The truth is heavy.

I have to find some things.

Some words, some routines, some peace.  Some momentum and strength. Courage.  Some increased sense of self.

The truth hides under blankets and it is oh so heavy.  Some days I can't even pick up a plastic bag off the floor, much less haul the truth out of its depth.

I have perpetually just awakened from a long sleep and I am looking for myself among the objects I have gathered around me.  Am I in the crocheting, the Christmas tree, the running gear, the TV?  Am I on facebook or in the long-neglected guitar in my room?  The books that I hang onto but can barely read?  Am I in the candles or the paintings or the cookbooks in the kitchen?  Am I in my work as a teacher?

I am thinking but there is too much.

A few years ago, I woke up one morning to snow.  I hadn't snow danced.  I hadn't even expected it.  It was amazing, already several inches deep and still coming down.

It snowed all day.  Kym and Justin came down and Ty and I spent the day outside with them.  We made a snow woman and dressed her in a bikini.  We called her Snowanna.  We broke leaves off of the azalea to adorn her head.

At one point I stopped and looked out down the street and across the yard.  The snow was still falling and everything was so.beautiful.  And I told Kym, "Days like today make me feel like everything will always be ok."  It really did.  I remember that feeling, that sudden promise from the universe that somehow, if we could have a day like that, everything would be ok.

I don't know what made me think of that moment.  I guess needing to feel like everything is going to be ok. 

Earlier I was looking for the source of something I read in the past.  I couldn't find it, but what I did find was Joan Didion's "On Self Respect": "To have that sense of one's intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent."

I need to go running in the dark--running towards the answers.  I know they aren't at the end, but along the way, and the truths are heavy and hard to hold on to.

UPDATE!
I finally found what I was looking for earlier.  It comes from a piece by Nancy Mairs called "On Being a Cripple."  In it she talks about her MS diagnosis, her life, and why she chooses the word "cripple" to identify herself.  For a while she was told she had a brain tumor before finally being diagnosed with MS.  She says, "Every day for the past nearly ten years, then, has been a kind of gift. I accept all gifts."  I had forgotten where that came from but I think it so often.  I accept all gifts.  The universe has sent me many gifts over the years and last few months--in the midst of a difficult time, and I am grateful for them all.  For comfort, for a text or an email, for a song suggestion or the time it takes to express appreciation for friendship and caring.  I accept all gifts.

St. Jude's Marathon Race Report

Favorite signs on course:
If this race were easy, it would be your mom.
You'll never beat Paul Ryan's time.
Any idiot can run.  It takes a special kind of idiot to run 26.2 miles.

Favorite part:
Running through the St. Jude hospital campus.
Oh my God.  My throat hurt from trying not to cry.  There were people on either side of the streets all the way through.  Some had pictures of children who were patients.  They waved signs, rang bells, cheered.  What hit me about it was that that place is a way of life for so many people and children.  A reality.  I'm so glad it's there and that any kid who needs it can be treated regardless of their family's means.  I definitely want to run the race again next year and raise money as a St. Jude's Hero.  People who were part of the race raised over $5 million.  Amazing.

Second favorite part: a group of little girls with Downe Syndrome, all wearing matching pink fleeces, cheering, smiling, having fun being part of the race.

Third favorite part: running down Beale Street at the beginning of the race.  Tons of people lined both sides.  The atmosphere was celebratory and festive.

Fourth favorite part: Gumby/Sumo wrestler.

Fifth favorite part: incredible view of the Mississippi River.

Least favorite part: the whole 2nd half of the race.  Seriously, all the good stuff is at the beginning.  The rest was comparatively dull.  I did get some good refreshment at the end.

The whole thing was made special by having my sister there with me.  We went to a pizza place for dinner just because it was close to where the expo was, but the pizza was amazing.  Roasted garlic, fresh basil, tomato, banana peppers, and goat cheese.

Post race, we tried to go to the Melting Pot but it wasn't open yet.  We had to go to Joe's Crab Shack instead.  We were pretty ok with that.  We got some specially personalized bibs.

My plan for this race was to take it easy and have fun.  But I didn't.  I ran it in 4:41, which is slowish for me, but not bad considering it was number 3 in a month.  But it wasn't easy.  It was pretty tough.  I thought, though, while I was running, that it is not about the medal or trying to impress people or needing people to think I'm something.  It's not.  It's about doing something hard.  Even when it hurts.  Even when it hurts, God sometimes it hurts, but I know, I know, somewhere very solid, that if I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, that I will get through.  I'll finish, I'll cross the line.

I'm bad about needing to know things.  It's true.  I would like to know some things for sure.  And I like knowing I can do this thing and that I can do it a lot.  Because at the beginning of every race, (even for the days leading up to it), I'm not sure I can do it.  And for the first 5 miles, the first 10 miles, I'm still not sure.  But at mile 18, 19, 20, 22, 24, when I'm hurting and my legs and feet are screaming, then I know.  It's a really good kind of knowing.  That's what keeps me wanting to do it again and again, I think.  The little bit of fear, the mountain I have to climb, and the knowing in the midst of the pain.  It's a tenuous--yet firm--kind of solidity.

Eventually you will reach the sun.

Said Savanna.

This morning I sat with the music loud in my car. It was too loud but I felt it. I felt it hurt a little like the emotions dimpling my torso. For a minute the vibrations in the seat and under my feet filled the pit in my belly. I stared in front of me at the ridged gray clouds highlighted in morning. I tucked my fingers under my thighs. I waited. I'm waiting.

I need some fierceness. To touch something solid. To climb the tallest pine tree, see the white heron, and keep it to myself.

Spring is making a cameo today. The light is tender but unsure and will melt away too early. No matter. I need to feel it on my arms and legs. Breathing.
I need to run until I reach the sun.

White River Marathon!

I'm never really sure if I will be able to do it.  Seriously.  It's insane.

It was cold at the start, around 32 degrees, and foggy. We got a photo with a few other maniacs before we started running.

The first 8 miles or so are terrible because there are so many miles left.  At 9 miles, Carrie said, "Only 17 miles to go!"  I said something about not liking the sound of that, but in my head I thought, What the Fuck?  Seventeen More Miles? And I've Done This Before, You Say?  Seventeen?

I always mean to cover the spots on my feet and toes that blister, but half the time I forget.

I really like talking to strangers on the course.  It's the only time I will strike up a conversation with a stranger and be ok with some random guy admitting to checking out my belly.

I like new facebook friends after races.  More crazy runners, especially maniacs.

Everyone kind of hobbles around afterward.  Except that Conway girl who flits and sprints around.  What is UP with her?

Post-race homemade chili is awesome.


At the finish, some guy yelled out, "You only have one more lap!"  I flipped him off.  He and his friends thought it was hilarious that I did.  I'm glad.

My favorite thing to do right after the finish is fall in the grass and take off my shoes.  I felt hot when we finished and pulled off my shirts so I could be in short sleeves, but then almost immediately put my sweatshirt on.

We met a guy who had driven all night to get to the White River Marathon and was headed to Tulsa right after for today's marathon there. He is doing 52 marathons in 26 weeks or something like that.  Two a week. Makes me seem less crazy.

Corona is good with chips and salsa after a race.

Running with someone makes a huge difference.  Someone to talk to, someone to say fuck with, someone to push and be pushed by.  Thanks, Carrie!

Road kill on a course is not fun.  Cows by the side of the road are nice, especially when they bunch up by the fence to watch the race.  They wouldn't talk to me though.

The next race is in 2 weeks.  I wonder if I can do it? ;-)

Life is dotted with sadness and hope.

I was just looking at the past.

Quite a bit.
Here are some of the things I saw:

The bits and pieces of a poster making kit that I bought back in the spring so J and Ty could make signs for the Little Rock Marathon.

I thought, life is dotted with sadness and hope.

I found a picture of my sister and Ethan when E was a round-faced baby.  When his little mouth wrapped around my mom's dog's name: "Bo Bo."  Beauregard Manny has been gone for a few years now.  He loved my mom the most.  When I watched him, and she was gone, his tail would uncurl and he would lie by the door waiting for her to come home.

I thought, I need to put this picture out again.  So I found a spot.

I found a picture of the group that went to the Southwest in 2004.  I looked at myself, at my smile.  I thought of who I was then, what I wanted, who I was, where I was.  Who I thought I was.  Who those people were and who they are now. 

And I thought, hope and sadness.  Without hope there is no future.  But there is no sadness, either.  Hope.

I pulled out my mixer and that reminded me of mixing cookie dough with Kym several years ago while it snowed outside. 

There is a pile of stuff in the middle of my kitchen that I pulled out of a cabinet because my dad is coming tomorrow to start taking out that cabinet and installing a dishwasher.  I've been throwing away things that I kept because I thought I might need them.  I don't.

I found a flat piece of wood and a tiny clock kit.  J was with me at Hobby Lobby when I bought that, probably 5 years ago.  I was going to make a mosaic clock.  I'm going to add it to the pile I'm giving away. 

I've looked at the past with wistfulness, with anger, with disbelief. 
I've looked for something that I know.

I remember when I first read something by Dorothy Allison, and then something else.  I got a small book filled with pictures and just a line or two on each page.  It is called Two or Three Things I Know For Sure.  Her aunt would say that, and each time she knew one thing for sure.

I remember the hope that I found when I first started reading lesbian literature.  Hope.  From voices.  Stories.  Lives.  Pictures.  A population for my blank state of mind.

Joan Didion talks about needing to stay familiar with your past selves, even the ones you don't like or want to remember, because, if you don't, those selves may come knocking on your door when you least want them to.  Who is knocking on my door? 

I know for sure that throwing a ball for a dog is a hopeful thing.  That taking care of someone you love is a blessing.  That the sound of the voices in the songs I am hearing are bittersweet.

That I have some cabinets in my heart that I need to clean out.

Last week I went for a run in the dark.  Aside from Tupelo mornings, that was my first dark run.  It was different.  I was much more alone with myself.  I did not dislike it.  I need a better flashlight.

I have a marathon on Saturday.  Marathons are hopeful things, and optimistic things.

Midsouth Marathon.

Yesterday was marathon #7 in Wynne, Arkansas, the MidSouth Marathon.  It was great.

In the days leading up to the race, the whole idea of it seemed a little sketchy and negotiable.  I had missed quite a few weekday runs.  I told myself that as long as I had gotten all the long runs in that I would be fine, but I also just felt blase about the idea of running a marathon.  Kind of, oh yeah, whatever, guess I'll go do that.

But I got up there and we got started.  It was clear from the beginning that it would be a hot one--it was in the 50's at the start but would soon work up to at least 80, and there was lots of direct sunlight.  I have a nice little sunburn to show for it now.  

It was a really pretty course--trees and changing leaves and lots of views of open fields just post harvest, furrowed ground with baled cotton at the sides.  Even though there weren't many spectators, I really appreciated the aid stations at every mile.

I had to pick up the pace at one point to get away from an alarmingly stupid political discussion and caught up with a group of women.  That's when I started running with Kristin from Philadelphia.  She was a normally sub 4 marathoner nursing a hamstring injury.  Quite a few middle-miles went by quickly as we talked about favorite races, not-favorite races, running history, jobs, and the like.  She decided to drop back a little to take care of the leg, so I went on alone for a bit.

Just after the 19-20 mile point or so I caught up to Carrie from Cabot.  I knew she had said previously that her best time was a bit over five hours, and we were on pace to run around 4:30, so I asked.  Sure enough, Carrie was about to shatter her old PR.  We ran the rest of the race together with lots of talking and some laughing and the last 6 miles flew by.  I'm so glad, because it was hot and windy and I had felt myself falling into that place where it all starts to suck.

I said lots of prayers and sent lots of thoughts out to Reesey, my friend's baby who has just had surgery.  I sent my feelings of strength to her, gathered the beauty of the sunlight filtered through the leaves and the sound of the wind in the trees and willed it to her family because I think there is power in beauty and in appreciating it.  I lifted her up in my heart as I ran--the best time for me to pray, very much in touch with the strongest parts of me that are blessings to me, the times when I most feel the presence of God in my heart and soul and bones and muscles.

I realized while driving home after the race that this was the first time I have gone to a race without someone with me.  I was ok with it.  It was nice to hang out after the race ended, eat and talk to people and watch the awards.  (Very cool to see that Carrie placed in her age group to go along with the new PR).

And...marathon number 8 in 2 weeks...

Let's bring back overalls.

This afternoon I almost didn't go out because I felt pressed for time. With a little encouragement, though, I went, and I was rewarded with a pretty amazing sunset. Take this picture and imagine the glowing intensity.

I only went three miles but I felt solid. Ready for Saturday's marathon? I'm more concerned about getting up early than I am about running 26.2 miles .

I have some wants right now. Some big ones and some simpler ones, and the simple ones I'd like to share. I want to keep cleaning the clutter out of my cabinets and closets. I want to paint the wall in my living room. I want to bring back overalls. I want to put other things on the walls and be more industrious. I want to light more candles.

After my run I put on thick sweats and felt the nice used feeling in my legs.

I laughed some tonight and loved some. Those are good things.

Today was the first cold run of the season for me.  I can't say it was frosty, but it was 45 when I went out with a windchill of 39.  It was chilly enough for sleeves and a hat, to me.

It felt great.  It took about half a mile to warm up and a bit more for my fingers.  My nose was chilled and probably red and I was just comfortably sweaty under my hat and my sleeves.

Cool weather runs are the best when I dress the right way.  It's hard to gauge because it's always going to be uncomfortable for the first at least half mile.  When I do it right, though, I have a cold nose and face and the rest of me is comfortable.  It's a nice feeling.

I ran 6.  The MidSouth Marathon is in Wynne next Saturday--marathon number 7.  I feel undertrained even though I've made all of my long runs.  Weekdays have been really challenging for me.

Look up.

I decided as I headed out this morning that it was a Pandora morning.  The sky was overcast and it was cool, in the 50's.  Perfect.

In the parking lot around the side of Kroger, Ani DiFranco came on and I had to stop, turn up the volume, and dance for a minute.  "Everest."  It made me think of a friend I talked to last week-- and it reminded me of myself, and of searching. 

"So I take a few steps back
and put on a wider lense
and it changes your skin,
your sex, and what you're wearing
distance shows your silhouette
to be a lot like mine"

I've been looking at things through a wider lense this week.  I didn't want to, but I have been, and it does change things.  And our silhouettes are a lot alike, even though we can't usually see the similarities. 

Because the same friend had asked about the leaves in Arkansas, my eyes were open to them.  The light wasn't good, but I took some pictures anyway.  It felt good to stop when I wanted to stop and take my time.

I was standing by the water fountain near Loop Road looking into the park and the trees, wishing that there was any way that my phone could capture what I was seeing, the air tinted green by the leaves, sort of sultry with shade and color.  I knew it couldn't, and then something told me, "Look up."  So I did, and one tree changing color rose thinly above me, surrounded by green and with brightness peeking through at the top.  Look up. 

Truth, I'm thinking, comes in short bursts and, when complicated by life, is rarely simple or absolute.  Sort of like happiness.  When you see it, grab it.  When you feel it, contemplate it.  Write it down and look at it.  See how it feels when you swish it around in your heart. 

I heard another song that I loved with a sweet poignancy: Tristan Prettyman singing "All I Want is You."  I thought about how it feels to know that poignancy and how hard it is to show that to someone else.  You know it or you don't.

 





 

I can and I am.

After skipping yesterday, this afternoon's five miles felt pretty good.  I was feeling down before heading out... Running isn't the source of any strength, necessarily, but it is sometimes the source of my knowing I have strength.  Running down the driveway to the road and around the corner is a steady repetitive reminder that I can and that I am.  My miles are a line that connects me from one day to the next, a line that I might need to follow, to hold onto in the dark.  And it's a line that I draw myself.

I'm operating in fits and starts right now.  I'm cleaning closets and mopping floors.

And yes, I'm thinking.  I'm pausing from time to time to write something down, a line or two that stick in my mind as something true.  I don't know if they are, but they are there and need a home.

I'm asking myself some questions and telling myself some truths.  But I'm also in a fog, sort of disoriented from reality.  Maybe I should stay in it until I'm ready to come out.  More likely, maybe I didn't know what reality was.  That's cliched.  Maybe I was telling myself stories.  I'm always waiting for the time when I will finally get my shit together.

I just took a minute to watch a video and somewhere in there was a reminder of T.  I could really use a dance from her right now.

Be still.

I can run.  I can run and smile at the sky, step away from the water fountain and dance, look up at the sun and give thanks.  I can run and cry, feel sobs escape and tears build.  I can run and laugh, a feeling that bubbles out in gasps of glee.  

I know the feeling in my legs after a good 8 mile run, the warm, glad, alive throb of exertion.  I know the feeling of my steady pace, the breaths that match my steps, the sound of my feet scuffing the ground.  I know the feeling of salt dried on my face and sweat dripping off my nose.

I do not know how to be still.  My mind races when my body is still and when I need to think of nothing.  When I would like to forget and when life would be easier if I could.

The last week has been a tumble in rough surf, upside down and sputtering and choking on salt water, tossed on sand.  I'm well aware of my good fortune, and that even negative things don't mean it's the end.

I know what I'm thankful for.  I know the dozens of places where I've messed up and the ways I can blame myself.  I know my blessings.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I've heard that when you're spinning out of control, the hardest thing to do is to be still.  

I've been thinking.

Earlier this summer, several kids that I taught in the past were fundraising for mission trips to Africa.  One of them posted about the money he needed to raise for the trip: $4000.  I thought, wow.  That's so much money--is a mission trip the best way to spend it?  Is that the best way to help kids?  How much medicine, how much food, how much clothing could be bought with that money?

Soon after having these thoughts, I realized that the real thing I needed to focus on was my role in all of that.  Do I want to play the role of complainer or do I want to use my feelings to make something happen?  The answer to that is obvious.  Since I was thinking in terms of money needed by organizations that help the less fortunate, I chose two organizations to begin donating to: the Arkansas Rice Depot and MAP International.  I chose them because I wanted to help both locally and internationally.  It turns out it is very easy to have recurring donations set up using a credit or debit card.

I wound up donating to the mission trip of one of the kids anyway.  I realized that my feelings were about me and, after doing something about them, I felt better about helping the student with something that mattered to her.  I learned an important lesson.

I am repeatedly hurt and shocked by people who don't put lgbt rights on their list of priorities.  It just doesn't really matter to so many people.  When asked, most people I know will probably say that they don't really care one way or another, or even that they really do support equal rights, but since it doesn't affect them on a day to day basis, they don't think about it much.

It's weird to imagine not thinking about lgbt rights since I think about them all the time.  Every day.  I have to.  When the assistant principal asked me if I was married, I had to think about it.  When the guy I was running with in the marathon asked me what my husband does, I had to think about it.  When I call my partner to say goodnight because we still don't live together because of past difficulties relating to lgbt rights, I think about it.  I think about it all the time and when I realize that so many people just DON'T, it gives me a hopeless feeling.

I had that feeling earlier today, and then I remembered my past feelings about the mission trips and I thought, what problems do other people think about all day every day that don't affect me--and that I don't think about?  Hunger?  Whether or not my car is going to break down and I won't have the money to fix it?  Whether or not my son will get sick and I'll have to take off work and lose pay because I don't have sick leave and then I won't be able to make rent?  Whether or not someone is going to hit me when I get home from work or if my phone will have been cut off?

A kid told another teacher this morning that he couldn't do his poster for his speech because he didn't know they were going to be moving and he had to pack most of the night.  I wonder what his life is like, what that family's lives are like, to have to move suddenly in the night like that?  And then come to school tomorrow?

I wish more people would make lgbt rights a priority even though they aren't affected by the issue, but the best way for me to deal with my feelings is to make other people's problems something that I think about.  It's time for me to start giving my time to issues that are hurting people who are less fortunate than me, who have fears and worries that I'm lucky enough not to have.

This afternoon I wasn't going to run.  I have some ant bites or something that have my ankle swollen so I was going to take the evening off.  I even sat down and drank a beer.  But then I decided I really needed my miles and my ankle felt better after some ice so I went out for 5 miles.  I finished up facing down the street toward my house.  It was a picture of the simple beauty of everyday life: the sun was mostly down and the sky glowed peach with some smudges of cloud reflecting the light.  Crepe myrtles decked in full lavender and hot pink lined the street and cicadas sang.  I thought, "This is simple life.  Why can't we just live this?"  But we can't.  There's too much else.

Tupelo Race Report!

Here's how it goes: I train all summer.  It's hot and I get up too damn early and it sucks.  I wake slowly, decide to quit running, and then finally get up and go.  I feel fine afterward and happy that I keep doing it.  I run my short runs and my medium runs and my 20 mile runs and feel ready.  Then I taper.  I do the 12 mile run and it feels long and solid.  Then I do the eight mile run the next week and it feels fine.  Then I do a couple of short runs the week before, and it culminates in the night before with me thinking, "WHAT???"  Because it feels like forever since I've run far and the idea of running 26.2 miles at 5 in the morning sounds preposterous.

But that's how it goes.  Kristin rode down with me.  We had pasta at Olive Garden the night before, grabbed some last minute stuff at WalMart, and I was in bed by 9.

It's dark at 5 am, and no body really gives any cues that the race is about to start.  We all started drifting toward the start, clustered around for a bit, and then, just like last year, everyone started moving.  I ran for a while with David from Mississippi, maybe, or Tennessee?  Having someone to talk to made the first 5-6 miles go by quickly.  Then I ran with a guy named Steve from Louisiana.  His cajun accent kept me company for a few more miles.  After that I was mostly on my own.  There was a maniac just in front of me for quite a few miles, but he slowed to a walk at one point and I went on.

Thank God for cloud cover.  It was cloudy and breezy for the whole race--the sun only peeked through a few times, more than enough to show me how horrible the race could have been without the clouds. 

I felt strong throughout.  On a few downhills my knee felt twingey, but it never became anything more.  I never had to walk except through aid stations (always well staffed in Tupelo by cheerful, helpful people.)  I know I could have run it faster if I had someone to push me some.  I don't know if I'll be able to put up a faster time later this year or if I should just wait to try for a PR again in Little Rock.

I prayed.  In the over-20 miles part of the race, I thanked God that I could be out there and asked for strength for everyone I could think of, and for everyone feeling weak and needing a boost.  I prayed for strength for myself to finish the race and for others to somehow be able to feel that strength.  I was thankful that the two snakes I saw were already dead...

After the race I grabbed a beer, took off my belts, and sat on the concrete to drink it and watch some people finish.  Then I went and got Kristin and we came back for a while, watching some more finishers and talking to some runners that I know or had met.  We were finally on our way home before noon.

We stopped before we got to Memphis and had lunch at Applebees.  The food was great and our server Randi was fun (the guy who sat us said she was fun when she wasn't moody and was cute but unfortunately for him, already had a boyfriend.)  We had beers and more pasta and dessert shooters and it was great to spend another meal enjoying a good friend.

Then last night J and I went to a great party with some more great friends, met a few new people, and had a wonderful time. 

I ask myself a lot, when I'm in th middle of training for a race, "Why do I do this again?"  But with that great post-race finish in my heart yesterday, as I was getting in the car to go get Kristin, I felt reminded, "This.  This is why."  And I'm so blessed to have been able to do it again and to have felt good through the whole race, to feel like, oh yeah, this is something I can do, something I do. 

More drowned rat look.

Yesterday was crazy.  The first day of school is Monday and it's wild and crazy up at the school.  I worked non stop all day and then had to have a few drinks with a friend to chill out.  I woke up this morning and contemplated quitting running. Ha.....  But I did let myself sleep in a bit.  Then I checked the radar.

It wasn't looking so good.  I thought about running the neighborhood but that sounded so boring and painful. I packed my stuff and headed to the river.

There were a few other crazy people out, so I put my gear on and got out of the car and on my way.  It was raining softly but steadily; more concerning was the intermittent lightning and thunder.  I tried to ignore it.  I rationalized that it was a purplish-pink lightning rather than the whitish-blue type--pink lightning is softer and hurts less, right?  I passed a cyclist and had this crazy thought that I should ask, are we safe out here?

Then I realized how crazy that sounded.  I'm running outside on a trail with lightning around me.  How safe can I be?  I know your chances of getting struck by lightning are pretty slim--how much does the chance go up in a storm?  Not a big storm.  The rain was soft.  Like the lightning.

I turned around and went back toward the bridge, figuring I could either quit and go home and get the miles later or keep on if it seemed to get better.  It did get better.  There was more lightning and thunder from time to time. but it lessened and I felt less crazy.

In the wide open area of Two Rivers Park I saw deer off in the distance.  They were far away but started to run as I passed them, and I counted 8 spread out against the tree line.

So my 12 miles in the storm went fine.  It was cool and sweet outside.

Deer, bald eagles, and liberals.

I had a plan for getting up this morning: set the alarm for 5, snooze once; when it went off again, turn on the light and start petting Max; Max would see that I didn't go back to sleep.

I was semi-successful.  I left the house around 6 and got to the river and started running by about 6:20.  I looked over my shoulder to see the pink sky as the sun rose behind me.

As usual when I get an early start, I went south on the other side of the bridge and ran past Murray Park and the golf course, through Rebsamen Park, and back.  I watched the sun rise higher, a shimmering large orange ball just over the horizon.  I watched some deer at the treeline; they looked calmly back towards the trail.

Back at the bridge at around 9 miles, I headed north towards Two Rivers. I thought at about that time that things had been pretty slow so far, kind of dull, and then I looked up just ahead of me in time to see a bald eagle flying low, maybe two stories up, directly above the trail.  I could see his white head and his beak.  So cool!

I thought a lot about the school year starting and what I need to do to get ready.  I thought about the upcoming election--nothing new to say about that, really.  Except for one thing.  A really great person that I taught a few years ago, Rachael, was discussing being liberal vs. conservative on facebook.  Rachael is an extremely awesome straight ally to the gay community, someone I am very proud to have taught.  She explained, in response to a question on facebook, that she considers herself to be a socially private conservative because of some decisions that she has made for herself--but that she doesn't think those decisions need to be forced on other people, so she identifies as a social liberal.

But isn't that the point of being socially liberal--that regardless of your own decisions, you don't think they need to be forced onto other people?  Why is it that assumptions are made about a person's behavior if they identify as socially liberal?  Why is it so hard for people to make whatever decisions they want about their own lives without wanting or needing to make those decisions for other people?  Why should Rachael have to make that distinction?  Being liberal is not about what I do or what you do--it's about making decisions for yourself based on what is best for you and being comfortable enough in those decisions to not need to make them for other people.

Last election I really let some of these issues get to me on a personal level. I know that in some ways I shouldn't, but it did.  I hope to maintain some distance this time.

So about distance--because this was about a run---I covered 20 miles this morning with very little difficulty. The weather was perfect.  There was a breeze blowing off and on and in Two Rivers Park, and there were wisps, drafts of air.  Off and on a cooler one, like a fridge had been opened in the underbrush, would flow across the trail.  It felt delicious.  I had thought about doing 22 miles, but my timing and route were good for 20--that, and the end of that 20 happened just after the uphill on the new approach on the Big Dam Bridge.  I stopped in the middle of the bridge and took my time coming down.

It was this time last year that I was preparing for my first marathon and went for the 20 miler and had to stop with a knee problem.  I'm thankful for no problems today and  hope to go on into Tupelo feeling good and strong and confident.

I'm not running today....but I am.

At 6:15 this morning I hit snooze.

At 6:30 I decided I was not running today and I turned the alarm off.  I ran 5, 8, and 5 this week, I run 20 on Sunday, and I don't need to run today.  I'm tired.  I don't need this 5 miles.

At 7:45, finally awake, I got up, got dressed, and hit the road.  I figured I would pay for the late start by being cooked out on the road at 8:00, but I was wrong.  The first mile or so was bad because of my tight calf problem, but the weather was surprisingly nice.  It wasn't muggy, and there was a fresh-smelling breeze.

I couldn't talk myself into taking the left into Stonewall to make the 5 mile loop, and I considered just cutting the run to 3  miles.  After all, I nearly skipped it--3 is better than nothing, right?  But instead, I finished out the 3 mile loop and then repeated part of it.  The breeze kept up and there was still shade and it was nice.  The leaves on the ground are a reminder of the drought, but they also remind me of fall, which seems both near and far.

In the last mile or so, I thought about how I felt at 6:30 and how badly I did not want to run, and how evenly matched that feeling was by the gladness that I did.  Letting myself have that extra hour of sleep wasn't bad, though.  I'm sitting here now feeling pretty good.

Clear sight.

Sunday I did my "short" long run of 12 miles and it was not great.  Compared to the 20 miler from the week before...it seems like a different person ran it.  Whatever, though, it's in the past.

I woke up this morning yet again with thoughts of forgetting it all.  Sleep and laziness sounded nice.  But you know me.  I got up and, eventually, out.

It was a decent morning for running even though the high today is 102.  The humidity is low-ish for August in Arkansas and there was a bit of a breeze blowing.  I don't remember my calves feeling like they were filling up with concrete, which is great because that's how it's been for weeks.  I was a little tired but overall pretty good.

I was in Sherwood this morning so I ran out of the neighborhood and onto Kiehl.  Down the hill on Kiehl and left onto 107: at this point I was at about 3.5 miles and planning to turn around at 4.  The next half mile would be uphill.

As I made the slow turn and started up the incline, I looked up at the ridge and the dying grasses and something was beautiful about it and I felt the need to pray.  I held that thought in my mind as I looked up at the sight, trying to put into words what my heart was seeing.  The trees were crisply set against the blue morning sky, the sun falling across the ridge with "a certain slant of light," a gentle morning slant.  The grasses sloped down towards me and I realized what I was praying for: clear sight.

I pushed up the hill and also up the hill heading towards home.  I spent a delightful minute in some misty sprinklers.  I finished.  But I have that ridge with me still.

It's about how it makes you feel.

A lot of times people don't start things because they feel so far away from the results.  Whether it's running or training for something else, or learning something new like playing guitar or crocheting...getting good at it feels  very out of reach.  So they just don't.

People tell me all the time, in reference to running, that they could never do it: "I don't know how you do it.  I could never do it."  I always tell them I started at the beginning.  Barring injuries, all it takes is dedication (or hard-headedness...)

Whether or not you think your actions can make a difference in your life, starting and believing means more than just getting you to where you want to end up.  Taking a stand changes you in the present.  I became different when I became a runner.  I looked at my surroundings differently.  I felt my strength growing and I translated it into prayer, sending that strength to the people who came into my mind, or searching my mind for the people I knew who needed what I was digging into.  I don't look at it as God giving me that strength when I became a runner, though, but that it was always there.  And when I concentrated on sending that strength to other people, it was prayer to me because I wanted them to have something that was of God in me.  My way of praying for people.

Who knows if it has ever helped anyone.  It helps me.  Taking a stand for things in life is similar.  It doesn't matter if it ever makes a difference.  It's about me and what I do.  What I choose to do affects me in the present, affects other people in the present.

Your vote in an election may seem to not count.  It's unlikely that my vote will ever affect the outcome of any election.  That's not the point.  The point is how I feel for voting, for going and being involved in the process. It affects how I feel about myself and how I feel about my country.  This is not one of those "You can't complain if you don't vote" kind of things.  Complain away.  How does that feel?

I tell myself all the time, I could skip this run or cut that run short by 3 miles and really, how is it going to affect my overall training?  Not at all, probably, but it will affect how I feel about myself that day, and those effects are cumulative.  So much hinges on where I am in my mind.

I want to be an open-minded person, interested in hearing other points of view and thinking them through.  Sometimes I take things personally.  Sometimes it feels personal to me when it's totally not to the other person.  Sometimes I need to speak up and other times it might be better to let it go.  It depends--on the effect speaking up might have and on how I will feel about myself and my actions.

I just read a piece online suggesting that the real way to respond to chick-fil-a is for lots and lots of gay people to go there and be visible.  Dan Cathy doesn't care if no gay people go there ever again.  That's another point of view to consider.  Visibility can do more than anger in many situations.

Yesterday was the first of two 20 milers I have planned for training for Tupelo.  It was the morning of a hot day but the run felt...fine.  The humidity was low-ish and I ran smart and stayed hydrated.  I bathed in water fountains and stalked yard sprinklers, even danced and laughed in the sprinkler on the JHS practice field.  The water felt so cool and so beautiful I couldn't help but pull my hat off and just laugh.  It didn't hurt, I didn't struggle, and I'm not sore today.  That means I could be pushing harder, but I'm going to branch out into some other areas of fitness instead of pushing harder with running.  Let running be calm and comfortable for now.

I dug in a little in the last couple of miles.  I wanted a short walk, but I thought, say there were 2 miles left in a marathon.  How do I feel?  Would I want myself to walk now if this were the race?  Would I need to?  No, of course not.  Push through it.

This week is another fall-back week, then another big week, then tapering.  After Tupelo I would like to do one marathon a month (or even a 50k) until the end of the year, or maybe until March and the next Little Rock Marathon.  It's easier that way...

Beach rain running.

We got rained out in the middle of our beach day, so I decided to hit the treadmill since I slept in this morning. When I got there the fitness center was packed, so I hit the pavement in the sprinkling rain instead. The air felt great and I felt only slightly crazy as I watched lightning strike off in the distance and heard thunder rumbling.

I had a good run, glimpsing the sea from time to time, and appreciated the cloud cover. I need one more 5 mile run and an 8 mile run while we're here, and then a 20 mile run on Sunday.

Here's me enjoying a Summer Shandy on the balcony after my run.






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Think.

This morning I took it easy.  I had 5 miles planned and I've been asking a lot of myself running-wise in the last week so I decided to give myself an easy run, take some walk breaks, and enjoy myself.  It worked.

I had something on my mind.  Yesterday I saw several snarky posts on facebook about something the president said: that if you are successful you didn't get there alone, if you have a business, you didn't build that.

I don't have a business, but I do have a successful career as a teacher and have enjoyed accomplishments as a runner.  To what extent did I build my career alone, or get to where I am as a runner?

We can look at my career first.  I went to a public high school in Jacksonville, AR where I had good teachers and was adequately prepared for college.  I attended a state school, the University of Central Arkansas, on a full academic scholarship.  Alone?  Not so much.  When I moved off campus, I commuted to UCA on state highways and interstates.

What I did with those things was up to me, of course, and my excellent grades at UCA helped land me my first teaching job.  My pay has increased in part due to my Master's degree, which I also got at UCA.  My actual work as a teacher was on me, but would I have had the chance to build this career "alone"?

Then there's the running thing.  Would I be where I am now as a runner without government, without things and services provided in part by public money?

I started running in my neighborhood, which is safe enough for me to feel comfortable out alone.  When I leave my immediate neighborhood, I run on sidewalks.  I depend pretty heavily on a water fountain in a city park off of Loop Road.  So I owe a thank you to the JPD, whoever pays for the upkeep of sidewalks, and Jacksonville Parks and Recreation.  I wouldn't be a runner without, at least, the safety of the community and the sidewalks.

I do most of my long runs at the River Trail in Little Rock and North Little Rock.  I criss-cross the Big Dam Bridge week after week.  That project cost $12.5 million.  I use the Two Rivers Bridge ($5.3 million) and the trail itself (begun with a $1.9 million bond issue, which I assume is different from using tax dollars.  Someone can school me.)  I doubt I would be running distance if the trails weren't there, since it's the long, scenic option that keeps me motivated on distances of over 10 miles.

Then the running ties back in to my career.  I work in a field which gives me hours that are friendly to running.  I make enough money to buy the gear I need to run.  Maybe I don't "need" the gear I use, but I doubt I would have stuck with running without it.  The money I use to buy that stuff and to travel to marathons and pay entry fees comes from my job as a public school teacher.  If I get injured, I have insurance through my job to pay for medical care.  When I get sick, I can afford to go to the doctor and recover quickly--and keep running.

Some people choose to be snarky about the comment the president made, but I chose to think about it.  Nobody does anything alone.  I may have been born with abilities and talents, for which I am thankful, but the possibility of growing them depends on the conditions around me.

The election is, of course, coming up, and each side loves a sound-bite of what they perceive as the other side "messing up."  I've laughed at them before, and I probably will again.  But I also choose to think.

Running in the Rain.

This morning I woke up at about 4:15; I had dreamed that it was time to get up and it wasn't. I rolled over almost gleefully to savor the last hour in bed. When the alarm went off at about 5 I slowly got moving.

It was raining. I looked at the radar on my phone and used my mad meteorological skills to deduce that it wasn't storming and wouldn't rain long. Kristin texted in response to my facebook post and recommended goggles.

When I got to Cook's Landing there were lots of people out. I decided to first go over the bridge and down to Two Rivers.

As Lee Lee said earlier, it was like the rain was set to sprinkler mode. It was soft, steady, and cool. There's a part of Two Rivers where the water comes up next to the trail and is a swampy green. It felt tropical today. Frogs echoed deep throaty calls back and forth across the trail and big white flowers hung from bushes.

On the way back after my first turnaround, I saw a mother and baby deer. They turned back toward the brush but didn't go far. I watched them as much as I could.

I stopped back at my car and got some more gels and then went south on the North Little Rock side, 9 miles in. As I passed the golf course at Burns Park, the rain picked up quite a bit. I went over the wooden bridge feeling euphoric, taking my hat off and holding my hands out and up to the rain. Into the trees, it seemed for a minute like I was the only person left out there. Not for long, though. I passed a cyclist grinning as much as I was. Along the stretch before the skate park and along the cliffs, I looked out at the wide river. Something about the currents or the rain made a camouflage pattern of color along the water, lighter and darker and rippled and pricked with rain drops.

After my second turnaround while going back down a hill, two guys on bicycles came from the other direction. One told the other to look in front of him: a deer had stepped out onto the trail behind me. He must have been standing right next to the trail but I was looking ahead. I watched his tail as he ran up the trail.

The last few miles were a bit challenging because my shoes and socks were sopping wet and heavy. Still, I felt terrific, kissed by the soft rain all morning, cool and wonderfully spent. Days like today are rare.




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Words to the Past.

This morning I took it easy.  I had five planned and wanted to do six so I could take it off of one of my longer runs this week.  I also wanted to just look at today as a recovery run so I walked when I felt like it and drank plenty of water.

I tried something that Kate Evans suggested: start with A and go through the alphabet, thinking of a word that makes you happy for each letter.  I made a few revolutions, and one thing that I found--that I liked--is that thinking of one word would make me think of another.  Of course the other word wouldn't start with the right letter, so I would try to put it off.  Tomorrow when I run I won't.  I'll let the words take me where they want me.

I tried to hang on to the words that I liked particularly the sound of: supine, effervescent, luminescence, vivacious, voracious.  I was stuck at E once but chose edamame: my sushi bar comfort food.  A few times my words triggered memories of the lake when I was a kid: baking on the rocks at Dam Site Park until we couldn't handle it any longer and plunged off into the cool clean-smelling lake water, climbing up moss-slicked rocks back to the top, breathless and dripping, collapsing back on the towels until time to do it again...Driving home a bit sunburned, smelling of tanning lotion and hair in knots from the wind blowing through the windows.  Really those summer times are never far from me, but I liked it being close today.  It's a nice place in my past.

My calves were hard on me again today and didn't loosen up until about half-way.  I went down Brockington to the bottom of the first hill and then came back, feeling good with about 2 miles to go.  I got my six in.

This afternoon it finally rained and we had to go outside and feel it.

We walked barefoot down the street that was wet but still warm from the sun, holding out our hands and our faces to the drops.

A is for acclimate.  O is for open-minded. G is for gregarious. Q is for queer.

A gritty, dirty place.

The alarm went off this morning at...5 am?  I drank too much wine last night.  Not too much for a regular night, but too much for the night before a scheduled 17 mile run.

So the alarm went off.  I hit snooze.  Max rolled over on the remote and turned on the TV.  George Lopez was on at 5 am.  That's enough to get me up, but not necessarily enough to get me moving.

I hadn't gotten anything ready last night, so I had to drag my bag out and start throwing stuff in it.  I thought for a second about hitting the road in the neighborhood, but 17 miles of circles around Jacksonville sounded like more than I could take.  I went outside to the laundry room in my underwear to get my shorts and running bra.  I was going to wear a shirt but the one I wanted was dirty.  Yeah, ok, no, that doesn't usually stop me, but there was a black tire-track looking mark on it from taking Ty's bike out the other day.  I went without a shirt.  I hate that little belly pooch but I do keep reminding myself that it keeps my water belt from riding up.

I parked at Cook's Landing and started running at 6:40.  I decided to break the run into 2-3 segments based on which direction I was heading, and started down the North Little Rock side.  There was that little hitch in my left hip/groin for the first bit, but I finally got it to pop and all was well.  It was cloudy, which turned out to be my saving grace today, though I did worry constantly about getting caught in a storm.  I needn't have.

I ran to the skate park and then turned to go up the hill at Ft. Roots.  This was the first sign of difficulty at about 3.7 miles or so.  I was huffing and puffing up that hill and did walk a little.  Some firetrucks were just finishing up putting out a small brush fire near the top.  I rounded the curve, went around the building at the top of the hill, and got a good look at the view.  Then I enjoyed the run back down.  I was feeling what I am coming to know as "first half bliss," where I think about what a great run this is even though I'm not even into it that well.

Back at Cook's Landing I went over the big dam bridge and had a bit of a mental debate about what to do now.  I was at 12 miles and only needed 5 more.  The trail seemed busy down toward Murray Park (I like busy) so I almost went that way, but then changed my mind and turned toward Two Rivers instead.  I crossed the bridge and made the loop.

It was around the time of coming back over Two Rivers bridge that I really started to feel the miles.  I fought the urge to walk up the incline and dug deep instead.  I dug for a place, told myself to dig down to the gritty dirty place where no one else is and no one else can find me, to dig down to the place where nothing else exists and just run.  I powered over the bridge and back down stream toward my finish.  I focused, tried to make a tunnel in front of me and not think, just repeat, nothing else exists, nothing else exists, nothing else exists.

With about 1.25 miles to go just after the 430 overpass I slowed to a walk for a drink.  I felt my calves start to cramp up and knew that I needed to get back to a run quickly, so I gulped some water and kept going.  One more time I walked, accidentally, when I went for a drink and pulled the whole spout of my water bottle out.  I grabbed it up and went on, glancing at my watch too many times until I crossed from 16.99 to 17 miles.  Stop.  Walk back over the Big Dam Bridge.  I averaged a pace of 10:18 (not including my stops for water fountain bathing) and I'm happy with that.

I thought some today about what people are carrying around with them that we don't know about, how we don't know their stories or where they keep their baggage or how they cope.  How I can meet people or even know people for a while and not see or even imagine that they might be a little like me, but not in the good ways.  But not in the bad ways, either.  It's actually a good thought.

My goal to pick a word every day has not taken hold.  I have made lists, though, of things that I have been putting off and just being anxious about.  I have crossed quite a few of them off, and tomorrow I'll have more chances.

Confessions.

In case you don't know, I haven't been doing very well lately.

I won't go into the details of why, but the symptoms are there.  Some of them are odd.  Like I can get up in the morning, however much I might complain about it, and run 4 or 7 or 15 miles, but the thought of bringing in the four 12 packs of soda (shut up, it's not all for me) makes me want to take a nap.  I can't make myself read books, so I refresh facebook and other online amusement over and over even though it's not amusing at all and probably contributing to my malaise.  I put off things that I know are important even though I know I would feel better if I got them done because the thought of actually doing them makes me anxious, and I don't want to be anxious.  Facing my anxiety feels a little like jumping off a cliff.  I don't like that feeling in my belly.

I can't bring myself to talk openly about some of my reasons why I feel this way, so I just keep feeling this way.  I know it's a symptom of my problem to want other people to fix things for me, to make things better and easier, and I know that won't really fix anything, but I still want it.  I want to feel reassured and safe and sure and I know that to some extent I have to find that for myself but I'm scared maybe that I'll find out something I don't want to about myself.  Or something.  I don't know.

I see things in my face and hear things in my voice that I don't want to see or hear.

I took a step today to try to work on fixing it.  I need to figure this out as much for me as for the people around me.  I half deal with things because I'm scared and tentative all the time.

This is not the person that I want to be.  I've worked so hard to get where I am athletically and that has brought a strength to me but sometimes I hide behind the power that I get from that and pretend it's something other than it is.

Today I did two other things that I had been putting off.  They weren't really things that made me anxious--more so like bringing in the 12 packs of soda.  Stuff I think of doing and then delete in favor of sitting and refreshing facebook and hating myself for not reading a book or taking back control of my mind.

My run yesterday was terrible.  It was so hot.  I got out a bit too late and it got so hot...I stopped and started and wanted to just call it off at 10 or 11 miles.  I found sections of road that were shady and ran them up and down a couple of times to cut down on time in the sun.

There were some good parts.  I saw a flat-topped turtle.  At the water fountain by the community center the crepe myrtle was dropping purple confetti on the ground.  The sun at times seemed friendly instead of white-hot.  The couple of times that I found a sprinkler the feeling of the water on my shoulders was something out of heaven, and the breeze after wetting down in the water fountains brought me back to life.

Mostly it was so hard but it made me thing of what people must think when they say they wish they could run but they can't or are so out of shape.  The sweat, the heat, the fatigue, the stopping and starting and stopping and dragging and sheer stubborn refusal to lose the mind-game by skipping the last two miles.  Because that's what it is.  It's not like it's only hard for beginners, and you can drag ass on a half mile run the same way you can drag ass on a 13 mile run.  Would reducing this 13 miler to 11 miles really affect my over-all training---no.  But it would affect my perception of what I can do this time and next time and our perceptions of what we can do are so important.

Lessons from the Universe.

So yesterday while running I decided to set one goal for each day.  Yesterday's goal was to  drink more water.  I had two sodas after getting home and then drank 2-3 big travel mugs of water before having a couple of glasses of white wine before bed.  I think it was a successful day and I plan to work on repeating it.

My goal for today is to prepare for my week in Russellville, and just to overall work on my tendency to procrastinate at all times until something stops me.  With that in mind, I got up and made a list of things I needed to get done.  One thing on my list was to get Max a new bottle of pills before leaving for the week.  I saw a bag of clothes I had gotten together for Goodwill and decided to drop them off on the way and then, becoming more energized, I decided to go through my hanging clothes quickly and got another bag together.  I loaded these in the car and left, dropping them off and then heading to the vet.

For once the front of the vet's office wasn't packed and I was in and out in minutes.....to find that my car wouldn't start.  Dead battery.

I've known for a month that I needed a new battery.  It has had to be jumped a couple of times and the car made a sad noise every time I started it.  But true to my nature, I kept putting it off and putting it off.  Until this morning, on the day I promised to myself that I would focus on getting and being prepared---the universe reminded me of something else and pretty much required me to take care of it.

So I did.  I went to O'Reilly right after my dad sent someone to rescue me with a jump.  The guy at the shop was nice enough to put the battery in and now I have gotten something else done.

The rest of today is about packing and grocery shopping and probably some more cleaning.  The packing is an important part of my goal because I usually wait until the last minute and then hastily throw stuff together and wind up forgetting something.  I have a list and I keep thinking of more things to add to it.

Today is supposed to be a cross-training day for training.  I considered running anyway so I would have a day in Russellville where I don't have to, but I decided not to.  I figured after yesterday's long run and with how tired I've been, I could use the extra hour of sleep and slow start to the morning.  Of course I don't get much time to sleep in, what with Max waking up and climbing on top of me and Xena thumping her tail against my door and then tap tap tapping into my room expectantly.

Since the hotel has a pool I'm planning on doing some swimming this evening before relaxing with my friends and coworkers.  This is an important week for me work-wise because I'm really feeling the responsibility to be a leader and think responsibly about how to pull the department together and reach everyone's strengths.

One thing.

After just a little procrastinating this morning, I got down to the river and started running at 6.  With a high temperature of around 100 predicted, I knew I couldn't play around with my start time.  The sky was already lightening when I got up and by the time I hit the top of the Big Dam Bridge, the sun was a bright orange button off to the south and east.

On the other side of the bridge, I went towards Rebsamen Park.  The first few miles were clunky--my calves and shins tightened up almost immediately and I clomped along.  After a bathroom stop at Murray Park, they loosened.  I turned around at about the five mile point and retraced my path back.

I decided on no music this morning.  I wanted to be more in tune with my surroundings and listen.  I tried to pick out bird calls when I could--a pair of mourning doves, a cardinal, a few green herons, a host of others, I'm sure.  I heard snatches of conversation from other runners and cyclists, my feet hitting the ground, my breathing, the wind.  Overall my run today was much better than I expected, and I wonder if I'm more centered with my mind more focused on the here and now.

A little over 8 miles in, I stopped back at the Murray Park water fountain to refill my bottles.  A woman was coaxing her dog to drink a bit, and we talked for a few minutes.  I used to fixate much more on not stopping, not giving myself a break, but I'm more relaxed now and I'm glad.  Her dog was a rescue, a small, sweet golden retriever mix named Mistletoe because she was adopted at Christmastime.  She told me about Mistletoe and I told her about Max and Xena and then I moved on.  I like those interactions.  It's part of that community feeling that I get down on the trails.

I get out there and do my miles every week, but that's about the only thing I'm doing that I need to be doing.  I need to work on my eating and drinking habits, the way I spend my time, my house...there are so many areas I need to improve in.  To list every single thing is overwhelming, so today I decided that I will pick one thing every day.  During my morning run I will decide on what it is.  I will commit to myself to do this one thing for this one day.  Then tomorrow I can pick something else.  I have to work on keeping promises to myself without setting myself up to fail.

Today's commitment is to drink more water.  I have a soda addiction--right up to the time that I switch to wine or beer in the evening.  I know this is bad for me, but I have failed at multiple attempts to give it up or cut back.  As I was fixing my breakfast (at 10:30 it wasn't exactly breakfast, but sliced tomatoes from the garden with a bit of Greek Seasoning, salt, and olive oil make a great snack) when I got back home, I craved a Dr. Pepper.  At first I tried not to have one, but then I remembered my track record at trying to give up soda.  I don't need to give it up completely and I don't need to fight myself.  So after my morning sodas, I will make a big cup of ice water.  My hope is that these things will make me feel better and happier and work themselves into my every day routine.

I made the 15 mile point with about a mile left to get back to my car.  I had entertained some thoughts of going all beastmode and running the extra mile, but then I decided to walk and just enjoy it.  I craned my neck to watch the swallows feeding their babies.  I ambled up the bridge and then watched a boat go through the lock.  I read the sign explaining how it worked--I had no idea the lock was filled or drained using gravity, but it's true.  No pumps are used--a valve is opened and the water fills or drains as needed.  As the bridge headed down hill back to Cook's Landing, I stopped to watch the swallows from a different angle, noticing their brownish color and how much smaller they are than I would have thought.

Between my early start and the nice breeze off the river, today was not such a hot run and felt really good.  This ends a 37 mile week.  Next week is a step back week that I imagine my body needs before ramping up to the 40's.

Do it anyway.

This week I've had AP training each morning starting at 8 in Little Rock.  That meant waking up early to get the miles in.  Monday night I set the alarm for 5:30.  The alarm went off and my very first thought was NO.  I'm not doing it.  Forget it.


I lay there for a few minutes thinking it was not possible and I was not going.  But I knew that failing to get up and run meant not running at all.  I had plans Tuesday evening and Wednesday was my first night to have Ty back and I didn't want to spend an hour running after picking him up.


So. I got up.  I thought of a new acquaintance who is blogging about training here.  The newness and enthusiasm of training is nice in comparison to my sort of pissy I don't want to attitude.  And there's Marita who is blaming me for the torture that she's putting herself through.  I'm so proud.  So yeah, I sort of slithered out of bed and got dressed with only a little pouting.


The mornings have really been pretty nice.  On Tuesday I counted 6 rabbits, one with a speckled back.  I saw nearly as many rabbits as squirrels.Wednesday I headed out just after 5:30 to get 7 miles done and it was dim, with a few clouds, but pretty.  I went out on Brockington and passed several people running or walking dogs.  This morning was just a four miler.   It was cool enough again, enough so that the earphones actually stayed in my ears enough to listen to my book for the whole run. 


Three days in a row I did what I didn't want to do....and accomplished what I wanted to accomplish.  I feel so much better than I would have felt if I had stayed in bed.  I want to be able to transfer that to other parts of my life: work, the house, hobbies.  Why do I spend so much time online when I could be playing guitar or learning to crochet better or working in the yard, or just getting all the laundry put away?  I know it's a matter of will-power and doing what I don't want to do, knowing that the results will make me happier and healthier.  I'm thinking I could make some small steps and some commitments to myself.  I don't know where I want to start.


Tomorrow is 7 miles and Sunday is 15.  I look forward to a little extra sleep tomorrow since I don't have to be out early. 


When the title for this post came to me, I thought of this song.  Dream, believe, pray, love, sing.

Water fountains are for bathing in.

This morning I got down to the river and got started on my 14 mile run at about 7:00.  I had been pretty nervous about this long one because I was getting out a little late and I knew there was a definite chance of the landscape bursting into flames, as a friend put it once.

I started out listening to The Age of Innocence on my phone.  I've been listening to it for my past few runs.  It's a good story, really, all love and scandal and society and more scandal.  I only listened to it for about the first 4 miles before the sweat made the earbuds keep falling out.  I usually enjoy running without music or books as much or more than with--if I hadn't taken the sound out, I would have missed the cardinal singing insistently or the deep croak of the frogs.  I even like hearing the cyclists say, "On your left!"  It's something about community and the experience.

I parked at the dog park in Burns Park and ran down to the Big Dam Bridge.  It was still early and there was shade, so I went down a little ways towards Murray Park.  When I ran out of shade I turned around and went back.

As I passed the bridge to go on up towards Two Rivers Park, I saw dozens of birds carrying food to their nests.  Mud and grass nests lined the underneath of the the ramp up to the bridge.  The birds would hover alongside the bridge until they figured out which nest was theirs, then drop in with the food and then duck back out.  The holes to the nests were small and round, the nests large like mud gourds.  It's a fascinating sight.  I looked them up when I got home and I think they are cliff swallows. 

I bathed myself in every water fountain: near the Big Dam Bridge, at next to 430 and on the other side of Two Rivers.  I was trying to stay on the good side of the heat, and it did work out.  There was enough shade and enough of a breeze to keep things manageable.

In Two Rivers Park, I appreciated the trail surrounded by pine trees, shady and cool.  I told myself to count up the things I had seen: the birds with their mud nests and babies, the young bamboo stippling the side of the trail with jointed spokes of green, the bunny hopping off into the brush, the downy fluff lining the sides of the trail from the cottonwoods, the wide open fields with hay stacks on the outskirts, the place I know the deer hang out when it's quiet.  There's a portion of the river trail that is lined with mimosa trees--the trees have grown over the trail a bit and the smell is cool and sweet.  There are black berries blooming here and there--I passed a little girl picking them.

During the hard parts I made myself look inward and focus on the difficulty.  At one hot part towards the end I embraced the heat and ran through it.  Yes I was hot and yes it was hard, but I could keep going through it, and I did.  I may have looked at the garmin a dozen times to see how much farther, but I kept going.  Sometimes when it's hard it helps to look around and find the beauty that can distract you, and sometimes you have to focus on the pain because running from it or away from it keeps you from growing.  You always have to come back and meet the pain and face it.

I was thankful for a strong run, for being able to keep a pretty solid, steady pace and feeling good at the end. 

Next week will be a challenge.  I have AP training four days, Monday through Thursday, and a 37 mile week.  I also have plans to see some good friends and will be celebrating one of them getting back into running.  Can't wait!

The Chronicles of Argenta

This is a post about a day that I did not run.  I drank too much beer the night before, stayed up too late, and skipped my planned 3 miles.  That's just the truth.  It happens.

I went down to Argenta to meet my sister Katie and my aunt Lee Lee for lunch.  Lee Lee beat us there and got the cool booth in the window for prime people watching.  Katie and I joined her and ordered Blue Moons.  Lunch was lovely and we enjoyed the time out with each other sans kids in the middle of the day.  We tabbed out and Lee Lee left and Katie and I decided to have one more beer together (for a total of two if anyone is keeping track.)

After that, we needed a walk before driving, so first we headed over to the antique store next door.  We admired frogs hanging from the ceiling looking interestingly phallic, fingerless mannequins with paddle hands, and some especially lovely vibrating upholstered chairs upstairs.  The guy working there said they usually charge for people to have that much fun, so we took that as our hint.

We left the store and crossed the street.  In the entry-way of the Starving Artists' Cafe, we saw a painting of a woman with stars tattooed on her lower back, dipping down below her pants.  Inspiration!  We decided we needed to get that tattoo....right then.  We did take a minute to text some important people about our plans, but set off down the street in search of a tattoo place in Argenta.

Just down the street, a man was getting comfortable on a bench outside a storefront.  Katie, assuming he was homeless (because he was carrying a backpack) and that homeless people know where to get tattoos, asked him if he knew of a place.  It turns out that he didn't, but was eager to talk to us about why we would want to defile our temples by tattooing them in the first place.  I told him that I didn't think that the parts of the Bible that he was using to support the defilement argument really worked for me, and then I told him I was gay.

Oops.  Newly energized, he got up from his bench and (asking permission to approach us!) began his earnest effort to save me from certain hell-fire. (The he did profess his love for all people).  I didn't listen very well though, which was very frustrating to him.  He wanted me to listen to him quote about how the effeminate will not inherit the kingdom of God.  I've actually heard that one before, but he didn't want to debate the meaning of effeminate with me.  Damn.  Katie and I decided to give that discussion up (Katie was less patient than me) just as I heard someone calling from across the street. (I believe in the importance of conversation, but I think quoting scripture falls under the same rule as jokes: "Oh, you've heard that one before?  Ok then...")

But back to the call from across the street!  It was Dave and Claudia and their kids!  I hadn't seen Dave and Claudia in over a year!  Katie and I nearly got runover as we escaped from the guy trying to save us from ourselves.  I knew Dave and Claudia were moving to North Little Rock, but I firmly believe that running into them was a sign--of a number of things.  They were heading in the Starving Artists Cafe for lunch, so Katie and I joined them for hot tea and conversation.

After that, we were back to the tattoo discussion.  With varying levels of support from our romantic counterparts, we decided to go for it and drove up to 7th Street.  We each got the same 5 stars, but in different colors and places.  Katie got hers on the top of her foot and mine is on my right side.

And that's the end, I guess.  I had a great day of adventuring with my amazing sister, was lucky to run into some wonderful old friends, and did not run any miles.  I made up for it yesterday with 7 and today with 5.  I'm back on track.

In which I give relationship advice: look out.

Tomorrow I leave to run marathon number 5 in Pelham, Alabama.  Kristin is coming with me.  It's our first road trip together, and my first time to go off with someone who also wants to run.  I'm glad she was inspired at the Little Rock Marathon and I hope this weekend she's able to fall a little in love with running.

Yesterday I did my last run before the race on Sunday.  I ran three miles and it was terrible.  It was hot, I was tired, and I did not feel strong.  I keep counting the days/miles/weeks since my last marathon, comparing to training for other marathons, and analyzing my level or preparedness.  I don't know why because I know this is going to be fun: it's a trail race!  But there is the nagging irrational fear--what if only fast people run this race and I'm left behind??  What if running on a trail is way harder than I expected and I can't do it? What if.....

On my way home from work I started thinking about love.  (Aww how sweet!) I was thinking about a friend of mine and his relationship problems, maybe some of my past relationship problems, though no specific ones, and just what happens to people in general when it comes to long term togetherness.  (I'm going somewhere with this!)  Always somewhere in my mind is the level of validity that various people give to certain relationships, both their own and other people's.  A long term, strong relationship is like a long, hilly run.  People will tell you sort of automatically and tritely that there are ups and downs, but you can't really see that until you look back on several years.  In any relationship, you'll be able to see after a while where you've been, and based on where you were, you can kind of tell where you'll be again.  If you can see good in the past and good in the future, then you can know that whatever low you might be in will pass.  You have to be patient.  You have to be willing to sweat it out, or to shut up and deal with your (my) own issues, or to own your own mistakes or faults, or to be forgiving of your partner's.  I'm connecting this to running because I think it explains crappy runs.  How can I have a crappy three mile run on Thursday and then successfully complete 26.2 on Sunday?  It's because I'm in a long-term relationship with running: I see where I've been and I have faith that I can be there again.  During a down-time with my partner (for whatever reason), I can see where I've been and trust that I can be there again.  If you give up on a relationship or a marriage because of a series of bad moments or funks or miscommunications, you give up on the possibility that you'll be at the good again.

You give up on the awesomeness of familiarity, too.  Familiar is not bad or dull.  Passion can be familiar.  The sweet tenderness of a familiar kiss?  Unmatchable.  Know where you've been.  Maybe you don't know exactly where you're going, but you have to be willing to believe that it will be somewhere snug and soft and good.  The familiar exhilarating strength of running is too much to give up on, too.  Even in summer, even when it's morning and staying in bed would be easier.  Easy doesn't get you anywhere.  When things are tough in any part of life, we have to ask ourselves: where have I been, where will I wind up again, and how much work, (how many miles?) am I putting into it?

Back to that validity thing.You have to validate yourself, your relationship, and your commitment to whomever you love.  You have to believe that it's right and that you deserve happiness.  I have to do that, and I have to keep doing that.  You have to look at other people where they are and support them.  We have to hold people together when we can.  I had to believe that I deserved happiness in my relationship in order to have it.  I have to support the people around me, listen to them and give them what they need.  Where running is concerned, it's important to me to support people when they are getting started.  That's part of why I'm excited about going away with Kristin.  It's why I got so much out of volunteering at the Women Can Run 5k last weekend: so much potential strength and emotion through running, through completing something, through women believing in each other.

Sometimes you look at where you've been and you know that where you will probably end up is not a place that you want to be.  I've been there too.  Dropping out of that "race" can be hard--admitting defeat, giving up, disappointing someone.  But believing in yourself means knowing when to rest, when to stop, when to take a break, when to make a new plan.

Right now, my bag is packed and I'm looking forward to the trip.  I think it will be a great one.

Barbed wire and monopoly

Today I went out for a short run to clear my head and recover from the marathon.  As soon as I got out there, I felt better.  In a way, I think that the first run after a marathon makes me feel as much like a runner as the marathon itself.  Because of the return, of the homeness.  I break into a glide (or a hobble) and remember.  After my first marathon I took ten days to recover before running again.  These days I take one or two, but the feeling is the same.  Relief.

I was in such a mood when I got home.  Grouchy, out of sorts, wanting to lash out at someone but knowing that I really didn't.  I don't have anyone to be mad at.  Spring is hard at work.  I went out to look at my garden: 14 young green bean plants uncurling in the dirt made me happy, but not completely.  I hadn't even totally planned on running since my foot has still been hurting, but suddenly I needed to really badly.  I came inside to change, searching like a crazy person for my stuff where I had thrown my bag when I got home Sunday.  Not only did I desperately need to run, but I very much needed to listen to Chris Pureka while I did it.  I tore up the house looking for headphones and finally found some.

Out on the road in the heat under the blue sky and trees, I found my peace.  "Swann Song" came on, with the chorus, "It was a good life, yeah it was a good life. I'd do it all again."  I started thinking about the things I would do again, the things from my childhood that I would like to do maybe even just one more time.  I would like to wander aimlessly in the country and slide under a barbed wire fence like I go in and out of doors these days.  I would like to play in another softball tournament.  Not as an adult.  As a 12 year old, finish up dusty and sit back against bat bags drinking cokes and taking off my cleats and socks and looking at my hot, dirty feet.  I would like to spend a night with my childhood best friend, Cristi, laughing and laughing at Skip Bo and the very first Mario Brothers and I would like her to beat me at Monopoly while her cat lay on the top of the box next to us.  I would like to play catch with Taffy one more time.  I would like her to bring me her tennis ball and drop it at my feet and I would like to throw it and throw it down the hall in the house I grew up in, bouncing it off my mom and dad's bedroom door and watching Taffy put the breaks on and scramble back up the hallway for the ball.  I would like to drive in the dark down a country road in the summer with all the windows down and watch the lightning bugs in the field, so many that the field looked alive and full and magical.  I would like to walk down the basement stairs again, only one stair with carpet, and maybe turn old bits of sheet rock to dust outside the basement door with my brother.  I would like to fall asleep on the floor on a sheet in front of a box fan in the middle of the summer in a house with no air conditioning and wake up chilled.

I would like to know where the mark is that divides my childhood from my adulthood, where the line is that marks what was possible then and what is impossible now.  I would like back the parts of me that I gave away in my teenage years for no good reason.

Running took me there, running and the sweet salty sound of Chris Pureka's voice.  Right now I'm not sure if it's the best place to be, but I do know that I bless the content feeling in my legs and knowing (or hoping) that it will be there for me next time.

Maybe you can go where I went.  (Or in other words, go listen to the song that took me there.)

Hogeye Marathoning

Today I finished the Hogeye Marathon in about 4:44.  It was my fourth marathon and my third in six weeks.  It was the race I needed to finish in order to qualify to be part of the Marathon Maniacs.  I feel like a maniac, but I also feel pretty amazing.

I don't really feel like posting a real race report.  The trails were pretty and the course was nice and the volunteer support was amazing.  The hills were killer and I got tired pretty early on.  I wasn't quite sure until, oh, mile 24, maybe? that I would be able to finish because of the weather.  Running along a field with a full on view of a giant thunderstorm is disconcerting enough when you haven't been told there's a tornado warning.  And like I said, I was tired.  It's amazing how much different the experience is when you're well-trained and tapered.  I ran 4:22:04 in Little Rock.  It hurt, but it felt solid.  I struggled in Jackson and I struggled today.  I walked quite a bit.  I know after another proper training period I'll be able to post some more good times.

But let's get to the important stuff.  J was wonderful and supportive, as usual.  We had fun Saturday evening at dinner with Allen and Susan, and then J, Ty, and I enjoyed our evening at the house just sitting around.  That kind of comfortable time is priceless.

Allen had mentioned finding me along the trail, and it was so sweet of him to come out.  He met me first at around 7.5 miles.  He and Susan saw me sitting on the ground to cover a blister a bit after that and checked on me.  Then I saw them at around mile 15 where the turnaround was, and towards the end around mile 23 (he reassured me that the tornado was going north of us.  I really was reassured because I figured if he thought I was in actual danger he would tell me.)  When I saw them I would smile and wave and say thanks and go on.  I would be past them in a few seconds, but seeing them out there meant so much to me.  The support and love of so many people is such a treasure.  I soak it up and appreciate it every time, whether it's J carrying Ty from the hotel at 4:30 am in Tupelo or coordinating the Team Christi effort in Little Rock, my sister, Lee lee, Roy, Kristen, and Jason being at the finish there, my dad dropping everything to go to Jackson with Ty and me, J rolling out of bed before 6 this morning and then making it back to the finish with my bag of stuff and a towel (that Allen told her to get) in the threatening rain to pick me up, or Allen and Susan driving around Fayetteville to cheer me on.  Then there's everyone who encourages me online, comments on photos, sends congrats.  I am truly grateful for everything.

I had only a few deep thoughts while running today.  Most of my thoughts had to do with the clouds and the direction of the wind, the hills, and my legs hurting.  But I did think at one point that running a marathon (or just running!! or just living!!) means stopping when you have to but starting again even though you know it's going to hurt.  It means doing something hard, cursing at it, finishing, celebrating, immediately sort of forgetting how much it kind of sucked and looking forward to doing it again.  It teaches you to know that there will be people who are faster than you, but it doesn't matter because it's not about winning, it's about doing.  It's about putting aside your self-consciousness and claiming something that will make you proud and make you feel strong.  Of course, in my opinion, this is all life stuff.

Right now I don't have another marathon planned until September.  That could change! ;)