Wine and Chocolate 5k...and Marathon Man

Last Saturday my friend and I ran a 5k.

I know what you're thinking. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You're clearly terrible at running."

Which is true. I suppose it's one of those things like childbirth. It's terrible but it gets good at the end. Well, it's not exactly like childbirth, lest any men think we've been exaggerating all this time. Also, races have fewer drugs than childbirth. Some - but not as much.

Sure, I feel like I'm about the receive the cold kiss of death during a run but my legs feel all glowy the rest of the day.

Every race, there's always this one guy.



He never wears a shirt and he dons teeny tiny shorts, like he's concerned about wind drag on his time. This guy is one of the people who practice for the 5k, warming up by running miles and miles and miles before the race. Considering the race is only 3.1 miles, I see this as rather absurd. What is this, a marathon? Stop sprinting in your toddler-sized shorts, sweat glistening on your hairless chest, face stony with determination.

It's a 5k.

No, no, it's a Wine and Chocolate 5k.

This isn't the Olympics, for Dean Karnazes' sake. It's a 3 miles run with children, and moms with strollers, and groups of sorority sisters with shirts that say "Run now, Wine later" on them. You're only irritating people.

When the first pace group is called, usually the 6-7 min/mile group, he's there, guzzling an energy chew and doing a couple quick high knees for good measure and visualizing his first place win.

Calm it down.

Someone asked what my pace was and I answered, "Whatever the slowest one is."

In fact, during the race, I was passed by a dad and his two daughters, one of which, a 6 year old-ish kid, was wearing jeans and flip flops. And still she passed.

It does nothing for my self-esteem, which has never recovered from the Atomic-Bomb-Frizzy-Mushroom haircut of '94.

Before I was even at the Mile 1 water station, people were looping back to finish. Marathon man was third or fourth, I think. It must have really chaffed his Daisy Dukes not to be in first. Should've done a couple more high knees.

So I didn't win the 5k. And it was flippin hot, seeing as it took place at 430 in Florida in late April. This date and time was clearly set by someone who has never been to Florida on an April afternoon. But I had a great evening with my best friend, where we got to laugh and talk without anyone yelling from the bathroom to come quickly. And there were wine glasses at the end and lovely people pouring chilling drinks into our glasses while we sipped and munched on chocolate covered popcorn.

We decided to make a 5k date, maybe twice a year. That means I have to wait a whole 6 months before I can be treated to the fanatic warm-up stylings of Marathon Man. 

Shoot.

Random Ramblings: Sports Edition

I wish I could say my long absence from blogging was the result of something amazing - a European pilgrimage, completion of a novel, finally learning how to curl my hair with a straightener.

The sad truth is that we were camping and our computer was being repaired and I had nothing good to write. If you've ever read my blog before, you know that that has never stopped me before but there you go.

Today's Random Ramblings all have to do with sports and exercise. Which makes me sound really athletic. Which I totally am (unless you know me in real life. And then I'm totally kidding.).

Professional Soccer

As a thank you to coaches, my local chapter of Girls on the Run gave the coaches free tickets for them and their families. Girls on the Run is a really cool running program that teaches girls how to be confident and encourages positive emotional and physical health. I'm one of the coaches and Kate is in the program, which is such an amazing experience to go through with her. But that's a post for another day.

Back to the soccer game. So we got these free tickets for coaches (there I go again, flaunting my sportiness). It was pretty fun - much more fun to watch than football or baseball. It's constant action and the athleticism of the players was astounding. Jack plays soccer and Kate will play next season so it was fun watching the game with them. My in-laws watched the littles for obvious reasons.

All I have to show you are two mediocre cell phone pictures. I can either learn photography or I can concentrate on being beautiful. No time for both.

At one point during the game, the captain of our local team (who was a phenomenal player) did a couple wrong things and got kicked out of the game. I don't know what they were but everyone was booing so I did.

Apparently I look like I know what's going on even though I'm actually clueless. It's a rare gift. So one of the guys in the row behind me starts talking to me like I know things. He has that beautiful lilt in his voices that I associate with Afica. Our conversation is like this:

Guy:  I don't know what the referee is thinking. You can't call players out on a (soccer term) play. It's absolutely ridiculous. It changes the entire game.

Me: Don't I know it.

We are both shaking our heads with disgust and then I turn back around. He goes back to shouting and making animated gestures concerning the game and I go back to the kettle corn.

Beachbody

I consider myself in ok shape. Not great but not terrible. Just average. I decided to try the 21 Day Fix workouts. Not the dumb little containers which are most likely overpriced but the workouts. I borrowed them from a friend. The workouts are pretty good except that woman who leads them always says at the beginning "We're going to have some fun today" and I then make a mental note to never invite her to a party because her idea of fun and my idea of fun are very different. And also I wouldn't be able to enjoy my pizza rolls because she'd be judging me.

These types of workout videos always have a modifier, someone who shows you how to make the moves a little easier. You know, push ups on your knees, squatting but not as low, etc.

What I need is a modifier to the modifier.

"Hey guys, we're going to have some fun today. If you need some help, Janelle is over here to modify the moves for you (Janelle smiles and nods at the camera). And if you need even more help, this is Jessica's first week doing this program and if you feel like you're about to die, do what she's doing."

 - 45 seconds into the 60 second cardio blast move (or whatever fun term they have for torture), Jessica stops and gets a handful of chips and watches everyone else finish.

 - Jessica starts doing push-ups on her hands and feet, then goes to knees, then eventually against the wall, all while trying to get the dog off the yoga mat.

 - 9 minutes into the 20 minute workout, Jessica stops and says aloud "Ok, that's it, I'm done." She flips open a computer and scrolls through Pinterest while everyone else finishes the workout.


Holiday Themed Races

This past Sunday my best friend and I ran a Halloween 5k. We laughed so much that we were wiping away tears and our cheeks were sore. We always joke that our children are confused by our smiling and laughing on our Friday afternoon playdates.

"What is that sound?"
"Oh that's mom laughing. I know it's confusing as she's usually barking orders but you'll get used to it."

We thought about signing up for a 5k every weekend.

Or bypassing the race altogether and just driving around for a couple hours by ourselves.

Even though it was a Halloween race, there weren't a ton of people dressed up. Rosie and I decided to go as two stay-at-home-moms who didn't train much. If I do say so myself, we nailed it.

For those of you non-racers, everyone lines up according to their pace so as not to irritate people in front of and behind you. I think it started at a 6 minute per mile pace and moved up from there. We thought about joining that one but in the end moseyed over to the 12 minute mile flag, where the toddlers in costumes were starting out.

Usually the race announcers are chipper and encouraging. This one wasn't. His voice would boom over the runners:

"Make sure you're in the right pace group. If you're too slow, we're going to pull you out and put you in the back with the walkers."

"The course is clearly marked. If you get lost, it's your own fault."

To Rosie I said "If you guys even finish. Losers."

To add insult to injury, I had forgotten my mp3 player. So instead of listening to the sounds of Lecrae and Creedence Clearwater Revival, I had to listen to the sounds of my own breathing.

Horrible, gasping death rattle.

As typical with races, I was passed. While it's still demoralizing, at this race I could at least amuse myself by watching those who pass me:

A middle-aged woman dressed in what I can only assume is a toddler's pirate wench costume. Bustier, fishnet stockings, striped miniskirt. I can only imagine running a long race in that.

Oh the chaffing.

Rosie and I were also passed by a man who looked about 90 - long, skinny, sinewy legs. He wasn't even really running, just short stepping ahead. And still he gained.

The worst is getting passed by EVERY SINGLE RUNNER WITH A JOGGING STROLLER.

Sometimes they were double strollers, some athletic and cute young parents chatting happily as they passed me, probably planning their jaunt up Mt. Kilamanjaro, baby carriers strapped to their Under Armour clad backs.

The announcer was right about me, after all.

Jello Shots and Blogging Etiquette

It's been almost a month since my last post.

Bad blogger.

The first couple weeks after Hawaii I just didn't feel like writing anything. Perhaps it was the joy of being reunited with my children after our vacation...or not. Then I ran a 15k and wanted to write about that but it involved a Jello shot and so it didn't feel right to blog about that close to Easter.

Believe me, I've tried to write deep, soulful posts but it just doesn't seem to be my thing. Which is completely surprising for such a deep, soulful person such as myself.

But Easter is over so now I can freely write about Jello shots.

One recent Saturday I ran a local 15k race (which is 9.something miles for you uneducated Americans). It was absolutely beautiful weather. I saw some funny race signs along the way, including "Chuck Norris never ran a 15k" and "You think this is hard, you should try growing out bangs" and my new favorite, which is: Kanye thinks that Beyonce deserves your medal. 

                               

Lots of people cheering us on and handing out treats, including a guy making scrambled eggs and sausages and passing them out in little cups and on toothpicks. Then I saw a guy handing out little plastic condiment containers of Jello.

I love Jello. It's cool and delicious and fun. As I was running closer and contemplating whether or not I should grab one, the woman next to me exclaimed "Hell yeah!" and grabbed a container.

Finally, another adult who appreciates Jello as much as I do.

With that encouragement, I picked a blue one and slurped it as I ran.

It had that bitter, vodka-ish taste. Holy cow, was this a Jello shot? Soon after, I fervently hoped that my legs would continue to run for me because I cannot handle my alcohol. And especially vodka, which tastes the way rubbing alcohol smells.

So I had my first Jello shot was when I was 32 years old, at 9 am, while running. Despite the opportunity, I did not have any Jello shots during college. In fact, I was the designated driver when my friends and I would go to parties.

"What?" you say, "but you're so cool and hip."

Which is true but not in a frat party kind of way. Getting drunk wasn't my idea of a good time and neither was smoking pot, both of which seemed to turn perfectly fine people into morons.  I also didn't want my friends to be faced with drunk driving at the end of the night. I had seen those after-school public service commercials and they were chilling. Cars colliding, tires screeching, side ponytails all askew.

I remember one party in particular. I had climbed into a car with my roommate and another friend or two and we drove to a frat party.

Spoiler alert: Frat parties aren't nearly as fun as movies make them out to be. Since I wasn't having the supposedly wonderful activity of getting hammered inside, I sipped a cup of water out on the deck and watched a spider spin a web. After a while, a guy came up to me and we started talking about spiders and their webs.

With hindsight, I realize that he was flirting with me but I didn't know it then. Finally, I thought, another person who appreciates the majestic art of nature. You'll notice that me assuming people appreciate the same things as I do is a trait I've always had, whether it be spider webs or Jello or Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Anyway, after my friends were sufficiently tipsy, we drove home.

Along with assuming things, I am also not very observant. I had failed to notice that the car we drove there was a stick shift and now I was expected to drive home.

I had never driven a stick shift before. Or even had ever really thought about them.

It was a tiny car, a hatchback Geo Metro. The size of the postage stamp. We had also somehow acquired a few more people so there were like 5 people in the back and 3 in front, including me and some guy who was pretty much sitting on the stick shift.

There I sat, completely sober, in a clown car crammed with intoxicated teenagers, trying to figure out what to do. Nobody was of much help to me, what with them not really remembering who they were at the moment. It was also a very hilly college town, which made for some rather reckless shifting on my part.

I don't really know how we got home without stalling or getting into an accident or being pulled over. Me sober trying to drive a stick shift was really not much better than a trashed teen who has the knowledge base.

Long story, well, long, that was the story of my first Jello shot.

.

13.1 miles of Candy and Agony: A Half Marathon Recap

So I ran my first half-marathon last week. Funny thing about half-marathons. It's one of those rare things in life that you can truly be enjoying while simultaneously wishing for the sweet relief of death. It was the Donna 26.2 for breast cancer research and it's become a really big thing in this part of Florida. The male race spectators seemed to focus more on the breast part than the cancer research part but still.

I went with a couple friends and we arrived in Ponte Vedra Beach around 5 am. We were trying to snake our way around the barricades when a news anchor stopped me for an interview. This would surprise most people but I have gotten used to my overwhelming charm and beauty attracting attention. She interviewed me about why I chose to run that particular race. I can't remember exactly what I said but I'm sure my words were charming and my face was beautiful.

Ok, so probably not that last thing. One of the friends I went with always wears makeup. Always. She told me that even laboring through childbirth her sister's only job was to continually reapply makeup. She had applied beautiful makeup at 4 am in preparation for our race.  I furrowed my uneven brows at that and laughed. And then an hour later I was interviewed by a local news station with nothing on my face but the sheen of natural oil under the obscene glare of the news lights. She felt quite vindicated after that.

This doesn't mean I'm going to start wearing makeup all the time, of course. But I will not laugh quite as hard as I normally would at people who do.

The first half of the half marathon (a quarter of a full marathon, if you will. I don't look pretty on the news but I can do fractions. Usually.) was really fun. We ran through beautiful neighborhoods on the beach. People were out in droves, cheering us on, waving flags and offering food and drinks. It was amazing. The race had the usual stations of Gatorade, water, and energy gels but the spectators in this race set up tables of drinks, orange slices, Starburst and Dove candies, popsicles, doughnuts with pink frosting, even cups of beer. People were just popping open cans and pouring them into plastic cups to pass out to the runners. Little kids lined up on the side of the street to high five us and cops directing traffic called out encouragement. It was crazy. People held up signs that said the usual race sayings (Worst Parade Ever!) as well as really sweet words (Thanks for running - you are part of the cure!). I ran with middle-aged men in pink tutus with phrases like "I'm running for my mom" printed on on the backs of their shirts. There was also an old man (perhaps 80?) who ran the entire race holding a full-size American flag with the picture of his son on his shirt who had died in combat. It really was an emotional time.

Our names were printed on our bibs so every so often there was a call of "Great job, Jessica!" This as I unwrapped a Starburst while elite Ethiopian runners sped past on their way to winning the full marathon. Then there was what I can only assume was a gathering of frat boys, 20 something men in no shirts and pink Afro wigs, holding signs that said "We ALL love boobies - run faster!. There were even some very thoughtful guys offering free manual mammograms on the side of the race course.

So thoughtful.

It was the atmosphere that really made the race fun. People cried out "Way to Go!" as we ran down sun-drenched streets through bubbles from machines on folding tables and under banners waving over us. Street bands and boomboxes serenaded us with haunting melodies of "Baby Got Back."

After the first 6 or so miles we ran for a bit on the beach. I had stopped to admire the view when a couple people asked me to take pictures of them. I happily obliged. Then I began to run again.

"Wait!" called one of the guys in the group, "Are you still running?"

Turns out they were part of a relay team and had completed their portion. They apologized profusely for slowing me down but I told them no big deal, I don't care about my pace one bit.

Don't care about my pace, don't care about mascara...

The second half was less fun, as we had to run along a stretch of highway (closed to cars, of course). That was considerably more boring. Until the finish line that is, when it became much more exciting as I struggled to stay upright on my legs of pudding.

I finished last in my group, as we all knew I would. But it was really a fun race and a good cause and I plan to run it again next year - maybe even the whole marathon.

After I reapply my eyeshadow, of course.

Random Ramblings

Famous Smamous

The other night Matt and I were watching Jimmy Fallon's Tonight Show and Jennifer Lopez was on. The blouse she was wearing was unfortunate in that it seemed to be missing the top few buttons. How embarrassing!

Matt remarked that it must be difficult for Jimmy Fallon to interview her when she's dressed that like. I said that it's certainly not the most risque outfit she's worn. Matt nodded thoughtfully and then said "Who is she again?" Even after I said "Jennifer Lopez," there wasn't much glimmer of recognition.

I've mentioned before how funny Matt's almost complete lack of pop culture knowledge is. You do not want this guy on your team if you're trying to get him guess the tune to a popular song in Cranium or when the entertainment card comes up in Trivial Pursuit. Want to know how to change oil or brakes on your car? Ask Matt. Want to go on a competitive bike ride with virtually no chance of leisurely enjoying the lovely surroundings? Ride along with Matt. Have a question about how to invest your money or what to do with your 401K? Matt is your man.

But if you can't remember who Chris Martin dated after he uncoupled with Gwyneth Paltrow, don't bother (Answer: J Law of course). You will have to explain each of those people in great detail and not even get your answer.

I imagine us in Maui, bumping into celebrities (so I'm going to Hawaii with unrealistic expectations. Whatev.). We're biking down a volcano and stop for waffles halfway down the mountain. While pouring syrup on my waffles, I notice that Jay-Z and Beyonce sat down next to us.

We'll strike up a conversation (I'll be totally cool because celebrities just aren't that big of a deal to me and Matt will be cool because he'll think they're regular people):

Matt will be like, "So what do you guys do for a living?"

"You're singers, huh? Both of you? Like in a band? What kind of music do you play - rock, hip hop, folk?"

See? Completely cool.

Lord of the Runs

This Saturday I went on a run with a friend of mine. I've always run alone before and now I know why. My friend Kristie is the type of runner one might see in an ad for Champion or something. The day before our run, I even looked up articles on how to run faster on a long run. You know, because I had so much time to prepare.

As soon as she took off next to me, I knew I was in trouble. It was a faster pace than I was used to and we were planning on doing 12 miles.

At first, my plan was to stay with her. I kept telling myself things like "You can do this! You're amazing! Yay me!"

She quickly blazed ahead, her ponytail bouncing jauntily behind her, taunting me.

I told myself that I just needed to keep Kristie in my sight. I was like Gimli chasing Aragon over the hills of Middle Earth - "Just got to keep breathing, that's the key."

"Alright, so you couldn't keep up. You're still doing ok. Running is hard."

Eventually I told her to just go on ahead. The plan at that point was to just finish my run on the same day as Kristie.

And you know what? I totally nailed it.

I Run This Town

When I first started running, I stayed in our neighborhood. It was much more comfortable for me to be hideous in front of a much smaller number of people. Plus, if my heart suddenly exploded, which seemed a very real possibility, there was a better chance of someone I knew finding me.

Once I started training for this upcoming half-marathon, I realized that I would have to venture out onto longer roads. Getting past 8 miles in my neighborhood was tough as I was running up and down the same four streets, getting barked at by the same dogs.

My first run out of the neighborhood was terrible. I parked at a nearby grocery store and ran a 5 mile loop. Then I came back to the car and chugged my water bottle and stuffed dried dates in my mouth like a deranged chipmunk. My plan was to run from there back to my house, get Toby, and run back to the car. By the time I picked up Toby, I was practically limping along with exhaustion, the massive influx of water sloshing around in my stomach. Toby was thrilled, pulling at the leash. I could hardly hold him I was so tired. To get back to the car we had to cross over a highway overpass. With no shoulder. And a dog.

That was super smart. Cars whizzing past, Toby nervous and trying to hide behind my legs as we walked across.

But it got better. Eventually my stamina improved, even if my ample, date-consuming body did not. I was nervous about running in front of so many people as I do not look like a runner.

At all.

In fact, I look like a person who only runs when confronted with possible death. Or when the Krispy Kreme light is on and there's only 1 minute until close and it's at the end of a long street.

But I run nonetheless. Even though it's still fairly embarrassing and I feel self-conscious, wondering what people driving by are thinking:

"What is that poor woman running from?"

"Does she realize how her armpit fat looks in that tank top?"

"Why is this walker wearing so much gear? (To the passenger): Do you suppose she's walking across the country, like Forest Gump?"

I saw this video recently, empowering women to exercise even if they feel self-conscious doing it:

It's pretty awesome and I figure if they can exercise and film it to be viewed for an international audience, then surely I can run a few measly sidewalks in my little town.


I also recently got a Camelbak hydration pack, one of these babies:





Which is the adult equivalent of running with a juice box. Only instead of Capri Sun, it's flavored electrolyte water. Before I got one, I had to run back to my car halfway through to maniacally chug my water bottle. I used to fixate on that water bottle. Thirsty after running 5 miles, I would imagine the car being stolen and tried not to panic, thinking about them taking my water bottle.

So I got a hydration pack, which not only alleviates the water bottle issue but also significantly raises my coolness factor. There is nothing cooler than a grown person sucking water out of a huge straw coming from behind their head.

Nothing.

The hydration pack does lead to some problems, however. This past Saturday I ran 13 miles around town (longest distance ever! ate a Klondike bar that night to celebrate! could barely walk the next day! so much fun!) and it was sunny and temperate in the afternoon, 65 degrees, thank God for Florida's winters. So I wore a tank top.

Here's an issue that smaller, leaner, non-tank-top wearing runners don't have to deal with - arm chafing with a hydration pack. I brought a ribbon with me to tie the front straps together (another point for looking cool) but my arms still rubbed against them.

At one point, it was getting so painful that I took out my lip balm and stood on the side of the road, rubbing Chapstick on the inside of my arms.

Which sounds like the title of an interesting book.

Standing on the Side of the Road, Rubbing Chapstick on My Arms: 
                                A Memoir

The other thing about running around a small town is the encouraging amount of support I receive from people.  Head nods, high fives, every once in a while a shouted "You go, girl!"

And so I keep going, if not for the simple reason that complete strangers believe in me. And I can't let what's-his-name down.

Sure it's frustrating when I take half the day to run what feels like 50 miles but actually only turns out to be 10. Four hours isn't even a great marathon time, let alone an acceptable 10 mile time. What with all the walk breaks, the side cramps, the date eating, and the all-over Chapstick applications, it takes me forever. I try not to think about the fact that people are SLOWLY completing MARATHONS before I've finished meandering through a tiny bit of my town.

But still I run. And that's got to count for something,even if it's just a Klondike Bar on Saturday night.

Adventures in Mediocrity: The St. Augustine 10k

Whenever I run a race (which really isn't often, maybe 4 races so far), I'm always confident. Confident with no reason to be so. For instance, before I showed up to the Outrun Hunger 5k a week and a half ago, I really felt good about my prospects. I've run farther than a 5k so I knew I could finish. Heck, maybe even win. All those other chumps would be left in my dust. Maybe a picture in the local paper the next day, me running through a finish line tape, my arms raised in triumph, headline reads "LOCAL WOMAN ENDS HUNGER."

Something like that.

Of course, it ended up that I was the chump left in the dust, my fat cells begging my brain for a Milky Way. My 7 year old even beat me. Which is to be expected, as she's built like a little Lolo Jones. I knew the race was going to be a bit more difficult than I imagined when I showed up at the 5k and half of the maybe 40 or so runners were serious runners. They wore actual running clothes, not the cheap Walmart stuff I sport.

Me being the dull crayon that I am I approached the St. Augustine 10k with the same overinflated sense of ability. Because the race was a fair bit away from our house, Matt and I decided to take the family camping over the weekend at a state park in St. Augustine.

The night before the race, I got all my gear ready and set my alarm for 5:30am. That night I had two nightmares, one that my key fell out of my Flipbelt and the other that I woke up at 8 am in my parents' old house and had missed the race completely. I woke up tingling with sweat at 3 am and struggled to get back to sleep.

I did wake up on time and got to the race at 6am. Since it didn't start until 7 am, I had some time to kill. Everyone seemed to be walking around purposefully so I busied myself walking from the portapotties to my Powerade in my car and back again. Columbia, a great Spanish restaurant in the historic district, sponsored the race so they had cookies and bananas and coffee for the runners before the race. It was 48 degrees at 6am and all those poor Floridians were shivering in parkas and gloves, huddled under huge heaters under the tents.

Eventually we all lined up (a sunny 59 degrees at 7) and I became quick friends with the person next to me, both of us joking about our lack of speed. The horn sounded and we were off.

Right away, it was clear that I was surrounded by elite runners. Or maybe they were simply average runners but seemed elite compared to how I was running. Almost immediately, people passed me in astonishing numbers. It was like I was a boulder in a stream and people were just rushing around me. It would have been almost peaceful had it not been so demoralizing.

About 1/2 mile into it, a runner came up behind me, held up a car key and asked "Is this yours?"

That's right. My nightmare came true.

The problem is the Flipbelt is not made for people with muffin tops. It's a flexible belt wore tight around the hips that has slits to hold your cell phone or keys or whatever. Note the difference:


       


Look closely. One of these women has a muffin top (hint: it's me). So instead of staying nice and flat on boyish hips, my Flipbelt slides above my childbearing hips and gets folded by abdominal fat. Hence, the car key fell out. Thank goodness someone found it. I would still be searching the pavement over that bridge.

Then I had to figure out what to do with the key. I couldn't put it back in the Flipbelt (which works great for my phone). I put it in the only place I could think of - my sports bra. Let me tell you, if running 6 miles with a metal key under your left boob doesn't earn you a medal, I don't know what does. Plus I was paranoid to lose it again so I kept checking to make sure it was there.

That's right. Every couple minutes I would thrust my hand down the front of my shirt and feel around in my bra. Needless to say, my dignity meter was really low that morning.

On top of that, I was so caught up in the beauty of the day and the key and the excitement of the race (people waving and clapping and cheering alongside the road - for me!) that I forgot to breathe very well. So for miles 2-4, I had to jog slowly/walk with my right arm raised over my head in a strange attempt to relieve the stitch in my side. My right arm alternated between being raised up while I shuffled along and feeling around down my shirt.

The last two miles were actually great. I jokingly asked one of the police officers directing race traffic for a ride to the finish. He high-fived me and assured me that he could drive me there and be sneaky about it. We laughed and I continued on.

After the race, Columbia's served up Cuban black beans and rice, a shrimp and scallop dish, their famous 1905 salad, and Cuban bread. There were cookies, water, bananas, cans of Coke, and free beer. All that food and a medal made up for the key fiasco and my laughable pace.

There were a couple kids running with their parents, all boys around 10-12. I went home and told Kate that she should run with me next year and she was all for it, once she found out about the amazing food and the medals. That's my girl.

I'm going to end this post with a little anecdote that has nothing to do with running or races. You can give a sigh of relief if you're sick of hearing about the race now.

Over the weekend at the campsite, I took Noah to the bathroom. Here is a write-up of our conversation in the bathroom stall, keeping in mind that there are other women in the bathroom and he is talking very loudly:

Noah: Do you have boobs? (he talks about them almost every day)

Me: Yes

Noah: Do you like your boobs?

Me: Yes (actually, not especially. Not fun to run with them)

Noah: I like your boobs.

Me: That's nice.

(Here he has a loud bowel movement)

Noah: You hear dat?

Me: Yup.

Noah: Dat's you

Me: No, it's you.

Noah: Yeah, it's me.


Good talking to you, buddy.

Chore Charts and 5ks

Bad Behavior is Actually Quite Rewarding

In the ongoing fight of disciplining children, Matt and I recently made a punishment chore chart for each of the older kids. Things that are above and beyond their daily chores - stuff like cleaning out the car, washing the windows, pulling weeds, etc. Before writing the chores down, we'd have to quickly think of a punishment. It would go something like this:

"You're not allowed to argue with me. Because you argued, you now have to...hold on, let me think. Geez, there was a chore I was just thinking of the other day. What was it? Wait here, let me call Dad. Maybe he can think of a chore."

Not very effective. The kids would try to be helpful and offer suggestions:

"Should I help organize the Halloween candy? Maybe sort through all the old stuff, you know, candy the other kids don't want..."

We've had the charts in operation for a week or two now and it's working pretty well. Takes the thinking out of it - which works out really well for me. There is precious little space in my brain for new information and I'm not about to waste it on things like this. Not when I could be trying to remember the words to "Hit Me Baby, One More Time."

It's been really nice having some of these chores done. Chores that would normally fall to me. This puts a parent in the strange position of almost wanting the child to disobey so that something will get cleaned. Pretty soon I'll resort to desperate measures when the kitchen needs to be mopped:

"Are you arguing with me?"

"No, ma'am. I'm really sorry."

(Internally: "Darn!")  "Ok, thank you for your apology. Wait, did you just blink at me? Don't you blink at me - That's it! Get the mop! I will not tolerate rebellious blinking."

Running with Children 

This morning I took Jack and Kate to a local 5k. It was a really great cause - a couple of area churches worked together to organize the run that raised money for needy families and Thanksgiving meals.

My in-laws stopped by to watch the race and my father-in-law decided spur of the moment to run with us. He and I ran together for awhile, along with Jack, Kate, and a friend's daughter. After a bit, Matt's dad ran ahead with Katie. I stayed with Jack and Kaylin, which was perfect for me. Stupidly, I had decided to run 4 miles this morning before the 5k so by the second run, the plantar fasciitis in my left foot was really flaring up.

It was a good combination, me with my planter fasciitis and two kids who alternated between asking to walk and wondering what flavors of Gatorade awaited us at the halfway point.

There was a little excitement when a neighborhood dog excitedly jumped on the kids for 10 minutes before his owners came to get him. That certainly quelled the running for a bit. And then a motorcycle passed us on the road and Kaylin, thinking he was part of the race, called indignantly "Hey! That's not fair - he has a motorcycle! He's cheating!"

It was strange not to have my music during a run, just the melodious sounds of my own voice calling out "Guys - get over to the left!" on repeat.

In the end, it was a really nice morning. Kate beat Grandpa, despite his trash talk before the race began on how she was going to eat his dust. She told me that it was in fact Grandpa who did the dust eating. Jack decided that his mom ran ok, despite the fact that she was by all accounts much, much, much older than him and with far less energy.

My next solitary run? Can't come soon enough.

Trot, Forrest, Trot

I took up running again after a chocolate-filled hiatus. Last week my longest run was 3.6 miles, this week was 4.4. I know that all you marathon runners are scoffing at me but it was super exciting for a chunky non-marathoner like myself and earned a high five from Matt's dad. I take Toby with me. Not because I want to but because he likes it and needs it. The first reason I don't like running with Toby is that I really feel like he's judging me. He's so excited when we start, barely controlled yelping and furious wiggling. As we begin, he tries to pull ahead. I get the feeling he's thinking: 'Master, when are we going to start actually running? Because what we're doing? Is just trotting. We go out for a trot, Master.'

The second reason I don't like running with Toby is that he gets really marky with everyone else's territory. No mailbox is safe. He evens pees on the same fire-ant pile near the woods every morning. Which is a bold move, but then Toby is a bold dog. Maybe it's a self-esteem issue. Like if we complimented him more and encouraged him to follow his dreams and such he wouldn't feel the need to make all the other dogs feel subservient.


An odd thing on my "runs" around the neighborhood is one of these signs:



I don't know, maybe I'm too sensitive but it seems like we could be a little more politically correct about this. Why slow children?

Watch out! The children in this neighborhood are not the sharpest crayons in the box if you know what we mean...Keep a close eye on your bumper, folks.



While I was walking home during my cool off yesterday, someone in the car leaned out the window and said something to me. I had earbuds in so I couldn't hear them but I assume it was something like:

"Way to go, you!"

"Your hair still looks fabulous, well done!"

"Yay!"


But it was probably more like:

"There's a rabid squirrel behind you."

"Out for a very slow trot, are we?"

"Your shoe's untied."

Stocking Up On Icy Hot

This evening I went on my first solo bike ride. The first was with my husband, Lance. The second ride I took with my mother-in-law because Matt was wary of me going by myself on the bike trail. Let me preclude that by giving you a couple facts:

1. I have two black belts. Sure, I haven't practiced in a decade but I'm fairly certain I could throw a solid punch if need be. And to be completely honest to any would-be attackers, I have been known to engage in a Tae Bo video now and again so yeah, you could say I'm pretty current on skills.

2. Matt's mom weighs maybe 130 lb and is just one of those adorable people, the kind you would accompany to a nice garden party but not to, say, an interview for a bouncer position at a club. I did thank her for protecting me after the ride.

Tonight, though, it was just me. Yes, I had an mp3 player with pink earbuds. No one else seems to be listening to music. I'm sure they're all thinking about recovery times and lactic acids and becoming more aerodynamic. I was wondering how exactly they get the candy coating on M & M's. I mean, I realize it's some sort of machine. I'm not a complete fool. But still, I was a cyclist. Me! Nodding to other cyclists the way athletes do to each other. Those were my people. Sure, I felt a great deal of pride being a part of such an elite group of humans and I may very well develop an unbearable ego. It's the price to pay for greatness.

Head nod. 'Hey, bro. Nice wheels.'

Head nod. 'Sweet calves. Looks like you worked hard on those. Well done, you."

Head nod. 'Looking fast, there, bud.'

Except for this one guy. Didn't even glance at me as he pedaled on by me. Jerk. Stop leaning so far on your handlebars. We get it, you're amazing. But you're mean and your entire skin tight outfit is plastered with company logos. Cooperate sell-out!

Not that I wouldn't take some sponsorship of course. But my luck it would be something like Spam or Bubba Burgers or some such and I would pull on my Bubba Burger Jersey and climb on my GIANT brand bike.

Halfway through the ride I was making pretty time when the top of my head started to itch. Like smack in the middle of my head - no way to reach under the helmet. I tried rubbing the helmet back and forth vigorously on my head. I made sure to call out "I'M COMPLETELY SANE!" to other cyclists to reassure them.

I was really hoping it wasn't lice or something. Darn my luxurious locks!

But it was to no avail. I had to take off my helmet. As I did, one of my earbuds got pulled out of my ear, whipped around and hit me in the eye.

Because I wasn't stupid looking enough on that bike.

Scratched the itch - relief. Then I realized I had to get my helmet back on while pedaling my bike. Lest you think you can ride it with no hands, the way we all did all kids, these wheels are super skinny. Wobbling all over the trail, trying desperately to click my helmet shut with one hand and reminding myself to appreciate my hands more. No way I was continuing without my helmet. If I crashed and lost consciousness, there was no way I was giving some ER staff the enjoyment of taking care of me with my pig bbq shirt and itchy head. Those ER people are mean.

I finally finished my ride and feel pretty darn good.

I may not have been fast and I may not have looked pretty doing it.

But today, I was a cyclist.