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

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.

 

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.

Idiot Quilt pt5, For Reals

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:

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.

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

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.

The Idiot Quilt Begins

I wasn’t really sure anyone would take me seriously when I offered to make quilts for the leaders of my dumb little club. David and Jon (and Ali!) do so much for us in the Idiot’s Running Club (IRC); some kind Idiot asked what we’d all like to do for the leaders (cases of Oreos? Old shoes? A race? TP their houses?) and I said I could make a quilt for them. Send me your t-shirts and material and fifty cents for supplies, I said. It’ll be great! I said.

Good thing I meant it because I got a box today!

Awesome! The quilts really will happen! 😀 I’ve heard from Idiots all over the place offering batting and squares and help. that’s why I love this club. Folks don’t really know me; I’ve only met 2 Idiots in real life, but we’ve got each other’s back, yo. Gonna head out in insane weather for a stupid-long (or short) run? Call an Idiot. Going on vacation and looking for a new fave course? There’s an Idiot in your AO.

Want to make some ridiculously large quilts pieced together from stranger/friends? Idiots will help. 🙂

So here’s to the beginning, to showing some serious Idiot love, and to making something amazing with the diversity of friendship.

Apparently, I Like Baseball & Shoes

I’m a football girl. I love to go to high school games on a chilly Friday night, sip hot chocolate, stomp the bleachers, clap for the band geeks during half-time, and scream with the cheerleaders “D! D! D! De-FENCE!” College games on TV mean snuggles on the couch, talking back to the announcers, and arm-chair quarter backing my face off. I don’t even really care who plays, I just want to watch football.

Last night my husband explained baseball as we watched the 5th game of the World Series. I had never understood the game, so I asked all sorts of things that most kids learn in PE.

That’s a Ball? But, isn’t it always a ball?
Why does that man behind the catcher wear those shoes?
How do the bat swingers (batters, I learned) even see that ball if it’s coming at them at 100mph?
Why is that man so hairy? He looks like Gimli.
How do the people way out there know where the ball is going?
What’s a home run? A foul? A 1st base coach?

By the 4th inning (inning=both sides get to bat!) I was hooked. When the Cardinals got a home run (home run= one point, not 6) I jumped and cheered, dumping my dozing son off my lap in the process. I began to talk to the TV.

Don’t swing at that!
Why don’t they put in a new pitcher? That man is so tired!
Look!! Gimli’s back! (Johnny Gomes)
Catch it! Catch it!
Don’t catch it! Sneeze! Blink! Don’t catch it!
Run! rUUuuuuuun FASTER!!!!!

So, yeah, I like baseball, I guess. I’m sort of pissed that I decided to care about the sport just in time to watch “my team” (I lived in Missouri for minute, so the Cardinals are, by default, my team) lose, though. BONUS to baseball? There are lots more games to their Super Bowl! They get up to 7! Also, thanks to the facial hair fashion the players are sporting, it’s super fun to name them after the dwarves from The Lord of the Rings/Hobbit movies. …no cheer leaders, though. Bummer.

Side note: headed out for interval training and I’m going to wear shoes that I haven’t worn since my first marathon in the OBX.

They have dried blood and blister juice around the edges, but I figure they deserve a second chance.

Happy Tuesday!

How Kara Goucher Saves My Brain

Kara Goucher announced that she’ll not be running the NYC Marathon this time around. This makes me feel so much better about some of the choices I’ve made in my (lack of) racing.

Kara is a world class athlete, has trainers and coaches and contracts. If she can sit out of a big race, a race that she’s dreamed about, so can I. I didn’t sign up for MCM this year. After DNFing three times, I just couldn’t justify it. I’ve finished other marathons, other races, but MCM is my …Waterloo? Everest? Bain of my Running Existence? It’s my Wonderland that’s through the sweaty Looking Glass of failure vs victory.

I’ve got a coach now, instead of following the cookie cutter programs from magazines. I’m actually training, like on purpose and with focus. And I’m not training for MCM…I’m training to be a strong athlete. I’m not signing up for every race I see, I’m not signing up for something and then praying I can finish before the water stations are gone.

MCM will happen. And it will happen when I’m ready to beat it on Registration Day. I won’t bang my head against the wall any more, telling myself that I’ll actually “really do it this time”, like some marathon junkie who can’t quite stick the needle in. I won’t waste my emotions or thoughts on panic. I’m focusing on fit and strong and I won’t leave room for the “I can’t” worms.

So, Kara Goucher, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for being sane, and fit, and a mom, and an athlete. Thank you for giving me someone to root for and someone to aim for.

Thanks for saving my brain.

My Blue Heaven

For most of my adult life, my Summers have had a color. The clothes I wear, the accessories, etc… The Pink Summer was the year my daughter was born. The Orange was a terrible summer; lots of personal shite that will never be repeated. (included in that shite were orange Nike Shox. I shudder to remember the shin splints and hideous shorts that went with those shoes…) The Yellow Summer followed Orange and it was one of the best: I ran my first 10 mile race and we took an epic, renewing family vacation.

…from the Green Summer:

I’ve noticed that for the past couple of years, a lot of my things have been blue:

…and since I’ve been a relatively happy person lately…

…perhaps blue is my Happy Color.

…smug sawfish is smug:

Lots of travel blogs recommend packing various bits of clothing in similar colors so as to vary your outfits with just a few items.

I think this will be another Blue Summer and I think it will be wonderful. 🙂

…especially if I add these lovelies to my collection:

((le sigh))

Packing for Adventure

The night before a marathon, a time-honored event takes place in hotel rooms and living rooms and bed rooms.

The Flat Runner takes shape.

Everything from tip to toe is laid out: hat, socks, undies, nutrition, bib, outfit, electronics, sunscreen, extra toilet paper and wipes.

I’m getting ready to travel and as I do so, it strikes me that running has helped me pack.

I don’t want my stuff to get wet, so i’ve lined my bag with a trashbag. (Trash bags keep away the morning dew and wind on race day.)

My running clothes can also be my swim suit:

I don’t want to lose my ribbon belt, so I wrapped it around my church dress:

…which will unroll to this:

My running skirt will also be worn under my skirts and dresses. Why? Because chub-rub hurts and lycra between the thighs is necessary, yo.

My sports bra doesn’t give me Uni-Boob, so that I can alternate it out from my regular bra on laundry days:

…say it with me: “Noooooo yoooooniiiibooooooob.” Also, it has no underwire or fiddley padding so it will squash down nicely in my bag.

And I’m super glad I went to Navy basic training to learn to fold shirts:

and pants:

And everything gets rolled up:

and put in the bag with some dryer sheets until I unpack and repack and unpack and repack the requisite 17 times before we actually leave.

Where are we going? I have no idea. I have a passport and the husband has time off so away we go.

…after I find some granola bars and extra toilet paper, just in case…

T-shirt Quilt Revisited

It’s done!

It’s actually been finished for a while and I’ve made a couple of blankets since, but I got busy and forgot to blog about it.

…because I know you guys just live to read about what I do.

Here’s my signature Franken-corner:

I’ve since learned how to do proper corners thanks to YouTube, but proper corners aren’t fun, so…No photos. And the one with proper corners is on its way to a friend, so maybe when he gets it, he’ll share his non-Franken-corners.

😛

I’m making another quilt and there are several “tech” shirts involved…that will prove to be an adventure.

Side note: I have no races scheduled on my calendar. It’s weird. And oddly…freeing. I’m actually training harder with no scheduled deadline; coach says its because I have a self-defeatist psyche that I have to work through.

Word.

Positive talk for the day: I will successfully fold all the laundry and drink at least a gallon an a half of water.

Changing Gears

I know some of you will find this hard to believe, but sometimes the Army life is frustrating.

I know, right!?

Not only is there war, and injury, and lack of family time, but there’s also the annoying habit the Army has of screwing with my plans.

The next person to say “we plan, God laughs” (in that Fran Drescher falsetto that makes baby seals weep) is going to get the most severe eye roll I can muster. And possibly a smack on the face. With a spatula.

Because my coach is awesome and has telepathy (or ninja spies…or has ties to the NSA) this happens to be a recovery week on my training calendar. I get to run without a Garmin, have rest days, and ride my bike. This change in my schedule is very welcome, indeed, as I’ve been logging more miles and workout hours than I’ve ever done before. And all without injury,

Coach has kept me injury free while stretching my body to its limits. When I think my legs are shot, I find I can ride my bike up crazy-steep hills. When I think my arms will fall off, I can do another set of preacher curls. These workouts are changing my long-held conceptions about my body. I’m strong! Who knew?

So. This is me…rolling with all the changes. I’m going to let the Army build my faith that The Lord will provide. I’m going to let Coach build my faith in my athleticism. …but first, I’m gonna have some chocolate milk and watch Sherlock and Doctor Who reruns.

…because BBC is screwing with my emotions. Honestly, BBC needs a support group in between seasons…