Bask. Banter. Love.

One of my students' vocabulary words this week is bask.

We talked about it today, about how you can bask in the sun, or you can bask in a positive feeling.

Tonight I have basked in positive feelings.  I came home, and my wife came home, and we were silly and happy.  We got beer, and Thai food, and we laughed, and kissed, and snuggled.  We smiled, played with the dogs, sent some risque snapchats, listened to music.  We didn't deal with serious things, partly per my request.  

The serious things don't go away, and I know that my desire to avoid them can be a problem.  But tonight, the smiles, the laughter, the carefree-ness: it gave me life. And me, I know I have to get better at dealing with the serious things.  

Another one of my students' vocabulary words this week is banter.

Yesterday, I went for a long run in the forest with some friends, and with some people I didn't know well yet.

I can't really explain how it has felt to be a part of this group this summer.  Some of them are crazy traveling bitches.  Some of them go by other names.  But altogether, these people make up a group of runners in Central Arkansas who are badass as fuck.  Nice, accepting, funny, supportive, inclusive.  Hard core.

After a somewhat grueling 25 miles (and a lot of people had already done 25+ on Saturday, but not me), we sat down under the tent.  To banter.  I listened to stories, jokes, teasing.  I promise you, I basked.  I smiled.  I felt lucky. I met new people, got to know acquaintances a little better, said thank you's to people who are becoming closer friends.  

When we have these things--lovers, spouses, partners and friends and kids who love us, communities who welcome us--everything just has to be ok.

My family, my coworkers (who are also some of my closest friends), my wife, all of the friends that I have met in all of the ways: thank you.  You give me the strength to do my part.

I'm going to be better.  Bask, banter, love.

Forward Momentum.

Last year, I was all excited to sign up for the RocknStroll 5k.  Admission to Riverfest, a race, a Travelers game??  I talked Katie into it and we signed up ourselves and the boys.  Fast forward to race morning.  We go and pick up our stuff and then my unenthusiastic sister suggests that we ditch the race for IHOP.  The boys jumped on it and I was overruled.

So this year, when I saw that volunteering ALSO involved admission to Riverfest AND added to my plan of more race volunteering, I suggested it to Jessica.  She was willing.  I didn't run it by Ty.  I knew what his answer would be.  He got roused from a nice sound sleep on race morning and was a little incredulous that I was actually serious.  We went.  It was great, though Ty wasn't into it and Jessica's main job was to pacify him.  See him getting his head rubbed over there?  We made some new friends there, too.

Time passes, however slow it seems, however much the slowness of it sometimes tears at me, and school ended.  I can't convey the way I had to drag myself through the last few weeks, the way two weeks felt like months, the way I felt surrounded by heavy water whenever I thought about getting done.  But it happened, and the last day meant time to celebrate.  I'm lucky to have a wonderful friend like Jurel to celebrate with.  As the evening went on, I realize that I could breathe again.  It took some time, some deep breaths, some letting go.  Some sitting.

The next week we were all off to the work retreat.  We went to the Win
Rockefeller Institute for the retreat.  I didn't know what to expect, really,
and I was both pleased and disappointed.  Disappointed--because I think a retreat is more about forming relationships and breaching boundaries than it is about looking at data and rehashing information that has been gone over and gone over.  We can do so much more when we understand each other.  But the relationship forming was a very small piece of the official agenda--though we tried to make up for it after hours, which was quite pleasing.  Out of respect for the guilty I'm not posting pictures of the after-party, but I got to know lots of coworkers better than I knew them before, and I got a great run in one morning.  It was a beautiful place.  Paula and I borrowed bicycles for one afternoon and rode into Petit Jean State Park and went to the overlook.  It was beautiful.  This photo, though, was taken on the Win Rockefeller grounds at a small overlook that was just a short walk from where we stayed.  It speaks to a good bit of what Arkansas is to me--my home, a patchwork of colors and memories, both growing and dormant.  It's consistently surprising to me in a strange way to picture memories so clearly in my mind and remember that I will never be going back there again.  Luckily this view of Arkansas is never farther away than the top of Pinnacle Mountain.

This last weekend I participated in the pre-run of the 3 Bridges Marathon coming up in December. It was a course I knew pretty well--the river trail--but I got to do it with friends.  We were lucky to have cloud cover and took our time--lots of opportunities for photos.  Annette took this one of me out in front of the Clinton Library.  See that tiny dot in the middle?  Yeah, that's me.  It was a tough run but a reminder of how happy I am to be part of the running community here.  I'm looking forward to the race in December.

I'm looking forward to a lot of things.  More races: the Full Moon 50k is coming up in July, and in two weeks I'm running a no-frills, 1 mile out and back by the river.  I figure I'll bring a cooler of ice and water and gatorade and I can dunk my head in it if I need to.  Why not run a mile back and forth 26 times?  I'm looking forward to changing seasons, holidays, next steps, growing friendships...to life.

Moments.

I got out this morning for the first of two runs today. Even though it's hard for me to wake up early, I've missed mornings. Summer mornings, actually. When it's cooler but not cool, the light is diffuse, and the air is still. 

I was listening to pandora. I felt heavy and clunky and slow. I had hoped to run 5 but decided four would be better because of my slower pace and need to get ready for work. 

On north first street, an Ani DiFranco song came on, another live version. She talked first, about being in Italy and meeting someone, (re-meeting someone), and said she was playing a song for her, one she just finished writing that night. When she started playing, I stood still and looked up in front of me. Smudges of cloud marched away from the sun on my left, and morning light shimmered, on the verge of dissipating. I opened thankfully to it. Thankfully, I remembered how to see it, how to let my soul mingle with the sun. 

When I started running again I wasn't thinking about myself or my legs or my breathing. I was picturing that re-meeting on a street in Italy, greetings and smiles and laughter. "I was no picnic, I was no prize." No, I was not. Am not. 

Volunteering, running, marathoning...

I'm starting with the most recent and working back.
Sunday we volunteered at the RocknStroll 5k at Riverfest.  I had warned Ty that I would be dragging him out of bed early Sunday morning, but I don't think he took me very seriously.  When I woke him up Sunday morning, he was a bit incredulous.  I got him moving and we made it down to Heifer Village  only a few minutes late.  Before too long, I was cutting up bananas like it was a my job.  Along with two other super nice volunteers, we got the food sliced and set up and ready to go--with time left to visit.  Jessica got there in time to deal with a whiny 12 year old who was ready to go home--and that's a pretty big job!

My first race volunteer experience was over a year ago at the first Women Can Run 5k.  This was race number 3 for volunteering, but I plan for there to be plenty more.  I don't run many 5k's now, but I used to, and I've benefited from hundreds of volunteers over the years I've been running.  I'm ready to be there for more people.  So much goes into making these races happen.  Also, as I saw Sunday, volunteering can help you meet more people, and more awesome people in the running community.  I'm so into that.

Saturday was the Rock Run 8k.  This was my first year to do this one.  I was super happy that Carrie decided to do the run---it's much more fun with friends, even when your friends are faster than you!!  Carrie met me Saturday morning and we rode up together.  Greg was (as usual!!) nice enough to snap a picture of me and share it.  If you don't know Greg, you should.  He has been a friend since before my first marathon and has been nice enough to snap and share pictures going back to my first Hogeye Marathon.

The 8k was fun, but was closer to 5 miles than I realized.  I managed a decent pace--I pushed harder than I did at Toad Suck or the Capital City Classic--and I hope to get a few points in the Grand Prix.  It was great to know that some new runners turned out for the race--Carrie introduced me to a runner from the Cabot WCR clinic.  Since I haven't run this race before, I don't know what the course has been like in the past, but I like the out and back.  It's good to see friends and familiar faces and be able to cheer and be cheered.

Now for the River City Marathon in Peoria, Illinois a week ago.  We left early Saturday morning so that we could make it up to get packets at the expo and have dinner and check in to the hotel.  The drive was long and uneventful, for the most part.  It was good to share it with friends, and Jessica was surprised (was she really?) to see just how long we can talk about running.

The parts of Peoria that we got to see were really nice.  The riverfront is pretty and the expo was open and full of some good, affordable race and running stuff.  We enjoyed the weather while feeling cautious about the heat of the coming race.  The pace teams had been changed in anticipation of a hot day and we were told to be conservative in our expectations for time.  I was oblivious.

I really was.  I had thought briefly about the 4:10 pace team, even, but I settled on the 4:20 pacer.  I thought a 4:20 marathon would be a nice tough challenge but not that big of a deal.  I ran a 4:12 marathon in Little Rock not that long ago, right?  Yeah.

I started out ok.  The pacer was nice and talkative and had some plans to bring the group together as a team.  I love talking and meeting new people in a race.  I was feeling the speed, but hell, I felt it in Little Rock.  I hung in there...until The Hill.  It had been spoken of, this hill at mile 7, but until I was running up  it, I wasn't prepared.  About 3/4 of the way up it, I handed the pacer sign over and started walking--and that was it for me and a 4:20 finish.  I first attempted to run from aid station to aid station.  I was still feeling pretty crappy, though, and it was damn early in the race. Finally, I caved totally and started counting steps.  I ran 75 and walked 25 steps for a good while and finally started to feel better.

Peoria, at least the parts we saw, was genuinely wonderful.  The neighborhoods were  nice and the people were nicer.  So many people were out in their yards--more than I've seen at any race.  The cheering was great--even when they said, "You got this!"  And I thought, you don't know that!!  And I don't look strong!  I look like crap!

But yeah, I kept putting one foot in front of the other.  Over and over and over and fucking over, seriously.  It was one of those races where starting again after walking was sometimes a pure act of spirit and will over body.  I wanted to cry at times.  I teared up.  It just sucked.  It was hot.  I hit up every water hose and sprinkler and dumped water on myself at every water stop.  Sometimes when I dumped water on myself, I could barely feel it.

The last mile or so I ran with a guy from the pace team that I left.  They had left it, too.  It perked me up to run and talk with some people for a while.  Finally crossing the finish was a huge relief.

I wandered aimlessly looking for Jessica.  My calves cramped up horribly and I had to sit twice before I got to a good spot to sit and borrow a phone.  I pouted.  But it was marathon number 16 with a finish in 80 + degree weather.  I got it.

And it was Ruthanne's qualifying race for the maniacs.  I would definitely do it again, and I would recommend the River City Marathon to anyone.  I'm sure that next year will be even better.

Women Can Run 2013

This morning I volunteered for the second year in a row at the Women Can Run 5k in Conway.  I was so touched last year watching people cross the finish line.  This year I worked the food instead so I didn't get to see all the victorious faces celebrating, but I still had a great time.  I have been so proud of Paula for sticking with Women Can Run and improving so much over the last few months.  Today was no different.

 The thing that is so different about this year is that I know, actually know, so many people in the running community.  Last year I barely knew anyone.  I showed up, volunteered, and went home.  This year, after helping clean up the concession stand, I went down to the field to sit with the Cruisers during the awards.  I'm continually blessed by the friends I have made through running.  Watching someone else grow stronger from running and get the amazing feelings I remember from the beginning is also a huge blessing.  My life is enriched so much through everything that has happened in the years since I became a runner.

An event is barely complete without a photo op with Carrie and Christine.  Here's the Foxy Lady and the Supermodel right here.  You know who's missing?  Ruthanne!!



I have missed the last race or two with regard to blog posts.
I kept putting it off because I wanted to transfer pictures over
to my computer and I'm lazy lazy lazy. Now it seems too long ago and to be honest I'm not in the best blogging frame of mind.  We have another marathon road trip next weekend--this time to Illinois, so I will make sure that I make that post happen soon after we get back.  I've had this blog going since 2011 now and so so much has changed since then.  I'm rolling with it.

Little Rock Marathon!

The fun started Friday night with our trip to the expo.  Paula and Jennifer followed Ruthanne, Carrie, and me so they could get their 5k stuff.  The expo is always exciting and this year there were some good photo ops!  The theme of this year's race was Lucky--I figured at first that this was the 13th Little
Rock Marathon, but it was the 11th.  It's 2013, though, so I guess we needed some luck to go along with the year.  There were cowboy shirts, country music, hats--and a horse.  We had some fun with the horse.Well....the rest of us didn't have as much fun as Carrie had.  If you ask her she'll say she was coerced, but that doesn't show in the photo evidence.

Paula, we found, makes a very convincing looking farm hand/cowboy/horse wrangler.  Maybe the teaching thing is a front??

We popped into the Go! Running VIP party for a bit and then said goodbye to Paula and Jennifer and headed out for some dinner and drinks.  I was determined to eat right to prepare for this marathon, and Annette Blanton told us that the meal two nights before was where you really get your energy for the race, so I went with pasta.  We had a great time and there was much laughter and conversation that cannot be reproduced on this blog.  Let's just say it has to do with underthings--or the lack of them--and leave it at that.







I spent Saturday morning working at the AP prep

session at North Pulaski.  It was snowing!  I guess Paula and Jennifer and the other 5k-ers got to deal with wind-blown snow flurries for their race.  I griped about the weather.

I was nervous about this race because I really wanted to PR.  I set my previous PR at the Little Rock Marathon in 2012--it was marathon 2 for me.  Then I went on to run 10 more races in the next year, but I didn't beat that time of 4:22.  I came sort of close at White River (4:27, I think?) and at Mississippi River (4:25), but this time I felt like I was as ready as I would be to PR and I knew the course and what to expect.  Except I was nervous.  There was no "I'll just run it and have fun."  I wanted to PR and everyone knew that I wanted to PR.  I wanted to at least finish under 4:20.

I had thought about starting out with the 4:25 group again like last year, but they were in the C corral and I was in the Open corral.  They were definitely being strict about the wave start so I began the race on my own.  It was chilly but not uncomfortable.  I ditched my warm up pants before the start and lost the sweatshirt fairly soon after.

In North Little Rock I was happy to see Claudia, Dave, Evelyn, and Gloria waiting for me to come by.  I knew when to look for them so I made sure to be on the side of the road where they would be.  It was great to have some cheers from friends on the side of the course and even cooler to see them when I came back the other way.  High fives are a good burst of energy.  I was keeping a good pace.

Around mile 9 my legs started to feel really tired and I got worried--with my legs feeling tired then, I didn't know how I would be able to keep that pace for the rest of the race.  Plus, I was feeling the hills before we even got to the hills.

I got a boost when I caught up to the 4:25 pace team--I chatted a little with the pacers--they were the same ones who led that pace team last year and ran with them for the first half.  It was a boost to chat for a minute and also because I could feel that their pace was slower than what I had been running and that I could run faster, and I went on.

The hill up into the heights felt longer than before.  Not only that, but I felt like it never really leveled out until we started going downhill.  Finally heading down felt better.  It was actually a relief to get to the bottom and head down the river trail--plus--at mile 18 I was still on pace for a good PR and felt deep into the race.

The out and back has a reputation for being long and boring--and it is--except that there was plenty of yelling back and forth from maniac to maniac and friend to friend.  That helped break up the monotony.  A couple of maniacs were at the turnaround taking pictures and there were laughter and smiles.  I passed mile 22 and was waiting...and waiting...for mile 23, for knowing there were only 3 miles to go, and that I could walk through the water station.  When I finally looked down at my garmin and it said 23.5, I thought it might be a mistake--how could I have missed that mile marker?  But it wasn't, and soon Cantrell, mile 24, and the evil final hills were in sight.

 I knew that with the way I was feeling I would have to walk some.  I also knew I had plenty of time and didn't have to worry much about my PR at that point.  I probably would have been able to gather more energy and push harder if I had been closer to my old time--which is both good and bad.  On the last tough hill I saw Greg, who snapped this picture,


and then I caught up with Barco and got a bear hug and a few steps from him.  I was so close and so tired and just kept telling myself hell yes, oh god hell yes, go get this PR.  I kept glancing down at my garmin to make sure that I was right about the time.  I remembered to stop the timer as I crossed the finish line and felt tears and disbelief and having finished in 4:11:52.  I staggered over to get the chip cut off my shoe, get that heavy medal, and have a picture snapped.  Kristin, Shawn, and Kennedy were there at the finish and came around inside the park to spend some time with me--it was so great to see them and spend a few minutes celebrating my PR with friends.

Kristin took this picture of me with my medal to go with the somewhat hideous--but still appreciated--one that she took as I was crossing the finish.  I got my post-race beer and we walked a bit.  I felt great about my time and my legs didn't get that super heavy painful feeling that they sometimes get right after a race.  Kristin and Shawn left with Kennedy and I found a spot by the finish line to watch people.  That was an amazing thing to see, all of those people so elated with their accomplishment, huge smiles, and I loved marathoning even more then, seeing the things people can do, knowing everything that they did to get to that point, and seeing it become reality.  At one point I teared up as a much older lady crossed.  She had a half-marathon bib on and was doing a stiff walk--you could just tell that she had probably been doing that same walk through the whole 13.1 miles she had just covered, and what an amazing display of determination and refusal to do anything but achieve, put herself out there and just do it!! So many people tell me they could never do it.  What about the man who had his lower leg in a boot.  He had his leg bent at the knee and on a wheeled scooter and he was slowly pushing himself long with the other leg.  Or the guy in the wheelchair who was pushing himself up the mountain into the heights.  Or the many, many people who were older or who were still carrying the extra weight who I passed from the early start--by 11:30 when I started passing them, they had been going since 6 and had hours left.  One of the maniacs who had been taking pictures did some dancing at the finish--impromptu entertainment!  Many people grabbed hands with a running partner to cross together, looking so thrilled and triumphant.

After Carrie and Ruthanne finished, Ruthanne went to see her family and Carrie and I grabbed a spot on the grass to relax.  I had stayed on my feet since the finish and it felt good to get off of them.  We stayed there until Ruthanne was ready.  I kept my hood pulled over my face to avoid any more sun, since I forgot again to put on sunscreen.  We then staggered out, brought the swagger wagon down, and went to Sticky Fingerz for some beer and snacks.  More fun, more inappropriate laughter, and a slightly inebriated Carrie are what we had to show for that.

The server was nice enough to capture these moments for us, which Ruthanne put together and shared with me.  The medals do hide our whole faces, and there was clearly some hilarity as well.  Running friends get into your life and heart quickly and make the whole experience so much bigger and more special.  I look forward to many more races with the friends I have made and the ones who are to come.  I'm so thankful to be able to do what I do and feel great doing it.  I can never fully explain what running means to me and why I do it.  It's part of my heart and soul now.

I'll just leave you with this close-up of Carrie's friend from the expo.

My reacquaintance with poetry; Mississippi River Marathon

there is fury in running.
in the narrowed vision
determination
pain
and the embrace of it
breaking, and
breaking, and
breaking.

there is pleasure in running
my cradle
endlessly rocking
darkness
call of soul
to self
breathing,
and breathing,
and breathing.


The Mississippi River Marathon on Saturday was pretty wonderful if you discount the Friday night experience.  To say the pasta place was overwhelmed is a ridiculous understatement.  Carrie and I had a glass of wine each and then left, as people who had been waiting 2 hours finally started to get their food.  Siri sent us the wrong direction to our hotel, and we ate McDonalds at almost ten.

Still, Saturday morning we were up and boarding buses to head to the start for this point to point marathon.  It was chilly.  We learned that a good-size space blanket will keep three people comfortably warm if you aren't afraid to cuddle.  We weren't.





I learned something important to remember about my marathoning self on Saturday.  Several times now I have said, either to myself or to other people, or both, that I am going to run this marathon slow.  I don't care about time, I am just going to enjoy it and take it easy.  I did do that at Run for the Ranch, except that I was pretty miserable the whole time because of the cold.  But usually around half way through my competitive-against-myself nature comes out and I want to do better.

We did start out on the slow side.  At the bridge we were on pace to run about a 4:35 when I went on ahead without Carrie.  Alone with myself then, I picked up the pace.  I went inside myself.  I felt solid, good.  I decided to sort of go for a PR.  Why not?  Marathoning for me is about rawness at its core, achieving something up against myself.  Pushing, yanking, throwing, digging.  So I did that. 

I missed a PR by 3 minutes.  I ran a really negative split: 2:19 in the first half, and 2:05 in the second half.  I'm really happy with it because I know that if I can get that close last week with no taper and with a first half that including some messing around, I can PR in Little Rock.  (Knock on wood and such.)

Next weekend is the Run the Line Half-Marathon.  With friends--the best way to do it.

Beyond-ness.

Tonight I ran five miles.  I got started a bit late because I got pulled over for having a taillight out.  And then I made Ty's dinner, changed, and hit the road. I had already decided it was a Chris Pureka night, so I put her on shuffle.

I stopped to take pictures several times, but other than that, I ran it fast.  For me.  And I thought about words and smells and feelings.  I tried to hold them in my mind.

Up North First Street I was pushing hard.  I was running fast and pushing myself to keep it going.  My eyes were narrowed and the world was bumping up and down while I was smooth.  The stoplights in front of me jerked in time with my feet hitting the ground.  I pushed for my breath to hurt, to burn in my chest.  And I thought of sort of a word that captured what I was feeling at that moment.  I tried to catch it and hold onto  it, and I thought that I had.

But when I slowed down and started letting my thoughts wander, I came back looking for it and it was gone.  I pushed through my  brain for it, but it had left.  I only knew one thing to try--run fast again and see if I could find it.  So I did.  I increased my speed again, gritted, thought of determination and fuckitness and then, there it was---beyond-ness.  That feeling of being beyond in my body, beyond what is there when I'm not pushing hard, when the sidewalk is a tunnel and the song lyrics are mixing in poetry that I can't write.

Poetry that I can only run, a rhythm that played itself with my words and the lines from the song.  I can't write it because it only exists on that plane, that heartbeat, in that vein of pumping that is something like sex but only in certain moments, and not the climactic ones.  The ones that are made of sculpture, of instinct, of existence and not thinking-ness.

The last half mile I wanted to run fast enough to breathe hard, be out of breath, feel the heat of my chest catching at the air.  I told myself, open your mouth and the air will flow.  Just open your mouth and let your body breathe.  It knows how to breathe.  It was dark.  I was dark.

When I finished I put my hands on my knees for a minute and fished for the feeling.  Euphoria?  Warmth in my limbs, aliveness and power and a gloriously used feeling.  I walked the rest of the way home in a cocoon of spent exertion and felt like I could keep walking blindly on.  But, of course, I didn't.

Mississippi Blues and more.

It's been a week since Mississippi Blues.  It seems like it's been longer!  Maybe that's because I had to go back to work last week.  It made the week seem very long.  Well, I have to work to support my running habit, so it's a good thing.

Mississippi Blues was super fun.  Probably anyone who reads this will have seen the pictures on facebook, but here they are with commentary.

My computer is being really weird right now and not letting me size things.  Here we are before.  No blues--just happy people getting ready to run a marathon.  I'm so happy to be meeting so many new people!  Running has brought so much strength into my life, and now it's bringing more and more people.  Some of them I see, and some of them get added on facebook and I get to see what's going on with them from different parts of the country.  Either way I love it.

My during shots are courtesy of I don't really
know who.  They were loaded to facebook and
I saved them.  Here's Annette and me and below is
Carrie and me.  I'm clearly never going to be a career blogger because my photo placement capabilities continue to be a challenge.  The race started off fine and pretty much stayed fine.  We stopped along the way for some photo ops and saw so many familiar faces along the course.  There are more pictures I should include but they are on my phone...and I'm a little lazy.

I went ahead of Carrie toward the half and spent the last 10 miles or so with Julie from Minneapolis.  She was running her 50th marathon and we bonded over hill walking, mostly.  There were a lot of hills.  I was glad to have the company to take my mind off of the running a little.  And it's always nice to share the time with someone new.

No race is complete without the post race food, and we really lucked out with our choice near Vicksburg.  The salsa was good and spicy and the vegetarian fajitas were amazing, particularly the broccoli and cauliflower.  The corona light was great, too, but of course what makes it best is the company, as always.  Whether it's my friends and family down in the river market or my running family on the road, being able to share times like these with friends is a huge blessing in my life.

This morning on my cold rainy 10 mile run I was thinking about a friend and all the things I want for her right now.  As I was thinking and praying, I realized that everything I was praying for for her, I needed in myself, too.  Peace and comfort to deal with hard times, strength to make the difficult decisions, clear sight and understanding to know the right thing to do, or at least to see the truth inside myself and act on it.  The self-preservation to reach for the hands that are there to bring comfort and laughter and happiness.  And I was talking to another friend about happiness, about how it comes as quickly and sometimes fleetingly as other emotions.  We all want to "be happy" as if happy is something other than every other feeling, some kind of constant state of being.  It's not.  It's a feeling just like any other, a good one, and when it comes, it must be wallowed in, swum in, taken in, swished around, allowed to tumble over my face--even if everything else in life is upside down or sideways.  It can't be pursued--I have to do the things that I need to do and trust that happiness will come in one form or another.

As my friend Kristin assured me would happen, I am not waiting until Little Rock to race again.  Just last night I felt a momentary pang at not having another race soon, and this morning I saw on facebook that spots had opened up in the Mississippi River Marathon.  So I signed up.

There are highs.

My state of mind defies explanation these days.  It is alarmingly simplistic to suggest that there are highs and lows, though there are.  The highs are sometimes in the same place as the lows: tears that are about pain that is born from loving.  The lows come maybe when you think there will be highs to distract you.  Either way, the fact remains that there are highs, and I sing about that.

Run for the Ranch was miserably cold and windy, but it was super fun and full of memory-making because of the people involved.  I'll mostly let the pictures do the talking.

We left at 6:45 in the morning and stopped at Hardees (somewhere in North Arkansas!) for breakfast.  We ate and then had some photo ops.

Carrie can't seem to get her eyes on the camera, though.  In the jukebox one I was pretty sure she was looking out the window for dudes.



Once we got to Springfield we had plenty of time to kill.  We got bibs and chips and shirts and stayed warm in the car until time to go back inside to get ready.  We had a maniac group shot on the steps, and then a couple of shots with Annette, Carrie, and me.

I loved on some huge dogs and leaned against one to get warm while we were waiting for the start.  He had a serious labrador lean going on, but he was much bigger than a lab.  I had dog hair all over my tights but it was totally worth it.




I thought I would warm up during the race but I was sort of wrong.  I didn't think enough of the wind and also didn't take into account that it would get dark during this race and get cooler.  I definitely should have worn my running jacket.  I would have been more comfortable.  Carrie and I entertained each other (and some other runners) with stories, singing, and a few rounds of dirty ABC game.  I find myself to be much more funny, apparently, than the people around me find me to be.  Whatever--Zero of 'em!

I didn't feel really strong at any point in the race, really.  It was probably a combination of a few things--maybe a couple too many beers the night before, not enough to eat before the race, soda before the race, cold wind, and maybe too quick of a pace starting out.  A few times I really did question my ability to finish.  We slowed down considerably for the second half and, through a combination of really bad singing and a ridiculous amount of whining and threatening to quit and announcing my hatred for marathons, we finished.

I wanted nothing more than to get warm, but the lobby area where we were sitting was not warm.  Carrie and I huddled under space blankets.  We both had warm clothes in the car just across the street, but the thought of going back outside and walking down steps was too much.  So we just sat there and suffered.





Finally, we headed out to get what I'd been singing about for hours: food and beer.  I had never been to Red Robin before--only heard the obnoxious commercials.  I thought it was a fast-food burger joint, but Arland and Annette assured me we could get beer there, so I was game.  I drank that big blue moon in the picture, two of those shots, and a pint of Mother's Three Blind Mice, a local Springfield brew.  I ate some salad.  We laughed.  Dinner and drinks post-race may have been the best part.

We piled back in the car to head home and the girls completely flaked on entertaining Arland for the drive.  I think I was asleep within minutes until I woke up at a gas station.  The clerk there acted like he wanted to card me for my scratch off tickets.  He said I looked 23 and I asked him if he wanted to get married.  He said I made his night.

My day and night were made by new friends.  The best part: we get to do it all again this weekend for the Mississippi Blues Marathon!

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.