Running with Snakes

Meet Rhonda, the Ramblin' Van!

2011-05-18T19:48:00.000-07:00

I have picked up a little trick from Brian: Mental Manifestation. He's always been really good at it. Focus on what you want. Put the vibe out there, into the universe and you can make things happen. Get what you want! Sign up for my 8 week program for only $699.99 and I can teach YOU how to make all YOUR dreams come true.

Just kidding!

No, but really I can manifest things with my mind. Like this beauty: Ramblin' Rhonda, the 1988 Dodge Ram camping van. I have wanted a van for.ev.er. I started focusing on it hard, thinking it would be perfect for Colorado road trips, especially trips that involve ultra running. Except we had no money. Just the power of the mind. I kept checking craigslist but everything decent was way out of our price range. Then I saw Rhonda. Big, red, roomy, Rhonda. Her curves enticed me, her voluptuous physique reeled me in, her burgundy stripes and matching plush interior called to me, suggesting we belong together. Annnd the price was right. Especially after a friend committed to buying Esteban (the little white truck who is even older than Rhonda).

It was raining the night we met her. I climbed in and immediately felt safe, warm and happy. Literal shelter from the storm. We played around inside, spun the captain's chairs, folded the bed down, listened to rain-on-steel, and then took her for a drive. I had already decided she would be mine.

Rhonda, like me, was made in the eighties. Perhaps that is why I connect with her. We could have been sisters or BFFs, except she stayed in the eighties and I evolved with the years. There is an air of nostalgia upon entering this van. Even if it's an era you've never known, nor spent significant time. You just feel all the good memories pouring over you when you sink into one of those big velvety seats. Her tape deck, wood paneling, and ambient red interior lighting just says it all. Rhonda knows how to ramble.

If Rhonda were a woman, she'd be the "I'm big, I'm bold, I'm beautiful" type. She would hunger for adventure. She would dance her ass off at weddings and alone in her kitchen. She'd have long maroon finger nails and she would call everyone "honey." She would be a "yes" girl. Up for anything. Looking for a good time, a partner in crime? Call Rhonda. She wouldn't be a shy girl. She would eat lots of fried things, even in front of the boys. She would sing the blues at karaoke night and out-drink all the rednecks. Shut the place down. Everyone would love Rhonda. Everyone would want a piece.

She looks so at home in the driveway and I know she will be even deeper in her element once she's out on the open road catching bugs on the windshield, driving us to places we've never been and dropping me off on trails I've never run.

Mental manifestation works. But you have to want what you want for the right reasons. You can't be too materialistic. I can be greedy. I wish and want and hope. But you can't mess with the power of mental manifestation. You can't use it for everything. You have to use your powers for Good. She might not be the youngest, hippest van on the market. She's probably not the most efficient, aerodynamic or even aesthetically pleasing thing with which we could choose to adorn our driveway. It won't be easy to financially keep up with her insatiable appetite, but there is something special about our Rhonda.

And here's some more Bob Dylan for ya :)

Collegiate Peaks 50

2011-05-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

My regular race reports are pretty boring. And I forgot all the trail names and significant climbs and altitudes anyway. First I'll tell you the final stats.

Time: 10:43

Place: 10th female

Age: 2nd under 30

Elevation: ~8,000-9,400 (4,700 feet of elevation gain/drop per loop)

PR (in Colorado)

It's really hard for me to remember what I was thinking at every mile.

Was it hard? Yes. It always is.

There were also times when it was easy. Sooo easy. Those are the miles that just float by like clouds. The ones where you're surrounded by mountains and trees and blue sky. SO blue. And the sun is in your eyes so bright... and you think it might be Heaven that you are running through. The river flows, dances over rocks and you feel just as fast and graceful.

The harder miles offer different scenery. Just feet and the dirt beneath them. Just you, looking at your feet. Telling them keep going. Fighting with them. The sun bearing down like a hundred pounds on your back. A far away voice telling you to drink. Why haven't you peed yet? Another voice telling you to walk. Stop. Another telling you you're too late. The real race is over. They finished hours ago. Straggler.

Then you find someone and you roll along together. You grunt to one another. Comment on the weather. Encourage him. Relate to him. Feel pain with him. Experience endlessness together. Make a friend. If you act okay, you are okay. Feel better. Move on.

Use the good times to get ahead. You have to take advantage of them. You have to leave the others to get ahead. You know they'll turn up later. It's still a race. It's still a race so your feet keep moving.

The days before the race, you never actually believe that it will begin, much less end. The first miles are the same. It will never really be over. The finish line seems as far away as retirement, grandchildren, death. You just can't picture it. But you believe in it. It comes, eventually. I sign up for these things because I hate when things are over. I am here to experience endlessness. I am also here to embrace endings.

I turned my iPod on sometime after the halfway point and listened to this Bob Dylan poem for over an hour. First it gave me things to think about. Things that kept my eyes off my feet as they focused on a bigger picture. I listened until the words left and only rhythm remained. Just something to keep my legs turning long after my mind had shut off. But the moral was always there. Use Life. Strip it all the way down to the good stuff. See everything and soak it up. You can't go everywhere. You can't experience everything but if you can squeeze every drop out of the moments you have then you're as rich as any world traveler. You might not get to climb every mountain, but you can climb this one. You can experience this trail. This dirt. This mile. This is a day, a race, a place that belongs to you.

It is not all physical pain out there. Sometimes it is only in your head. Sometimes there is none at all. Just bliss. Floating, flying, forgetting... But to me, the pain is the best part. The pain cave is the one place where you know you are safe. You are safe from endings because the end doesn't come when wished for. It comes when you're busy loving and being too loved. Your demons and snakes, things like death, debt, guilt, fat... can't get you in the pain cave. It hurts, but if you can find Peace in there, then you are free.

Bob says it all here.

Thankfully, the Collegiate Peaks were the view, not the course. This is the starting line.

This is me and April, my wonderful crew, before the race.

Going to races with a girlfriend is so fun! We talked about boys, applied moisturizing facial masks and listened to Amos Lee and Bon Iver in the hotel room the night before the race. Ahh, just like high school. It really took my mind off being nervous.

Cheyenne Mountain Trail Race

2011-04-25T10:28:00.001-07:00

The Cheyenne Mountain Trail Race was Saturday at the Cheyenne Mountain State park in Colorado Springs. There was a 50K and a 25K race. It was an inaugural event and I was really excited to run the 50K. Can't miss an ultra or super fun trail race in your own town, right? I hadn't run at the state park much, even though it's only 5 miles from my house. I ran the 50K course (just 1 lap of it) last Saturday and ended up buying the Colorado State Park pass that day.

I awoke the morning of the race to my favorite running weather. Overcast, chilly and a chance of rain and snow. The race didn't start until 8AM and was less than 10 minutes away so I got to have a pretty relaxing morning. The 50K race started first and we had 70-something runners. The course was really fun. There were all different types of trails to experience. Some were quite technical and steep, some were smooth and mellow, it was a good mix of up and down, woods and prairie. And there were great views of Cheyenne mountain and Norad. The mountains were all gray and misty. Gorgeous scenery!

Here's Jonas before the race. One of the race's sponsors let him borrow that cow hat.

I took the first 8 mile section of the course pretty easy. The runners didn't spread out as much as I had expected, but it wasn't congested either. My favorite trail on this section was Blackmer loop. It was pretty heavily wooded and had some cool boulders with trees growing out of them. That Mother Nature is one hard woman to figure out. I can slave over my vegetable garden for months, investing in the finest soil, racking up the water bill, talking and singing daily to my plants and nothing grows except like four leaves of spinach and some squash, but trees can grow out of boulders?!?! Amazing. I really enjoyed the climbing on this section. I stayed pretty relaxed and enjoyed the cool weather. The climbs were broken up nicely with some fun descending. At mile 8 we ended up back at the start/finish area and then headed to the south part of the park for another loop/lollipop-thingy on some different trails. I got to see Brian and Jonas at the 8 mile aid station. Jonas was wearing a medal from the kids' race and ringing a cowbell. Cute!

I dropped off my jacket and picked up a bottle of Perpetuem. Brian told me there were 5 women ahead of me. Then another one passed me while I was talking to him. I made a goal to pass two girls and get into the 5th spot. The weather stayed cool and cloudy. It started snowing as I headed out on this second 8 mile section. The wind on the more exposed, southern part of the park was pretty brutal, but we didn't spend much time there before going up into the trees again. My favorite trail on this side of the park was the North Talon trail. It was a white rocky trail that climbed to the top of an amazing view of the mountains. I wish I had brought the camera. The descending on the Talon trails was roll-y and fun. I picked up the pace here and passed a few people. The Turkey Trot trail (I think) brought us back to the start/finish area again. This was the halfway point and I didn't get to see Brian here, but didn't really need anything so that was okay. Now it was time to head back to the north part of the park.

I was sort of dreading going back up the climb that I enjoyed so much the first time around. I was really surprised at how much the runners had spread out. There was nobody around and it got lonely and stayed that way for a long time. I was frustrated with how slow I was running and how tired I felt. I wasn't even at 20 miles yet! I took a caffeinated gel and kept plodding along waiting for it to kick in. At about mile 18-19 I started to see the leaders coming down the lollipop "stick." It was fun to see people running fast and I tried to feed off that energy and pick up the pace. It worked for a little while, then I entered the loop part of the lollipop and got lonely again. I got through the loop just fine, then it was my turn to run down the stick and see the people behind me. That and the descending got me feeling good again. I saw Brian and Jonas at mile 24 and got and a refill of Perpetuem (caffeinated!) to get me through the last 8. The winners of the 50K were coming in just as I was heading up Talon for the last section.

That Talon climb was really hard this time! I walked through a few spots. The leading women were running down the hill to the finish. The first 2 were within less than a minute of each other. The one in second place was only 20! She was absolutely adorable and each time I saw her she was wearing a huge smile and greeting us slowfolk...while running really, really fast. I slowed down a ton on the Talon climb and the loop portion of that lollipop. There was no one around me...so I thought. I started to get comfortable there thinking I had a nice cushion to still make top 5, then I heard some voices on the switchbacks behind me on South Talon, a little more than 5K from the finish. I was pretty sure one was a woman's voice so I picked it up, ran through the aid station and used the gravity of the descent to try to get a bigger lead. I looked back a few times and didn't see anyone so I still thought I was okay. Then with about 1/2 mile left, knowing I had gotten slow again, I looked back again and saw a woman. Crap! I was pissed at myself for slowing down so much. I got super anxious and didn't want it to come down to a final kick into the finish so I gave that last 1/2 mile everything I had left. I ended up only beating her by about 20 seconds. Yikes!

I was 5th woman, which I am pretty happy about. The first 4 ladies were all super fast. The winner was just under 5 hours and 4th place was still over 30 minutes ahead of me! I want to be able to compete at that level... I'm working on it! My time was 5:50:36 and was a significant 50K PR for me. Most of the credit for that goes to the fast course, but hey, a PR is a PR right? And a PBR is a great recovery drink, of which I would partake later that night.

I stole this photo off the race's website. Although I do look haggard, it's the only one of me not heel-striking or appearing to be 50 lbs overweight. Does anyone want to join me in establishing a support group for women (okay, men too if there's interest) who have been emotionally damaged by race photos of themselves? Seriously... ever feel like your race picture depicts two pigs in a lycra sack running in opposite directions rather than you running with grace and speed?

After the race, I wanted to hang out, but it was cold and windy and Jonas had fallen into a cactus and Brian had had enough of him. They both needed naps so we went home. Carrabbas catered the race, so I took home a plate of grilled chicken marsala and salad. It was really good! I took an ice bath and then tried to sleep but couldn't. That night I went to a party and stayed out til after 2AM dancing my ass off and partying like a ~~frumpy mom in the midst of an early-onset midlife crisis~~ college girl and realized that was a great way to train for 100s. My legs are feeling pretty good now. Tight, but not too sore.

Oh! I forgot to mention that I won a drawing that paid back my entry fee! How cool is that! Especially since we are broke and I paid for the race with a credit card and then neglected to tell my husband about it (we are so anti-credit card! I had major guilt about that). But it's all good now thanks to goSonja's blog! Thanks Andrea and Sonja. A heated argument about money has been avoided in my home!

I wish I had more pictures of the race, but since I don't, here is a completely unrelated video of Jonas singing his favorite song "Move It." He actually begged me to take this video and share it, so don't accuse me of exploiting him.

Rocky Raccoon 50 mile report

2011-02-09T06:27:00.000-08:00

A picture of the trail from the race's website

Guess what! I finally PR'd in the 50. I ran Rocky Raccoon in Huntsville State Park, Texas on Saturday. My time was 9:18. That's over a 3hr PR for me. Part of it I feel like I "bought" by traveling to Texas to run on a fast course, but there were a lot of other things I did differently that worked too.

Half the battle was just getting TO the race. It snowed in Texas and a lot of people didn't make it because flights were cancelled and roads were closed. Snow is pretty rare for Texas so when it happens, they shut 'er down! I was staying with my friend Bethany in Austin, which got about 2 inches. We had a hell of a time getting her son to his aunt and uncle's house before heading to the race. The highways were littered with cars in ditches. We almost joined them when we drove down a hill on the way out of the aunt and uncle's subdivision. We couldn't see what was at the bottom of that hill, but soon found out it was a ravine with a car in it. There were several firefighters standing around looking at it, and all the other cars that were stranded on the patch of ice we were now sitting on. But there was no one at the top of the hill to tell new drivers not to drive down. They just stood around, collecting us for proof of the storm of the century. We were yelled at to "GO HOME" but when we asked for suggestions, none of the authorities could give us any. Bethany suggested having a person, or maybe a sign at the top of the hill warning people to turn around, but that idea was shot down. Oh well, logic isn't always the answer. Anyway, we made the turn-around and got back up the hill safely. We went back to Bethany's house to nap until the sun melted all the ice and then we drove to Huntsville on clear, dry highways.

Here's a picture of the snow that shut Texas down. Haha! Ok this is an exaggeration, it was slightly worse in some spots.

Race morning was pretty cold. I think low-30s. When the race started, I got behind a group of chatty girls who seemed to know what they were doing. They were holding a really comfortable pace and I decided I would stay there for about an hour. The race was three 16.7 mile loops and we hit 5 aid stations in each of those loops. That is a lot of aid! I skipped through the first few because I had a pack with plenty of water and a bottle with Perpetuem. I took the first loop really easy.

There was one part of the course that had a little 3ish mile loop. I got confused the second time I hit the Dam Road aid station (coming out of the loop) and didn't realize it was the same aid station I had gone through in the other direction 3 miles ago. I asked a volunteer which way the 50 milers were supposed to go (the 100 mile course was slightly different) and he must have thought I was coming IN to the station and directed me to run back the way I had just come. I knew that didn't sound right but did it anyway. I soon realized I was stuck in that loop (on the far left of the map) and had added about 3 miles. Doh! So when I came through that aid station again, I asked a race official and he said to just cut it out on the next loop since I did it twice on this one. I was really grateful that he allowed me to do that. I was fully prepared to run 3 extra miles and felt that I deserved it for being so stupid. This is not the first time I have gotten myself stuck in a loop. Just ask my sister Teresa about our 5 hour Christmas Eve trail run at Clinton Lake in Lawrence. We call it the Groundhog Day run (like the movie).

rockymap1

Course Map

My pace slowed a bit in the beginning of the second loop but I didn't need to walk. After about 30 miles I picked it back up. I started eating some of the food at the aid stations. Mostly oranges and pretzels. It really helped keep my energy up and gave me something to look forward to. I was still taking Hammer Gel and Perpetuem, but not as many gels as I normally take. The oranges tasted soooo good! I got to see Bethany at the end of each loop and she helped me change socks and shoes, get food and whatever else I needed but couldn't think of at the time. She was a great crew! At the end of the second loop I really didn't want to go back out for the third. I was super tired and my legs were really tight and achy, especially the quads. But Bethany said she would see me in just 3 miles at the Nature Center aid station so I decided to take this loop station by station to break it up mentally. I told myself to keep running until Dam Road, which would be about the 40 mile mark and then I could incorporate some walk breaks or do whatever I had to to make it to the finish. I had time to walk the last 10 miles and still make a significant PR.

I made it to Dam Road, running the whole way and started feeling good again. I took advantage of that and picked up the pace. Mentally, it really felt good to know that I was "allowed" to walk at this point, but I was still running... even faster than I had run the earlier part of that loop. I have NEVER felt that good at mile 40. I have always completely fallen apart by then and had to walk/shuffle to the finish. This time I felt like I was flying. I wasn't afraid of wasting energy because the finish was so close. I saw Bethany again at the Park Road aid station just 4.4 miles from the finish. I figured THIS would be the stretch where I would completely bonk since I hadn't yet. It had to happen sometime.

It was really hard leaving that aid station because 4.4 miles is close, but can also be reeaaally far! About 1 mile out of the aid station a blister I had been ignoring for 20 miles popped on my toe. It stung like nothing I have ever felt before! I took off my shoe thinking there was another one that needed to pop. I checked it out and couldn't tell what was going on. It was really sore and tender. I barely touched it and almost screamed because it stung so bad. I thought about running the rest without the shoe, but knew that would take forever and might not hurt any less. So I shoved the shoe back on and thought "It's only pain." That's what my dad says. Luckily the excruciating part only lasted a few minutes. The pain dulled down and I could run normally. I had 3 miles to go and this section was an overlap where the people coming out of the start/finish aid station were running the opposite direction. Most of them were 100 mile racers. I took my mind off the distance left by focusing on and greeting each runner that I crossed paths with. I thought about how many miles they had left and my ~3 miles didn't seem so bad. Once I made it to 48 miles I picked up the pace again. When I started to hear the sounds of the finish line I sprinted in. I was very happy with my race and my PR. I won't get another chance to run a course this fast for awhile and I feel like I did a good job taking advantage of it this time. Bethany was there to greet me and it was so good to see her! As I was leaving the race, the race director's wife called me over. Turns out I won my age group! I got this cool piece of pottery made by the Tarahumara tribe. Isn't that the coolest award? I love it! We drove back to Bethany's house and I got to shower and sleep. Sort of sleep.

My cool age-group award

Thanks Bethany for your hospitality and great crewing! Did I mention she's like 8 months pregnant? And was willing to drive my ass all over Texas in the snow and then wake up at 5:30 to crew me for an over 9 hour race! Now that's a good friend!

Results:

Official time 9:18:39
36th/166 Overall
7th/54 Female

1st Age (18-29)

Here I am looking haggard but happy at the end of the race.

Ponderous Posterior 50k

2011-01-18T07:16:00.000-08:00

I sort of let my blogging goal go down the crapper toward the end of the year. It's definitely been awhile! I set the timer for 15 minutes because well, I can do anything for 15 minutes right? So I'm going to push through and type until it beeps.

Running has been going well for me. I don't have any known injuries right now so that is exciting. I am going to run the 50 miler at Rocky Raccoon on the 5th of February. It's coming up quickly! On Saturday I got to run an awesome event called the Ponderous Posterior 50k right here in Colorado Springs. The event was part of a Fat Ass 50K series which means it is sort of an unofficial race, or run. I wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a race or not but it doesn't really matter for me anyway. When I run long distances, I have one speed. Finishing speed. There is no difference between a race effort and a training run effort when I run ultras. It's all just...slow.

The PP50K was organized by Tony Krupicka and a local ultra running group called CRUD. I believe it was Tony who chose the course. It was great! It started at a local runner's house and went through Garden of the Gods. I hardly ever run there so right off the bat I got to experience new trails in my own town. We were running through the park at sunrise so the rock formations were all red and glowy. It was beautiful. I enjoyed hearing the comments from the runners who had come from other towns. We climbed up Rampart Range Road which is a long but fairly mellow climb. Then we dropped into Williams canyon. This trail had snow and ice and I fell behind the group I was running with here. I am pretty inefficient at getting myself down a mountain, especially in those conditions. Gotta work on that. We connected Williams to Waldo Canyon (which has one of the BEST views in town) and ran that loop, ending in the trail head parking lot. Here I met Brian who refilled my water and gels and took the layers I had shed. The next section was brutal. We crossed Hwy 24 and climbed up Long's Ranch Road. Long's is both steep and long. It is about 3 miles and climbs 2000+ feet. And it also happened to have about a foot of snow. That climb is really hard without snow, but with snow, it almost made me cry! The faster guys, who started an hour after I did started to catch me on Long's. First to cruise by was Matt Carpenter, making it look easy. I cursed to myself as I watched his skinny butt scurry up that hill without visible effort. Then a couple of other really fast guys whose names I don't know. Then my friend Doug, who was running his first ultra-distance and keeping up with some amazing runners.

The climb up Long's was worth it because it led to one of my favorite trails. First we got to descend through the Experimental Forest which was another new trail for me (yay!) and that trail shot me out onto Barr Trail, about 3.5 miles from the bottom. This is one of the most popular trails but it wasn't crowded this time (also yay!). I actually went really slow down Barr Trail because it was icy. I could have just stopped and put on the yaks but I thought "nah" and just slowed down over the ice. From the bottom of Pike's Peak, I took the road down to the Iron Spring where Intemann Trail started. I met Brian here to get some more water and gel.

The next section, Intemann Trail traversed Manitou Springs over to Red Rocks Open Space. I had run sections of this trail, but much of it was new to me. I was super grateful for the course markers the CRUD people put out because the trail led to a couple neighborhoods and then picked up again in some inconspicuous spots. I most likely would have gotten lost without them. Finally I started to recognize the trail and made my way into Red Rocks Open Space. There are tons of trails in Red Rocks, and you could take any number of different routes to get to the same place. I was doing great, following the course until the very end. The trail I was on connected to the main trail (the one with all the sport climbing routes, I'm not sure what it's called) and I looked around for a course marker that would tell me to go up or down. I didn't see one, so I figured I was over-thinking it and I should just take the obvious route. To a super tired runner with 29ish miles already in for the day, the obvious choice would be DOWN the hill rather than up. So I ran down, crossed the parking lot, Hwy 24 and Colorado Ave and took Pike's Peak back to the house. Apparently I had taken a wrong turn and cut about 1/2 mile off the course. Oops! I felt kind of bad about that, but it was a pretty laid back, informal event and they told me not to worry about it.

After I finished, I was looking forward to seeing Tony K. and Scott Jurek and their fast buddies come in and hopefully get to meet them and thank Tony for the awesome event, but Brian and Jonas were there to pick me up and they were tired and hungry. So instead of meeting some ultra-running legends, I decided to pick up an order of food poisoning at Rudy's and spend the rest of the weekend with my head in the toilet. Ew. Nothing like food poisoning when you're already dehydrated, right?

Anyway, it was a great day. One of the things I love about Colorado Springs is that you are never done exploring the trails. Like many other outdoor enthusiasts that now call themselves Coloradans, my husband and I are transplants. Not particularly stoked on the political/religious climate here; there are times when we feel like shaking Colorado Springs and saying "Look what you have! Don't destroy it!" There are times when we've even threatened to leave. Then it's a run like this one that lets you know you couldn't. A run that assures you you're in the right place.

::I stole the picture from the CRUD email. Hope that's ok! I tried to take a video with my cool new Flip camera going up Long's but apparently I need another lesson in turning the thing on! Oh and results: I finished my abridged version of the 50K in 7:08. Garmin read just over 30.6 mi, and most people had just over 31. The course had over 7000 feet of climbing so don't judge me too harshly on that time! The fast guys of course added extra miles just for fun and they finished around 5:20. And my friend Doug? Who's never run more than 20 miles? Finished in 5:43! That guy needs to sign up for some ultras now! Oh and the blog's time? Went way over 15 minutes! But I needed that timer to get me started.::

Rehashing the Rabbit

2010-09-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

Run Rabbit Run was an awesome race! The scenery was epic and the volunteers were super energetic and the race was run perfectly. Steamboat is gorgeous and everyone should run this race. I had some issues going into the race. Mostly fear, but also injuries. The entire day was mentally exhausting. I had a really hard time getting into it. My left knee started tightening early on and I honestly didn't think I would make it past the first aid station. This attitude would be my downfall. I shifted my focus to running aid station to aid station, thinking I would drop out at each one. But when you come into an aid station, the volunteers don't assume you're there to drop out. They are there with cowbells and smiles that tell you to keep going. So you just do.

The first climb was 6.4 miles and 3,400+ feet of elevation gain. It started at the bottom of the ski resort and went all the way up on a winding dirt road. It was really hard! Most people power-hiked up, but I ran as much of it as I could because I walk so slow. It took about 1:50 to get to the top. The first aid station was there. Then the singletrack stared. We rolled south east along the Mountain View trail and had some spectacular views that included miles of yellow Aspens and Evergreens. There was a lot of downhill on this section and my knee was not taking it well. I tried as best I could to loosen up and relax, but my knee remained at a barely tolerable pain threshold.

The next aid station was Long Lake and it was 13.2 miles in. Having completed a quarter of the race put my mind at ease a little, and I focused on getting to mile 22 where I would see my family. If my knee was completely blown-up by then (and I was sure it would be) I would stop. I had a drop bag at Long Lake so I refilled my Perpetuem and a few gels. The next aid station, Base Camp was only 4 miles away so that perked me up a little. This section was fairly flat and ran through some pretty meadows and mountain lakes. The scenery was too good. How could anyone feel bad in a place like that?

I don't really remember the next aid station much. My knee was doing better because I hadn't
been doing much downhill, so I think I just rolled through this one. It was mile 19 or so. Leaving this station, we began the Continental Divide Trail. The next section included a few creek crossings and provided more lovely scenery, with more lakes. It was really sunny by now and we weren't running through trees anymore so I was getting pretty hot. I saw a guy on a bike off in the distance and hoped it was Brian. It was! He took some pictures and cheered me on, then rode off to meet me at the Rabbit Ears turnaround. He told me Erin and Jonas were waiting for me at the Dumont aid station less than 1 mile away. I picked up the pace to get there.

It was so great to see my family at Dumont. It was the biggest aid station so there were lots of spectators hanging out. There were drop bags here as well and I sat down to refill. When I stood up, I got dizzy and realized how hot I was. I took some Endurolytes for the heat and some Tylenol for the knee. The next section was a steep, and I mean steep 2.5ish mile climb up to the Rabbit Ears rocks. I alternated jogging and hiking for the first mile of this road, then resorted to a slow crawl as it got steeper and steeper. For those of you in CO Springs, I'm talking Incline-steep, but without the steps! I noticed Brian's bike in the bushes and laughed because I realized it was too steep to ride any further. I wondered how he had even gotten that far on his bike and how the hell he hiked to the top in bike shoes!

Finally I started hearing cheers and more cowbell and saw Brian sitting on a rock laughing and cheering. We took a few pictures next to the Rabbit Ears rocks, then slid down together, marveling at the steepness of this road. The hard part was supposedly over. Brian got back on his bike and rode back to the aid station and I started running again. The steep descent aggravated the knee again. And some other parts, but I don't remember details. I made it back to the aid station and was completely wiped out and unmotivated to keep going. I said goodbye to the family and a drunk dude in a bunny suit walked with me out of the aid station. We walked and talked for a couple minutes, then I told him I was ok to start running again.

I don't remember much of the next section. I was trying to catch up to a guy who was walking way ahead of me. It was really hard to keep running at this point. I was losing focus and had no motivation left. The next aid station was mile 32. When I came in for water, one of the volunteers gave me a hug. That did me in emotionally, and I completely lost it. Started crying and shaking and couldn't stop. A man told me I was running really hot and forced me to sit. He put some ice in the back of my shirt and said not to get up until I take 1 gel and finish the cup of water he had given me. The ladies surrounded me and gave me hugs and told me it was going to be ok. One woman asked what I was thinking about and I said "I still have such a long way to go." She told me I couldn't think about it that way and I should break it down. The next station was 5 miles away, take it a half mile at a time. Once I cooled down and stopped sobbing I hopped up, thanked them and took off. I looked at my watch and realized I had been there for ten minutes!! Oops! Oh well, it's better than breaking down between aid stations I guess.

The next section went ok. I walked up the steeper hills and ran everything else. Long Lake was up next and I didn't spend much time there. Grabbed some stuff from my drop bag and then left. Only 13 miles to go! Then next section was really hard. It was six miles and I had to climb back up to the top of the ski resort. At first, I focused on getting to mile 40, a half mile at a time. Then the battery on my Garmin died and I was left with no concept of time or distance and no one around to keep pace with. Ughhh. If this was the only part of the race I remembered, I would never do another one. I must have slowed down considerably here. I couldn't even remember to run. I was barely mozying along. And I felt like I was stopping every quarter mile to pee. Not kidding! Maybe I overhydrated? But then I ran out of all fluids and was without them for a long time. I was ok physically because I was in the shade and the air was cooling anyway.

After what felt like an hour, I came up on another runner and asked if he knew how far to the aid station. He thought it was 3 miles away. I started running again and passed him. I kept thinking aid was right around the corner. He had to be off on that estimation, but who knows? It did feel like an eternity when I finally got there and I was barely moving that whole time. I was getting pissed when each turn provided no aid station and I knew I was at the top of the mountain and it should be there. The mental battle that took place here is something I never want to experience again. Since I didn't have Garmin to tell me where the hell I was, I relied on the pink flags that marked the course. I focused on run/walking flag to flag and tried to be happy that I was on the course and not lost. If I stayed on the course, I would eventually reach the aid station...and the finish line.

<-- This is what The Rabbit became between miles 40 and 45.

Eventually I got there. I have never been so happy to see another human being. This was the top of the resort and it was 6.4 steep miles down to the finish. I walked/slid the first part. Then I took Tylenol again and let gravity carry me down. There wasn't much I actually had to do here. Just try to relax and absorb all the pain, especially in my knee. I had to tell myself that I could tolerate that pain for about an hour. It would all be over after that. Making peace with that hour was really hard though. After about 30 minutes, (I think...still no concept of time) I saw my shining beacon of light in the distance. Not the finish line, but something almost as good....my sister, Erin! She was dressed to run, and wearing a watch! Hooray! I had company and the time. I picked up the pace and enjoyed the scenery again. We even passed a couple more people on the way down. My ears were radars scanning for cowbell. Finally it came and that was my cue to sprint. I saw Brian and Jonas and Fred, the race director. All waving and cheering and blowing horns. I kicked it in and got a huge hug from Fred. I told him I would see him next year for sure. Then hugs from my people, beer, and pizza. I have never been so happy to finish a race. Official time was 12:59:52. And I was not DFL. Next year I want to be around 11:30. I think I can do that.

Run Rabbit Run this Saturday. Some pre-race thoughts.

2010-09-15T20:34:00.000-07:00

"Can we go to the hotel, Mom?"

"Are we going to the hotel today?"

"Is it time to go to the hotel?"

"I want to go the the hotel NOW!"

"Please can we please go to the hotel?"

"Mom!"

SOON.

Apparently I'm not the only one excited about this trip. Jonas and I are excited for different reasons, obviously. He is obsessed with hotels! The pool, the waffles, the TV, the freedom to jump from bed to bed without getting in trouble because Mom just wants you exhausted at the end of the day....what's not to love about a hotel? Brian, Jonas, Zeke, Erin (my sister) and I are leaving for Steamboat Springs on Friday morning. I'm running Run Rabbit Run, a 50 mile trail race on Saturday. I'm getting really excited about this race. I have never been to Steamboat and the course sounds beautiful. Brian is bringing his mountain bike so he will get to enjoy all of the awesome singletrack as well.

Body-wise, I'm not 100%. Pretty sure I have PF in both feet (tape helps) and my hips are having their usual issues. It's so annoying. They get tight after about 2 hrs of standing around at work. Not sure they're going to like 12 hrs of running in the mountains, but somehow it will work out. It always does.

Things I am looking forward to:
Experiencing new singletrack
Seeing the mountain lakes
Finishing another 50
The beer at the finish line

Fears:
The first climb (3,450 feet in 6.4 miles...Ouch!)
That I will start to hurt too early and have to shuffle the whole thing
That I will not make the time cut off due to this problem

I guess I am as ready as can be. I am more happy than nervous (for once!) and I just can't wait to get out there!

In other news, Jonas and I went to the Happy Apple Pumpkin Festival last weekend. We picked apples and went on tractor rides. It was really fun. Turns out Jonas doesn't like apple pie. He'd rather just eat the apples....fine with me!

Also, Jonas started riding a 2-wheeler. He rode all the way around Memorial Lake (1 mile) on Sunday. I am one proud mama! And another first... his first soccer game last Saturday. Watching 3-4 year olds play soccer is equal parts frustrating and hilarious. Four of the children on our team refused to play in the first game, so we had to borrow kids from the opposing team. For the second game (yeah, it was a double-header. Who does that to 3 year olds? More importantly, who does that to parents of 3 year olds?) it took a large amount of bribery to get him out on the field, and then there was nothing I could do to get him to participate or even pay attention to the game. He waddled around, picked some grass, picked some buggers, stole a practice ball and brought it onto the field to play with and spent the rest of the time whining and clinging to my legs. Oh well. I expected as much. He's 3. I'm ok with calling this season "exposure" (expensive exposure) and if he doesn't want to play in the games that will be fine. I'm not too worried about this behavior lasting long because once he's in high school there will be girls around. Surely that kind of incentive will trump my waffles.

I will be sure to update with a race report next week. Send me positive vibes on Saturday. Hope you all have a great weekend!

Xterra Lory

2010-09-02T07:43:00.000-07:00

I did the Xterra Lory off-road triathlon last Sunday. I was sort of dreading it. I agreed to do it only because my friend Natalie wanted someone familiar to suffer with during her first triathlon. I was not thrilled about doing a triathlon I had not (even a little) trained for. BUT... I knew I would be glad I did it once it was over so I sucked it up and got in the water.

Natalie and I before the race.

I haven't been in the pool in months and I haven't consistently swum in years so I didn't expect much more than just finishing the swim. Once I got going it felt really good and I decided to race this race rather than just finish it. I finished the swim (1/2 mi) in 13:48, 10th-ish out of the water.

I was super nervous for the mountain bike ride because when Natalie, Brian and I rode the course a few weeks ago I had a really off day. Certain technical spots that I knew I could ride were really getting in my head and I took the descent like a wuss! I never got over that ride until the bike part of race day. Turns out triathletes (the ones on my end of the pack) don't ride the technical spots anyway. That was actually really frustrating and exhausting. The first 1.8 mi was a pretty steep climb. I pushed hard up since I planned to get passed like crazy on the switchbacky downhill. Occasionally I would get behind someone I wanted to pass, but lacked the guts to do so until someone came up behind me and wanted to pass. Then I would just follow those people around the guy I wanted to pass. This method proved pretty destructive as I lost a lot of time and places to my hesitation. Gotta work on that.

The downhill section was about 1.5 mi and whatever was chewing away at my brain when I practiced the course was gone. I rode it well and only got passed a few times. I was so relieved when it was over though. That's when all my nerves and bad vibes about this race finally melted away. The rest of the course was pretty flat and fast. That doesn't mean I didn't get passed a lot though! Haha! My excuse is that I don't have a mountain bike of my own right now and have only gone on 4 rides this summer. Again, it's been years since I have ridden regularly. I just feel like I need to include that little disclaimer. I finished the 10.5 mi bike in 1:14, no idea what my rank among women was.

Next up was the run. It was hot! I didn't hydrate properly on the bike. I blame my poor coordination and lack of bike handling skills. They left me high and dry for the run. We ran up the same climb that we rode up. It felt much steeper this time though. I shuffled up, but did not walk. I slowly picked off other competitors and got passed by one. On the downhill I passed several more people. My goal was to pass everyone I could see on the downhill and I did! Then it flattened out and I held my place. I had no idea if the course was 4 or 5 miles (it was 5), so I was freaking out a little. I drank about 16 oz of water on that short course. It was hot! I felt a little wobbly like I was going to pass out so I took a gel. Before I knew it I was off the singletrack and it was downhill on the road to the finish. I caught another woman about 100 yards from the finish and 2 men. Run time was 47:20. Then there was a 40 foot slip and slide with a blow up pool at the end. I dove onto the slide but it wasn't very silppery. I bounced. Decided that was enough humiliation for one day and climbed around the muddy pool at the end of the slide. Done!

Final time was 2:19:03. 4th in my age group and 25th female. I'm actually pretty happy with that and would love to train for it and do it again next year to try to beat my time. But past that, I think I'll just stick to my 2-3 running events per year. I will always like the simplicity of running best. Fewer things to remember to pack!

Sorry for the lack of pictures, but no one needs to see me in my tri-tard uniform! Not. Flattering.

updates

2010-08-21T16:38:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been a long time since I've blogged! I'm making myself sit down and write for 20 mintues. Annnnd, GO!

I started running again in July after taking some time off for a knee injury. I have gotten some decent long runs in since, but they are hurting. I think it's because I didn't have a great base going into this because of those injuries. I'm sort of cramming now. Besides rest and ice, I have discovered two things that seem to help keep my injuries at bay. One is KT tape (kinesiotape) which I've been using on my feet and achilles tendons because they get really sore on long trail runs. The other is Hammer Tissue Rejuvenator, which is a pill that contains glucosomine and some other good stuff for joints. Maybe these things are placebos, but I don't care! My injuries might have all been mental (sometimes I really think I'm going crazy) but I still need a cure for them!

I have had 2 good long runs at altitude so far to prepare for Run Rabbit Run. One was a couple weeks ago, I ran up and down Pikes Peak. That was one of the coolest experiences ever! I had never been on top of a mountain before and it felt really good to get up my first by running. The run was a little over 26 miles and took 6 1/2 hours! I can't wait to do that run some more in the future so I can get faster. I want to do the Pikes Peak Marathon next year.

This is Barr Camp, 1/2 way up Pike's Peak.

My other noteworthy long run was yesterday. I ran 2 laps of Rampart Reservoir, then added a little for a 30 miler. I did the first lap over 30 minutes faster than the second lap. Oops! Went out too fast I guess. I was in a ton of pain after that run, but now I am feeling good again. My hips are really sore and tight but my legs and feet seemed to miraculously heal overnight.

Blue sky and green grass at Rampart Reservoir.

I haven't really talked about this at all, but I'm doing an Xterra next weekend. I got roped into it by a friend and I'm going to do it because it's her first triathlon, but I don't think I will race hard. It don't want to push my luck with injuries that I just got under control and my race is only 3 weeks later. I'm sort of dreading it, but whatever. I'll get through it and it will be over soon enough.

In non-running related news:

Jonas turned 3!

My husband got a new job as the service manager at the bicycle shop I work for.

I'm going to the Heartland 100 in October to pace Tara (Ok, that's running-related)

I signed Jonas up for soccer. It starts the first week of September and it will be his first sport.

My 20 minutes is up and I'm glad I finally got around to blogging!

Happy Leadville and Pike's Peak Marathon weekend everyone!

a backyard and a hammock and a paid-off student loan

2010-07-03T09:02:00.000-07:00

To make up for depressing posts, I will list some happy/funny things. I love lists. Especially bulleted ones.

Kimya Dawson is awesome. Jonas and I saw her about a year ago at an art gallery here in CO Springs and she played her children's album, "Alphabutt" which included this song, "Happy Home (Keep on Writing)" which I fell in love with. She wrote it for her favorite teacher.
Brian has given me the go-ahead to go back to school for a Master's. In whatever I want! Well, not really. It has to eventually be profitable in some way. Still thinking...
On a whim, I decided to embroider a flower on my living room curtain yesterday. It took about 6 hours!
Jonas loves the Black Eyed Peas. Especially "Imma Be". I've exposed him to a wide variety of music that I consider important, but the kind that spoke to him was something we accidentally listened to in the car! Oh well, whatever floats his boat!
The tubes that Brian is using to make my hardtail were one of three sets that were custom drawn for Pinarello's daughter. I can't wait til it's done and ready to ride.
I remember the day Brian and I admitted to each other that we were Croc-curious. We were riding cruisers downtown at night and we passed a shoe store with a Croc poster in the window. "They do look sort of comfortable, I guess." "Yeah but I would never buy them." "I'll buy you a pair if you buy me a pair." "Sure. Size seven. Pink."
I bought a 4 pound bag of chocolate chips at Costco right after I decided to cut sugar out of my diet. I wasn't going to eat them. I was going to bake things for the guys at work and Brian's work too. I figured if I did end up eating them accidentally, what's the worst that could happen? I gain 4 pounds? Worst case scenario. Anyway, there is about one pound remaining and after that, I'm back on the wagon.
My friend Paula just finished her first Ironman. She's amazing.
We went on a hike with some of Brian's friends who were visiting from Cleveland and when I was helping Jonas pee, he peed all over my feet in front of everybody.
When my sister Erin was a kid and couldn't find anyone to play with, my other sister Teresa would charge Erin money to let her in her room to watch Teresa play with her friends. Erin wasn't allowed to participate or touch anything, but she still paid to get in. This is on the happy list because it's a measure of desperation that I'm thankful I haven't reached!

I hope you all have a fun 4th of July. I'll be working and then hopefully watching some fireworks with the family!

Evolution

2010-06-29T14:10:00.000-07:00

I'm a little down. My knee isn't healing. I can't seem to get past 3 miles before it blows up. I need to go see the Healer again for some Active Release. I hope I can work that into the budget for next month. You know what really grinds my gears? The term "overuse injury." I don't overuse my body. I run, sure. But I was under the assumption running is included the Knee's job description. Or maybe I am so highly evolved that my body is meant to perform nothing more than the movements required to log into Facebook and drive a car. Maybe Jonas's kids will be born without functional knees. Just pre-bent legs (for aesthetic purposes) and chairs glued to their butts.

I'm trying not to be a Negative Nancy but I'm getting really frustrated with running. Or lack thereof. I'm even going through the proper stages of grief to cope with the loss of running in my life. First denial, where I ran through knee pain, convincing myself it was nothing. Then anger. Fuck you knees, I'm not aqua jogging. I hate aqua jogging. Do what I tell you to do, you bastards! And now I'm in stage 3. Bargaining. I've invented a running god to whom I've prayed, "I promise I'll never sign up for another race as long as I live, just please give my knees back for the sake of my sanity!"

I've been getting conflicting messages about the perceived length of life. Cathy keeps telling me that life is short. Life is short. Life is short. Life is short. You always hear that, you know? Like you'd better hurry the hell up and figure out what it is you're meant to do and who you're supposed to be. And then in the same breath they'll tell you how young you are. So which is it? I met a couple in their 80's at the bike shop. Both triathletes who outlived their spouses and found each other in their late 60's. There I was talking to a woman who is eighty about her race last weekend. One I couldn't do because my knees are shot. That was too ironic. What do I even have left? Is it wrong to aspire to run the rest of my life? How do people do that?

I woke up early to run but walked back with a lump in my throat after less than 3 miles. Though my eyes were busy containing tears of frustration, they still noticed the other runners on the trail. Jealousy is an evil bitch. She told me not to smile at them. She told me they were all assholes and that I should stick a foot out and trip them as they ran by (I didn't). I wanted to hate everyone because my knee was stiff and swollen without a valid excuse (aside from overuse). But how can I be angry when I'm on a beautiful trail in Cheyenne Canyon? And I live in Colorado. A place where people don't just live to 80, but they run there. How can I be angry this early in the morning, when the sun has barely risen and the day hasn't been given a fair chance? How can I be sure my knee will crap out the next time I try? And how can I be sure I won't get to be 80 and running someday too?

picking up chicks

2010-06-23T11:38:00.000-07:00

My Jonas is an only child and will most likely remain one. Socializing him has been hard because I'm shy. I've really been making an effort to find friends for him and it's not been easy. The ones we have are great, and he's very comfortable with them, but I feel I need to expose him to more people and kids. Not just expose him to them, but allow him to develop relationships. So we go to playgrounds and storytime and pretty much any event I come across that is for kids. My mission is always to find friends, and we do find cool people to play with while we're there, but I've yet to leave with anybody's phone number.

I think I am the only mom in Colorado Springs who has only one kid over the age of two, and who is not planning to have any more children. Most of the families around here seem to have three or four kids (which seems excessive to me but more power them) and they all play happily together at the park. They don't need any outsiders like my kid does. I'm really intimidated by the moms with several children. I want to ask them out on a playdate or something but I feel like they already have everyone they need right there in their family. Why would they need to hang out with us?

Then there are the cliques. The friends that already know each other from church, school, or their subdivisions. How is a non-church goer with a younger-than-school-aged child supposed to break into that scene? I need some tips from dudes on how to pick up chicks. I've come to sympathize with guys at bars who are there to get phone numbers and dates (and laid). I want to give my number to every single one of those boozy-breathed assholes along with a great big hug that says "I know what you're going through, man." Is this really what it's like? Women are so unapproachable, especially when they're in groups. No wonder males are so strongly led by their libidos. It has to be that way because properly approaching women is pretty freaking perilous and no other force on this earth is strong enough to face the kind of degradation that is risked. Except maybe the love of one's offspring.

Last week I thought I caught a break. A woman approached me. She struck up a conversation and I found it easy to talk to her. She was funny, nice, attractive and had only one child. "This is the one," I thought. "It's now or never....don't lose her." And then her true intentions floated to the surface as she too-casually mentioned the dreaded name of the multi-level marketing cosmetic company that claims to empower women but really shoves them back into hose and heels where they are brainwashed then scammed....Mary Kay. "Ohhh...crap. She sells Mary Kay. I know where this is going...." Ya win some, ya lose some.

So I've been putting myself out there every morning. Out there at the playground, among the ever-judging faces of the moms who already have good-enough friends. Just trying to choke down bits of pride until I work up the courage to ask for some digits.

running break

2010-06-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

I haven't been running. I plan to start on Monday, when all of my nagging injuries will magically disappear. I've been doing a pretty good job of not going crazy. I've been working, playing guitar, crossfitting, and riding a lot! Well, a lot for me anyway. I went on a really fun mountain bike ride on Sunday with people from work. It caused a fight with my husband who had plans that I ruined, but I have to say it was damn worth it! I've been going to the new Criterium ride center on Fridays (when my husband is there working) and riding the Santa Fe Trail with Jonas in the Chariot. It's fun but man, I'm so out of shape on the bike! We stopped to play at the playground at Palmer Lake last Friday. It is quite the scenic playground!

We had a schizophrenic, crack-head neighbor ( I know, what a combination, right?!) who was finally "escorted" out of the neighborhood by the police because his girlfriend had had enough. Now there is a permanent restraining order and all the neighbors are free to come outside and socialize without their lives being threatened. It is nice to see people on their porches smiling again. That's how summer should be. There are a few things I will miss about Schizophrenic Crack-Head Jerry. The way he used to cumpulsively hose down his driveway for an hour every afternoon. The police siren noises he would make, amplified by a megaphone while my kid was napping. The narrating of the neighborhood happenings in his auctioneer voice, also amplified by said megaphone. The random threats and accusations. The way he would call the police on you if he caught you looking in his general direction. Those are things I just don't think I'll ever get with any other neighbor. Oh well.

I wish I could write about running or training for something. Some positive things about a running break: My guitar is getting daily workouts. It's amazing, the things you realize you've neglected when you can't run. My house is clean. I'm painting the living room and kitchen tomorrow. I'm very close to getting around to painting the dragon/castle mural in Jonas' room, which I drew about 6 months ago. I might not be happy, but I'm productive! Breaks can be good.

Paintbrush hairs and temper-tantrums

2010-05-23T20:16:00.001-07:00

Sometimes all I can think about is how far I have to go. Then again, sometimes I can't see the big picture at all, but ironically, I can see tiny hairs that the brush left behind. I get caught up in them and obsess over them. Such a sad brave thing to be a brush hair that gets stuck in a painting. Those little bristles sacrificed themselves for art. Like suicide bombers. I remember when I sacrificed myself for art. And now I stay within the lines or do nothing at all. I wonder about the rest of the brush. What it's been up to, what its strokes are like these days and if it's different without the missing hair. I wonder if that hair is proud of where it ended up or if it longs to be moving again. It will never be a part of another piece. It is stuck.

I've lost too many friends since becoming a mom. I got stuck in a picture I painted and they all kept moving. Or maybe I'm just bad at keeping in touch. There are a lot of redneck-grandma cliches that swarm my brain when I think about where my life is going. "You made your bed, now lie in it" is one. I know how lame that sounds, but it won't go away. I keep thinking all it takes is strength, which is good, because that's something I have. But how long can a person expect to live believing their entire life is punishment?

No one ever mentioned all the guilt involved in marriage and mothering. Maybe because no one else has anything to be guilty about? Sometimes I pull myself aside for a performance evaluation: Are you doing it right? No. Do you know which areas need improvement? Yes. Ok, can you try harder? Meh.

The passion in a child's temper-tantrum is so intense and so real. He may be pissed about something completely stupid, but the emotions are undeniably alive. Jonas threw a fit when we had to leave. That always makes my heart ache. I know how much it hurts to leave when you're having fun. I didn't want to leave either.

Five Trails Half Marathon: Leavenworth, KS

2010-05-18T09:18:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, I ran the inaugural Five Trails Half Marathon in Leavenworth, KS. This is my home town and it was exciting to be a part of their very first half marathon. The race went really well for a first-time event. It was well organized and had a great turnout. About 260 people showed up to run the crazy-steep hills in the rain in little ol' Leavenworth. That was exciting.

Although I lived in Leavenworth from ages 12-18, I never bothered to learn about its history. I remember bits of it from school, but didn't retain anything. I knew that it was a small town and I was bored there and that was it! When I came back to do this race, I wondered why it was called the "Five Trails" Half, even though the course didn't include a single trail. It was run entirely on streets and I didn't even know of any trails in Leavenworth. Then my mom told me they were historic trails: The Oregon Trial, The Leavenworth-Pikes Peak Express, Mormon Pioneer Trail, California Trail and Santa Fe Trail. Pretty cool!

Kansas has a reputation for being flat. In 2003, three geographers did a study that compared the flatness of an IHOP pancake to Kansas. The result was that Kansas is in fact flatter than a pancake! But if you've ever ventured off the interstate and gone running in the rolling plains of eastern Kansas, you'd beg to differ. This course was hilly!

That's one voluptuous pancake!

The weather was perfect for running. It was overcast and lightly raining. My mom, younger sister Teresa and I all ran. My youngest sister Erin would have, but she is out with a stress fracture in her foot. Teresa thinks of herself as the non-athletic, non-competitive one, but I knew she had been training pretty hard for this race. I had only a week and a half of running between my rest period after the 50 and this race. I decided I would try to stick with Teresa. That lasted about 2.5 miles. I kept her in sight for about 7 miles, then she completely dropped me and went on be the 2nd female finisher! Her time was 1:41, which was a PR by 10+ minutes!! I think she's doping (shhhh).

There's Teresa making it look easy.

I finished 6th with a time of 1:47 which wasn't a PR, but I did get my first age group award that was not by default. I was 2nd in my age group and got a pint glass from the High Noon Saloon and a complimentary entry into next year's race. My mom got a PR (by 8 minutes) and finished in 2:28 and was 3rd in her age group (but I won't tell you what age group that is since I know she reads my blog). We forgot to get a picture of us all together with our pint glasses.

We made Erin get out of the car and run the last 1.5 miles with my mom on her injured foot. Don't feel sorry for her, she was happy for the "permission" to run!

It was really neat to run in my home town. Every road brought back a ton of memories. I didn't remember the hills being quite so steep...guess I blocked those out. There was a water station at every single mile! I don't think I've ever seen that much aid in a race, but better to have too much than too little. I couldn't believe how many volunteers and spectators came out in the rain to watch the race and cheer on the runners. There was cheering along the entire course. That really surprised me since it was small race in a small town. Tracey from Midwest Running Mom came out to cheer because she lives nearby. Unfortunately she is injured as well, otherwise she would have been out there running. It was really great to see her again. Especially at the top of a long, steep climb!

I passed someone in the last mile. Yay!

I will definitely be using my complimentary entry to next year's race. It was just too fun to pass up and was even worth the 10 hour night drive.

The finish was on the track. NOT my favorite place to run!

Run Rabbit Run

2010-05-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my generous investor, Aunt Maryann, I am now officially registered for the Run Rabbit Run 50 miler in Steamboat Springs, CO on September 18th. It's going to be higher, steeper and tree-ier than the Fruita 50. Don't worry, I'll train harder this time. The time limit is 2 hours more gracious than Fruita to accommodate the tougher course.

This course description is taken from the website:

Course Description
The course is a spectacular 50 mile run through the beautiful mountains and fall colors of the Routt National Forest of northern Colorado. The race starts bright and early at the Steamboat Springs ski area (elevation, 6,900 feet) and proceeds up, up, up to Mount Werner (elevation, 10,568 feet) then goes up and down and up and down some more and then across the Continental Divide to Rabbit Ears Mountain (elevation, 10,500 feet) before heading back and way down to the ski area.

The course will have nearly 9,000 feet of climbing. This course will test the endurance and spirit of any runner, whether you’re a tortoise or a hare.

Elevation Profile & Course Map
The Run Rabbit Run course is very much like life, in that there are many, many little and not so little ups and downs in between the obvious highs and lows. Be prepared. Any resemblance between the course profile and rabbit ears is purely coincidental.

My training plan will consist of more miles in the mountains and lots of time spent at high altitude on Pike's Peak. I will do back to back long runs to get my legs used to running tired. I also need to come up with an injury prevention plan. I have recently discovered ice baths for recovery. Not pleasant, but pretty effective. I have started strength/weight training which will hopefully make me stronger and help prevent injuries. I promise to be more proactive with my stretches, to not only do them when something is already bothering me. And I'm changing up my race nutrition plan to the liquid/gel diet. I'm going to try Hammer products first and see how my system handles it, then I'll go from there.

Can't wait to start training officially. Send healthy, injury-free vibes my way!

Desert RATS Trail Running Festival 50 mile: Apparently there's crying in ultrarunning

2010-04-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

When I first heard about ultra-running, I thought "Cool. Great way to combine my two passions: running and eating." Just running and running all day long. Going from aid station to aid station, all stocked with fruit, cookies, sandwiches, pizza, m&ms and chips. Sounds like a good time! Turns out, there's a bit more to it than that. First of all, there's nothing appealing about solid food when you've been running in the sun for hours on end. There's also the fatigue to be dealt with, both physical and mental, the blisters, the pumped-out, over-worked leg exhaustion, and...oh yeah, that pesky ENDLESSNESS. Still, I had the most awesome time doing it!

The days leading up to my race were filled with fretting about the weather, worrying about getting sick, repeatedly interrogating Brian (who rides Fruita frequently) about the Kokopelli trails until I had a complete description of the course. I anguished over every detail just to have something solid to occupy my brain until the race started. Needless to say, I was nervous! On race-day morning, my family and I ate breakfast at the hotel. I sat very quietly, trying to eat at least half of a banana, just listening to the other runners' conversations in the room. I quickly found that I was in a room full of genuine bad-asses. I overheard a woman talking about her fifth Leadville 100, and her third Wasatch 100, and the other runners all commiserated. "Oh yeah, I remember my fifth Leadville. My 10th Leadville was much better. Finally got that sub-24." Oy ve! I was hanging with the wrong crowd. So this is the conversation that took place in my brain during breakfast: "Hi guys, today is my first 50. Actually it's my first over-30. And it's also my first trail run over 16 miles." *wince*

*condescending looks* "Um, what are you doing here?"

Then I started to cry. Not in my head, but in real life. I cried at breakfast. Very subtly, I doubt anyone but Brian noticed, but still, grrr...what a freak!

After that, I pulled on my big-girl panties and got in the car. Brian drove to the race and accompanied me to the port-o-potty and the start. The race started, I said good-bye and started running. The race began with a long switchbacky climb up the Moore Fun trail. When the 2000 foot climb ended, I looked around and the scenery was amazing. All fears subsided. The descent was awesome. Super technical, but really fun. At the bottom was the first aid station and surprise! Brian and Jonas. The next section was amazing! We ran a section of Mary's Loop which is a high shelf above the Colorado River. The trails were smooth, fast and rolling. I felt great. I found a small group of women to run with and it made the time pass quickly. The next aid station was mile 9.2, the Pizza Overlook. I filled my 12 oz bottle and grabbed a couple banana slices and pressed on. The next section wound along the rim of the river and the view was awesome.

The sun was out in full force now. There wouldn't be another aid station for 7 miles. This leg proved to be long! It was rolling, but never very steep. I fell in with some slower people and told myself not to pass because it was so early in the race. In retrospect, I should have gone on ahead because I was feeling good and I could have gained ground during that section. I eventually passed them and came into the Troy Built aid station at 19.2 miles. My skin was really red so someone sprayed sunscreen on me, I grabbed more bananas, took an Endurolyte and trudged on up the hill. This was a bu-RUTAL climb. It was steep, long and on a jeep road, so the scenery was less than stellar here. I couldn't believe I was less

halfway there. I was feeling pretty discouraged. When I entered the singletrack again, Mack Ridge trail, I brightened a bit. The climb was more mellow and the incredible views returned. The Mack Ridge descent was really fun but my shins were beat. The next aid station would be the start/finish/turnaround. There were a ton of 25 mile runners around me that were really picking up the pace coming into the finish of their race. I kept holding back, knowing I still had a long way to go. I was surprised and elated to see Brian when I came out of Mack Ridge onto the road. He said to go on ahead to the aid station and he'd stay in that spot with my refills and compression socks. I ran the 1.3 miles down the hill to the start/finish aid station and grabbed a few things to eat and refilled all my water. This aid station was a hard one to stop at because there were so many people finishing their 25 mile race. I wanted to stop so badly. It didn't help that this race allowed 50 mile entrants an official 25 mile time if they chose not to go on at this point. Turns out, a lot of runners took them up on this. Only 46 of the 72 people who entered the 50 actually went on to finish it.

So, mini-meltdown, then I got the hell out of that aid station. I ran back up that hill toward Brian crying. Yes, crying. Again. How many freaking times was I going to cry on this trip? The 1.3 mile climb to Brian was steep and long. He gave me the compression socks. My legs were all pumped-out and shaking as I pulled them on. It was hard to say goodbye, but I trudged up Mack Ridge, keeping my thoughts on the next aid station. Zeke tried to follow me and I really wanted him to come, but I still had 24 miles left. I don't know if I mentioned this, but the course was 2x 25 mile loops. The second loop was run in the opposite direction so I got to see the people behind me. Many of them were 25 mile runners, and some were 50 mile runners that would not go on after the halfway point. I was one of the last 50 milers to finish and make the cut off, so this loop would prove to be lonely. I was grateful to see the folks at the Troy Built aid station again. Just under 32 miles, already longer than I had ever run in my life. The next aid station was a long 7 miles away and I would see no one. This is were I slowed the most. I walked a lot of the hills that I knew I could run and basically stopped caring about everything. I was so pissed! I don't know what I was pissed about. I think it was the fact that the aid station was so far off. It didn't even seem real. The heat was now at its worst. I felt like I was stranded in the middle of nowhere and I would never see another human again. All I could hope was that a mountain biker would find my dead body in the trail and notify the next aid station. I even contemplated hucking myself off a cliff into the river around 36-38 miles. I got over this feeling by holding onto a piece of wisdom someone once gave me about ultras. "It never always gets worse." It was true. There were peaks and valleys. I would bonk, then recover, bonk, then recover. During the hard times I kept faith in the fact that I would rise out of it. It helped to mentally make peace with the lows. I told myself it was tolerable, that I could stay here. When I wondered what I was doing out there and searched for a way out, I reminded myself that this is what I love. This is life and this is how I love to live. This is where I am happiest. The discomfort became almost comforting and eventually I felt good again.

Finally that illusive aid station turned up. I had been in such a funk for the last 7 miles that I forgot to eat my Honey Stingers, which I meant to take every 10 minutes. I drank water like crazy after diagnosing myself with dehydration (I had not peed in 6+ hrs). I kept taking Endurolytes, but my timing was off. I meant to take 1-2 per hour, but I kept forgetting whether or not I had taken them when my watch reached each new hour. The aid station gave me a chance to refuel. I refilled my water, took some GU with caffeine and a few ounces of Coke, bananas and chips and got going again. The next aid station was only 3.3 miles from there so motivation returned. I don't remember that next aid station. But I do remember that I peed shortly after. I focused on Brian and Jonas, who would be at the next one roughly 3 miles away. It was a long 3 miles. I stubbed my toe and ripped one of the toenails back. There was a giant blister under that nail so I took one of the safety pins off my bib number and popped, then taped it. It was incredibly hard to get my sock back on as my leg was shaking. Future reference: never stop and sit down! Try to tape blisters and pee while standing.

I came down the hill and saw Brian and Jonas. I only had 5.9 miles to go, but that seemed far considering the giant mountain ahead. And I knew it might take me 2 hours to get there. I had 2 hours and 5 minutes left before the cut-off. I got a popsicle and Coke. Notice my nutrition going to crap, but I didn't care. Sugar would do. I forgot to eat my Honey Stingers and take my GU on the last section. I peed 2 more times so I must have overhydrated. Moore Fun was definitely more fun to descend... Longest climb of my life. I equated it to doing Section 16 four times in a row. Again, I cried. Not really cried, as I didn't have energy. More like shook and whimpered as I lumbered up the ridge. There were a few spots where I had to crawl up the rocks because I could not raise my legs high enough to step. When the neverending climb ended, I could see the highway. It was far below and the cars looked like tiny specs but I knew the finish was near the highway so I just winced and bombed down the hill as hard as I could. It was another technical descent and my form was crap. I would have rolled down if I thought it was faster. Every step sent excruciating pain up my shins and quads. I was totally out of control.

The singletrack ended and the road began. The finish was only a mile or so away and I saw a woman ahead of me. I didn't care about passing her, but when I saw her walk a few times I decided I would try to catch her. I ran the rest of the dirt road to the finish as hard as I could, which meant I was merely jogging. When I saw Brian and Jonas waiting, all the pain went away and I booked it in. I was so stoked to be done. I couldn't believe it was over and I did it! I had the most incredible feeling after finishing. I called my mom and told her I was done. I don't remember the conversation or the drive back to the hotel. I took an ice bath then broke into a strange panic. I ate a bite of pizza and promptly threw up. I was shaking and felt like I was going to slip into a coma. I kept telling Brian to check on me if I passed out. He told me to eat, but I couldn't. I cried (again!) and said I would never do it again, but a day later found myself saying "next time" and talking about all the things I could improve upon. I have picked my next 50. Run Rabbit Run in Steamboat Springs, September 18th. Can't wait to start training!

Official time: 12:32:20 - barely under the 13 hr cutoff!

Place: well, uh, 4th from last overall, and DFL woman. Ha! Not counting all the DNFs (there were 26 of them)

Gotta acknowledge that bright side.

2010-04-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

I have had a stressful week leading up to my first ultra. I quit my job, got a new one and caught a nasty stomach bug. I have also been compulsively checking the race day forecast and it changes frequently. First it said sunny, high of 56, that was cool. Then I just I had to check again a day later and thunderstorms were forecasted for the whole day. Then I checked again and it said high of 70, partly cloudy. Yikes. I don't know about 70. That's pretty freaking hot for me. Now it says high of 70, 20% chance of rain. And I don't care anymore. I'm not going to check again. The weather is going to do what it wants and there is nothing I can do about it. It's totally out of my hands. I've decided to bring every article of running gear I own and decide what to wear when I get there. So the weather is taken care of. Not an issue.

The stomach bug is (I think) gone from here. I spent the wee hours of Sunday morning with my ass on the toilet and my head in a mop bucket. It was intense! Both ends, I tell ya! My husband and son both caught and rid themselves of the virus before I did, so I had a little time to prep myself. I knew it was coming so I just snuggled up close to my boys, inhaled the little bitch and said, "Bring it!" so I could get it fast and then get over it. I got it the worst of all three of us. Today (Wednesday), I am venturing to say my body is back to normal. I slammed Pedialyte yesterday to re-hydrate and I think it worked. Today's goal is to EAT and eat well. Oh, how I've missed solid food!

Now that I am able to leave the house, I have some errands to run. Then I need to gather all my gear and race food and pack it. I also need to clean the house so I have something pretty and sanitary to come home to. All that's left to do after that is relax and get happy! We leave for Fruita on Friday morning. I truly am excited to run my first ultra. There is something about doing a new distance that is simply exhilarating. Popping the distance cherry. I'm sure it will hurt in a good way.

PS: I lied about not checking the weather again. I just checked a different site and it said high 62, partly cloudy. Not bad! But I still don't care. :)

Saturday

Apr 17

Partly Cloudy

Hi:62°Lo:40°

Partly Cloudy. High 62F and low 40F. Winds SE at 17 mph. Air Quality:NA, UV Index:7

missing the point

2010-04-07T19:43:00.000-07:00

There was this woman I used to run with in college. I think of her as "old" but she was probably only in her mid 30s and that was old to me then. She told me I had an "old soul" and that made me feel really cool and mature at the time. Now I believe it means I'm just jaded before my time. Years later, while celebrating a friend's birthday at a bar, I pointed out that I was the youngest in the group. Then my friend told me that I got "bonus years" for having a kid. Having a child has aged me a bit I guess. It has put this weird pressure on me to figure everything out. It's like I have to hurry up and find the meaning of life before my son grows up and becomes aware that I am just another person who knows nothing. He'll someday find that just because I have always told him what to do, doesn't mean I hold any kind of authority in the real world. That any idiot can have a child. It's easy. And you don't have to be smart, nice, or even CPR certified.

There is so much I don't understand. I just don't know how to teach the world to someone who knows nothing. I have come up with a game plan, and that is to expose my child to as much of the world as my heart will allow and hope he develops his own healthy view of it. Maybe he will come up with the answers that have always eluded me. The things I do know make very little sense to me and I'm better off not knowing them.

You can convince yourself that you want what you have or that you need something more. You can see love as a choice, an emotion or a declaration born of necessity. You can work hard and receive nothing or everything, but there's never a guarantee. Sometimes you get what you deserve and sometimes you have to take what you think you're entitled to. You can try so hard to forget things, that eventually you truly can't remember. You can try a little peace and quiet and if that doesn't work, fill yourself up with people and noise. You can play these games because it makes life pass more quickly, or slowly, whichever you prefer. You can keep dashing between opposing extremes until you are too exhausted to care and then you can stop thinking about life and just breathe.

On cold mornings you can see your breath. Believe in it because it is proof that you are living. And life doesn't have to mean anything. You should just allow it to happen because it will happen despite the conflicting meanings you have tried to attach to it. If you try too hard to find the meaning of life, you'll miss the point. It will happen before you figure out what it meant.

WTF was I thinking?

2010-04-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

My first ultra-marathon is two weeks away and I have officially entered the freak-out zone. Fuck, Shit, Crap, Damn, Sonofabitch, Motherfff... WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?! Can we please just get this over with? Like, now. Just put a bag over my head, place me at the starting line and let me proceed with humiliating myself. Ugh, at least I have mastered the "respect the distance" aspect of ultra-running. Yup, got that part down.

My friend who is a new (but good) runner asked me how I trained for 50 miles and wanted to know how long my longest run was. I sort of winced when I said, "30 miles." She wondered how those extra 20 just "sneak in there." Uh, yeah good point. How do they do that? When I signed up for this thing , I didn't really think it would be me that ran the ultra. It would be some super fit, trained beast that I meant to transform myself into prior to the race. Turns out, I'm still me. Stupid, fat, slow-ass ME.

There just isn't enough time to do anything about that. The race is paid for, room is booked, time off work accepted, and the show must go on. Where did my excitement go? Race day wouldn't come fast enough a couple months ago. I have since come down with a case of the "I Don't Wannas." That's Fear. It ruins everything. When you give it an inch, it takes a mile. It gets its foot in the door, then storms your brain and destroys every positive thought that tries to stand up for itself. It leaves Doubt in its wake who scrambles around, searching the debris for a "Yes" but eventually succumbs to the "NOs." I started a list of excuses. So far I don't have a legitimate reason to back out except "why" which is what everyone said in the first place and at the time, I rolled my eyes because "why" is too easily answered with "why not" But answering questions with other questions only buys time.

Eventually you run out of time and you find yourself with your head in a bag at the starting line. If you take the bag off your head, you will increase your chances of completing the god-forsaken course. You will probably see the people around you smiling. You will realize they are smiling because they get to run today. And you will probably smile about that too.

Type-A Freakness

2010-03-29T06:37:00.000-07:00

I've never been a control freak. In fact, I've always felt that I don't fit in with most runner/athlete types because I do not have a Type-A, obsessive personality. I leave drawers half open, I never tighten lids all the way, and I never quite finish my paintings. I'm a half-asser. Never having the desire to control things has made me a fairly laid back person. Lately though, something has changed. I think it has something to do with having a 2 year old (and a puppy). I often feel like no one is listening to me. I ask nicely, then I ask nicely again, then I ask sternly, then I yell. I hate yelling, but it seems yelling is the only way I know how to talk anymore. It makes me freakin hate myself! I never wanted to be a person that tells other people what to do.

I'm starting to think that maybe I do have some control issues. I never had a problem not being in control, but now I feel totally out of control and that's bothering me. I know when it started, too. It was the little pink line on the EPT that still haunts me three and a half years after it materialized out of my HCg-laden pee. Damn, I really felt out of control sitting on that toilet watching my freedom just die. I don't think I even knew a baby would come of it. Much less a toddler. All I could think about at the time was the uncontrollable growth of my belly and its surrounding body parts. I decided to just let it all happen. My boyfriend and I decided we wouldn't be like other people with kids. We would still ski and snowboard and I would still do triathlons. We would travel too. We agreed that babies are portable and we would just take him wherever we went and we'd keep on living. We'd barely even know he was there.

I let that little fetus overtake me. The problem is, I'm still letting him overtake me. Only now, he's out here in the world with us. He doesn't think it's appropriate for me to all of a sudden demand some respect. So we battle. All day long, we fight for the power. We each try to gain control. And I become one of those.

I think moms run for different reasons than other people. I used to "train" (not in a Type-A freak way) because I wanted better times. Now I run because it's the only thing that keeps me from going insane. I feel that I have to sign up for certain events to justify all the running, but honestly I could live without racing. During the week, I run in the middle of the day when my husband comes home from work. By that time, I need out. But on Sundays, I get up early to run. It's so ironic that all week I can't wait to get out of this house and away from this family, but on Sunday, it takes everything I have to pull myself away from them. I love my family in the shape of a warm, sleepy mass in my bed. Departing a warm, sleepy bed to embark on a cold, morning run is a characteristic of one of those Type-A, obsessive, control-freak runners, so maybe I do have a little of that inside of me.

My 30 mile run

2010-03-15T06:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I ran 30 miles, my longest run ever, as a training run for my upcoming 50 miler. It went really well, and didn't hurt any more than 24-26 miles does. I ran the main commuting path that runs North-South through Colorado Springs, parallel to I-25. I started downtown at Colorado College and ran North, 15 miles to the North Gate of the Air Force Academy. The trail is a false flat (slightly uphill) going North, then gets hilly through the Air Force Academy. It was nice to go downhill on the way back.

It was about 35 degrees and overcast, then got really cold and started snowing at about mile 20. At mile 24 I met my friend Megan at a bike shop on the trail and she rode the last 6 miles beside me. Poor girl was freezing her butt off! She had planned to go on a real ride afterward, but when we finished it was bitter freaking cold and the snow was WET and coming down hard so I gave her a ride back to her car. It was really great to have some company for the last 6 miles. I was able to maintain, and even slightly pick up my pace, rather than finish up with a shuffle like I normally do.

So, here are some technical aspects of the run:

Nutrition: I ran out of my beloved Honey Stingers (chews) and couldn't find any the night before the run so I brought Luna Bars. That didn't work so well. I usually take a Honey Stinger chew every 10 minutes, so in place of that I took a small bite of Luna Bar. The problem is that there aren't enough calories in one small bite, and I wasn't able to eat a big chunk of Luna Bar every 10 minutes because a) it made me want to gag and b) it would have taken too long to eat and c) I would have run out quickly. I highly recommend gels or chews for lots of fast absorbing carbs and calories packed into tiny bites.
I also brought along some potato chips and beef jerky. Salt and protein. I tried Honey Stinger Bars and Power Bar protein bars for other long runs but neither sat well with me. The chips were fantastic. Really easy to eat while running, and being so salty, they made me drink my water right away. It is hard for me to remember to drink water when it is cold and wet outside because I don't get thirsty. The beef jerky sat well in my stomach, but as you can guess is a little hard to chew. I saved that for times that I was slowing down anyway or walking up a hill. It wasn't ridiculously hard to eat on the move, just not as easy as gel or chips. I think having a good protein source is important during and after long runs and this one worked perfect for me.

Gear: The forecast called for rain, snow and a high of 39 degrees. I started out with thin tights, a long sleeved tech shirt and a fleece over it. Also gloves and a wool hat. I had my Nathan Hydration Pack which I love. It doesn't chafe or bounce awkwardly. On my feet, Injinjis with Blister Shield powder. I ended up with a few blisters, but nothing big. I didn't even feel them while I was running. I got hot going through the hilly section and took off the gloves and hat. Then got more hot later and took off the fleece. Then I got cold again durning the last 6 miles, but didn't want to stop for the fleece, so I just put the hat back on and I was fine.

Pace: For my last couple of long runs, I have done a 9:1 run/walk interval. It really helps me feel like I can go all day, but also slows my pace significantly. So for this run, I did the first two 10 minute sets with the 1 minute walks and then decided to drop them. I wasn't sure if I'd regret that later or not. It ended up being just fine. I walked some of the steep hills, and I walked when I needed to fish something out of my pack or take off layers/accessories. Other than that I just ran and felt great. I am torn on the run/walk thing. Having done it on a few 20+ mile runs, I know that it makes the run hurt less in the end. I finish feeling like I could go on, which is what I need to feel because I am going to be running significantly more in the race than I do in training. But on the flip side, it is often hard for me to get going again after a walk break. On my 25 mile run a couple weeks ago, some of those 1 minute walk breaks turned into 2 minute walk breaks because I just couldn't get going again. And sometimes the hills mess with the walk breaks. I would rather walk up the hills, so if the walk break comes once I reach the top and start going down, I get pissed. I think for the ultra, I will walk the major hills and run the rest. There are enough hills there to get plenty of walk breaks! I know that toward the end (or possibly even the middle) I will need to walk more, so maybe I can implement 9:1 or 8:2 then.

Splits: Total time was 4:45:21.
First 10 miles was 1:35 (9:34 pace)
(Halfway, 15 miles 2:24)
Second 10 miles was roughly 1:35 again
Third set of 10 was 1:33:49 (9:25 pace)

So that was my run. The first couple of hours after the run I wanted to saw my legs off! I moved around a bunch to clean the house and make dinner and that helped. I slept in my recovery socks and my legs did not wake me up screaming. They feel ok today, just sore hamstrings. I am getting them worked on today after work so I should be fine. I feel great knowing I've run farther than ever before! I am getting excited for the ultra!

DFR: Did Finally Recover

2010-02-26T15:41:00.000-08:00

I ran cross-country my freshman year of college. When I say I ran, I don't mean I ever actually donned the school colors and raced, I just mean I practiced with the team. Well, behind the team. Well, practically in a different universe. I walked on to a highly prestigious and successful cross country team, Adams State College. The team was comprised of some seriously talented athletes. I'm not going to name drop or anything, but they are people you've heard of. Obviously, I was the slowest one on the team. By a long shot. I was so slow, that on our long run days, I would run half the distance the other runners were doing, in the same amount of time, or even more time. Yeah, it was embarrassing. Those runners were on a completely different level. Fitting in was out of the question. Not only could I not run like them, but I didn't look like them either. They were elite runners. Lean and ripped. Their abs were always justifiably flaunted and I was chubby. If you saw me lined up at the Turkey Trot start, you would have thought I was just there to walk/run off a few calories before the feast or to kick off my New Year's Resolution early...not to compete against you or anything.

It was really hard for me just to exist that year. Freshman year. It's so hard anyway, right? You're away from home for the first time and you're just starting to figure yourself out. You're entirely too aware of yourself, and you're constantly comparing yourself to others. It was very uncharacteristic of me to willingly place myself in a situation where I would stand out. Especially in a negative (i.e. slow) way. I knew I would be the slowest person on the team. I knew it would be painfully obvious, but I showed up anyway. Why not? The coach would take anyone willing to work hard as a walk-on. I was willing to give it everything. I wanted to be fast. I cared about running fast more than I cared about being the joke of the team.

The very first practice run was supposed to be an easy, talking-pace, get-acclimated, get-to-know-the-other-runners-run. That run ended up being a 5K PR for me and I still trailed far behind the other girls who were running easy, chatting and laughing. They all finished looking just as unruffled and gorgeous as they had started, and I was a panting, sweaty heap of chub on the lawn outside Plachy Hall where we finished. I asked myself what I had gotten into. This "easy" run was way too hard for me. Totally out of my range. It would not get better, it would only get worse. Harder and more mortifying. I decided this was too embarrassing and I would just not show up to practice ever again. No one would notice. Hopefully the team had just figured I was someone out for a jog who happened to be on the same route. Hopefully no one knew I was actually on the team.

I decided. College cross country wasn't for me. But the following day, I went to practice, just to see if it would go any better, just for the sake of curiosity. It didn't. My prediction was spot-on. It got worse. I pushed and pushed, but I didn't come anywhere near the second slowest runner. I improved my own times, and I decided I would focus on that to stay positive. Eventually, I was able to run with the next few slowest girls, when they were on their periods, and had plantar fasciitis or bronchitis or whatever. It didn't matter to me. I was just happy that sometimes I wasn't last. I keep saying how embarrassing this cross-country experience was, but no one was actually that mean to me (not to my face anyway). There were some genuinely nice people on the team. At one particular pre-practice meeting, Coach spoke of the team as a chain. He said that a team is only as strong as its weakest link, so we all had to work hard and encourage each other, you know, to get that link up to par. My face doubtlessly turned tomato-red at that point, knowing I was the link in question. I ran even harder that day. I doubt he was really talking about me. He probably didn't consider me a part of the team anyway because in order to resort to using me at a meet, about 15 girls would have had to break their legs, contract polio, become ineligible due to poor grades, or....be dead. There was not an icicle's chance in Badwater that I would ever get to race for ASC.

I don't really tell people about my college running experience. I just assume it will bring up feelings of insecurity and embarrassment. Every once in awhile I'll have a dream about Adams State. I show up to cross county practice, except it's not then, it's now. I am the "now" version of myself, with a husband and a child and a little bit more running and life experience. I show up to practice and I am ready to run fast. I am ready to show everyone that I am better now. We take off running, it feels easy. I feel light and fast and I am so happy. Then I wake up. I wake up and realize that I can't go back there. You just don't get second chances like that.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to go to a school with a mediocre cross country program. One that could have used me on the team? I believe that everyone has a purpose in life. You are here because there is something the world needs from you. On a team or in a race, someone has to lose. At ASC, that was my job. Those other girls were the warriors. They had to work hard so that they could contribute to winning races. They were under a ton of pressure and I was at practice to assure them that they couldn't lose. I would lose. If losing had to happen, I would do it.

By my second year of college, I lost a lot of nerve. I had a stress fracture in my pubic bone, and had not run all summer. I spent all of the previous track season on the elliptical, secretly hoping I would stay injured so I wouldn't have to suffer even more degradation on the track. I went to the cross-country team's initial meeting sophomore year, but that was it. I had lost the courage to impose myself on that team again. I took almost 2 years off running. Most of that was the stress fracture, but fear factored in as well. My lifestyle changed while I was not running. It changed because I was not running. My new lifestyle involved drinking, smoking various illegal substances, and changing my major to art. I missed running, but I didn't miss feeling inadequate. I had to forget competition for awhile and regain confidence. I found running again. It was a different kind of running, the kind that I could do just because. The kind that could be mine.

Running should be free, man.

2010-02-17T19:14:00.001-08:00

I don't race very much. Sometimes I feel like less of a runner because of this. I hate missing out on local races. I feel guilty about it, like I really should be running all of them. If I'm not racing in my own town's Turkey Trot, can I even call myself a runner? People who don't even run come out at least for the Turkey Trot. If I don't run the Turkey Trot, am I less than a non-runner? It seems silly, but I think most of us, to some degree, feel compelled to race just to maintain our identities as runners.

When you meet people and they find out you're into running, they always ask how many races or "marathons" you've done. I hate that question. If they're less than impressed with your number (which then becomes your status), they'll tell you about their friend, or co-worker, or co-worker's friend who does a marathon every month. The subliminal message is: "THERE! Betcha don't feel like such a runner anymore, huh?" Running several marathons per year, or completing the "50 states" challenge only proves one thing as far as I'm concerned. You have money.

If you want to get really personal, or even if you don't, I'll tell you that my husband and I make ~25K per year (together). We happen to be really good at budgeting and managed to pay off 10K of credit card debt in 2 years, and buy a house on our meager rations. We worked really hard to do that. We said "no" in a lot of places we wanted to say "yes". For me, that meant saying "no" to races. It hurt a lot at first. For a short time, between graduating college and becoming a mom, I had the financial freedom to do whichever races I wanted. I could afford coaching, entry fees, travel expenses, and even *gulp* triathlons! If it was the "season" I was busy racing every weekend, collecting those shiny medals and hoarding wrinkled bib numbers. Who did I think I was? Were all those meaningless trinkets defining me as a runner? Yup. Well, I was allowing them to, anyway. Each race was another notch in my belt. I was compiling evidence that I was in fact, not a loser (even though you can certainly be the technical loser of a race and still get the medal). I needed these things to uphold my "Runner" status. Somehow I missed how simple it really was. To be a runner, all I needed to do was run.

Sometimes I have to catch myself because I start basing my runner-esteem on the races I've done. When I count them up, there aren't too many and I get a little depressed. "I should race more," I say. "I need to catch up. [So and so]'s been running 1/5 as long as I have and he's already done 6 marathons. I've only done 3." I have to consciously draw myself out of these self-depricating chats. I have been running half my life. I'm 26. I'm a runner, and I don't need 2 million finisher's medals to prove it.

In my opinion, road races have gotten out of control. They are too big and too expensive. Do you really need a medal, another tech shirt and a bag full of useless sample products to motivate yourself to compete in a race? Are you even competing? Or are you just buying yourself another medal? I don't want to knock anyone for being out there and getting exercise but when I see people in races, walking and happily chatting on their cell phones or treating the road race as a parade (writing their names on their shirts, waving like political candidates at spectators) I have to wonder if they're missing the point. Or if racing has deviated from its original intent. I mean, it's supposed to be painful, right?

In In the last few years, I have gone down to running one or two main events per year. I live in Colorado Springs, where there is some kind of local race almost every weekend, all year round. I'd go broke if I did all of them. The Pikes Peak Road Runners is a group that puts on many of the races here. For the most part, they are void of nonsense medals and schwag bags. They charge just enough to put on the race and keep the runners hydrated. I like that. We want to run for the competition and the camaraderie, not the goodies. We don't need another shirt, we don't need to be pampered at every aid station, and we don't need to be marketed to at giant, crowded expos. We just need to race. Whether it's other runners, the clock, or just ourselves, racing is what we come to do.

I know that there are as many reasons to run as there are runners. There are as many reasons to race as there are racers. I'm fine with just being a runner. I would do it if races didn't exist. I would do it if Garmin didn't exist. I would run for the same conflicting reasons I have always run: the pure joy and total agony of it. Take away all the glitter and tell me why you really love to race.

I don’t want anyone to do anything except come run, party, dance, eat, and hang with us. Running isn’t about making people buy stuff. Running should be free, man. -Micah True (from Born to Run)

ARTwork

2010-02-12T13:15:00.000-08:00

I had my first ART appointment last Monday. ART stands for Active Release Techniques. It is a patented soft tissue treatment based on massage techniques. It treats problems with muscles, tendons, ligaments, fascia and nerves. These tissues are treated through a combination of pressure (like massage) and movement. This breaks down the built-up scar tissue.

I had my hips and hamstrings worked on. My hamstrings have been really tight lately, particularly the right one. Last summer, I ramped up my mileage by about 60% in total defiance of the controversial 10% rule. My body sent me signs that I needed to stop and I ran through them. The biggest sign was that my hip flexors tightened so much that I could barely stand up straight. My right hip was especially tight, so a hamstring injury in the same leg a few months later is the next logical injury.

The LMT that worked on my legs said that my hip flexors were still really tight. He said that my hips had rotated anterior. Picture the hips as a bowl of water. Mine are dumping the water out down the front of my body. I heard from some other athletes that ART can heal your injury in one or two treatments. After one, I'm certainly not "healed" but I am going back this week for more. Thank god for the tax refund, because these treatments run $80 a session! Ouch! I really hope I can get these problems with my body sorted out soon because my ultra is in about 8 weeks and I need to be getting some long runs in now!

"Walk...Run...Walk...Run..." Pacer's Perspective Rocky Raccoon 2010

2010-02-10T17:50:00.000-08:00

I had the opportunity to pace and crew for an amazing woman, Tara at the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile race last weekend. I had never actually met Tara in person. We belong to an online group of running moms on CafeMom aptly named, Running Moms. I have been in this group for a little over two years and call many of the women "friends" even though we've never met. Three other women from the group came out to Huntsville, TX to pace and crew for Tara. There was Tracey from Kansas, Cathy from California and Bethany from Austin, TX. It was so fun to meet these girls. They were all just as they seemed online, only now I had faces to put with screen names. To be honest, I was a little nervous about spending a weekend with a bunch of women, as the fairer sex sometimes tends to get a little catty and oh, just a hare dramatic when kept in close quarters. This was not the case with the Running Moms. They are such a positive, encouraging, happy and uplifting group. Even after 48 hours with only 2-3 hours of sleep each, not a single cat fight ensued.

Cathy, Tracey, Tara and I met in the airport and Tara drove us to Huntsville. We went straight to packet pick-up and then checked out the course. We ate and promptly went to bed around 8PM. I don't think any of us except for Tara slept very well, if at all. She was the one who needed it though. her body must have known what was coming! We all woke up around 3:40 AM on Saturday to get to the race early, as we were warned that parking drama could be an issue. We got there, parked, Tara checked in and we waited for the start. I could tell Tara was getting really anxious at this point. She kept quadruple-checking that we crew members knew what to do.

After the race started, there was not much we could do for another 4 hours, when we expected Tara to come into the 20 mile turnaround for more food, water and new socks. Unfortunately Cathy got sick. What we thought might be nerves turned out to be something worse so we took her back to the hotel to rest. After Tracey and I took Cathy back to the hotel, we hit Denny's where we would eat about 12 more times during the trip. Seriously, we became VIPs at this joint! During breakfast, we pulled up the course map on the laptop and reconfigured the pacing arrangements to give Cathy a shorter leg or take her out altogether if needed. We decided I would take the first leg, which was one loop of the course, miles 60-80, then Tracey taking 80-83, Bethany taking the net 12.5 and Cathy the last 4.5. This is the plan we stuck with ultimately.

Tracey and I set up camp in the spectator/drop bag area of the 20 mile turnaround. We made sure all of Tara's food was in place, dry socks and shoes were out, and everything was ready to go. Then we waited. Just before 10 AM, Tara came cruising down the trail. She was surprised Cathy wasn't there, but we hooked her up with water, food and socks, taped a blister and sent her on her way. She was doing awesome, but in hindsight, we should have told her to slow down. During the next 20 miles, Tracey and I went back to check on Cathy. She was feeling fine so we got lunch at Denny's, where we met Bethany, who drove from Austin. After lunch, everyone went back to the course to wait for Tara. I really wanted to see her come in to mile 40, but I was bonking and had 20 miles to run that night so I went back to the hotel and got about 2 hours of sleep. Not what I was going for, but at least it was something!

Tara came in to mile 60 just after 6PM so she was still on pace. The goal was to pace her to run the 100 miles in under 24 hours. We had plenty of leeway. When we started running together, Tara told me she had been walking all the hills. As a pacer it was my job to remember this and to start walking when we approached a hill. Tara and I had different definitions of "hill" and I kept forgetting to walk them. Luckily, she was not too far gone to remind me. It grew dark a few minutes into the run. As night fell, things got hard. Tara needed more and more walk breaks. After several minutes of walking, I worried that the whole loop might be this way. I had to get her moving faster, not just for the sub 24 hour goal, but just for the sake of not being out there so incredibly long.

I asked her to run again and she agreed so I started to play around with different run/walk intervals. 4 minutes jogging to 1 minute walking seemed the most feasible, but even that was hard to keep up after awhile. We were moving slow, but we were moving. The one thing Tara didn't do was stop. At one point I looked at her face and she just looked so tired, so sad and so down. The mom in me wanted to scoop her up and carry her to bed, tuck her in and let her fall into the sleep her body was so forcefully pulling her toward. But out in the middle of the woods, that wasn't an option. I kept glancing at my Garmin. "Run....Walk....Run.....Walk...." I glanced back every now and then, but mostly just listened to her quiet shuffle. I listened to the rustling of her Honey Stinger packages and the sucking sound of her hydration pack and when several minutes had passed without those sounds I reminded her to eat and drink. The chews were making her stomach hurt. I wanted to say "Ok, forget them" but they were all we had until the next aid station. She didn't want to eat, but she did anyway, knowing it was the only way to keep moving.

Pacing Tara was a lot different than I expected. I thought we would talk, laugh and sing the night away. I knew there would be hard times, but I didn't expect the whole 20 miles to be so brutal. Maybe I was a boring pacer. I threw out a few stories and anecdotes where she politely laughed, or grunted her acknowledgment, but for the most part I just said "Run....Walk....Run...Walk..." Maybe I didn't come through on the whole entertainment portion of pacing. Maybe it was Stage Fright. Maybe I just didn't have enough material. Maybe it was the stress of Miles before us and the solemness of Night, but nothing seemed like the right thing to say. Except "Run....Walk....Run....Walk..."

After a couple hours of being on the Run/Walk schedule, I realized it was still early and that Tara was still on pace for a sub-24 hour run. I told her this and she brightened a bit. There was a renewed energy now that the original goal was still up for grabs. I asked her if she still wanted it and of course she did. I wanted to allow Tara at least six hours to do the last lap. I felt this would make the goal more realistic. I knew the last lap would be the hardest, which meant it would also be the slowest. To make room for that, we had to pick up the pace again. I'm sure picking up the pace seemed like the worst idea in the world to Tara, as she had already resorted to the "survivor's shuffle" and there was nothing left in her legs. But she was down with it! We had an hour and a half to get back to the finish line by midnight, thus giving her 6 hrs for the last loop. My eyes stayed glued to the Garmin the entire time. "Walk..Run..Walk..Run.." That last 90 minutes flew by for me because I was so focused on time and intervals. Tara kept on eating and drinking, but now only on my recommendation. She was focused on moving and that was it. Tara's body was done. We had been operating on her mental tank the whole loop and now even that was draining. I wondered what she would use for the last loop.

We made it to the start/finish/turnaround area a few minutes after midnight as planned, and the crew was waiting with warm clothes. Tara told Tracey, her next pacer that she was going for sub-24. Unfortunately that only lasted about 30 seconds. Horrible, death-like fatigue grabbed her and pulled down, down, down, to the point that she was falling asleep on Tracey's shoulder while walking. "Only" 3 miles became the longest part of the race, as Tara stumbled, corpse-like to the Nature Center aid station on Tracey's guiding arm. I don't know how Tracey kept her awake for the hour and twenty minutes that those 3 miles took, but they got there! The crew was waiting at that station and we were worried since they were so late. It was after 1AM when they arrived. Tara needed to sleep. She was slipping away before our eyes and it was scary. We checked her into the aid station and carried her to the car where she napped. She became a shivering, mumbling heap of dry bones in the back of her Honda Pilot. We called an EMT over to check her out. All Tara said was that she was still finishing. The crew knew that, but the EMT shook her head and said something about those "crazy ultrarunners." We got her warm and let her sleep until 3:45.

Tara woke up still looking like sheer hell, but she was ready to finish. Bethany took her out on the next 12.5 mile segment. It was a death march. They trudged on through the night and into the morning, taking solace in the fact that each step was ground behind them and brought them closer to the finish. During this section, Cathy, Tracey and I went back to the hotel for some sleep. We knew this section would be a long one. I think we all felt a little guilty as we laid ourselves down in warm, soft beds. Tara was so far from this. So far from comfort. She no longer knew comfort. Warm shower, soft pillow, bed, it was all so far behind her and so far ahead of her. She was in survival mode.

In the "morning" the crew awoke to a text from Bethany saying that Tara was doing great and they were getting close. It was daytime now, but not necessarily sunny. We waited for Tara and Bethany at the last aid station, where Cathy would take over pacing for the last 4.5 miles. Standing at that aid station for that hour was both disturbing and inspiring. The runners coming through were so broken-down and beat, it was hard to watch. They were so close to the finish, but after 95.5 miles, even 4.5 is a long way to go. They were expressionless, hobbling through, immune to the cheers and uplifting comments that we pathetically chucked at them. An older gentleman came through bent at a 45 degree angle. We cheered him on. "You look great!" I said. I meant it, but he cast me a sideways glance and mumbled "Bullshit." There was no fooling these people. You can't make them think they are in less pain than they are, because they can feel every shard of it. You can't make them think the finish line is just around the bend because it's not. It is still a long way off. There is nothing you can say to effectively cheer these runners. They are miserable and you can not relate. All you can do is watch them go by.

Tara really did look great when she came into this aid station. She had walked the 12.5 miles at an 18 minute mile pace. There wasn't much excitement in her face. There wasn't much of anything there, except weak smiles, probably forced for our sake. I don't know that emotionally, she was feeling anything in particular. Just knowledge of what needed to be done and willingness to do it. She took off with Cathy. We waited and waited at the finish line. We watched a few runners finish, including the bent-over man. I told him he still looked great and at least he smiled this time. I felt relieved to see him finish. Finally we saw Tara and Cathy coming down the final stretch. We cheered, cried (well, I cried) and took lots of pictures. Tara crossed the line in 28:08. It was beautiful.

Before going to Rocky Raccoon, I decided that I wanted to run 100 miles. I have a 50 miler planned for April and it just won't come fast enough. After going to Rocky, I still want to run 100 miles, but it's different now. I have more respect for the distance. I'm not giddy or excited to run it like I was before witnessing 100 miles. I have sobered up. 100 miles isn't something to take lightly. I feel calmer now, but more austere, more bound to the 100 mile run. I have decided not to rush it. I will wait until I am truly ready to sign myself up for one, knowing now that there is a lot to prepare for, a lot to lose, and a lot to run! Some runners say that 100 miles changes you. Somebody once told Matt Carpenter that you don't know who you are until you run 100 miles. He replied "Damned if I'm going to die and not know who I am." I get that.

Thugs don't read "Field & Stream Magazine"

2010-02-02T15:24:00.000-08:00

Last week, my garage was burglarized and precious bikes were stolen. The crime was reported, claim was made with the insurance company, and five of the six phases of grief had passed on through. Shock, Denial, Anger, Depression, Acceptance. All in a matter of days. My husband and I had found peace and accepted that we no longer had mountain bikes. In a sense, we were over it.

Monday morning I was driving to work when just blocks from my house I spotted a guy riding my husband's stolen bike! On the wrong side of the road, helmet-less, and in broad daylight, he rode. He shamelessly pedaled along through a school zone, past a cop, on my husband's bright freaking blue, very expensive, custom mountain bike. "This isn't real" I thought. I never expected to see that bike again. I had about 2 seconds of internal debate before I laid on the horn and shouted "That's my BIKE!" The kid looked at me with wide, startled eyes and started spinning like crazy. He was in a low gear. It was on.

I followed him in my car as he took me on a tour of the neighborhood. And no, I didn't menace him with my car, as I am for cyclists' rights to the road. I just followed him around until we came to a dead end. There was a barbed wire fence which enclosed an apartment complex. He hopped off the bike, gave a running start and proceeded to hurl the bike over the fence. I was already out of the car and jumping (my chest on the top of the fence) up to grab whatever I could of the bike. I had a hold of the chainstay and the kid by now was on the other side of the fence trying to yank the bike free. Luckily, the crank had wrapped itself around the barbed wire and the bike was going nowhere. I called Brian with my free hand. While waiting for Brian to arrive, the culprit and I played tug of war with the bike. I yelled at him and then explained why he couldn't have this bike.

I told him this bike was "special" because my husband made it. I told him that it was our last name on the down tube and that the bike was worth more than most of the cars in that apartment parking lot. I told him that stealing this particular bike was a felony and when he told me he bought the bike from his friend for a hundred bucks, I told him that merely being in posession of the bike was a felony. He said "Lady, I really need this bike, I need it." In the scuffle, one of the tire's sidewalls was ripped on the barbed wire. I told the kid that he would never be able to ride this bike anyway because the wheel size is super rare. They are 650B and he would have to special order new tires from a bike shop who would likely turn him in to the cops.

The young delinquent begged me not to call the cops. Then I started to feel bad. This is a huge character flaw, I just don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Even felons. I told him I could get him another bike. "Will it be this nice?" he asked. I assured him it would. I also promised him a ride home and he gave up the fight. I had all but exchanged phone numbers and invited the perp in for tea and crumpets when Brian came barreling down the dead end street, leapt over the fence and punched the dude in the face, knocking him to the ground. I yelled at Brian for a second, then took off, remembering there was a cop stationed at the school zone one block away (duh).

So we have recovered one bike. Honestly, I don't feel good about it. I don't feel complacent or victorious like you usually do when justice prevails. I feel this way, partly because I am beyond paranoid that this kid will gather his friends, gang, or whatever and come back to retaliate. I think my husband scared him enough to stay away forever, but his last sentence to Brian keeps ringing in my head "All it takes is one phone call." People have killed for a lot less than a punch in the face or a bicycle. This worries me. When I came home from work today, there was a strange car sitting in front of my house. I decided not to go home because I was scared and went to Safeway until Brian got home. When he called to tell me he was there I asked if everything was okay. He said "Yes, everything's fine. Thugs don't read "Field & Stream Magazine." Um, what? The car belonged to my next-door neighbor's friend and there was a copy of "Field & Stream" on the passenger's seat. Oh. Well, ya never know...

My aunt, who is a public defense attorney and works with juvenile delinquents reamed me in a Facebook status comment for taking matters into my own hands rather than contacting the authorities. She's right, I took a huge risk and put myself in danger by facing this kid. It's not that the thought of calling the cops didn't cross my mind, it's just that I have no faith in them. It's not them that I don't believe in really, but with recent decreased funding to the police department, our resources are limited and I felt that this situation wasn't reason enough to detract from them. I just knew that if I didn't go after that bike, I would never see it again. I should have been okay with that, but I reacted quickly and irrationally.

Another thing that keeps haunting me is the kid's misfortune. I don't know if he personally broke into our garage or if he bought the bike off of a friend like he said. Judging by the way he reacted when I honked at him, he knew that bike was stolen. A part of me still feels that we stole from him. There he was, merrily riding along when this crazy woman chases him down and rips his bike out from under him and then her crazy husband comes and punches him in the face. Poor kid is now bikeless, bloody and (possibly) out a hundred bucks. What a shitty day!

So far, I'm lucky. No one has come back for revenge on the twice-stolen bike. My bike is still out there somewhere, but I'm not going to go looking for it. I hope that it's spray painted by now so that if I do see it, I won't recognize it and do something stupid again. Sometimes you should get away with things. The thief can get away with stealing my bike if I can get away with the risk I took. We'll call it even.

As a welcome home present to Brian's bike, I am going to take new pictures of it with a non-wrinkly sheet in the background

It's always more fun to get high TOGETHER

2010-02-01T07:23:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned I love my dog, Zeke? He is such a great running partner. Oh, and he's been doing much better with the shoe chewing thing. It's ironic because now I'm thinking he can just have them! I'm really becoming a believer in barefoot running. Yesterday I set out on a hike with Zeke, which turned into a run. I am still resting my hamstring but it was nearly 45 degrees and sunny in January, who could blame me for breaking into a run?

After about a mile I took my shoes off. The trail was smooth in that spot, but grew rockier. I just took my time and stepped as softly as possible. I even ran over several sections of packed snow. It wasn't as cold as it sounds. It's definitely cold if you stop on the snow, but running on it felt great since it wasn't as rocky as everywhere else. The parking lot of Red Rocks Open Space was packed so I knew my bare feet wouldn't go unseen. I was sort of prepared for that. I passed by a couple who gave me funny looks, but didn't say anything. Then a family with two small children pulled over to the side of the trail to let me by. "Barefoot, huh?" the dad commented. And I smiled and said "Yup, just trying it out." Then I heard his kids asking him questions about why I was running in snow with no shoes. Sorry, dude, hope I didn't set a bad example.

Next I crossed paths with a woman about my age who was running and she said "That's awesome." Okay, I felt a little better at this point. Less self-conscious. I don't think being barefoot is something to be ashamed of, but I'm not exactly a beautiful gazelle, swiftly-smoothly-gliding through the forest. I'm more like Homer Simpson falling down the stairs "D'oh! Argh! Er! Son-of-a!" Not something to be entirely proud of....yet.

After about three quarters of a mile I stopped caring who I saw on the trail. I was just really proud of myself because I was running over new terrain with no shoes and I felt like I was on my way to becoming a real barefoot runner. I know it will take time. Years, probably. But it will be good for me, Instant Gratification Girl, to practice that kind of patience.

I love running barefoot with my dog. I'm like "Hey Zeke, look at me, no shoes! Just like you!" and he's like "Cool, I'm going to go chase those deer!" Between reaching a new barefoot milestone, and running for the first time in a week, Zeke and I found ourselves totally elated and just couldn't stop running. I felt the ol' Runner's High coming back and I know Zeke was feeling it too.

losing things

2010-01-28T13:59:00.000-08:00

"Riches do not exhilarate us so much with their possession as they torment us with their loss" - Epicurus

Yesterday our garage was broken into and my and my husband's mountain bikes were stolen. I don't want to dramatize the situation but I really feel the need to share a little about our bikes. Maybe this is part of the healing process.

I moved to Colorado permanently after college in the Spring of 2005. I had a little graduation money, a newly acquired Bachelor's degree and an ex-boyfriend waiting on the back burner in case anything fell through. What I didn't have was a clue about what I wanted to do with my life. I did know that I needed a job. I started by getting in my car and driving North on Academy Blvd. I applied to several retail stores as I made my way up Academy, not really caring which of them called me back, as long as one of them did. Then I reached Bicycle Village. When I walked in that store I immediately wanted a job. These were my kind of people. They were all college or post-college age, all fit, fun and intelligent. And they were so NICE. I spoke with the girl at the register for a long time. It was the first conversation I had had with anyone since moving and it felt so good. I loved the idea of being surrounded by bike people. I had a road bike and was into triathlons at the time. My goal was to do an Ironman, and I thought keeping this kind of company would ensure that I didn't let that goal slip away.

I got the job and my entire world opened up. I learned so much and met so many cool people. Being from Kansas, I hadn't a clue about this obscure sport of riding fat-tired bikes on trails encumbered with rocks and roots. I had to learn about mountain biking quickly since my new job was to sell the bikes. I became more and more intrigued with the sport. I coveted the mountain bikes in the store so fiercely that I often had dreams about riding them on the trails my road bike would never dare to brave. Of course, even with my employee discount, I couldn't afford one of these things. Not any of the good ones anyway. That's where Brian came in.

I met Brian at an ice-skating rink. All of the Bicycle village employees had gone skating and one of the girls brought her boyfriend, who brought his roommate, who was Brian. Brian worked for the rival bike shop, Criterium. He said he could take me mountain biking on one of their rentals. I was in! I called him the next week and we planned a ride. It was supposed to be an easy ride since I had never been off-road before. It ended up being the hardest thing I had ever done in my life (including a couple 1/2 Ironman triathlons). We rode The Buckhorn and Captain Jack trails in Cheyenne Canyon. The ride took almost 6 hours and was anything but beginner friendly. I almost cried at the top of the first climb. Brian is a GOOD rider and apparently has a hard time gauging the difficulty levels of trails for ordinary people. Anyway, I was hooked. I went on a few more rides with him on that rental bike and then one night he called me at the shop and said "I have a bike for you." Really? What did that mean? He said it was a loaner, but I was stoked! I went to his house that night where he finished putting the parts on and fit me to it. The frame was his very first mountain bike. It was custom-made for him but he had designed it himself before he knew much about geometry so it was always a little too small. It was perfect for me though. Between Brian and his roommate, there were enough parts to put the bike together for me. Yay!

Mountain biking became my thing. My new thing. I rode it almost every day, even if it was just a short ride at Palmer Park, a sweet mountain biking spot right outside my apartment complex. My skills had a long way to go so I rode every chance I got. My endurance was pretty good from road biking and running, but mountain biking still kicked my ass! I loved working at the bike shop even more now because there were so many experienced riders to push and teach me. There was always someone to ride with, no matter what day, what time or how last-minute it was. That summer I did some races on that bike. I did the Buffalo Creek Xterra, the Crested Butte Xterra, and even won the beginner category at the Wildflower Rush XC race. I also raced the Super-D there, which is a cross between downhill and cross-country. I went over my bars and got this bruise.>>

Over the next couple years, I rode with Brian a lot. We rode all over Colorado together. He really opened me up to this beautiful state and its endless trails. Somewhere along the line we started dating. One thing led to another and I got pregnant. I continued to ride until about 3 months of pregnancy. Since becoming a mother, I have only gone on a handful of mountain bike rides. While my love for mountain biking never faded, running was the more practical activity for a new mom. I dove into running and left my mountain bike hanging in the garage, promising it I would take it out again when I had more time away from the baby. Time passed and I lost interest. I grew more in love with running. I set all kinds of running goals and only thought of my bike when I had an injury or a friend who wanted to go riding. I did not consider myself a cyclist any longer.

When Brian and I discovered our garage had been broken into, we immediately started taking inventory. We have a lot of bikes between us, so it took a few minutes to realize which ones were gone. When I realized it, my heart sank. Oh. No more mountain bike. Since it is winter, and I haven't mountain biked regularly in two years, it is taking some time to sink in. It's not necessarily the bike that I am mourning. If it were, I would have started mourning it when I was pregnant because that's when we really lost touch with each other. I feel like a little chunk of "me" was snatched from my garage. For my husband and I, bikes are part of our identities. Our relationship was founded on a love of bikes. Bikes brought this family together. Brian is a frame builder and he hand-built his stolen bike. It is his baby, his art. I know this is harder on him than it is on me.

Last night after all the venting, cussing and "why-me-ing," Brian hugged me and said that sometimes you have to lose something you love. It builds character. Upon hearing that, I felt a little sense of peace. The bikes were merely this: metal; rubber. Albeit expensive metal and rubber... The important thing is that we have each other. The garage was robbed of the bikes that began our relationship, but our family remains intact and love tenaciously abounds.

This is not a testament, BUT....

2010-01-20T15:56:00.000-08:00

Everyone's talking it. Everyone's trying it. I hate to be such a lemming, but I jumped on the bandwagon. I did it 2 miles into my run yesterday. It was warm for January but since it was late in the day and overcast, there weren't as many people treading the Santa Fe as I had expected. I had Jonas in the stroller and he was sleeping. I had Zeke on the leash and he was pulling HARD. Apparently I'm not the only one who can't handle a week off of running. So there we all were, trotting merrily down the trail. I was focusing hard on my hamstring, trying to analyze (honestly) how it felt. I was admitting to myself that it did indeed hurt. Well, it didn't necessarily hurt, but I could feel it. No wait, I'm supposed to be honest, ok, it hurt. Two cyclists passed. I felt the urge. Then I passed an elderly couple with dachshunds and thought "I'll do it just after I pass this next lady," a mom walking with a stroller. Then the trail divided and I went to the right, onto the singletrack. I noticed that the dirt was different than the main trail. It was smooth and dusty as opposed to gravely. I glanced back once. I realized I was still in plain view of the mom and her stroller, so I kept going. Then I thought "what the heck," stopped abruptly, ripped off my shoes and socks, stuck them in the trailer and took off down the trail barefoot.

It felt wonderful. I ran through a few icy puddles and even that was okay. It was liberating like skinny dipping. So fun! Then my trail looped back around to the gravely stuff and it got harder. I found myself running only on my toes. I tried to roll gently onto my heel and that was really hard to do. I thought perfect form would come naturally once I took off my foot-coffins, as they have been called on barefootrunning.org, but it wasn't that simple. I still didn't know if I was doing it right. I never know if I'm doing it right. But one thing I did know, was that my hamstring felt fine. 2 points for barefoot running.

In case you haven't heard of this new-old trend of barefoot running, I'll explain it briefly. The theory is that our feet are meant to be naked. Their response to the earth teaches the rest of the body how to move properly. In countries where bare feet are less of a social stigma, there are fewer foot problems. I think this idea is already becoming more mainstream. If you're a semi-recent, newish parent, chances are your babies wore Robeez or a similar soft-soled shoe when learning to walk. This is because they allow the foot muscles to develop and function properly by not putting anything but a thin piece of leather between the foot and the ground to which the feet respond. Barefoot runners claim that the overuse injuries so many runners are plagued with are a result of bad form, which comes from habitually running in shoes that are too built-up and do not allow our soles to feel the ground. I myself am ridden with overuse injuries. I've suffered IT band syndrome, piriformis syndrome, knee problems, stress fractures in my feet and now this hamstring thing. I hate how they're called "overuse" injuries, like you're not supposed to use your legs. Come on, they're my legs, I'll use them as much as I want! Alas, there's always some kind of untimely protest so I'm willing to try anything now.

I had read the warnings about barefoot running. Take it s l o w they say. I tend to get a little overzealous when trying something new and fun so of course I wanted to do the whole run without my shoes. I probably would have if my feet hadn't stopped me. I also read on barefootrunning.org that your feet are like two coaches. They tell you when you're doing it wrong and they make you stop. So I stopped and put my shoes on, ran some more and then tried again, then finished up with shoes. I felt good after the run. My feet were definitely tender and my calfs a little sore. Hamstrings feel fine. Well, if I'm still being honest, they feel not-worse, but that's a good thing, right?

As soon as I got home I started Googling. I read tips and techniques for barefoot running, watched some videos, read testimonies of converted runners and got myself all convinced that this is the right thing to do. I kept seeing Vibram 5 Fingers pop up in discussions and there seemed to be a bit of controversy surrounding them. Many people are using them as a transition to barefoot and swear by them. The barefoot purists say that there is no substitute for barefoot running; you can only learn it by actually doing it. Makes sense. the Vibrams, or any "minimalist" shoe still protect your feet and therefore don't allow your soles to tell you how to run gently. So you've still got bad form, but not the support offered by traditional running shoes that your bad form needs.

I'm not about to give up all my miles until I can do them barefoot. I just can't let go and start all over like that. So if I decide to go barefoot, I will still have to wear shoes for most of my miles. Now, which is the lesser of two evils? My running shoes, or a minimalist shoe like Vibrams or Nike Frees? This is where my dilemma lies. I am an instant gratification girl. This flaw is manifested in my body when I get overuse injuries. I know that I am going to have patience with my body if I choose barefoot running. I haven't even totally decided if I'm going to convert. I say it now, when I'm injured and desperate for an answer but when I'm healthy again I can totally see myself giving up on the barefoot endeavor that I know will take years to become routine. I want to run injury-free, I want to run a LOT, and I want it now!

Hamstring Drama

2010-01-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

I'm on Day 3 of no running, due to some hamstring issues. I have been having pain in the very top of my hamstring where it connects to the ischial tuberosity. I'm thinking it might actually be one of the ligaments up there and I'm HOPING it's not an avulsion, the common running injury that occurs when the overuse of the hamstring muscles force them to pull away from the bone. I think if that were happening I'd be in much more pain, and as it is now, I can tolerate it just fine while running. If I sound like I don't know what I'm talking about, it's because I don't. I'm not a doctor and I haven't seen a doctor.

All I've done is frantically Google every combination of every word and phrase that says "my 'right-here' hurts, fix it!" And when one site doesn't give me the answer I'm looking for I click away onto the next one. What I'm looking for is something easy, something cheap, and something that doesn't involve dreaded REST! I keep hoping to find some miracle witch-doctor cure in an obscure little corner of cyber space that says "Crush 3 cloves of garlic, mix with catnip and fish oil, smear on affected area then jump up and down on one foot under a crescent moon in the presence of a dog, a cat and a black squirrel." Ya know? That would be something I can do about it. The fact that I can feel something there that isn't going away made me decide to take some time off. Honestly, I have been feeling this literal pain in the butt since before I started my ultra program. I know, I never said anything. I guess I was in denial. It happens. Lesson learned.

So today (Day 3 no running) I started getting antsy. You know that feeling when you haven't been on a run in awhile and everything starts to annoy you? And you start to feel fat and lethargic and and anxious and you can't seem to think of anything to do that will satisfy you? Yeah, that started today. I failed at everything today. My brain wasn't functioning properly at work, I was unsuccessful at getting my toddler down for a nap, I ate a sugary, unsatisfying snack then skipped dinner. F- for the day. I was feeling quite sorry for myself, sitting around the house after work, wondering what people do with themselves on beautiful 54 degree sunshiny Colorado days when they can't run.

I ended up talking myself into swimming. I used to be a competitive swimmer, but since high school the pool has served as rehab for running injuries only. Oh, and triathlon training before I became a mom. It's so weird that swimming was once something I loved. Something I absolutely lived for. Now I hate it. I have the hardest time motivating myself to get into the water. Today I told myself that it would give me a little bit of quiet time and relieve my anxiety. It worked. Sort of. I swam 2000 yards, which is not bad considering I don't swim regularly, but it wasn't satisfying. I felt like a vampire drinking synthetic blood (sorry, True Blood on the brain) when I thirsted for the real thing. The swim was just sustenance. It wasn't satisfying.

Oh well, the pool is all I've got for now. It will have to do. I know that some more seriously injured runners are thinking "3 days? Psshhht! Talk to me in 3 weeks!" I know, I know, but the worst part of having to take time off for an injury is not knowing how long you will need. I'm sidelined indefinitely and if I'm back up and running tomorrow, then yeah, I'm a drama queen. Hopefully next time I blog I will have something more positive to write about. Like miles of trails and sun. Until then, I'll live vicariously through you other blogging runners. Run an extra mile for me!

Primary TVs and Treadmill TVs

2010-01-05T07:34:00.000-08:00

Every year Old Man Winter brings me the same things in varying degrees. Snow, ice, cold, and a case of seasonal depression. The Winter Blues, or "The Coldrums" as I call it. Well, not every year. The few years I lived in Colorado before becoming a mom, weekly snowboarding did an excellent job of fending off the Coldrums. Now here I am with a 2 1/2 year old who needs his outside time and long days that sometimes hover around zero degrees. Thus I have set out on a quest to discover the Great Indoors.

With my son, I play games, build castles with blocks and read stories. My husband and I have started a few home improvement projects that we knew we would only work on when we were "stuck" inside. We ripped up all the carpet in the bedrooms and stripped the hardwood floors underneath just before Christmas. We devised a plan and re-arranged furniture to maximize and create space in our little 800 square foot house. In the living room stood a humongous, obtrusive, particle-board entertainment center with a dinosaur TV in it. It took up precious Crossfit and yoga space and served as a "catch all" for junk mail, toys, etc. We had to get rid of that thing. But where would the TV go? We contemplated not having a TV but we're just not ready for that yet. It is a point we hope to reach in the future. TVlessness.

We rarely watch TV. We don't have Cable and with the switchover to digital TV, the channels we used to get just don't come in anymore. The TV does serve as a useful baby-sitting device at times when I need to make dinner, get a few miles in the treadmill, or have an important discussion with my husband. It also keeps me on the treadmill for as long as I need to be during Jonas' naps. I've found that watching a TV series on DVD works nicely because if it's a show I'm into, I can't wait for the next snow storm so I can get on and watch my "stories". Right now it's True Blood. I can run on that thing for almost 2 hours if Jonas sleeps that long.

We agreed that the TV stays. Well, not that TV. We bought a new flat panel television that mounts on the wall to save space. Really, we only bought the TV to save space. Well, that was my reasoning anyway. My husband was thoroughly geeked out over the pixel resolution, LCDness and general flatness of the thing. Like I said, the old one was a dinosaur. We went to Best Buy, found the cheapest one in the size we wanted and then I set off to find a salesperson to sell it to us. That was a lot harder than you might think. Those sales people don't usually hang around the cheap TVs. Finally I managed to drag a pale lanky gamer kid over to our aisle. I left Brian to talk with him and chased after Jonas, who had spotted the drums of the Rock Band display. Several minutes later, Brian came to get us, new TV boxed up and resting on his shoulder like a boom box (he would never have been able to do that with the dinosaur). I was impressed. "That thing must be light, " I said. "Yup, it is." Brian replied.

When we got home Brian told me that the young salesman had actually tried to talk him out of buying that TV. Some salesman, huh? He said that the resolution and quality were inferior to say the least. He asked if this would be our "Primary TV" and if so, he wouldn't recommend it. To get the guy to sell us the thing, Brian told him no. This was the Treadmill TV. We already have a sweet TV. A very big, very expensive, very high-def, (very imaginary) "Primary TV". The salesman was still hesitant to sell it. I can't blame him. If we all went blind from squinting at that low resolution, he would have it on his conscience. Brian had to convince him that I wouldn't mind low-resolution because I would be "going like this" (he mimed me bouncing radically while running in place).

I'm happy with the TV. I think it's modern and fancy and I don't care what that gamer says. I started wondering if everyone has more than 1 TV so I looked it up and sure enough, the average American household has 2.24 TVs. Wow. Ok then. I guess that salesman's question was legit. Here's where I would go into a rant about television's role in Americans' sedentary lifestyles and how it leads to obesity. But I guess I can't talk cause I do have one, and I do love it, bunny ears and all. It keeps me running through the Coldrums.

Balance: I learn as I go...

2010-01-03T15:49:00.000-08:00

I just wrapped up my first Rest Week of ultra-training. Apparently I forgot to do the "rest" part. Well, not really. I kept my mileage low (only did 25) but I also did a speed workout earlier this week and lifted weights yesterday. I did a Rare Crossfit workout and then some kettlebell swings and now I'm feeling quite sore! So tomorrow is my regularly scheduled rest day, but then I will head into a 55 mile week with already sore legs. Ugh!

So how do you do it? We know that cross-training, yoga, foam rolling and weight-lifting are all elements of training that will make us strong and prevent injuries, but how do you fit all that in when you're a regular Joe Schmoe with a job, a kid and a mortgage? How do you work all that into the schedule when you're not a professional athlete?

Well, weightlifting during Rest Week is out for me, so here's what I'm going to do: I will try to get in just ONE Crossfit workout per week, though two would be better. I will schedule just ONE day of yoga, because it's better than the zero days of yoga I am currently managing. And I will keep my Monday spin class that I feel obligated to attend with my friends OPTIONAL, skipping it when my legs need the break since Monday is my Day Off. And I will NOT watch TV unless my foam roller is UNDER my IT band causing marginal discomfort. There. New Year's Resolutions done.

Here's to a year of balance. Oh, and moms- you know what I mean by "yoga" right? Not that peaceful, enlightening, moving-into-yourself BS that we hear about. I mean striking a pose when your toddler is distracted by his Legos on the other side of the room. Peace is relative, right?

It's 10:33 AM. Do you know where your running shoes are?

2010-01-02T09:33:00.000-08:00

I love my dog. I do. He's cute and sweet, and the best running partner anyone could ask for. He sticks with me, never tires, and even provides much-needed entertainment during long grueling trail miles. He comes when I call him (provided I remember the turkey bacon) and he waits for me at the top of steep hills as I slowly stumble my way up. There's just onnneee thing. And it's a small thing, really. It barely even qualifies as a "thing". He chews shoes. Running shoes in particular. He's still just a pup, so I'm working on breaking this habit. But man, it makes me want to scream when I find one of my beloved and quite indispensable running shoes outside with half of the heel missing and guts spilling out. Nooooo! But it's too late. Zeke looks at me with those sweet brown eyes and cocks his head to the side. He notes the fury in my expression and before I can blink, he's on the other side of the yard, tail and butt in the air, legs lowered, ears up, and grinning. The classic "play bow". He doesn't get it.

It's my fault, really. I'm a big girl and I know what happens when you don't put your toys away. Zeke just doesn't allow for slip-ups, not even one. After our run yesterday, we walked in and my husband was mopping. Rather than track muddy footprints through the living room, dampening the chances that my husband ever mops again, I took them off and put them by the door. I left them there all night and this morning I glance over and see just one running shoe by the door. Noooooo! I run outside to search the back yard (we have a dog door so it's easy for Zeke to sneak things outside) and there it is. Cowering under the paws of the shoe monster, with its laces draped between the fangs limp and lifeless, hanging by a couple of threads. I sigh a huge sigh of relief. Relief? After my poor baby has been mutilated? Well, it was just the lace. Totally replaceable. "Bad boy" I say, and snatch the shoe. "Bad BOY!" And he jumps up and tries to grab it back. He doesn't get it.

Both of my current running shoes are now safe and sound, tucked away in their over-the-door hanging shoe organizer in my closet. I promised them it wouldn't happen again, but they look at me with doubt in their eyelets. They know I mean well. And I know Zeke means well. He only does it cause he loves me so much. There is no one else in all the world who loves me that much. There are drawbacks to every relationship. I could name several drawbacks to the relationship my husband and I have. Same for my son and I. Mom, dad, siblings, boss, friends, milkman... But when the perks outweigh the liabilities, I say it's a relationship worth hanging on to.

track running

2009-06-06T07:07:00.000-07:00

There are two kinds of people who run on the track. Fast athletes and joggers. I fall somewhere in the middle. I decided to start doing my "speed" (I use that term loosely) workouts on the track per the advice of Runner's World magazine. Supposedly the track can make you fast. We shall see. Until yesterday, I have always chickened out on these track days. I get there, ready to run my timed miles and I see the cool people already running on the track so I head for the trail, either skipping the "speed" part of my workout altogether or doing my timed miles on the trail. If fast athletes are on the track and I am on the track, and there are only two kinds of people who run there, then I'm the jogger. I don't like that.

Yesterday there were fast people at the track at the start of my workout so I decided to come back to it after 4 miles and promised myself that I'd do my "fast" miles there if the fast people had gone. Only two of my seven miles had to be "fast". When I returned to the track, there was a different set of fast people running, but I decided to suck it up and do my miles anyway. Guess what! I didn't get laughed at, didn't get yelled at, didn't get made fun of (as far as I know), and I did my "speedwork" on the track. I didn't feel like a jogger. The fast people didn't even care that I was there. In fact, upon closer evaluation, they weren't even that fast.

I have created a black and white world for myself where everyone is either awesome or shitty. You're either a saint or a douchebag. No one except for myself is gray. Gray is my favorite color because it is noncommittal. I often find myself running along the margins of black and white pages, looking for a good spot to jump in. Somewhere I might fit in. I'm considering turning everyone else to gray so I don't have to be the outcast anymore. Looking around, there are plenty of middle-of-the-packers.

I don't want to be embarrassed about going to the stupid track. I just want to go there, run my miles and leave knowing I've done something to make myself faster. The track is the thing I've always avoided and I still haven't reached my goal of qualifying for Boston. Maybe that's why. Maybe if I face the track once a week during my training, I will earn myself a place. I am not a jogger. But if I don't do speedwork on the track, then I'm not a runner either.

B to the Log

2009-06-03T20:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took Jonas to the Stratton Open Space to walk. It has been raining a lot lately so there were lots of mud puddles for him to run through and jump in. He fell a few times and then cracked up. He couldn't get enough of those puddles! He started a running game where he would run several yards ahead of me and then stop and say "Mommy's turn!" Then I would run to him and pass him and he would yell "Jonas turn" and run ahead of me. This went on for about 1/2 mile. It was really fun. I might have a little cross-country runner on my hands!

Muddy Jonas

I have been running on the treadmill during Jonas' naps. This saddens me because I live in beautiful Colorado Springs, where one should always be outside! But my weekday runs are getting longer; too long for an almost-two-year-old to have to endure everyday. AND it's been raining everyday right as I get off work, which is when I run. That is so frustrating! Why can't it rain while I'm AT work and clear up at 3:00? I'm thankful that I have the treadmill, though. It gets the job done. At the end of the day, I am just happy to have gotten my miles in. Today I did 9.

I hope to keep this blog going throughout my marathon training. It started out as an arty/poetry type thing, but it may turn into a workout log. Ha!

good exists

2008-02-18T19:21:00.000-08:00

"Grace" is one of those Christian buzz words. It has about 20 dictionary definitions. The one that happened to me yesterday was number three: favor or goodwill. Saturday was sunny and above 50 degrees. After finishing my morning group run with Jonas in the Chariot at the Air Force Academy, I was not yet ready to retreat indoors for the day. I got overzealous and decided to run Barr Trail. The Chariot is too big to push up Barr Trail, so I tied Jonas as tight as possible onto my back with my Mei Tai. I ran up 45 minutes then turned to walk down. I hadn't anticipated the treachery of the snowy descent. It was no bueno. On the way down a particularly icy section I was stopped by a couple who undoubtedly thought I was the worst mom in the world; either that or the dumbest. But they didn't stop me to lecture me or to call CPS on me. They stopped to offer me the woman's Yaktrax. I declined several times but they insisted. Already embarrassed to be caught in a moment of supreme senselessness, I finally accepted the kind gesture. I might be an idiot, hiking icy trails with a 7 month old baby on my back, but I'm not an evil idiot. If these Yaktrax were going to save my child's life, than I was a fool not to take them.

We arranged for a spot to leave them at the trail head and I said many thank-yous. The man lent me his arm to steady myself as I stretched the Yaktrax over my running shoes. Then I took off down the trail. I had been hiking less than a minute when the man caught up to me and said "You know what, why don't you just keep those, we'll get new ones, it's not a problem" Again I tried to argue but again he insisted. Those Yaktrax really did save our lives on the way down. I don't know how I would have handled it without them. Hiking down Barr Trail in the snow is hard enough without a baby on your back, throwing off your center of gravity so I don't know what made me think I could do it initially.

So grateful was I to those people that I smiled all the way down the trail. I felt like the Grinch at the end of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" when his heart swells out of his chest. Sometimes people surprise me with their goodness. Their Grace. Just when I start thinking the world is a terrible place full of violence, poverty and apathy , people like them show up to donate Yaktrax to an ill-equipped young mother on an icy trail and restore my faith in humanity. The world is still a terrible place, but Good exists.

Panis Angelicus and other Catholic Classics

2008-02-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

Panis Angelicus and other Catholic Classics

Why are mothers compelled to sing when their infants cry? It's not soothing. No. Not at all. Especially when that singing mother is yours truly. If anything it makes babies scream harder and louder. When Jonas and I find ourselves in a situation where he is unhappy and I can't do anything about it, say, driving on the highway, it is always such a stressful thing. First it starts out as a whimper, or a few minutes of consistent grunting. Then it escalates to a cry. Before I know it, there is a screaming banshee in the back seat in the midst of a complete emotional meltdown that I have absolutely no control over. I panic. Biologically, mothers are programmed to hate the sound of screaming babies. This is Mother Nature's way of ensuring that an infant's basic needs are met. Those basic needs do not include being sung to in an out of tune, off-tempo, don't-quit-your-day-job fashion. So why is this my first inclination? I do not know. All it does is annoy Jonas even more. Hell, I even annoy myself when I do it.

Tonight Jonas cried the whole way home from Chilis and in a pure state of panic, I frantically searched the archives of my mental music collection for appropriate songs that might provide some comfort for my hysterical child. Don't ask me why but all I could come up with were Catholic hymns. I can't even remember the last time I attended Mass, let alone participated in the Offertory Hymn with an open Misselette in hand, but "Be Not Afraid" and "O Come O Come Emmanuel" and "Come With Me Into The Fields" were filling my brain and flooding my memory like incessantly played-out Top Forty pop songs.

I sang those hymns tonight like a Crucifix-wearing, florally decked, shoulder-pad sporting, poodle haired, Eucharistic ministering, bake sale organizing bona-fide Church Lady! I wasn't a crazy white trash mom speeding down I25 in a Saturn with a butt-crack in the bumper and a wailing pant-less baby in the back seat. No. I was an angel. A celestial being. A beautiful, singing divine messenger, stopping crime and ending wars with my magical melodic voice. My enchanting song made rapists stop mid-thrust and reexamine their consciences. My captivating croon filled the world's hungry with the sensation of a thousand Chipotle burritos each. Even the homeless found shelter in the confines of my Christly carol.

Triumph all ye Cherubim
Sing with us ye Seraphim
Heav'n and earth resound the hymn
Salve Salve Salve Regina

All the problems of the world were solved when I became a singing angel in my car. All except the problem at hand. Jonas continued to cry. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with my holy fantasy. He didn't care whether his mom was a hooker or a Heavenly being. Bottom line, his basic need (whatever it happened to be at that particular moment) was not being met. And calling on the Lord through jumbled fragments of "On Eagles Wings" was not going to ease the situation no matter how breathtaking my voice.

Next time I will just let him scream. I will offer no consolation as it has proved ineffective thus far. If an Angel of God can't pacify my child than I sure as hell can't. Five bucks to the friend who can name this tune:

"It's hard to dance with the Devil on your back..."

from cheese to carrot

2008-01-30T19:18:00.000-08:00

Stupid American Idol never fails to make me cry. I think the producers have found a way to weave Estrogen into the Alpha waves that my TV is sending out into my living room. One note of a Whitney Houston song (one that I would normally scan shamelessly past on the radio) coming from the belly of a 18 year old Pet Smart cashier on a mission to get the hell out of Dodge and my eyes turn to watery pools of emotion. Barry White, Celine Dion, Luther Vandross and the like have never succeeded at making me cry with their corny ballads, so how is it that these sweaty and awkward teens are evoking so much emotion from me just by singing a single a cappella verse during auditions? I don't know. Sometimes I say to myself "Who ARE you?!" Like today, when I changed my favorite cake from Cheese to Carrot. I just don't know. I surprise myself sometimes.

My soul is a big fat black woman singing the blues in a smoky New Orleans bar. She is prisoner of pit stains and bad breath and utter poverty but she knows why the caged bird sings...
My soul gets high and drinks Southern Comfort with Janis Joplin.
My soul gets low and shaves her head like Britney.
My soul gets off on sunshine and wind and the stars in the San Luis Valley because they're so close you could jump up and catch them in your beer bottle when you're really drunk.
My soul is B Minor because my fingers still stretch and struggle to keep the strings down and fuck it if it never comes out right.

Alas, I am still a white girl as far as this life is concerned. Just trying to keep the snakes at bay. Just living one day at a time. Paycheck to paycheck. Boyfriend to boyfriend. Apartment to apartment. Mile to mile. Just another white girl who will never make it to American Idol to be discovered. Just another white girl still choking on dreams as they cut to commercial.

snakes in the brain

2008-01-26T19:23:00.000-08:00

Brian calls them snakes. Snakes in the brain. And I guess that's a good way of putting it. The snakes have been writhing a bit more violently than normal lately and he thought I might need to talk about it. The thing is, I'm done talking. I have decided that life is not a long winded poem, a good conversation, or a concerned email from a friend. And I don't need to "talk it out". I need to do everything but talk it out. I need to sweat it out bleed it out piss it out puke it out shit it out and be done with it. Because life is not a conversation about life. It's the verb. The air I breathe the pain and all the joy I feel and the things I do as opposed to the things I say. So I'm done being lame. I'm going snowboarding tomorrow. I suppose that's a start.

poison summer

2008-01-19T19:18:00.000-08:00

Last night as I was sliding in my Saturn down Garden of the Gods Road in the snow, a song came on the radio that took me back:

The last time I went on the annual family vacation out East, I was a posh fifteen year old. I couldn't believe how completely unlawful it was that I should be forced to share this twenty-eight hour road trip with one dork, one brat, and two insanely illogical authoritarians. It was a complete injustice that I would have to put up with this totally inferior clan for no less than the seemingly impossible duration of TEN days! I had a Discman, a journal and a yearbook full of people telling me how awesome I was. The Discman to drown out the unbearable drones of Rush Limbaugh and Dr. Laura, the journal to record the abominable actions of the travesty that was my family and to express every detail of my maltreatment. And of course, the yearbook to make me feel a little closer to the ones who knew what it was like to be cool. My friends, the people who "get it".

There are parts of my self whom I wish to go back in time and kill. Or at least sternly reprimand. One of these selves is a fourth grader whose floral stretch pants and scrunchy socks were thought to be all the rage. The other is a sixth grader who thought her killer Down's Syndrome impression was second to none. Another is that surly fifteen year old in the back seat of the gray Plymouth Voyager on the way to Long Island to see Grandma.

I don't remember much about that family vacation. It probably went something like this:
Erin stop! Mom, Erin's touching me! Are we there yet? can we go to McDonalds (Teresa) Can I have some pretzles? Hiiiii Graaaandma. Your pants are too long, they're dragging on the ground. Let's go buy you some nice pants. Where are your bangs? You can't grow out your bangs, your forehead is too big! We're going to Mass. I hope you brought something nice to wear to Mass. Do you want to play with the American Girl dolls? I bought a new outfit for Molly and I bought her backpack and her bicycle too. No running on the hardwood floors you'll slip. Take your shoes off in the mudroom. You can play with your mom's old jump rope if you wish. There's also a Skip-It in there. Do you girls like Skip-It?

One thing I do remember very vividly in fact, was the one and only cool person I saw on that vacation. On the ferry to Fire Island. He had Airwalks on his feet, a boom box in his lap, jean shorts and shoulder length brown hair which whipped his face in the salty Atlantic wind. He was at least five years oder than me. Maybe in his mid-twenties. He must have been a camp counselor or something because there were millions of Puerto Rican children swarming about him. Tugging at his shirt, poking him then giggling and ducking out of the way. None of this madness phased him. He was completely relaxed as he closed his eyes and breathed deep and gave himself to whatever was coming out of that boom box.

Intrigued, I moved up a couple of seats to be across from him and to disassociate myself from the cheesy family who kept talking to me in direct violation of our understanding that we were to ignore each other in public. I wanted to see what was written on his "Hello My Name Is.." sticker. I wanted to see what color his eyes were. Most of all I wanted to hear what was coming out of that boom box that seemed to be taking him far far away. As I leaned in I recognized Don Henley's "Boys of Summer". Except at the time I thought it was "Poison Summer" and something about that misconstruction fit perfectly into the little hole I had taken along on the family vacation. "I can tell you/ My love for you will still be strong/ After the "Poison Summer" has gone..."

I fell in love with that guy on the ferry that day. Although I never did find out what his "Hello My Name Is" sticker said, or the color of his eyes, as he had them closed the whole while, there was still something about the way he tapped his foot and drummed the boom box. Something about his hair getting windblown and tangled in perfect conjunction with Don Henley's voice singing "I can see you/ Brown skin shining in the sun..." Something about a little smile on his face that told me he had no idea I was watching, no idea that anyone was watching. Something about the way he was able to put himself in another place just by closing his eyes and listening.

I wondered if he had a girlfriend. I wondered if he called her "Baby." I wondered if he lived in an apartment. I wondered if he was in college. I wondered if he would open his eyes so that we could get married. Whenever I hear "Boys of Summer" I think about that guy and my own "Poison Summer," cursed with spending ten days of quality time with my loathsome kinfolk, only my CDs and my Clearasil to comfort me. It has been almost ten years. Still, when I hear that song I close my eyes and become transported like that guy. I feel the wind on the ferry and I taste the salt in the air. I see his Airwalks tapping and his stringy hair dancing. And I laugh a little inside, because "Poison Summer" is not the name of the song. And looking back, that summer wasn't so bad.

metaphorical cake

2008-01-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

This past week has been a series of ups and downs. Actually just varying degrees of down. Jonas got teeth, Brian got a speeding ticket, I had a full-on anxiety attack, and our bedroom door now has a hole in covered by a full length mirror that holds about as much validity as one you might find in a fun house. The world keeps spinning and I feel as though I'm being flung up against the wall by centripetal force and I'm searching desperately for something to grab onto. I'm looking for something solid to cling to so that I can stop spinning for a moment and relearn simple breathing. I have been distracted by pure things that I am quite unworthy of. My thoughts have been muddled with what if and if only and why why why.

Dani and I discussed weddings yesterday. We both find it to be incredibly rude and tacky when the bride and groom smear cake in each other's faces. As an ex-pastry chef who has baked hundreds of beautiful wedding cakes, Dani was somewhat familiar with this crude practice. Apparently, In the olden days when women had less of a choice in taking on life partners, this was a bride's subtle way of expressing her distaste with the groom she was reluctantly marrying. I can't say I blame her. If smashing cake in someone's face was the one way to express resentment during a time when a woman's words were to be sweet and limited, then I'm glad for those brides. I'm going to love you as it is now my duty, but I must first convey how much I hate the whole idea.

Today I realized that I have been smashing metaphorical wedding cake in Brain's face almost daily since the night the pink line appeared on the EPT. I cannot help resenting him. I remind him everyday how much I loathe his computer and his slurping and his whistling and his cat and the list goes on. I keep picking away at small things because I am denying the real problem. It all came to a head tonight when I was called out for this very problem. I am an asshole.

And there's Brian. On the couch watching Rambo. Escaping the confines of my ridicule. Eluding my nagging voice by seeking solace in machine guns and shouting. That makes me feel like a fucking doll, let me tell ya. He's wiping his face off again and I'm wondering when he will give up. Will there come a time when we can really just sit ourselves down with forks and plates and eat our cake like civilized people? Stay tuned...

the same old me

2007-12-28T21:17:00.000-08:00

Jonas graduated to a big boy car seat today. As I wrestled with the unfamiliar straps and complicated buckles, a small lump formed in my throat. Wasn't it just the other day I was still in the delivery room going through the same ordeal with the foreign straps of the newborn car seat? An image of an angsty teenage Jonas peeling out of the driveway with no car seat at all popped in my head and I had to bite my lip and blink back the ridiculous tears. Time goes so fast. I'm just biding time with him.

I'm beginning to think that some sort of arrested development occurred in my brain somewhere between 4th and 5th grade. When I close my eyes and try to picture who it is that I think I am, the picture is one of me on the ferry to Fire Island with my dad. I'm almost 10 and I'm wearing a kitty sweatshirt I painted myself with craft paint and a stencil. I have about 40 friendship bracelets on each wrist. And bangs. Big thick ones. I want a hamster and pierced ears and a perm and I can't wait.
Brian's mom gave me banana clips in my stocking this Christmas. I couldn't help but smile at how great they would have looked almost 15 years ago with the perm I never got. You know, often when I see middle aged office ladies that still have feathered hair and shoulder pads I think to myself "What's her problem? Doesn't she know she's stuck in the early 90's?" I guess time just goes so fast that they don't notice the fashions rapidly changing around them. They are in their offices, stuck happily in their primes, probably not even giving a shit about the bright chunky jewelry that has replaced delicate gold heart shaped lockets and cheesy charm bracelets. They don't care that the girls are now straightening their hair, rather than teasing and perming.

I try to stick to the classics. I wear a lot of black because I'm just not hip enough to keep up. Every now and then if there's something that has seriously caught on, I'll jump on the wagon a little late and hang out toward the back, so no one notices just in case I want to jump back off. I do have some pretty big ass sunglasses. One thing you will never see me do is wear fuzzy boots over tight jeans. I'm not really a good candidate for that look anyway because A) I'm too short and fat for it and B) I'm not a movie star.

Brown is the new Black
Less is the new More
Old is the new Young
Skin is the new Coat
Modest is the new Vain
and I am the same old Me

constipated in cleveland

2007-12-25T22:16:00.000-08:00

in a town where everyone is rooting for the browns, i feel as though i'm the only one not giving a shit. literally. it may be tmi but i haven't pooped in five days! maybe it's the lack of activity. or maybe these gray skies. seriously, does the sun ever shine in cleveland? i feel like this town sucks the happiness right out of everyone. all the people here are pissed off. maybe they're all constipated like me. and they all have mustaches. what's up with that? they just look mean. all the ladies in the stores are so bitchy and they all smoke.

the browns lost yesterday and the only reason i'm upset is because i predicted that if they won, i would take a shit and be relieved of this stifling misery. and if they lost, six more weeks of constipation for me. i knew it. so far my prediction is right.

i miss colorado and its blue skies and its perky, polypropylene-wearing people. i miss my drunk neighbor clunking around in his boots. i miss the option of going snowboarding, even though i can't actually find anyone to watch my kid. i just miss having that option. i miss pikes peak, even though i've never been to the top. i just miss looking at it. i miss my jogging stroller. but mostly the sky. i've taken for granted the luxury of looking up and seeing blue. or any legitimate color for that matter. anything but gray. and i miss colorado's people. its running, riding, skiing, recycling, granola-eating, rock-climbing, polite, healthy, attractive, smiling, new life-going, customer service-oriented, intelligent, beautiful people!

so here are the things i like about cleveland:
westside market
running in the woods
lake erie
all food
downtown
the fact that the sun comes out for a few brief moments at the end of the day to set over the lake giving me something to look forward to the next day
jonas making his grandparents smile
brick streets
the big brick houses near the lake
the art museum (the one exhibit that i saw)
brian's mom's fascination with giant discount stores filled with junk
westside market
westside market
westside market

there. i named a bunch of good things about cleveland. now maybe karma will smile down upon me and give my clogged intestines a f***ing break!

my cartwheel

2007-11-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Thayer had big frizzy hair and too much blush. Her butt was so big it spilled over either side of the piano bench. We had to drive 30 miles to get to her house and then I had to sit in her dank basement doing homework while Teresa went into the piano studio for her lesson. A toddler Erin would run around the room and my mom would balance her checkbook while tapping her snow boots. Then it was my turn. I hated being alone in there with her. I hated those basement windows that were way at the top of the wall and when you looked out all you'd see was the dirt in the window well and the bottom of the neighbor's house. The glass of water with its disgusting lipstick prints stood beside the metronome atop the piano. They stood there together looking down on me, mocking me as my fingers slipped off sharps and stumbled too quickly through the tougher measures. Then Mrs. Thayer would make me do them over, telling me to focus on the time signature this time and listen to the ticking metronome. She would lean in squinting, crowding my space, invading my bubble so that I could smell each particle of her potent old lady perfume. Begonias and Lilacs. Or whatever flower it is that old ladies like so much... She would shove her swollen hand with all its rings into my middle C position and show me how it was to be done. There was no clock in there so I never knew how much time was left. Sometimes as she was blabbing away about ritardendo or decrecendo, her hand would rise like a maestro and I would strain with all my might to catch a glimpse of the hands on her tiny gold wristwatch. It was just my luck that the thing didn't have any numbers, so if I ever did get a look at the hands I never got an actual time. Just a vague idea that left me more frustrated than anything.

One day Mrs. Thayer left the room for a moment. I don't remember why. Maybe it was to answer a phone call. Maybe to refill her lipstick-smeared water glass. Maybe to take a pee. I really don't remember. All I know is that I, a daring nine year old, was briefly left alone in the piano studio and an urge so strong I couldn't resist came over me. Risk slithered down my spine as I made the decision to do it. My cartwheel.

I did a cartwheel in Mrs. Thayer's piano studio. As soon as I completed my covert little stunt, I scurried back to the piano bench and resumed my studious piano-playing demeanor. No sooner had I smoothed my hair back down and straightened my blouse then Mrs. Thayer opened the door. “Are you ready to try again?” she asked. With adrenaline still rushing through my body, charging to my fingertips, I played a perfect “Allouette” . I finished my lesson with a tiny smirk in my soul. I left Mrs. Thayer's that day with a smug satisfaction. The same smug satisfaction I still feel when I get away with something. Since that cartwheel, there have been few things that I've actually gotten away with. I didn't get away with drinking beer on campus. I didn't get away with driving with expired tags on the Air Force Academy. I didn't get away with parking too close to a fire hydrant in Denver. I didn't get away with unprotected premarital sex.

But

I do occasionally get away with a free bag of kitty litter because it's on the bottom of the shopping cart. Right now I'm getting away with not having a full-time job. I hope to get away with the payments I've missed on my student loans. But if not, I'll just do another cartwheel when no one's looking. And that will be just as good.

some thoughts on University Park

2007-11-15T23:26:00.000-08:00

On two occasions, completely independent of one another, I have been called a German Shepherd. The first time was by a boy whose name I can't recall in my fourth grade class. The second time was by a girl in my 7th grade class, shortly after the movie "All Dogs Go To Heaven 2" came out. This was years later and at a different school in a different state! That simply can't be a coincidence. I've been carrying around this "German Shepherd Complex" ever since. I hate those stupid dogs. Whenever I happen to be around someone who has one I get all nervous and paranoid. I start sweating and shaking and searching for excuses to get away. It's as if I think the dog owner will pause mid-conversation and say "Hey! I just noticed you kinda look like my dog!" It's absolutely dreadful! When I ring someone's doorbell and dogs start barking my heart skips a beat and I begin praying rapidly "please don't let it be a german shepherd please don't let it be a german shepherd pleasedon'tletitbeagermans

hepherd!" Needless to say, when I am ready for a dog, it will be a Lab or a Husky or a St. Bernard or a Shi Tzu (because I like the name).

Jonas just fell asleep in my lap and Brian just got home so now I can go running sans the jog stroller. I like running at night because nobody else is out. Everyone is at home, finishing dinner. Scraping the last few bites of steak and potatoes into the bowls of their eager German Shepherds. The other night I ran through University Park. I admired all the lovely things I will never have:

A gigantic house on top of a hill with a door that I am not allowed to paint because of the Covenant.
A sixteen-car garage that I could live in comfortably with my family, and store everything I own and use as a painting studio.
A sprinkler system that I would of course only run at night.
Grass.
Sod (I never liked sod much anyway. It's too pretty, like a wig for the earth, just weird).
Landscaping.
A pension.

It hurts, sometimes, to see other people’s things. Especially when they are things that are so far out of reach for me. The University Park residents probably worked very hard their whole lives and this is why they can afford beautiful houses and waterfalls. They have so much money, yet somehow I know they would wrinkle their noses at the prospect of replacing the brake cable on their grandson’s Huffy. Maybe I’m just prejudiced. It hurts me, sometimes, to see people who have everything. Especially when I know that all Brian wants is an education and a little space to build some bicycles.

Sometimes when I’m running, a moment passes quickly by and I wish I could decipher it with Galileo’s insight. I wish I could write it with Sylvia’s words. I wish I could sing it with Aretha’s conviction. I wish I could paint it with Pollock’s nerve. I wish I could run it with Shea’s heart and legs. Wish I could top it out with Peter’s strength. Wish I could kiss it with Sarah’s guts. Lick it up with the reckless abandon of a German Shepherd. Sometimes it passes by so quickly and I am just greatful that the night is cold because I can still see my breath. And this proves I am living.

early morning ramblings

2007-11-09T06:26:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about the grand scheme of things lately. Mainly because I like the word "scheme". Almost as much as Brian enjoys "neurotransmitters". So anyway, in the grand scheme of things, it's hard to tell what's important. How do you not fuck up the Present without fucking up the Future? Why do I always have to choose between these two tenses. I like Past because it's over and there's nothing I can do about it. My brain is full of lame chiches right now because the other night we were talking about forks in the road. Once forrks are in your head, you start recognizing them all over the place. What if I do this instead of that? What if I go here instead of there? What if I choose black instead of white? (I stick to gray). And you could drive yourself insane with "what-iffing".
Maybe mental health isn't a choice for everyone, but for me it is. I try to make decisions about the way I feel. I could choose to get upset over something trite and then feel crappy or I could choose not to let silly things bother me and be happy. I could choose to feel ugly or I could just avoid the pro shop mirror and like myself all day. I could choose to let myself sink into criticisms and let them drown me, or I could use them as tools to improve myself. This is much harder than it seems.
I have a new expensive mouthwash that claims to kill the bacteria on the way back of your tongue, ending bad breath forever. I think it works ok, but it makes my throat hurt all day. I've been chewing lots of gum lately. Did you know that chewing gum causes gas? It's because you swallow all those tiny bubbles. It seems unfair that I should be forced to choose between bad breath and gas. Two most unattractive qualities. When I asked Brian what he'd choose, he said he'd rather have gas, because at least asses are supposed to stink, and nobody is going to be kissing it anyway. I guess this makes sense...
I've been so distracted lately. I guess because it's easier than being focused. Last night I contemplated immortality as though I had a choice in the matter. I just feel like I need a few more lives to get it right. Then I contemplated death because I do have a choice in the matter and that was just too much to think about while changing a diaper.
Sometimes I get overwhelmed and my brain spins, pen spits, hand slips, heart shits and I'm right back where I started. Considering the grand scheme of things again as though I have a crystal ball...

ugly snow boots

2007-11-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

So there I was in the shower. Thinking. Just like I always do in the shower. When suddenly I gasped out loud upon realizing that I have done almost everything I have (at some point) vowed never to do. These things include:

wearing Crocs
holding hands in Wal Mart
procreating with someone under the height of 5'10
sewing
creating "bathroom art"
reading Harry Potter
becoming obsessed with Harry Potter
thinking like my mom
talking like my mom
going to church like my mom

I've noticed that my hands are starting to look like my mom's and all I can do to prevent their further evolution is keep on biting my nails (and putting off that ring). When I was in the 3rd grade my favorite chapter book was called "Mom, You're Fired!" It was about a girl my age who was constantly embarassed by her eccentric mother. I remember when my only wish in the world was that my mom wouldn't have her jeans tucked inside her snow boots when she picked me up from school. My stomach would ache with anxiety as the final bell rang and I'd gather my books and papers slowly, putting them in my backpack neatly as other kids crammed theirs in and dashed out the door. My heart would fill with mortification at the sight of her standing outside that silver Volvo, waving to me as if I didn't know where she'd be parked. All I could see were those awful snow boots. The shin-high-black-and-pink-g

reen-laced-damaging to my reputation-snow boots with the jeans tucked inside so all my friends could see them.
I hated Minnesota because before we moved to God-forsaken Burnsville, my mom had never owned boots like that. She had always worn normal shoes as far back as I could remember. She wore New Balances in Texas. She wore leather sandals in North Carolina. She wore Sauconys in New York.
My mom's style has since improved. For this, I applaud the ending of the 90's. She now lives in Kansas, where the snow is never deep enough to warrent anything more water resistant than her regular brown teacher shoes. So my question is this: Why do parents get cooler once you move away from them? Why do they turn into regular people just after you learn to disregard them? And how can I ensure that I don't become "that mom" myself?

puberty vs. post-partum

2007-09-02T16:15:00.000-07:00

these past seven weeks of postpartum have been a lot like puberty. i bleed. i cry. i cramp. i break out. i hate my body. and once again i find myself relating all too well to the likes of alanis morisette. at least i don't have homework. at least i don't have mrs. robinson. at least i don't have braces. at least i don't have to worry about who i should or shouldn't sit with in the cafeteria. at least i don't have to sit in front of matt, who liked to put shit in my hair. at least i don't have to play flag football.

soap operas and maternity leave

2007-08-10T19:12:00.000-07:00

brian thinks i overuse exclamation points and the word "okay" (sometimes spelled 'OK'). he thinks that might be the reason i didn't get the online tutoring job which is sort of like an instant messenger with a chalkboard where you tutor kids who are in afterschool tutoring programs. i thought i had it because i got a letter that said my application was reviewed and accepted and i filled out all the paperwork and the w-9 but then i guess i didn't get the job based on my shitty online mock-session where i freaked out and they asked me a math question and i forgot all about percents and i felt like an idiot and i was so nervous and then brian came home in the nick of time and answered the question for me but you're not supposed to give away the answer on tutor.com so that's why i thought i didn't get the job but maybe it was my overuse of exclamation points and the word "okay" which i kept spelling "OK". anyway, that job would have helped out a lot now that i'm staying at home and we're living off one bike shop salary...
this morning jonas was crying so i sang the national american university jingle to him repeatedly for about 40 minutes. "get your degree, set yourself free/ national american university" now i can't get that stupid jingle out of my head... "one day one night/ saturday's alright". i've noticed they run a lot of commercials for vocational schools and two-year colleges on daytime television (which i swear, i only watched the first 2 weeks of my maternity leave). i guess they're aiming to motivate all the losers who are home during they day watching lame talk shows and soap operas.
speaking of soap operas... i regret to admit that i actually watched one. those things have to be written for stupid people. the script was absolutely retarded! and i never use that word! the actors kept reiterating their motives like 16 times in a scene. just in case the viewers forgot why a character was angry with another character. they just kept reminding us like this:

"i will make judy pay for ruining my life by telling rob the truth about her love child with philip"
blah blah blah some more stuff happens and then this again:
"but nancy, i just can't let judy get away with marrying rob after she ruined my life. i have to tell him the truth about ther illigitimate child!"
another 10 seconds of dialogue and then BAM:
" as soon as i tell rob judy's big secret, that she has a child with philip, he will never love her and i will have my revenge. she will pay for ruining my life"

i changed the names so you guys won't know which soap i watched...not that i think any of you would know because i'm about 99.8% sure none of my friends watch soap operas.

i swear, these scripts are written for either really dumb people or really forgetful people. i must admit it was pretty funny to watch. i wanted so badly to turn off the tv but i just couldn't. it was like watching a really fat chick in low-rise jeans bend over and not being able to turn away from the dimpled ass crack no matter how revolting...
but really, i think i'm done with soaps. by the way, why is it called a "soap opera"?

well, enough about that. i need to get out of here and take jonas for a run.

nothing in particular. particularly nothing.

2007-06-27T21:51:00.000-07:00

why do they call it a "tall" at starbucks when it's actually a small? i'm 5'0. do i get to call myself "tall"? no! of course not. whatever. so here's some personal information...my cervix is 80% thin. that means the baby is coming soon. maybe within a week! brian and i took childbirth prep on sunday. i had to stick my hand in a bag of ice for a minute and a half repeatedly to practice breathing through the pain. brian had to give me massages. we got to lie on the floor with pillows and blankets and watch a movie about birth. we both slept through it. the teacher said we get popsicles during labor and we can have as many as we want. i hope they're the kind with jokes on the sticks like "where do books sleep?" "under their covers!"
i was trying to do "nesting" today by cleaning my room and washing the baby's clothes in dreft. but the washer broke halfway through the cycle so i just put everything in the dryer. i don't even think anything got rinsed. that sort of defeats the purpose because now the baby's clothes prbably have more chemicals than if i had not bothered to wash them at all. oh well. i tried.

midgets and pregnant chicks

2007-06-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

today i am really easily annoyed. i hate my job. i hate all the customers. like this californian guy on the phone who was like "can i talk to someone who really knows directions?" and i was like "where are you coming from?" and then he said that again like 3 more times. Do i just sound like i don't know where i work or how to get there? he didn't even give me a chance! and so i gave the phone to shea and let him give the directions. the guy was at some random intersection that no one even knew of. it's like, "one moment sir, let me activate the gps system in my brain. i've got this internal mapquest system in my fucking head that tells me exactly where you are, latitude and longitude and everything, hang on, would you like to know your precice elevation and the elevation gain from where you are to the bike shop, you know, just so you can be prepared in case you experience some altitude sickness along the way?" fucking californians. and he made it a point to let shea know that if shea were in california and wanted to know how to get to blah-blah-blah beach, he would be able to give accurate directions. whatever. when brian and i were in san diego we wanted to know how to get to the fish market and the girl on the phone was wrong. just because you live somewhere doesn't mean you know every spot in the city and how to get anywhere from that spot. why do people have to be so demanding and so rude?

and i'm so tired of being pregnant. it's like people just think they can talk to you about all kinds of personal issues just because you're pregnant. they ask you when you're due and is it a boy or a girl and is it your first and are you ready and are you excited and is your (indescreet glance at naked ring finger) um, partner(?) excited and do you have the name picked out and what is the name and aren't you just roasting in here and how is it being on your feet all day and does he kick and aren't you just ready to pop him out and are you going to have an epidural and on and on and on....

now, i realize that i stand out. i have a huge belly and it's pretty obvious that there's something in there besides pizza and ice cream and beer. but do total strangers have to comment on it all the time? take midgets for example. midgets, like pregnant women are rare and cute and interesting. they provoke many questions that i myself would love to ask. why are you so short is it hard finding clothes does it suck asking people to reach stuff for you can you drive do you have really low counters in your kitchen how do you use the urinals in public restrooms where do you buy your shoes do you like to hide in small spaces is it hard finding jobs have you thought about joining the circus do you have a boy/girlfriend is he/she a midget too don't you hate it when people stare at you? but out of basic respect for humans and their emotions i suck it up and refrain from asking these questions. and god knows i would never touch, poke or rub a complete stranger's belly!

ok, enough said. i feel better.

banana clips

2007-05-25T19:04:00.000-07:00

My timing is always off. Mrs. Vitt. my piano teacher in middle school made me play along to one of those awful metronomes so that I could improve my timing. The obnoxious ticking just frustrated me and I got worse. She said I had no concept of rhythm, that I just made up my own rhythm and it was never congruent with anything but the voices in my head. She didn't understand that there was a logic to my rhythm or lack thereof and it made perfect sense. I played every song as fast as I could so I could get the hell out of my piano lesson and go play outside. But of course I couldn't play everything super fast becuase some songs had more sharps than others (sharps were my nemesis) and I was forced to slow down. To make a long story short, I quit piano as soon as my mom gave up and realized she was wasting her money. She didn't let me quit without the "you're going to regret this when you're older" lecture. And of course, I do.

The piano was the first thing in my life to hint that there might be something wrong with my timing. Since then I've found other clues. You know, for instance, my hair looks really good in a banana clip. But unfortunately for me, I was born about a decade too late to sport banana clips while in my prime. I can't help it if I have this thick wavy hair, just coarse enough to hold a banana clip with no slippage for an entire day. And soft enough to resemble a serene yet stunning waterfall cascading down the back of my head when gathered with a banana clip.

And another thing, I'm always hitting or running the yellow light. It's the shortest of all three lights. If I were any good at calculating probability I could tell you how unlikely it is that someone who drives about 50 minutes a day would hit all yellow lights. Good thing I'm a pro at running them, or else I'd spend the majority of the day in my car running late and the rest of the day getting in trouble for being late.

I'm always getting all the good advice at the wrong times. My mom called the other day to tell me that she met a guy who registered for an Ironman Triathlon and then got injured or deployed or something and he asked for a rollover entry to the next year's race and it was granted because he took the time to call and ask a favor of a human being rather than reading the refund information on the website and concluding that he was screwed and had wasted lots of money. Why didn't anyone tell me this when I needed a refund from Ironman Couer d' Alene? And why did my mom bother telling me this story now that it's too late? Just so I could kick myself a little more? Who knows...

I meet the right people under the wrong circumstances and I encounter all the wrong circumstances when the timing is right. Does that make sense? I'll never be one of those people who miraculously evades a tragic plane crash because they missed their flight for one reason or another (traffic, family emergency, whatever...) and the plane they were supposed to be on blows up or is hijacked and they praise God thanking him for sparing thier perfect lives and count their lucky stars again. No, I'll be the girl who thinks she has come into a bit of good luck when she win's a all-expense paid trip that she doesn't need to go on but says "ah, what the hell," packs her bags and sets off for a vacation cut short by a plane crash....

protecting my fruit snacks

2007-02-10T18:59:00.000-08:00

Brian has a jar of change in the bedroom that he says we will someday use to go to Alaska. I have a Mastercard that I say we will someday use to go to Alaska. There is a rapidly growing bulge inside my sweater that says none of us will be going to Alaska. I already know that Brian, ever the optimist will leave me a comment something to the tune of "we're going to Alaska, if it's the last thing we do. Fuck yeah."

Sometimes I wonder what Paris Hilton is doing at a particular moment. Buying really expensive shoes? Dropping in on a friend in Venice? Hooking up with a male model who won't know how to spell her name but will buy her anything she wants? I've been trying to figure luck out. How is it distributed? The good and the bad, among all seven billion people in the world?

Sometimes I still think about Red Feather. An old homeless man who lived in Alamosa, of all the miserable places one could be homeless. We gave him plenty of free coffee, and a few times I would sneak him some of the apple turnovers that couldn't be sold after four o'clock anyway. Then he got his foot in the door and started asking for more. Begging like a dog everyday. So grateful when we would oblige, so cruel when we did not. But always finding the nerve, even after condemning me to hell several times over, to come back and ask for more. One night he crashed a party at my friend's house. we were outside drinking beer on the porch when he wondered up in his familiar red hoodie and black backpack.
He wanted to know what we were laughing about. He wanted to join in with his own made-up anecdotes about his own made-up friends and family. He wanted to stand in the middle. He wanted to put his arm around us like old friends. He wanted to pretend he would be going home later like the rest of us. And when the hosts tried to wrap up the party, he wanted a place to stay. And when the hosts didn't want a creepy old man on their couch, free to steal whatever he wanted from them and put it in his backpack, he threatened to cut them up with his knife.

The desparation in that man's eyes, in his voice and shaking hands, has never left me. I remember it when my bank account dips too low and when my car insurance skyrockets due to the untimely unveiling of a one year old 16-20 over speeding ticket. I feel little tremors of that same desperation when Brian steals a fruit snack from me. It's that human instinct to get what is yours, and protect what is yours. And now that I am to be a mother that need to protect has amplified to a sometimes unreasonable degree. Now every bill in my mailbox is no longer something that I owe someone. It is someone trying to take things away fom my baby. It is someone who's after us, trying to ruin our lives.

Then there's Brian's jar of change in the bedroom. keeping me and the baby a little bit safer each time we add to it. And there's my hidden stash of fruit snacks, safely tucked away in a place Brian would never think to look. Not to be eaten, just to be there for comfort's sake...

goodbye summer grove

2006-12-29T12:56:00.000-08:00

Someone left a note under my windshield wiper shortly after I moved in. LEARN HOW TO PARK! I got it. Since then my parking jobs have been nothing short of perfect.
That parking lot had the perfect speed bumps for practicing bunny hops. I once spent a whole Saturday practicing. I remember the feel of adrenaline pumping through my veins as I would approach my favorite series of speed bumps, the ones on the east side of the building by the dumpsters. "This is it. It's all or nothing. Go for the kill"And I would pop smoothly over the bump at record breaking speed. I was well on my way to hopping up a curb, but I would try that another day.
Then there was the day the police came banging on my door, disrupting a quiet evening of reading. "Pamela Greenfield?"
"Uh, no, you have the wrong apartment"
"Is Pamela Greenfield here?"
"No. You have the wrong apartment"
"Mind if we look around?"
"Go for it"
Apparently Pamela Greenfield was threatening suicide and my apartment was her last known address. Whatever.
When Teresa and Erin visited we drank wine and rum and went on a food hunt in the middle of the night. All we could find were Donettes at Walgreens. Which, according to Erin, aren't even real donuts. They're like donuts with vaginas.
I never did have the smoke alarm hooked up. Two days after I moved in the battery started dying which made a loud beep every eight minutes. I took the thing down and never bothered to buy a new battery. Oh well, the next renter can deal with it.
Goodbye grueling staircase, where it never mattered how good of shape you were in, you would always be panting and clutching your chest at the top...
Goodbye tiny bathroom where i locked myself for two days after learning I was pregnant...
Goodbye laundry machines that you had to have a laundry card to use, and you could only put money on it during office hours, which never happened to include times you suddenly remembered you desperately needed to do laundry...
Goodbye old lady with walker who has made me late to work on several occasions by clogging up the hallway with slowness...
Goodbye little gym where i got to watch VH1 while running on the treadmill, unless that one guy already had it on BET...
Goodbye cheerful ladies in the office who always remembered that my mom is the one who sends packages in shoe boxes covered in duct tape....
Goodbye family of eight with the mother of eighteen down the hall...
Goodbye mother of eighteen knocking on my door trying to sell me makeup in Spanish...
Goodbye going down the stairs to get to the main floor and then going up to get to my floor...
Goodbye couple who walks their cats on leashes outside...
Goodbye same couple who drive a motortricycle with a Minnesota Viking on one side and "Not Fragile" on the other...
Goodbye deceiving name of "Summer Grove" where it was rarely summer and hardly a grove...
Goodbye.

running on the treadmill at the Y

2006-12-19T15:08:00.000-08:00

running on the treadmill at the Y

It is cold and snowless today. I ran on the treadmill at the Y to avoid nature's ornery climate. Like a hamster on its excercise wheel, I ran and ran until I finally got to where I was going. Nowhere. I finished in the same spot I started. And I, being the overanalytical philosophizer that I am; equated this concept to life. You're born. You die. You run around a lot inbetween. Ultimately you achieve the very status you claimed before you entered the world. Nonexistance. Christians might argue that you've always had a soul. Hindus might say you were something else, and something else you will become. But how do you know? You were not aware of yourself until roughly the age of four and you're probably even less self-aware by the time you hit seventy. That leaves adolescence, young adulthood and middle ages. Please tell me I am not the first image I noticed of myself. The wishy washy pimply fat girl with braces that saw the world so blurrily because she refused to wear glasses. Please tell me I am not who I am now, because I am someone that I should have figured out by now but am still utterly clueless about. Please tell me I am not who I think I will be in 20 years. Crazy mom in the returns line at Target wearing sweatpants and a fanny pack. Glowing with the leftover post-exercise high as I run my errands after another provocative workout on the treadmill at the Y.

ashes to ashes

dust to dust

oops i got knocked up

2006-12-07T19:34:00.000-08:00

it's true. yes. yes it is. Fat is inevitable. Sleeplessness is a given. Individuality is packing it's things. Youth is loading the van, Freedom is driving off into the sunset. I am barefoot on the porch, waving goodbye. Devastation pulls me inside. Dread lulls me to sleep. Hope persistently wakes me each morning.

is that a burrito in your speedo or are you just happy to see me?

2006-11-07T19:06:00.000-08:00

happy voting day. here's something that should have been on the ballots: old men in speedos. i was swimming at the Y last night, just minding my own business, swimming along when i stopped between sets for my 30 second break at the wall. as i removed my foggy goggles and reached for my waterbottle i saw something that made me do a double-take, ok a triple -take, ok so i couldn't stop staring!. this old man's speedo was completely worn and see through! he was walking across the deck to the hot tub, with his long veiny legs (partially tan with age spots), big bloated belly, and blue speedo thin as a fly's wing and loose with years and years of overuse. it was pulled up to his ribcage. i have to admit i let my gaze shamelessly follow his exposed crack and swinging ballsack all the way out of sight.

am i a pervert? no! it's not like it turned me on. it was more like a brutal car wreck that you just have to slow down for. the morbidly obese woman at the beach slathering sunscreen over waves of rippling flesh. the awkward gothic teenage boy with (is that a skirt?! or wide leg pants?) black lipstick and eyeliner and spikes and chains all over, glaring at you because he's insecure and you are blatantly staring at him but you know he must want to be seen or else he would wear what all the other kids are wearing... point being , I just couldn't tear my eyes off this speedo! i was shocked, i was appalled, i was fascinated, intrigued, disgusted! what should i have done? should i have told this old man that his speedo had seen it's last day thirty years ago and that it was time to let go for the sake of all YMCA patrons? i couldn't do it. i knew, judging by the obtrusive hearing aid protruding from his ear, i would ultimately end up repeating the already uncomfortable confrontation several times. no, there was nothing i could do.

as someone who swam competitively since the 6th grade, i am accustomed to many bodies in many speedos. i used to claim that i was immune to this obscene but functional garmet. at the Ft. Leavenworth pool, where we would frequently gather to tan and swoon as teenagers, my friends would giggle and point at the grape-smuggling foreign officers. but i would always roll my eyes as though i were the only mature one, and that seeing a speedo was no big deal and i saw them all the time at swim meets. but look at me now, image of an old man's buttcrack burned in my brain, unable to shake the swinging sack from my memory. i have grown younger. years younger.

killing time

2006-11-06T22:07:00.000-08:00

yesterday was beautiful and i killed it. each passing minute i spent in my stuffy apartment shoved the guilt deeper and deeper down my throat until it was lodged in a most uncomfortable spot somewhere along my esophogus (i like that word). i couldn't smile. i couldn't cry. i couldn't go outside, though that is what i needed most. i settled on sleeping becuase it was easiest. it was an escape. a cop-out. i wussed out, i pussed out on Life.

i don't have an excuse or even an explanation. for some unkown reason i just felt that Life was too big for me yesterday. i coudn't face it. yes, i could have. i didn't want to. i slept, i sulked, i mourned the sun as it sunk lower and lower outside my window. Then suddenly lept up, unwilling to surrender completely. i had to get out and savor the last hour of a dying day. i felt as though i had done something horrible. something that would equate betraying a lover or wasting my life savings on a pool table. i had to get out there and redeem myself. i hiked in garden of the gods. i saw the moon shine full and bright between the kissing camels. pregnant with promise for new days.

lovely things

2006-10-24T18:52:00.000-07:00

i had a dream about spiders. i was in a shop, like the metal shop in college and there were jars of spiders on all the benches. someone spilled them all and i had to squash them as fast as i could because the longer it took to kill them, the bigger and more ferocious they grew. cut to classroom scene. i was late. everyone was looking at me. i sat down and opened my book. the teacher yelled at me when i admitted i hadn't read the entire third harry potter book before moving onto the fourth one. the class laughed. cut to confessional. the priest was wearing a black robe. i told him i might not like art as much as i claim to. then i woke up.
things i like:
colorado; old book smell; pink; black; nepalese food; running in the rain; boys with guitars; tori amos; text messages; exclamation points; forward motion
things i hate:
two or more girls at the same time (unless i am one of them- makes me nervous); overdraft fees; feeling obligated to maintain old friendships; feeling obligated to buy something when i go into a very small shop and the salesperson's attention is fixed on me alone; feeling obligated to close my underwear drawer when i am expecting someone; obligation; semicolons; roundabouts (what are you supposed to do at those things?); misplaced anger

workouts

2006-10-16T00:26:00.000-07:00

my face is starting to resemble some type of italian entree...regurgitated at that. my eyes are bloodshot and half-closed. i cut my hair last night to eliminate split ends. i always wonder when i cut my hair...how long have i had that hair? years? since college? since high school? did i go to the prom with the same hair that now litters my bathroom tile and clogs my sink? or am i constantly shedding? if that's true, how does it stay so long? i cut bangs so that i could look more like someone i don't even like. identifying with the agressor? no. she just has cute hair. bangs. more for me to hide behind.
lately i feel as though my workouts are semi trucks driving too fast down a tumultuous fire road and i am being drug behind by a rope, which i am clutching relentlessly in raw hands. i never feel in control anymore. i am not running the mile repeats. they are running me. i swam last night after work. even in the pool, you can tell it's nighttime. the lifeguards are yawning and checking their watches. they toss half-assed glances toward the pool as they finish up cleaning and closing duties, wishing i would just leave so they could go home and eat or go out with their friends or answer that booty call or whatever... but i still have 2 more sets of 6 x 25, 5 x 100 and a cool down left. fuck 'em. it's their fucking job and if i want to wait til the last possible minute of the day to do this workout it's nobody's business but mine, as long as i get out of here before 9 pm. and i did.
each morning i get a choice. i can get out of bed and venture into the cold dark morning and get it over with. or i can sleep in, wake up after the sun rises and allow that pregnant cloud of impending workout to hover over my head all day. dread, i call it.
i wanted this. i want this. i want the prestige, the pain, the proof, the chafing, the exhaustion, the blisters, the sunburn, the high, the bonk, the finisher's medal. i'm the one who signed up for this. i never thought it would be easy. i never even thought it would be much fun. i guess i just figured each day of training would hold the same excitement, the same triumph and glory as race day. not so. it's still the same me chugging along, however awkward or ably up another beastly hill on another boorish run. and when i reach the top, the road still ribbons on the way it always does with miles to go. and when i reach the end of that particular run, ironman is still a distant illusion. and although i come closer every day, the end is still an abiding horizon, keeping itself [this far] from me and my dream.

feeling winter

2006-10-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

i am feeling winter today. i don't know if i'm quite ready to let go of autumn. my favorite season. also the most fleeting, quite like all the things i love. i have been cold since i awoke this morning. i was cold all day yesterday. i try to remember the last time i was warm and of course then i was too hot. i think i have learned to live with a lower body temperature than most people. you always feel the most nostalgic at the changing of seasons. but of course they have to change or else we would forget ourselves. we would lose ourselves in one comfortable temperature, one phase of photosynthesis, the same shade of sunrise at the same time every morning, the same tone of wind, smell of air, lure of mountain. you finally get accustomed to one season. you adapt to it, you accept it and the next morning you wake up inexplicably earlier or later or colder or happier or lonelier or warmer or itchier or stuffier or skinnier or fresher due to the changing of season. and you remember that you're alive. you're moving. you're constantly moving even when you think you're standing still and then you contemplate forever. you contemplate immortality as if you have a choice. and then you consider death but only because you do have a choice. and you like the feeling of control that it gives you. and then you flip it all around, new perspective and you realize you really don't have control afterall. and then your brain spins, pen spits, hands slip and you find yourself desperately trying to grasp distractions as you spin by because it's all just too much...

leaving your bicycle in the front yard

2006-09-26T18:46:00.000-07:00

if you leave your bicycle in the front yard overnight because you went inside to play video games and forgot all about it, it will probably be gone in the morning. you are lucky if it's still there.
i watched a man with a mustache and a mullet ogle my breasts as i pumped my car full of gas this morning. i cringed as a slow smirk spread across his face. "this is hate" i thought. or maybe "hate" is what i did to myself last night and i'm just taking it out on that slimy perv who is now looking me up and down, licking his lips and nodding his approval. was that a wink? now he is putting out his cigarette. "dirty" i thought. or maybe "dirty" is what i made myself last night and i'm just taking it out on the slimy perv who is now hawking a loogie in my path as i walk toward the door to pay. "vile" i thought. or maybe "vile" is how i acted last night when i dissected two healthy brains on clean sheets and then proceeded to mash them up like avacados, mixing in citric acid and sodium, ignobly attempting to make something old into something new or maybe something new into something familiar.
and now i remember my abandoned bicycle, rusty with morning dew, laying in the cold grass, drive-side down waiting to be stolen
again

some questions about cosmopolitan with a random leap into the"pickle jar theory"

2006-09-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

Why is "Love & Lust", one of the regular sections of Cosmo it's own category? Why are love and lust lumped together as though they are one concept or even remotely related concepts? They don't categorize all unrelated ideas in magazines. Just Cosmo. You don't pick up Fisherman's Monthly and see the heading: "Bass &Cold Whether Gear". You don't pick up Woman's Day and flip open to "Coping With Menopause & Heplful Baking Tips". You don't find "John Mayer & Who Shot Biggie" jammed together in one article of Rolling Stone.
Love and Lust. Lust and Love. One is always disguised as the other. They are always working together to send people further into the hazy depths of confusion. Can't we separate them? Can you have one without the other? Can you have the other with out the one? (Sarah, I expect you to respond to this).
I am always putting things where they don't belong. I leave my keys in the sink or between the couch cushions. I sometimes put my YMCA card in the silverware drawer. I have a painting hanging over the light switch so I have to lift it up carefully everytime I come home at night and make sure it still hangs straight after turning the light on. I put the wrong things in the right places and the right things in the wrong places.
I let the wrong people in, learn "valuble lessons" from them, and then apply those lessons erroneously to the right people, who are veritably the wrong people to inflict my "valuble lessons" upon. Someday I will get it right. The pickle jar theory will take affect and I, already loosened by so many greasy hands will open easily for someone with clean ones.

some happier thoughts

2006-09-14T23:44:00.000-07:00

i can understand why everyone thinks i'm depressed. after reading some of the shit that i write, i can't blame people for thinking that. but don't be fooled! i love every dismal, bleak, joyless, self-depricating thought that seeps from my morbid head. and truly, i am happy. i guess i just express my happiness in other ways. i ride my bike, hang out with friends, who wants to be alone writing or painting when you're in a good mood? not me. anyway, here is an attempt at some happier thoughts:
i was just thinking about my mom when we lived in minnesota, how she stuffed her jeans inside her knee high snow boots, even when the snow wasn't particularly deep. this parental humiliation did a number on my already arduous adolescence.
and i was just thinking about my mom again, when she took in Nacho for me because i got caught with him in college (no dogs allowed in my apartment complex). i was home for xmas break and everytime she came home from a walk with him she would jubilantly announce the literal outcome of the walk "Nacho peed and pooped!"
i was just thinking about my dad, how i came home one night all late and stoned and found him in the living room watching planet of the apes. he was sitting on the floor indian style inches from the television rocking back and forth like a mentally retarded kid who could barely contain his excitement. the sight of him, so child-like in all his thick-spectacled, open-mouthed fascination with the apes made me want to laugh and cry all at the same time. instead i joined him for the remainder of the movie, in an effort to bond with my unassuming father. i don't think he ever noticed me come in.
i was just thinking about teresa and erin, my sisters, and getting drunk with them in all their underaged glory. making fun of my poems and my quote book that i've kept since 6th grade. it's full of lame cliches such as "where there's a will there's a way" and "love is a many splendored red red rose that won't make you cry or puke" blah blah blah. things that must have been inspiring at one point in my life. "no guts no glory" and erin's famous "these aren't even donuts, they're donettes, they're like donuts with vaginas!" was the most recently added quote.
i was just thinking about brian and his obsession with cats. he could talk about his cats for hours. he could write a book on their nature and personalities. he could write an electronic journal article about their unique characteristics. and you could find it on an online library archive if you were writing a report about cats and use it as a source. it would tell you what makes them purr, what makes them vomit, what gives them diahrreah and why they knead your rolls of fat when you're sitting down (reminds them of the mama cat's nipples). it's okay that brian's obsessed with cats. i used to be obsessed with paris hilton, who posesses a few feline qualities herself.
i was jsut thinking about the man who sometimes rings me out at safeway. with his long wild grey hair, complete, or incomplete with a bald spot in the middle. he always has something interesting to say about witches. he told me how to tell if a woman is really a witch. it's quite simple, all you have to do is drown her and if her body floats she is a witch. or maybe it's if her body sinks. hell, i can't remember. he always tells me to smile, even if i'm already smiling, so then i have to smile harder, sometimes to the point that i feel as though the corners of my lips will push my eyeballs right off my face.
i know i said i was empty the other day, but really, how can i be empty in a world where frank rides his tawdry wal-mart "Next" bike down the wrong side of Academy, stopping to light a cigarette, unpahsed as cars, trucks, semis and pt cruisers speed by honking violently with formidable impacience? how can i be empty when i belong to a family that discusses homosexuality, old lady smell and farting when we are out to dinner at fancy resturant? how can i really be empty when i have friends who will give me a ride home even when i have pee in my Croc because i missed. how can i be empty when i have friends who forgive me for wearing the very shoe i sold out to?
i know i said i was empty, but regardless of what i claimed in a fit of frustration, i fell asleep that night with the sloppy leftovers of a smile sliding off my face...

to drink, pray or run myself into oblivion

2006-09-11T18:42:00.000-07:00

it's sunny and cloudy at the same time and i have many things i could do but nothing that i really need to do. my mail box is empty today. i was expecting a letter or a bill or both. my fridge is empty. the canvas stares back at me from my easel, empty. my bottle of contact solution, empty. my stomach, empty. the box that used to hold my grandmother's jewelery before i pawned it all away, empty. my soul might as well be empty. empty empty empty. if you say a word over and over that's what it becomes. empty. empty. empty. even empty's own name. what is that? onomonopia or something like that. nothing can fill me today. i had a swim. i had a shower. i had chamomile tea and scrambled egg whites. i had a ride. i had a pounding headache. i finished a book. i started a painting. i had a dream. i woke up. nothing can fill me today. nothing can fill me today. i want someone to tell me that it's jesus. it's jesus that i'm missing. because then i could just close my brain and open up wide to let him in. i could throw myself so easily one way or the other to cure this. i could convince myself of heaven and truth and salvation and a divine perpetual friendship. i don't know whether to drink, pray, or run myself into oblivion. which is where i feel i should be. i choose to run because it's the only thing i can feel right now. i want someone to tell me that it's jesus that i'm missing. that he was here all along and i just couldn't see. then we could all laugh because you always laugh when what you were looking for was right before you all along. can't it just be jesus? it'd be so easy. i could talk to him without feeling silly because believing means it's real. even if only to you. i could go crazy or i could go christian or perhaps i could conform and sink sink sink like the rest. it's cloudy and sunny at the same time today. the sky is dark but everything else is bright and now rambling on and on to tired keys is no different than plucking tired strings and draining tired pens and tired tubes of water- soluble oil paint. i told you nothing can fill me today.

5430 half ironman

2006-08-15T18:39:00.000-07:00

you run and hurt and resign yourself to the fact that you'll never be comfortable again. you will never be curled on your couch reading a book, you will never sit down to a wholesome dinner, you will never feel the cool, cleansing rush of water on your skin, you will never wrap yourself in fresh linen and lay your head on your soft down pillow to sink slowly out of reality. no. you accept that you will be running around this god-forsaken reservoir until the cruel gods of triathlon, cackling from above decide you have had enough and put you out of your misery. and who knows when that will be? it will never end. the stinging blisters on your feet (each step is excruciating) the tired muscles screaming from the incessant pounding on the dull earth, the brain, fatigued from the length of day and the inability to see the end is failing you. everything that was so important five hours ago is losing meaning. winning. who cares? losing. who cares? cutting time. who cares? adding time. who cares? bouncing checks. who cares? telling lies. who cares? goals. who cares? life. who cares? love. what? and you retreat to a place where you can agree to disagree with your own body. your own character. you are comfortable with a certain intensity of pain. you will never leave here. this trail. this reservoir. it is like hiding under your bed. a comforting misery. a miserable comfort. you win some. you lose some. you get blisters along the way. you hate this. you need this. you pass an old man who is worse off than you. you grunt understandingly to each other as you shuffle miserably, ridiculously, along. you will both sign up again next year.

drugs kill, vanity cripples

2006-07-19T18:37:00.000-07:00

It could be worse. It could always be worse. I could be 345 lbs riding a Lil' Rascal making everyone around me uncomfortable. I just noticed I said "be 345 lbs" rather than "weigh 345 lbs". Be as though a person's weight actually defines her. But doesn't it? If you are what you eat than as a result you are what you weigh. It could be worse. It could always be worse. I could have some wretched, incurable disease or condition like HIV or worse, yellow teeth. I could be autistic and hopelessy socially inept or I could be LD- learning disabled- mentally crippled if you will. The only thing I couldn't be is more vain. Vanity consumes me. It floods my veins until they are drowning highways leading me to the land of Nervous Breakdown with my old washed up exoskeletons from times when I didn't care what anyone though of me littering the shoulders. Dad always said I was the introspective one. He probably never knew how painfully and dysfunctionally introspective.
If only I were oblivious to myself like a dog. Running around wildly, immersed in the world around me, remembering myself only for brief interludes, scratching my ear, licking my genitals and whatnot. Or a mentally retarded person only vaguley aware of the statistics and details of my relationships. Having intense emotions without knowing, much less caring what their sources are. Never bothering with the pages of recorded interactions- actions and reactions- left for me to analyze. So exhausting.
My hadwriting has shrunken over the past few years. You wouldn't know because I'm typing. Tiny script indicates insecurity. Neurocity. Paranoia. Everyone tells me to stop being silly. Why are my feelings always categorized as "silly"? Silly. Unimportant. Pointless. Insignificant. Likely to be dismissed. "Don't waste my time". Silly.
My head is a dark, deep canyon that I dwell inside. I'm trying desperately to climb out. Scrambling determinedly up these steep, loose walls and falling back down, lower than ever with each attempt. Trying relentlessly, Failing inevitably. I long to stand at the edge of the canyon and peer down into it objectively, sensibly. I just want to be outside my brain. I want clarity. It's loud in here and all reason is muffled by a roaring river of doubt and insecurity that drowns all hope. Hope- the serenity only heard from the top.
Psychology Today told me I am hotter than I think and I took comfort in that fact. I developed a mantra to use whenever faced with the mirror. "25 percent" because I am 25 percent more attractive than I percieve myself (according to Psychology Today) That 25 percent is my saving grace- whether or not it's true. I cling to it like the "Oh shit" handle around a fast, tight bend. And then I ask myself why approaching my reflection holds the same intense anxiety as high speed cornering. I am vain beyond reason. Vain beyond function. Unhealthily vain. Disgustingly vain. Vain. Vain. Vain.
I want nothing more than to see people for who they are rather than how I compare to them. I want to see people as their own beautiful and unique entities rather than incremental versions of one another. Higher and lower levels of the same design. Like the Specialized Allez. Sport. Comp. Elite. Pro. S-Works- whatever. Same idea with varying levels of componentry. I want to see myself for who I might really be rather than the culmination of my flaws plus that consolation 25 percent.
It could be worse. It could always be worse.

on skinny mirrors, hilarity and the overenthusiastic chicken man

2006-07-01T18:36:00.000-07:00

There are two kinds of mirrors. Skinny and fat. The worst is when your friend thinks your fat mirror is a skinny mirror and the complacency that spreads across her face upon correction as it registers that she could be even skinnier than she thinks. Mirrors are powerful bitches. They are more capable of affecting moods than even getting a speeding ticket or getting laid before work. The type of mirror you catch yourself in can even subconsciously change your disposition. That wave of depression and lethargy that swept in like a thundercloud out of nowhere? Fat mirror. The sudden burst of radiance and energy that you attribute to your Red Bull kicking in? Skinny mirror. This is true even if you are remotely as vain as I am. Of course, there are some mirrors and reflective surfaces that should be avoided at all costs. I for one, know that I can't go around rating my attractiveness by the squashed, fat midget form reflected in the shiny door panel of some asshole's Ford Focus. I'd be on the brink of suicide each time I walked through a parking lot. So instead, when walking through these confidence-shattering zones, I keep my head up and focus on the destination ahead, muttering empowering words to myself along the way. "Fuck you, Focus" "What are you staring at, Camry?" "Look who's talking, Passat!" Mirrors, however are a bit trickier. You can't always determine their nature (skinny or fat) upon approaching them. It's just a risk you have to take. Life is full of risks. I long for the days when I didn't stress about mirrors and what pleasing or hideous image they would hold on a particular day.
In 5th grade Michelle and I made each other laugh so hard with our Down's Syndrome impressions at recess that we'd piss our pants. One day my leakage was more significant than the usual ignorable dribble. The next morning I ganked one of my mom's maxi pads from under the bathroom sink to use as reinforcement. The lofty thing bulged inside my tiny day-of the-week underwear. I was certain that my classsmates could hear the diapery swoosh over the quiet reverence of the spelling test as I squirmed uncomfortably at my desk. Ironically I didn't pee my pants that day.
Since Michelle, I can count the number of people on one hand, who have made me laugh that hard. High school held a few. Michael and Quinn in geometry. The laughin g was always at some unsuspecting quiet kid's expense. The ones who are all prettier, skinnier, and doubtlessly more successful than I am now. College went by with out much soulful laughing. It didn't count if it was drug or alcohol induced. There were witty comments here and there in the lecture hall or studio that made me snicker and think...always think. But nothing that overtook my bladder. Post college, the kids at BV cracked me up the most. Sarah and Bryan on occasion sent me running knock-kneed toward the bathroom begging them to stop. But now I make myself laugh more than anyone else does.
I was driving home from Patrick's shop yesterday, which by the way houses one of Colorado Springs' most devastating fat mirrors, when I got stuck at a red light right next to the Wild Wings chicken who was flapping his wings- arms- wingarms, eagerly at my window. I acknowleged him briefly and politely before assuming a somewhat exaggerated somber demeanor that said "I am not an asshole, but I am a serious person and am not in the mood to be flapped at." He had nice legs and cool shoes and for a brief moment I visualized myself meeting and falling in love with a beautiful, athletic and hilarious man in some neutral location such as Whole Foods or the gym, only to find out he was the man inside the ridiculous chicken costume flapping aggressively, relentlessly on the corner of Academy and N. Carefree as I hold my breath in desperate anticipation for the green light so that I could finally relax and aleiviate the awkward tension the "stare ahead" has caused my neck and head.
And when I find out that this hot guy is really the Wild Wings chicken man I'd have to let him down gently and with a new and unique excuse so as not to be like "all the other girls" who ran away. Or I could force myself to pretend the chicken gig was for a good cause. That he took on a 2nd job to help raise money for his friend who has rubella or Lou Gherig's Disease, or hell, just plain cancer for all I care, because he can't afford the treatment because the two friends had recently spent all their money on guitars and drumsets to start a band which would have had incredible potential but needed its dying bass player. I think I could respect and possibly even love a man in a chicken suit if it wall in the name of loyal friendships and rock and roll. I get so carried away sometimes...

Red Cloud

2006-06-09T15:19:00.000-07:00

In 6th grade I made fun of Ben in art class because he colored his cloud red. Years later at his wake I knelt over his dead body. I stared half in anger and half in disbelief at the excessive amount of makeup someone had slathered over his face in order to conceal the grey tinge that death can leave on one's complexion . Ben never wore makeup. I thought to myself: If his soul gets wind of this there will be a haunting like this funeral home has never seen before. I wanted to rip through his crisp white buttondown shirt (Ben would have never worn that) and put my hands through that self-inflicted bullet wound that lay underneath. I wanted to make sure it was real and abate the voice in my head that kept reminding me of Huckelberry Finn. Ben was always so funny...
The next day I hung my head at his funeral as Father David assured us that Ben would probably make it to Purgatory (at least). That was the last time I recieved Communion. I spent the next few years searching (unsuccessfully) for a more lenient god. I have since discovered Colorado and found Peace that no sermon can provide. I have felt here, a sense of belonging that joining hands in prayer with fellow church goers cannot transcend. I have seen skies and clouds of all colors, including red. I am an artist now, and although I rarely paint clouds myself, I cringe when others use white.

reading between the lines we failed to draw

2006-06-07T18:33:00.000-07:00

I would like to know the psychogalvantics of kissing. It seems to occur only when there is nothing to say, or nothing left to say. What though, do you expect to find inside my mouth that is tangible and capable of being scooped up by your tongue? The biomechanics of a kiss are so strange... what is it that compels you to drive your tongue aggressively through my lips? What propels the eager ransacking of my mouth? What are you trying to take from me? What are you trying to give? Perhaps it is just a displaced human hunger...
You spoke of loss and the need to win and I noted the screaming correlation between the two. You spoke of the rejection you recieved from loved ones. The cold righteous hands steering you away from yourself were incentive to rebel and through kissing you renounce those hands and their efforts to change you. And now you are searching for the love you lost in places that you and I both know you didn't leave it. Of all the ways you've tried to reach people, only one will affirm that the message was heard. Felt. Understood. If I kiss back you have succeeded in forcing someone to acknowledge you.
And I sopke of trickery and fraud. I told you how I used to call it love when really it's need and how I mistakenly interpreted a need for love and how I heard that word over and over with strong hands wrapped around my throat. By recieving your tongue I am saying that I have learned nothing from those hands. That I am as easily and willingly manipulated as ever. Each time I kiss back I try to convince myself that this time it will mean nothing and I will leave here as nonchalant as I came, carrying with me that smug, cannibalistic satisfaction that comes from stealing something from someone. I tell myself that I will leave here glowing with complacency and the primitive "get yours" mentality. But this has not been the case thus far.
"Survival of the fittest" has recently evolved into "survival of the heartless" and I drive home with all the windows down in hopes that mine will fly away so I can finally stop losing. I am hoping mine will fly away so I may come back tomorrow night with no qualms about using you...and the rest of your body.

i'm going home with a stone strapped onto my back

2006-05-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

so about 800 miles, one speeding ticket and a mysterious new rattle later i sit here in the piano room trying to remember why i came "home". i got in at 3:30 am on friday, slept all day, went on a road ride, waited for my family to come home and then went back to sleep. this morning i awoke at 5:30 am to a foreign alarm clock and my mom's nagging knock at my door. for a horrifying second i thought i was still in high school. then i came to my senses and realized i am 23 and that is not my alarm clock and i never have to attend another pep rally or take another geometry final as long as i live. relief swept over my half-conscious mind. it was time to wake up and do a triathlon with my mom, who is 50. it was her first tri and she won an age group medal. it was cute. i won an age group medal too and took 2nd place overall. i lost by 2 minutes...but it was my best place and best time ever so mom and i both left satisfied with our performances. then we drove to lawrence to catch the tail end of erin's swim meet. i saw my old coaches. the swim meet reeked of chlorine and nostalgia and for another horrifying second i thought i was in high school again, trying to qualify for state in the 100 fly but being so distracted by pre-prom stress that i couldn't focus on my swim. then i remembered that i am 23 and i never have to chant "we are the pioneers, the mighty, mighty pioneers" in a team huddle or hold out my arm awkwardly as a nervous and pimply teenager slips a gawdy bouquet onto my wrist as long as i live. again, relief. then we went home and i spent 2 hours making erin look like audrey hepburn (i did a damn good job) before unleashing her into the enchanting and exhausting pandemonium that is prom night.me? dramatic? nah. anyway, erin's at prom, mom and dad are at a 50's theme party that i was not invited to, and teresa is waitressing in kansas city. so that leaves me alone in the piano room. i've given up on valse caprice and moonlight sonata after about 2 frustrating hours and kicked myself wherever flexibly possible for quitting piano. wow. i miss colorado. i miss my apartment and my one spoon. i miss the screaming children in the day care across the street. i miss my lack of television and my abundance of dirty laundry. now my parents are home from the party and suddenly i want to be alone again. what is it with me not knowing what i want? my dad is singing one tin soldier in the kitchen and my mom is talking to the dogs. apparantly she missed them immensly over the short duration of her 50's theme party. i just realized that my mom is waayy more affectionate with her dogs than she ever was with any of her children. i wonder: had my mother cooed repetitive affirmations such as "gooood girrrl" to me throughout my youth, would it have affected my self esteem? would i be more confident? more secure? less anti-social? happier??? aw hell, who cares. now my dad is telling me about a man he met at the party who sings in a barbershop quartet. mr. campsey and his barbershop quartet sound like some swell cats. hmmm. it's kind of weird writing about my dad as he's standing here talking to me. funny though. now he's telling me how old he feels because hanging out with people your own age makes you realize how old you are once you're old and hanging out...or something like that. it's hard to listen and type at the same time. i feel like a fucking stenographer. something about hot dogs and moustaches and beer guts and bald spots...lots of bald spots. and all i want is some applesauce but there are too many spoons here at my parents house. i hate it when i have too many choices. like the 5.5s at the climbing gym. too many choices is counterintuitive. i learned that word at the bike shop. i hope i used it correctly.

losing meaning

2006-05-03T20:19:00.000-07:00

When you say a word over and over, even your own name, it loses its meaning. We have been talking about Life too much lately. We have been dissecting relationships and inspecting their veins under microscopes and then piecing them back together practically and sensibly. Life is losing its meaning.
Let's just stop talking about it for a second. I don't want to talk about it. Here we are so let's just live. And if what we believed turns out to be right we're okay and if not we're screwed. But no amount of sooth-seeking can deliver us at this point. There have been brilliant philosophers before us and we've heard what they had to say: know thyself. there is nothing stable in human affairs. necessity is the mother of invention. hope is a waking dream blah blah blah...but it doesn't affect the speed at which you ride your bike downhill or the vigor with which you embrace Love (whether you're right or wrong about it). And it doesn't affect the string of curses that fly from your mouth when you crash or the stream of tears that flow from your lachrymal glands when you discover you were wrong all along...
And maybe God isn't the answer to that ever-present void inside of you. Maybe the answer is a puppy or cheesecake or really good sex. And you can spend your whole life contemplating that void- why it's there, how it came to be so big, and what to fill it with, or you could opt for trial and error. You could keep sticking things in there and pulling them out until something fits and sticks and whether or not that will ever happen, no one knows but all you have is Life and Life is only Time so you might as well use it, however wisely....
I just don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to analyze it. I don't want to write songs about it that Sarah and Peter and Bob Dylan have already sung with so much more talent. I don't want to describe it with words that Petrarch and Virginia Woolf have already used. I don't want to paint it in Colors because colors rely too heavily on the eyes through which they're beheld and then they disappear altogether in the absence of light. I just want to laugh until no sound comes out and I am on the floor, crying and cramping and my belly aches. I want to run until there's nothing left in me and sing until I'm hoarse and weak and eat until I puke. Maybe I just want to puke and start all over. Is puking allowed? How about starting over?

mediocre like that

2006-04-20T18:31:00.000-07:00

Why are there so many ugly people in the library? Why are airports always infested with beautiful people? Is it because ugly people read and beautiful people travel? I do both. Where do I fit in? I guess I'm just mediocre like that...

I'm happy, thanks.

2006-04-10T11:06:00.000-07:00

Brad called me last fall to let me know that I am living my life incorrectly. It's true, I am not making as much money as I could be, considering the framed college diploma that hangs in my living room bearing the signatures of two important people whom I have never met. After informing me that the severity of this life choice (to work retail in a bike shop) can be detrimental to my self-esteem, not to mention my reputation, he proceeded to laugh haughtily.
I must have perservered civily through the rest of this conversation, but I do not recall it. All I can remember is the rage that welled and swelled within me, overtaking my body as anger has never done to me before. I hung up the phone. I cursed. I yelled. I kicked things. I threw a book. I even cried a little. In a matter of minutes this emotional storm passed and a calm took its place. I was happy, and I didn't need an overweight, insecure, beer guzzling, coke snorting frat boy to tell me otherwise. I am happy and I love my life.
According to Brad, money must be the measure of how successful someone is. Nevermind that I am learning new things each day. Nevermind that I am being constantly challenged physically and mentally and growing evermore fearless in the mountains, whether rock or snow covered. Nevermind that I have found truer friends here that I did in college. Riding or running alone out on the trails I am still not as lonely as I've felt at crowded parties where someone is always touching me. I've never been so alone as when I had to link arms with two girlfriends to ensure that we make it from the front door to the keg out back without losing each other to the raging hormonal tides of tube tops and testosterone.
And college, according to Brad is the reason I am overqualified for the solace I have found in riding bicycles. It is my college degree that gives Brad the liberty to laugh at the otherwise respectable career I have chosen. But college?! The exhausting cycle: learning, testing, forgetting, learning, testing, forgetting...All for a piece of paper that tells me I am smarter than those who do not have it and no different from anyone who does. Is it there to tell me I am fulfilled? Complete? Or to remind me there are several higher levels of these papers I could potentially achieve and with each the font becomes more ornate and impossible to read. Is this what we strive for?
I have matted and mounted this thing on my wall as a recreational hunter does with a deer head. i have posed enthusiastically with it for pictures, holding it up like a trophy bass, hanging by his lip with droplets of his former home puddling beneath him. It is just a piece of paper! It is not a measure of intelligence or even perserverance. Despite the quality of glass that it glares at me from behind (I chose PerfectVue) it is still a piece of paper born of a copy machine who has born millions of other papers like mine designed to legitimize our social standings but conversley makes us insignificant.
What this diploma really says is not that I am educated and socialized and suited for the world, but that I know how to cheat. How to get by. How to lose myself in a Camelbak of Southern Comfort and promiscuous friendships. It says I know how to sand the edges of Love so that it interlocks neatly with Sex. I know how to identify Desperation when it's disguised as PDA emitted by last Saturday's MVP and its corresponding cheerleader. I know that 1 1=2 and -1 1=0 and that's how I feel about dating.
I know how to sit on a barstool in a tight halter and low-rise jeans in such a way that my butt crack doesn't show and my belly doesn't compress into an unsightly roll. I know how to act taken at a party when a drunk pervert keeps "accidentally" touching my breast and I know how to act available when a cute transfer student takes the seat behind me in American Lit.
This diploma says that I have mastered both arts of Avoiding and Casual Stalking. This diploma says that I have satisfactorily lost my identity in an earnest attempt to fit in. It says I have successfully memorized and recited the rules of "faking it". Smiles, orgasms, apathy and concern alike!. It says I have wallowed in self-pity, mistaking my ego for my heart and vice versa, ultimately discovering that both have been broken.
Brad called me agian last night at 2:25 am to say that he was hurt because I didn't include him in my list. he must have felt as though he had no impact on my life. What Brad doesn't know is that he had a great impact. He wasn't simply "not good enough" as he hypothesized in a brief, crude (possibly drunken?) voicemail message. But it was his profound negativity (Teresa calls them sunshine-suckers) that made me realize how happy I am, and that I have been happy all along. How disappointed Brad would be if he knew!