. Then a blog is set up with your team name, motto, or whatever cute, witty title you can conjure up and everyone in the group is signed on so that they can all post in the blog. They all add a picture and an intro post about themselves (including trash talk - "Go ahead and write your checks out to ME!") in the blog sidebar where they can display their ever-increasing point total. Then a point system is set up and permanently affixed to the top of the blog for reference. Here's a sample and is what our group (cleverly titled by Daughter as "A Little Less Talk") is using:

1 point each day for:

drinking 48 (or more) ounces of water

eating 4 servings of veggies

eating 3 servings of fruit

each 1/2 hour of exercise

7 - 9 hours of sleep the previous night

sticking with your own chosen diet plan

no eating out

no soda

no desserts

keeping a daily food journal

Plus 3 points each Monday for adding a new post in the blog just to check in about your week, your progress, ups and downs, etc.

Each participant keeps track of their own point count and updates it daily or weekly. ADD TO THAT, occasional Pop Challenges, meaning each participant is assigned a week and on any day during that week they can put up a post awarding 2 extra points to all who've successfully followed (choose one of the 10 items in the list of "rules", ie. no soda) the previous day. For added fun we have a facebook group where we can encourage, commiserate, or just share thoughts with each other -- or IOW, so that "A Little Less Talk" can talk a little more.

Finally, at the end of the 10 weeks, you earn one point for each percentage point of weight you have lost and the person with the most points earned WINS THE MONEY and gets to go shopping for new(!) smaller(!) clothes(!) ..... or just pay his/her electric bill.

As for me, I have proudly lost 3.5% of my weight so far and yes, I am using the Weight Watchers program as my chosen diet plan.

This is really a win-win thing for me as it MOTIVATES me to keep up with my running (earning points!) and to lose a few extra pounds so that I don't have to haul them along during the marathon.

So THANK YOU to Former-Walking-Buddy's-Daughter for passing on this GREAT IDEA! And THANK YOU to Favorite-Daughter for getting our group started.

(I don't know who deserves credit for the original idea, but he/she should get a medal for BRILLIANCE.)

(Update: for another version, see this post.)

Proud and honored recipient of the .....

2011-04-07T20:27:00.000-07:00

! ! ! !

Well, okay, it was passed on by my daughter whose DELIGHTFUL blog received this coveted prize from her cousin's blog. And no, I can't say n.e.p.o.t.i.s.m. so don't even go there.

So I'm adding to this fun little parade of back-patting by bequeathing it to my friend Ellen's blog because she has inspired me for years with her dedicated bicycling abilities and now for bravely entering MY world of running. Go El-len! Go El-len! Go El-len!!

And (I'm not done yet!) to my friend Sue's blog because she can write about ANYTHING and be witty, edgy and fun. Plus, I'm STILL proud of her for running that entire 10K a couple of weeks ago.

There's one catch: They both have to READ MY BLOG to get their awards. (A minor price to pay.)

Need a dose of inspiration?

2011-04-07T02:17:00.000-07:00

Watch this.

Then tell me you're too old or that a 10K run is too far.

Zimri, a wolf in sheep's ... blossoms.

2011-04-05T12:28:00.000-07:00

Friends, meet Zimri Drive, The Beast. Don't let the pretty blossoms fool you. It's a mile-long bully.

If you click on this pic below, you'll see a tiny white mailbox on the right, which you THINK sits at the top ......

But THIS is taken at that mailbox. More hill to come.

(This shot below is for Etta, who IMHO, now owes me a comment.) ;-)

At this point, Zimri condescendingly drops down, then tosses in a nasty little hill at the end. At the top it offers a weak apology with a bouquet of daffodils ...

... as you can barely see over my shoulder. But I'm not feeling the love.

At LEAST it could have offered me a bench. And a cold drink. But no, like all bullies, it just saunters off with a smirk.

Wow, You clean up well!

2011-04-04T13:42:00.000-07:00

I belong to a delightful and somewhat new facebook group with the telling title of Runners Anonymous. We've gotten together for a few runs with more to come, and last night our Fearless Leader Kevin, hosted a non-running meet-and-greet get-together at his lovely home which, unfortunately, is MUCH too far from here. Immediately, upon arrival, we all noticed something interesting about each other. We looked GOOD!

I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't typically fuss with grooming when I go running. Sunglasses and a hat usually cover the scary stuff. Besides we all head directly home to our individual showers afterwards. Added to this "glamor" are lots of sweat and lively aromas (not me!). So when you ONLY see a person in that state of non-fashion, you forget that they may have actual lives outside of running. And that the women actually may wear makeup or jewelry, and that they have another hairstyle besides a ponytail.

Who knew? So I'm putting this photo:

out into cyber-world to document that I DON'T ALWAYS LOOK LIKE ....

this:

..... or ..... (Caution!) ... this.

(You've gotta cut me a little slack with this one. It was my 3rd run on the 2nd day in the amazing, but grungy, world of the Hood to Coast relay.)

Happiness

2011-04-02T13:27:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, this was inspired by an Oprah show. Yes, I do watch it occasionally. Once, when we were going to be in Chicago for a few days, I tried to get in her show. But she wouldn't return my calls. She wouldn't even pick up the phone. In fact I couldn't even get it to RING. Oh well.

Anyway, she did a show on the topic of happiness. They featured a town in California, San Luis Obispo, population 44,000, that somehow is considered the happiest town in the U.S. The people were not affluent and the town was not particularly large. So what was the reason? The town had made some changes such as closing the main street to cars to make it pedestrian-friendly. They put in bike paths/lanes and even offered valet bike-parking. They widened their sidewalks and encouraged outside seating at the cafes. All in all, they provided an environment that encouraged the citizens to get outside and interact with their neighbors.

According to studies, happiness IS influenced by salary, but only to a point well below a level that would be considered wealthy. In fact it would not qualify as upper middle-class. Beyond that, they said you will find more happiness joining a club, than by increasing your income. So what is it about a club, wide sidewalks, and bicycles? People. Interaction. Mingling. Socializing. Belonging. What this says to me is that anything that establishes friendship, bonding, common interests with which to connect with others, can raise your level of happiness.

Members of my church are also considered to be generally happy, cheerful people. In addition to the beliefs that we embrace that give us hope and purpose, we do a LOT of socializing. We worship in a uniform style worldwide, so that we naturally have much in common with other members wherever we find them. On our recent cruise to the Caribbean, we sought out the local LDS congregation on the island of Antigua, where we docked on a Sunday. There we found instant friends. There we immediately felt welcome, loved, and at home. We talked the same "language" and shared the same outlook on life. As a member of this church, we are part of something huge and this would definitely count as that "club" so to speak, that can impact our happiness.

Bringing this around to the designated topic of this blog, I have discovered that running has expanded my social circles and has created bonds with others who share my love for this sport. Participating in a group event, particularly on a team, instills a powerful sense of belonging. A feeling that I matter to others. The added happiness that running has brought into my already happy life goes beyond the sense of accomplishment and achieving goals, as important as those things are. It causes interaction with some awesome people! It has widened my sidewalks.

Twenty My-Oh-Miles!

2011-04-01T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today FRP and I did 20 miles. Not all running but still, it's the farthest I've gone without a bicycle, car, or other type of vehicle between me and the pavement.

Our time, including three refueling, potty, and Suzie-hugging breaks, .....

was 4 hours and 22 minutes. FRP stuck with me even though she was feeling strong. I savored her company. I was dealing with leg cramps and paying dearly for not following my chosen trainer's advice of regular walking breaks in the early miles.

We decided that we WILL keep running together after the marathon is done because we are making significant headway on solving the world's problems. But mostly because she IS my FRP.

Afterward I enjoyed a friendly greeting from my bathroom scales which will soon be sabotaged because Favorite 2nd Son is taking BFF/Husband and me out for some well-deserved calories in the form of Thai food.

The best part of our run on this lovely first day of April: Emerald City is almost within sight!