On glycolysis and drinking soap

My A&P professor is brilliant. Like…can teach anyone anything brilliant. And in class we’re talking about glycolysis and the nervous system and how wonderful the human body is. I was inspired by…perhaps an unhealthy dose…of scientific curiousity. I do not blame my instructor for what follows:

I got home from school and went for a run.

Since I hadn’t eaten for several hours, I was pretty sure I didn’t have much free-roaming glucose in my blood stream, so, I reasoned, glycolysis (freeing up stored glycogen from my liver) should follow pretty quickly after I start exercising.

No lunch. Just coffee to drink. It’s hot. It’s humid. I ran.

When a person is dehydrated and hungry on a good day, bad things can happen. When a person runs in the heat bad things can happen. Enter: My Scientific Mind.

I shall, I thought, make note of how amazing my liver is and happily report my findings to anyone unfortunate enough listen. …that’s not what happened.

What happened, gentle reader, is that when I got home from my hour long run, my brain was beset by too many photons of light and not enough energy. My eyes took forever to readjust to the relative darkness of my house and I was dizzy from dehydration. I stumbled upstairs to my bathroom, stripping as I went, to find-eureka!-a bottle of water waiting for me by my sink.

No. It was not water. It was white tea scented soap and it tasted like …soap.

After inventing new curse words in Klingon, and stumbling to the shower, I rinsed my mouth. I became a human bubble machine. I could’ve worked for Lawrence Welk. I looked like Cujo French kissing a car wash brush. I smelled good though, so…there’s that.

Justice, I suppose, for the swear words…

Anyway, folks, please eat and hydrate before you run. Glycolysis is great, and all, but it tastes a lot like soap.

 

National Running Day: perspectives in failure

“…in what I have done and what I have failed to do…”

The first pair of Nikes I ever wore belonged to my mother: red and white Cortez. She bought them at a yard sale for a quarter or fifty cents or something like that. We were fairly broke, so to me, Nikes were only for the cool kids. And now we had some in the house. And I wore them even though they were too big for me.

Because I wanted to be cool.

Now I am, officially, a real runner. After starting off not being able to jog to the end of my block, then progressing to the stop sign… And my first ever 5k run. My husband drove the minivan beside me down a dark and buggy farm road, kids snoozing in their car seats, music from the dash scaring cows from the rusty barbed wire fences. That was 9 years ago and I still feel victorious when I think about that run.

It is impossible for me to think about running races and not think about the Marine Corps Marathon. Impossible. I have tried three times; the last time with a friend to pace me starting at mile 12. The wheels have fallen off 3 times. I have failed 3 times.

…no. Not failed.

I began to think about perspective: glass half full or empty? Here’s what my half empty looks like:
3 DNF’d marathons
1 DNF’d half-marathon
1 DNF’d 10 miler
———
5

Here’s my half full:
2 completed full marathons
14 completed half marathons
2 ten milers
At least 4 completed 10k’s
More 5k’s than I can count
———-
At least 22 finished

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I’m terrible at math, but even I can see that my glass is most certainly half full. Full to the top. Running over.

My cup runneth over.
(Snort snort…puns…gotta live ’em.)

The Bataan Memorial Death March 26.2 will forever make me proud. I cried. I bled. I stumbled. I finished. And I think I’d take that one finish over all the others if I had to.

…so, no; I am not a failure. I have not failed. I have not finished 5 races. 5 Out of…guessing…at least 40 events. That’s pretty good.

 

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On this National Running Day there will be those who brag about mileages and events and podium finishes and I will join them. I will remind myself that I get to join in on the Facebook festivities and the running shoe shop games because, quite simply, I rate a seat at this party, too. Those first painful and humbling miles, the next ten thousands of miles less painful but still more humbling, the tears on the sag wagons, the high-fiveing dozens of water-station volunteers, the 0300 wake ups, and the cheers at the finish lines rate my ticket.

Coach Jeff at Team PRSFit has helped me in ways he will probably never understand, but along with the workouts and nutrition consultations, he gave me the best advice I’ve ever been given: “no more bull crap. cut the bull crap.” Feeling like a failure all the time is bull crap. So I don’t do that anymore.

My coach has prostate cancer and is working with Zero to put an end to the stigma, the stubbornness, and the disease. He’s running across the whole country, the whole fricking country , with prostate cancer, raising money and awareness along the way. You can donate to the cause here.Coach Jeff and Zero put together a team for MCM. I’m helping. I’m training. I’m running.

I am not a failure. I am a runner.

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Idiot Quilt, pt 8: Pockets!

I love me some snuggles on the couch. A cup of hot tea, the love of my life, and a long movie (preferably British.) A heavy quilt makes the snuggles extra cozy.

If a person is going to watch TV, remote controls are almost mandatory. Which means they need to be handy. Which means they will probably get lost down The Bermuda Triangle inside the couch cushions.

So… I made quilt squares with pockets!! Check it out:

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Knowing my Idiot friends, these will probably end up as Oreo holders, but that’s for them to explain to Coach. I would like it noted that the officially sanctioned purpose of pockets on a quilt is for remote holding. Any contraband usage falls under the I didn’t see anything file.

The Idiot Kwilts are progressing!

Gotta go. I have a run on the schedule and after Coach’s 24 hour treadmill groove, I don’t see slacking anywhere in my future. Happy Running, Idiots!

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Idiot Quilt, pt7

It’s been a hot minute since I updated my Idiot Homies on ye olde kwilt status. Honestly, there were 5 straight days wherein I did zero quilt work. Overnight shifts at work, Army stuff, and, I confess, a book.

Dracula by Bram Stoker. I’ve read it a gazillion times but I like van Helsing and the way he speaks. Once a book is started, it must be finished. It’s a rough life, choosing between quilting and reading.

Add in a few long-ish workouts, kid stuff, laundry…days get away. poof!

Here’s what my needle has been finishing tonight:

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Tomorrow I’ll square up the last of the shirts I’ve received. Saturday begins the piecing, designing, and arranging.

Cheers, Idiots! Happy running!

Idiot Quilt, pt6: Dresden Plate

This is my first ever ever ever Dresden plate:

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…guess which Idiot gets this one? 😉

I used the material left over from the backs of the shirts to make the petals; it seemed a terrible waste to toss perfectly good material. I’ll make two more of these. …and then I may never make another Dresden plate as long as I live.

All the t-shirts I’ve received so far have been made into blocks and are ready to go. Over the next couple of days I’ll cut material for sashing borders, then after the final shirts get here… boom!

…more sewing.

Enough stitching for now. I’m going for a run! Because, you know, it’s cold and raining and I’m an Idiot. 🙂

Idiot Quilt pt5, For Reals

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The ironing of the stabilizer has begun.

Before that could happen, though, I had to seriously overhaul my work space. My sewing area had slowly been taken over by Pokemon books, bikes, and my photography equipment. After a few afternoons of thinning out junk and rearranging pretties, here’s my new Spot:

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Also, I went shopping for supplies with some Idiot Money. I bought stabilizer, two half-yards of material, and ribbon. I mean just look at this stuff. If it doesn’t scream Idiot Kwilts!, I don’t know what does.

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Hugs, Idiots!! You’ve got two more weeks to get material and/or shirts to me. Valentine’s Day is the last day, yo.

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On Being Joyfully Hopeful & Patient. Dammit.

2014! So full of promise! So much wonder! Goals- achieved! Races- won! Fingernails- painted!

Adjusting fire when it comes to goals really sucks, especially when the reason for the adjustment is a really good reason. A perfectly adult and justified and necessary reason. That stuff makes adjustment even more of a no-good-time-having.

I really was going to conquer MCM this year.

Really and truly.

Like, for reals.

But now I refer to a post I wrote last year about it being perfectly fine, this sitting out of races business. I said all sorts of high-minded crap about patience and work and delayed gratifica-blablahblah.

I don’t want to wait anymore.

Sadly, races cost money and we are in full blown saving for a rainy day mode. Trust, in today’s economy, rainy days can come swiftly and silently, so I am all for this penny-pinching exercise. It’s the right thing to do. It just sucks.

I’ve been very indulged in the past. We’ve spent enough money on races and hotels to probably buy that James Bond car. (Pick one.) I’ve been supported and coddled and had “go, Mommy!” posters made. I’ve signed up for races, only to have to DNS for whatever reason; money wasted… I’ve had friends run and call and donate… I am not deprived of experience.

I’m probably a spoiled brat, is what I am.

So. This is me: continuing to train with the best coach ever, staying motivated, saving lots of money for whatever adult, responsible stuff we will need, and being super-duper happy about sitting out of every.single.race. this year. I’ll volunteer at races, supporting those other Dreamers, hand them their Gatoraide and cheer them through their rough patches. I’ll be so cheerful and helpful and I’ll stay motivated for my own Big Bling Dreams.

Dammit.

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