Carbo Loading

A few days after Christmas
The candy’s nearly gone;
No more bread and no more sweets -
This season’s work is done.

My waistband? Somewhat tighter.
My legs? A little slow.
I find, though, when I run now,
My energy’s not low.

I read that carbo loading
A few days’ time before,
Helps me run efficiently
And makes my legs less sore.

The reason I feel heavy:
With carbs comes water, too.
(That’s why they’re “carbohydrates.”)
My muscles gush, “Thank you.”

Note to self - Austin soiree:
Prepare as if on holiday.

Fun Christmas Facts (or, It's a Man's World, So Slap 'Em if You Got 'Em)

At my weight and speed, I burn approximately
85 calories per mile.

At Tim’s weight and speed, he burns
approximately 90 calories per mile.

It takes 3,500 calories to burn off one pound of fat.

To lose one pound without dieting, I have to
run a little over 41 miles.

To lose one pound without dieting, Tim has to run just
under 39 miles. (Remember, he runs faster, so he’s
finished about 2 hours and 45 minutes before I am.)

The average Christmas dinner, including two
glasses of wine, is around 2,000 calories.

To maintain my weight, I can eat up to 1,972 calories in
an entire day. So, to avoid gaining weight, I must give
Tim part of one of my two measly glasses of wine from
Christmas dinner. Forget eggnog; although I consider
it to be the nectar of the gods, I must avoid it
if I don’t want to look like Buddha.

Tim can eat 2,559 calories a day to maintain his weight.
That means he can add part of my glass of wine, a slice
of blueberry pie, and two spiked eggnogs and he’s still
under his required calories. In the alternative,
he gets to eat breakfast. I get to watch him.

You . . .

MEN.

The Creep-Sweepers

On a cold New Year’s morning, my sweet young love dovers,
While your head’s deep asleep in your warm storm of covers,
The magical, tragical, drastical, fantastical
Creep-sweepers are priming their time-sucking drubbers.

They’ll silently float to the crown of the ocean
Where they’ve stayed far away from the throngs and commotion.
Their tubers and poobers will hang down below them
As they leap from the waves with an effortless motion.

They’ll click and they’ll clack as they tick and they tock.
They will streak as they sip worn-out time from the clocks.
In an instant they’ll scrub, drub and schlub out the time,
Till their tubers are stuffed and their poobers are stocked.

As mom and dad know, they’re a wonderful sight
As they whiz and they whuz and they whoop through the night.
They’ll take all the old, leave the new, bid adieu,
Then they’ll flee to the sea from the height of their flight.

Christmas morning is boring compared with the glee
Of gazillions of creep-sweepers out on a spree.
So, you green ones, you teen ones, you wee bitty-bean ones,
Stay awake New Year’s Eve and just see what you see.

Benefits

This intense journey has sent me many unexpected places - within myself and outside myself. I’m carrying less baggage, less weight – in body, in mind. I’ve lost 25 pounds. I am now a person who can run 18 miles all at once. I can’t quite believe that, but it’s true. Soon, I’ll be someone who can run 26.2 miles. I find I want to hang on to that ability. I don’t want to go back to the way I was before – fat, eating and drinking too much, feeling bad, not spending enough time taking care of myself.

I’ve also been able to experience the journey vicariously, through Mom and everyone in the tribe who posts, but especially through Tim. He’s in shape now and he’s started lifting weights for real. He told me that he used to lift a number of years ago, and I have always been able to see the ghost of that in his chest and back, but now – good grief, I can hardly believe what I see. It’s exciting, even a little scary. He’s begun to look cut and he’s getting BIG.

It’s a cliché, but I'll be damned if it isn’t true – we’re like a couple of kids in a candy store. It’s made me think I should drag my own weights out of the garage and I’m going to do that, tonight, and start using them. I want to keep up.

Feeling Healthy

A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.
- Pooh's Little Instruction Book

Exercise ferments the humors, casts them into their proper channels, throws off redundances, and helps nature in those secret distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheerfulness.
- Joseph Addison

Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!
- Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass"


This is a dangerous time of the year. The weather outside is, well ... frightful. Alcohol and holiday food are everywhere. Cold and flu germs hide on every surface. As I lie in my warm little bed under my down comforter, somewhere within me resides the desire to hibernate, to conserve my energy, to store my self-heating fat.

I’m currently on schedule with my running to complete my marathon. I’m healthy right now and dang it, I refuse to get less so. Screw all potential saboteurs. I resolve to:

1. Get enough sleep.
2. Abstain from drinking alcohol.
3. Drink enough water.
4. Wear warm enough clothing when I run.
5. Get my rear-end out in the freezing cold and do my required miles.

I will do these things because I know they will keep my attitude positive. Each time I do these things, doing them again will be easier.

C'mon tribe: Do 'em with me, won't you?

Yummmm.

A personal trainer once spake
When passing me by on the street,
Saying fat in our bodies is not
All where you can see it; a lot
Is hidden within your red meat
Like a marbled and juicy rare steak.

I thought, how delicious!
I must be nutritious!
And for me, how propitious -
I can eat all I want and not gain a pound.
I think this idea completely profound,
But my thighs both think it seditious.

Wondering What We’ll Do

Now that we’re getting close to December, I’ve been wondering what marathon I’ll be running. The prospect of New Orleans got me off my butt; the difficulty of my work has now sharpened my focus on the goal of finishing, itself.

Mulling over these thoughts, I pulled up some runners’ comments on the 2005 Mardi Gras and Freescale marathons online. Each race had many runners praising it for being well organized. Several runners complained that the Mardi Gras course had rippled asphalt and potholes. Several runners complained that the Freescale course seemed hillier than advertised. Both races had complaints about parking, food, not enough (or the right kind) of hydration, a lack of spectators and a lack of organization (apparently what’s organized to one ain’t necessarily organized to another).

About what you'd expect when hosting an event for thousands.

A few of the comments for the Mardi Gras race actually alarmed me, however, and Tim suggested I post them. Fellow tribe members, please take a look at the excerpts below and tell me what you think.


It was advertised as a 7-hour race, but way before that time the police were on their bullhorns telling us our time was up and to get off the course. Very demoralizing to slower and first-time marathoners. Then when I reached the 1/2 mark back at the Superdome some organizers were yelling for me to go inside because I wasn't going to finish. Not having run a marathon before I started to listen to them but thank God I didn't and like Forrest I kept running. If I had listened to them I wouldn't have accomplished my goal of finishing a full marathon.
C.D., Arlington, VA, 11/15/05


The stellar job done by the police was dimmed somewhat when they shut down the advertised 7-hour course in 6 1/2 hours, forcing runners to the sidewalks with no help at cross streets. Similarly, most of the food vendors (except Subway!) left before the 7-hour finishers arrived in the Dome.
D.W., Minnesota 3/21/05


From the e-mail of Feb. 23rd:

"Course Time Limit for the Half-Marathon is 4 hours and is 7 hours for the Marathon. After that time participants must use the sidewalk and proceed at their own risk. A pace of 16:30 per mile must be maintained in order to be covered by the NOPD course traffic control."

This statement, plus others, leads one to believe that this is a walker-friendly marathon.

When the police passed us, the course effectively closed; and yet we had several miles to go. After that time, there were no course volunteers to direct the runners/walkers where the turns occurred. There were no people directing traffic so we had to wait for the lights. The water stations were closed and the water station workers were cleaning up. I’m not talking about the last stragglers - a group of us walking together finished in under 4 hours (3:40), and yet we were at our own risk as if the course had closed. If it were not for the team that was running for an AIDS charity, we would have gotten lost, too, as the course took an unmarked left turn but their volunteers were there to direct us.

You can’t advertise a 4-hour cut off, and then have the cut off actually be at 3-1/2 hours or less.
N.M., Chicago, IL 3/3/05

Ah-ah-ah-allergen Report

Contaminants:

There is fecal coliform and E. coli bacteria in the canals. This is being tested about every two to four weeks and it rises and falls. How much does this matter? I don’t know. The EPA isn’t identifying the specific type of E. coli that has been found, and there are hundreds. Only a handful of types are life-threatening. The others are just different from your own, friendly, E. coli, which happily help you digest the food in your intestine. Foreign E. coli can cause your friendly kind to die, giving you what most people consider food poisoning. You probably have foreign E. coli on your keyboard right now.

Right after the flood, there was a lot of testing for chemicals, petro- and otherwise, in the standing floodwaters and sediment in New Orleans. In the last month, not much testing has been done. Most of the stuff found early on was below what the EPA considers dangerous, but there were some areas with some contaminants above those levels. It appears that most of the danger from heavy metals and petrochemicals occurred during and just after the flood and the cleanup of sediment has reduced, and will further reduce, the danger. I don’t think this is a real issue for us, barring some new information.

Mold:

I don’t know. You heard me right – I don’t know. How can this be, you may wonder, when every night you watch the television news for your city - or the nearest one, anyway - and you hear what the pollen and mold counts are, right?

The official source for this information is the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma and Immunology. Allergy labs and clinics around the country volunteer to measure the number of mold spores and/or pollen particles in their areas and report them to the Academy. Your news station gets this information and puts it in the weather report. Since approximately May 2005, the only reporting clinic in Louisiana was in Baton Rouge, and that clinic doesn’t even measure mold counts, so there’s no reasonable way for us to know the answer to the mold question.

Outdoor molds aren’t really that big of an issue, anyway, and that’s the only kind of mold for which the AAAAI gathers information. The mold that makes you really sick grows in buildings. The only testing done for that kind of mold is paid for by private business owners, and we’d have to know exactly which buildings we will be in and somehow induce the owners to give us the information. I’m guessing that most business owners haven’t even done such testing.

Mold was originally the expressed concern and I would like to re-address that issue for myself. At the time we first discussed it, mold was not a big concern of mine. It’s not the most important thing to me now, but lately I have begun to have some problems related to my nose surgery, and I’ve become a bit more worried about the prospect of staying in a place that may have a larger-than-usual amount of mold spores and that may, if the latest reports are correct, simply smell bad.

When I complete a long run, my nose swells and I have a 24- to 48-hour-long recovery period during which my nose is extremely sensitive. I can smell the fabric softener in another person’s clothing from about ten feet away. I can smell people’s feet inside their shoes. I can smell the shampoo residue, or the oil, in others’ hair.

Irritants are everywhere and they make me sneeze uncontrollably. My nose runs. This is considerably more uncomfortable than anything I go through on the run itself. My doctor doesn’t know how long this will last, but he believes I have at least another three months before my swelling completely subsides. Running seems to be slowing that process, because I have at least a little swelling each time I run. The long runs are the worst. My nose was actually purple yesterday when I finished, and today I am experiencing a most unpleasant sensitivity. I count myself lucky that no one at the office has worn perfume.

The prospect of trying to sleep in a place with additional irritants and strong odors is very unappealing to me as I write this.

Okay, tribe – that’s all I’ve got. Your turn.

As you know, I'd planned to post regarding the mold in New Orleans this week, but I have used all my energy on other concerns and now I find myself without time to write today.

Soon, though.

A Tribute to Anonymous

There was a girl (or was a boy)
Who had some comments to relate.
Though he (she) sometimes tried for coy,
It seldom helped in a debate.

So she (he) darted in and out-
He (she) was there; she (he) was gone.
When he (she) took a covert route,
Was it to dodge the denouement?

So blame and honor, both escaped,
His (her) sporadic intercourse
In anonymity was draped.
(To duck the check, do not endorse.)

Post Script:

I thought I might, in blank disguise,
Assert myself (a daring crime!)
And bait my bro, but realized
He’d know ‘twas me, when writ in rhyme.

Stand by . . . Tribal Service Announcement to Come Next Week

“Ain’ta dad-blamed thang wrong down heah in Looz-i-ayna, axseptin’ the biz-kets all got lootered.”

“Cripes, naw. Weeze thankin’ it stanks a lot gooder’n afore Kertriner come.”

“Ah-hup.”

“Y’all got biz-kets orn yuh?”

On Arguing with Dan

Tribal eyes are getting glazed
Amid all of this shoutin’
I offer truths I learnt whilst raised
Nearby where Dan was sproutin’

A row to hoe inside the fence
You work to keep it straight
The to and fro makes you incensed
Berserk, you can’t debate

He finds the points that you don’t know
And tethers down your foot
Now you’re in a fine tableau
He’s free while you stay put

Around you go, inside your head
He circles back to bite your rump
And, apropos of being led
He begs attack and up you jump

You dig a deeper hole each twirl
Around the central terminal
Soon you’ll tunnel through the world
(The tribe, they can confirm it all)

You seem to be the kind who’s pleased
My words to disavow
So . . . when you see the dear Chinese
Tell them I said, “Nihao!”

12k

Pony Bridge at Lake Overholser in Oklahoma City



We did our run.

All three finished.

All three used the Galloway method of walk breaks.

All three were comfortable at the finish.

The run was well supported and the other runners were friendly.

The weather was beautiful – sunshine and 75 degrees with a cool wind off the lake.

I heard a runner behind me talking about marathoners. He said we’re crazy . . . certifiable.

For the first time since this thing started, I didn’t agree with that sentiment.

Listen to me:

It will happen.

In Austin

I've been hearing and reading some news stories recently, that some prominent New Orleans musicians have decided to permanently relocate in Austin. If these stories are true, it will cause me to place my bid firmly in the Austin marathon camp.

The first thing I heard was a story on NPR last Friday and I've excerpted some of the meat from that story below. You can click on the link if you want to listen to the whole thing.

From: New Orleans Musicians Fearful of City’s Future by David Brown, All Things Considered, Friday, 10/28/05

Cyril Neville: “I wouldn’t want to go back to a place that they’re sayin’ is gonna be a combination of Disneyland and Las Vegas.”

Producer Leo Sacks: “There’s an undercurrent going on here. Their lives are in transition . . . they’re wondering what kind of New Orleans could they potentially be going back to. . . . is New Orleans going to turn into one big, uh, casino or Bourbon Street?”

Reporter David Brown: “It’s a growing concern among New Orleans musicians that, no matter how much is done to rebuild their city, the street music scene may be lost for good, that reconstruction will leave little more than a plastic, family-friendly imitation of what the Crescent City once was . . . one senses that, for some prominent musicians with ties to New Orleans, Austin’s looking like more than just a temporary home.”


http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4980270

Corrupted by Power?

Beware, Fearless Leader.

As George W. Bush recently discovered, alienating one’s most loyal followers is a mistake.

We’ve been good. We blogged, faithfully, prior to Duke City, and afterward. We trained. We showed up at Duke City. We finished, one of us despite surgery.

You were there with us. We didn’t look like Amway salesmen as we crossed that line, did we? Hell, no. We looked like warriors, every one. We crossed the finish line, limping and bloody. Triumphant. We took you in our arms.

We didn’t vote you in, so we can’t depose you.

But we can track you down and kick your ass.

Finding Out What We Know

"As we know, there are known knowns. There are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns. That is to say, we know there are some things we do not know, but there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don't know we don't know." —Donald Rumsfeld, Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing.

Some tribe members have expressed concern about the health conditions in New Orleans. I've been given the task of finding out what can be known about environmental quality in the area, post-Katrina, and reporting back to the tribe what I find.

Because clean-up is ongoing, environmental quality will change, and I expect to be making several reports over the next few months.

Right now, I am gathering sources of information and I would like to enlist your help in this part of the task. If you come across any news reports which provide sources of information, please forward these to me or otherwise let me know about them. Let me stress that such reports are not, themselves, scientific information; they are useful only if they cite actual scientific studies I am able to obtain, or if they provide links to legitimate, scientific sites which I can access. The best sources of information are those that will be conducting continuing testing in the area. So far, I have identified the United States Environmental Protection Agency, the Louisiana Department of Environmental Quality, Louisiana State University and the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology.

I will gather what I can and I will start reporting on my findings in a few days. My posts will include the sources of the information so the tribe members can assess it for themselves.

What I find may serve only to, well, muddy the waters. As Mr. Rumsfeld said, there are unknown unknowns, and some tribe members may never feel comfortable with any risk, while others may not care to have the information at all.

That said, I would also like to remind everybody that health concerns are only one factor in many which may be used to determine whether we go to New Orleans or somewhere else, and that the ultimate decision about where the 600 lb. marathon is held is up to our two chiefs, although they will be interested to hear the tribe members’ opinions on the subject.

Beloved

My brother and I, although twisted in our own peculiar ways, both love literature and drama, and some of this can surely be traced to three recordings given to us by our parents as a joint birthday present, along with a portable record player, in 1970 or 1971. They were from a series called Tale Spinners for Children which was produced in the 1960's and which was basically a number of dramatic theater presentations of classic stories combined with orchestral music.

We received Robin Hood, William Tell and Sleeping Beauty. We also had Peter and the Wolf, but it was from another series and entirely too scary for me to listen to. Robin Hood and William Tell, in particular, caught our imaginations and we learned them by heart and acted them out as our favorite way to play together. If you can remember what it was like to be a child, check out this link and take a listen to William Tell or Robin Hood.

http://www.artsreformation.com/talespinners/

Age and time have done nothing to reduce their magic for me.

I've indulged myself by reproducing below a scene from each of them that my brother and I loved to reinact over and over again.

From Robin Hood

Robin: (Whistling and talking to himself) Ho, ho! What can that be? I’ve never seen such a big man in my life. (To Little John) Hey, you! Over there on the other side of the river!

Little John: Yes?!

Robin: Your legs are so long that you could cross this river in a couple of strides!

Little John: Ah, that may be. All the same, I’m going to walk across this tree trunk here. Everybody uses this as a bridge.

Robin: You’ll have to wait for me! I was here first.

Little John: Oh, come on, now. That’s not quite true. We arrived at the same time.

Robin: All right, then! I’m going to cross first.

Little John: Why should I give way to you?

Robin: Because I’m the stronger man!

Little John: Oh, ho! Just wait until I get near you. Then I’ll give you a taste of my stick!

Robin: Come on, then, and have a taste of mine!

Little John: Ha-ha! I like your reply, bantam! There seems to be quite a lot of courage in that little frame of yours!

Robin: Ha! Listen to me, then. We’ll fight it out between us, standing on the tree trunk! And I know who’s gonna find himself in the river!

Little John: Oh, right! A fight let it be! Come on, what are you waiting for?!

Robin: Um, I’m not waiting for anything, I’m just choosing the spot where I’m going to strike you. (A beat.) There you are, take that!! (Bap!)

Little John: Ha! Ha! Ha! You don’t get me like that! See how you like this!

Robin: Ah! (Bap!) Ha-ha! My stick was there to parry your blow, even before you struck! Come on, let me pass!

Little John: Never! Never!

Robin: Make way, I’m coming!

Little John: I’m going to split your head open!

(Cries and splashing)

(Both are laughing)

Robin: Who’s gonna pass first now?

Little John: Let’s forget all that. The scores are even! The best thing you and I can do is to swim to the bank again, and let the sun dry us.

Robin: Yes, I think you’re right.


From William Tell

Lackey 1: William Tell’s running away worries me a lot, Your Grace.

Lackey 2: I’m sure he’s turning up a revolt.

Gestler: I’ll soon master him. I didn’t come here to flatter the people, but to grind them down.

Peasant Woman: Pity, Your Grace! Pity!

Gestler: Get behind, you! What do you want?

Peasant Woman: My husband’s in prison and my children are hungry! Pity, I beg you!

Lackey 1: This is neither the time nor the place to present a petition. Come to the castle tomorrow.

Peasant Woman: And my husband did no wrong! Set him free!

Gestler: Get rid of this woman, would you?

Peasant Woman: I won’t move! I want justice!

Gestler: Get out of my way or my horse will trample you down.

Peasant Woman: Trample me down, then! All you’ll be doing will be to add one more to your list of crimes!

Gestler: I am the master, here, and you must bow to my wishes!

Peasant Woman: Oh, if only I weren’t a woman! But one day, someone will come to square the accounts with you! And that person, whoever he may be, will have the whole country behind him!

Gestler: Oh-ho-ho! Nonsense, woman! Nobody has the courage to do such a thing!

Tell: I have.

(Gasps and whispers by peasants all around.) It’s Tell! William Tell!

Gestler: William Tell.

Tell: The hour has come for you to pay for your crimes, Gestler. Prepare to die.

Lackey 2: Take him!

Lackey 1: Too late!

(Fwwwwp!)

Gestler: Arrrrrrrgh!

Lackey 2: The arrow has struck him right in the heart.

(The music, Rossini’s William Tell Overture, swells)


Great stuff.

Having a Good Time

I finished. My time was way slower than I would have expected a few months ago, but then I didn’t know I would be running this thing with virtually no training base, 10 days after surgery. It reminds me that I don’t know what the next few months will bring. I may face a challenge to the completion of the marathon that has not yet revealed itself. Although the half took me longer than I thought, the challenges I faced made crossing the finish line oh, so much sweeter to me than doing it without them would have been. I admit it – I had more than a few tears in my eyes when I crossed.

Are the fastest of our tribe the “serious” runners, while the others are not? Well, yes, in some ways, this is true, and I found that out yesterday. I didn’t see Mom except for a few minutes before the race, but Amy and Tim seemed to be experiencing a higher level of tension. For them, it isn’t enough to finish, they want to have a good time.

We will each bring our own devils to the marathon, but Duke City made me realize that I had allowed myself, unwittingly, to take on one of Tim’s as if it were my own. It wasn’t until the morning of the run, when I woke up with Tim, the Litigator, instead of Tim, the Boyfriend, that I understood I was hanging with the wrong crowd, at least for that morning. I let Amy and Tim go on ahead and quickly sought out Dan and Adolph, who helped me to set myself straight. We laughed and joked and got to the starting line in a great mood.

So, that’s my second goal at the marathon. I want to have a good time. At the finish line, at the starting line - heck, the whole time we’re there.

Be on the Watch for Fairytale Creatures - You Don't Know Where They've Been

Just got back from my post-surgical checkup and everything looks good. My nose, which in its current state is substantially smaller and straighter than any nose previously located on my face, is, my surgeon assures me, hugely swollen both inside and out, and while it will apparently not disappear entirely from my face, it will not attain its ultimate splendid petiteness for approximately three months.

He also gave me the dubious permission to blow my nose, something I haven't attempted since I broke it a little over two weeks ago. I wasn't quick enough to catch full sight of it, but I think a leprechaun or perhaps a small wood sprite may have sprung out and scurried away on my first timid, experimental attempt.

He says I can run on Sunday, but my nose will swell up even larger and hurt. I haven't decided for certain, but my thoughts are leaning heavily toward either walking the entire thing or abstaining entirely, but I'll be there.

Sitting

While I was in surgery and that evening and the next day, my mom came and took care of me. During my procedure she sat, waiting. Just in case.

A fellow tribe member made the comment that no matter how old we get, sometimes we just need our mommies. This is true for me, but I think it has only a little bit to do with the fact that she’s my mommy and much more to do with the fact that she’s a woman and my friend. She’s always there for me, but she’s there for her girlfriends as well.

Women do that. Sit, I mean. We sit and wait. Just in case.

We don’t do it because we think anything will go wrong. We sit and wait, just in case, because it is a way to show each other how much we love each other, how much we respect and care about each other. It’s just a thing we do. When we ask each other, “Will you come and sit with me?” we all know that’s what we’re talking about and, believe me, it isn’t about having a ride home.

Women know that when you’re in surgery, you just need to know somebody’s sitting out there, reading a book and looking at the clock, waiting. Not worrying about her job and wondering when she can get back to the office. Sitting. Waiting. Just in case.

You know my mom was out there, sitting for me, but what you don’t know is that one of my mom’s friends came and sat with her. She was there for my mom, not for me. She was sitting and waiting, for my mom. Just in case.

New Nose is Good Nose

Saw the doc today and the verdict is that I broke the darn thing in three places and the cartilage is, as I thought, shoved into a little folded ball in one nostril. Yes, it does feel just that comfortable, too.

Surgery next Wednesday.

Albuquerque? I'll be there.

Will I run? I think so. I'll let you nose.

Give Me Grace

I was going to have cosmetic surgery until I noticed that the doctor's office was full of portraits by Picasso. At least my nose is in the center of my face. With this guy, I could wake up and it could be in a guitar. – Rita Rudner

The recent lack of weight toward the bottom of my body has apparently caused my top to overbalance. I'd like to say this was caused by my boobs, but apparently it was my nose, because on Saturday evening I had the luck to land schnoz-first on the top step of my back stairs.

If you've never broken your nose, let me tell you that it is amazing how many people wave their arms about, or swing things near, other people's faces. I have just recently become (hyper) aware of this fact. Luckily, injuring one's nose creates a corresponding quickening of reflexes.

I have x-rays this afternoon, then a consultation with a specialist later this week. I'll keep you posted.

Help, Straighten Me Out

“. . . six in 10 blacks interviewed said the federal government was slow in rescuing those stranded in New Orleans after Katrina because many of the people in the Louisiana city were black. But only about one in eight white respondents shared that view.

The numbers were similar on whether the rescues were slower because the victims were poor, with 63 percent of blacks blaming poverty and 21 percent of whites doing so.”

-Reporting the results of a gallup poll taken September 8-11, 2005. CNN.com, Tuesday, September 13, 2005


Have you ever been down in the ghetto?
Have you ever felt that cold wind blow?
If you don’t know what I mean
Won’t you stand up and scream
‘Cause there’s things goin’ on that you don’t know

-Lynyrd Skynyrd, Things Goin’ On


“And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this, this is working very well for them.”

-Barbara Bush, speaking about Katrina evacuees living in the Houston Astrodome. Marketplace, September 5, 2005


We’ve all seen the man at the liquor store, beggin’ for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He asked the man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
“Get a job, you fuckin’ slob,” was all he replied
God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
‘Cause then you really might know what it’s like to sing the blues

-Everlast, What It’s Like


“For the poor shall never cease out of the land: therefore I command thee, saying, Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother, to thy poor, and to thy needy, in thy land.”

- Deuteronomy 15:11, King James Version


In this dirty old part of the city
where the sun refuse to shine
People tell me there ain't no use in trying

Now, my girl, you're so young and pretty
And one thing I know is true,
You'll be dead before your time is due (I know)

Watch my daddy in bed and dying
Watch his hair been turning grey
He's been working and slaving his life away (Oh yes I know)
He's been working so hard
I've been working too, baby (every night and day)

We've gotta get out of this place
if it's the last thing we ever do
We've gotta get out of this place
Girl, there's a better life for me and you

-The Animals, We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place


Reporter: “Can I ask you why you don’t want to stay?”

Evacuee: “Why I’m not staying? ‘Cause look how far we is out here. Look at, look at, just look around you, and you’ll see, yourself. Ain’t no good environment, Mexicans and all them kind of people around here.”

Reporter, to radio audience: “It’s hard to miss the fact that some of the same people who were complaining the loudest about discrimination . . . were the quickest to say they didn’t want to live around ‘a bunch of Mexicans.’”

- Conversation between a reporter and a black Katrina evacuee regarding apartments offered as free housing in Houston. This American Life, September 16, 2005


Ain't no different
Than in South Africa
Over here they'll go after ya to steal your soul
Like over there they stole our gold
Yo they say the Black don't know how to act
'Cause we're waitin' for the big payback
But we know it'll never come
That's why I say come and get some
Why when the Black move in, Jack move out
Come to stay Jack moves away
Ain't we all people?
How the hell can a color be no good for a neighborhood
Help, straighten me out

-Public Enemy, Who Stole the Soul?


Whether or not you view the delay in rescue efforts after Katrina as racist, you may have been appalled by the instances of individual racism that were caught on video or audiotape being committed by evacuees, rescuers and others in the past weeks.

I'm not wealthy; on the contrary, it wouldn't take much of a crisis to put me on the street, yet it took an absurdly lengthy amount of time for me to understand that most of the people who didn't evacuate prior to Katrina weren't there by choice, but by financial circumstance.

It was only several weeks after the storm that I discovered that those stranded in the aftermath were actually prevented, at gunpoint, from leaving a city which had no water, food, shelter or clothing, by National Guardsmen, who were protecting property just outside of New Orleans. Property over innocent American lives.

I don't even know how to begin to solve these huge problems.

Nouvelle Cuisine

My energy spent on our quest
Made me hungry and left me depressed
Eating way too much food
Made my tummy protrude
I’d not joined to gain weight and be stressed

My answer? Cut way back on fodder
Get the fat off and drink lots of water
I lost nearly a stone
But my strength, it had flown
At the half, I’d be lamb to a slaughter

So I’m trying out nouvelle cuisine
Eaten all through the day – meals, between-
I’ve gained not an ounce
And my step – it has bounce
This plan feeds the run and leaves me lean

I’ve been constantly breaking my fast, so
I’ve not any cravings, at last! “Oh,”
“If only I’d known,”
“I might have,” I groan
“Avoided my twelve pound fiasco.”

October 23rd

A portent of Fall, the black crow stirs
To remind us all - approacheth October!
His hoarse, avian call brings about chills
The temperate drink and drunks get sober

Lately, I awaken in bed at night
Unable to move, contracted with fright
I can’t release my poor chest for a breath
My sheets are bunched up and fist-twisted tight

What torments me so with its taunting?
It has hold of me, won’t stop its haunting-
An insistent task I cannot forget
The duration of which is quite daunting

It chases me all through my dreams
With horns and a pitchfork, extreme
I toss and I force myself to awake
With a gasp, I choke back my . . .

Well, you know.

Weak

Over two grueling months, I lost the notorious 12 pounds I had gained by overeating from April through July.

Now I am weak. So weak.

I have less than a month to regain six of the nine miles I lost during my restricted diet, plus add four and one-tenth.

I want to do this without a repeat of my previous weight gain.

Give me your prayers.

Take me there.

Slouching

Months ago, when I began this journey, it was with reluctance, trepidation, even fear. The bright image I held in my mind, however, was N'Orleans, reclining on the coast like a drunken woman, her skin moistened with sweat, her laughter roughened by smoke and late nights, calling to me in a smiling, musky voice, "C'mon, girl. Do this thing you gotta do and then we can do a little boogie together."

As I have dragged myself, slouching toward N'Orleans, I never dreamed that the journey I had begun was so great that it would not, could not, reach a successful climax simply by my puny effort. Now, in the midst of my miniscule labor, I see the great city herself, slouching toward me.

C'mon, girl. Do this thing you gotta do. And then we can boogie.

N’Orleans is brimming
I don’t want to be swimming
My dear Ponchartrain
Though steps are a strain

Worry not, my tribe
‘bout hotels, mud inside
(After five months - remote)
We’ll just rent a house boat!

He’s a Lumberjack. And He’s Okay.

Last weekend, I was supposed to get back into running. I’m feeling better. I am only occasionally experiencing the hacking cough that makes sweat pop out all over me and which causes me to nearly pass out, and it now seems brought on more frequently by eating than by physical exertion. The fitness gods have finally poked down a sweaty finger to nudge me in the proper direction.

But last week, one of my neighbors, a tree guy, mentioned to Tim that one of the huge elm trees on my property is beginning to split down the middle from the weight of its huge arching limbs. One of those limbs was hanging over my garage and its falling weight would surely crush the roof. I hadn’t noticed the split, but once it was pointed out, it could not be ignored that a good wind would be the end of my garage. Oklahoma is known for wind, as you may be aware.

OOOOOOOOK-LA-HO-MA, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains . . .

People love to expound upon the stars. They love to talk about the Grand Canyon. It doesn’t take something that remote to make you understand that you are insignificant. All it takes is that tree in your front yard.

The trees on my property are huge. I can’t wrap my arms completely around either of two elms, and Tim and I together can’t wrap our arms around my oak tree. Still, you just don’t realize how incredibly humongous the limbs are when they’re still attached to the tree. You think you do, but let me assure you that you don’t. When they come crashing out of the sky and shake the ground upon which you stand, and two strong people can’t move them even one inch without cutting them into three-foot-long sections, you begin to have an inkling.

Remember this: Trees aren’t benevolent. Trees can kill you. Trees can maim. They don’t understand nor apparently care that you’re trying to save them. They can swat you like the miniscule, bothersome fly that you truly are.

Last weekend, my dear, my love, my everything borrowed an extension ladder and became a lumberjack for two days. He saved my splitting elm. He trimmed another elm in my front yard that is in the throws of dying. He trimmed my oak, the final branch of which tried to kill us both by swinging down and striking the extension ladder upon which Tim was perched and I was steadying. I managed to jump out of the way and Tim managed to cling to the vibrating ladder while holding a chainsaw.

Then we cut up all that wood and hauled it into the backyard. We’re alive, barely. We're both sore, but able to work. Tim must have saved me $1,000 or more.

Yet again, as always, he’s my hero.

Writing Zen

When I write well, by which I mean when it comes easily, I go into what is almost a meditative state. I can feel my muscles relax and I can feel my body do a sort of electric Zing! I feel highly alert, yet completely relaxed. I am fully open to explore what I’m writing. If it is sad, I sometimes cry. If it is sexy, I get turned on. It seems to me as if an invisible river courses just above my head and all I have to do is to reach up and tap the flow.

Tim was talking to me last night about haikus and he told me something that I think can be applied to most writing, and all poetry. He said that one method of judging the poem is considering whether or not the poem assists the writer and reader in living in the moment, in recognizing and experiencing the world as it is. What has passed no longer exists. What is to come doesn’t exist, either. All that really exists is what is happening now.

I haven’t been running lately. I’ve instead been trying to keep this virus from smothering me in the night. This marathon is bad for living in the moment. It looms. I worry. I wish I were doing anything but having a cold.

Writing seems to contain my only Zen moments these days.

Oh, okay, Tim, there may be a few others.

And the Nobel Prize for Limericks Goes To...

I give up. I know when I've been beaten. See Tim's submission below.

They had a grammatical go-round
about the gender of the pronoun
where the subject can
be a woman or man;
it was "he," "she" and "they" at the showdown.

Writing the traditional way,
it was "he" that would carry the day.
"She" was a non-starter,
"he" sounds so much smarter,
but the P. C. crowd is behind "they."

The singular subject was "each."
Their dilemma was really a peach.
They did not want to change it
but to rearrange it;
a solution they needed to reach.

They fin'ly came to the conclusion
their problem was just an illusion.
They changed "each" to "all;"
"they" answered the call;
and the sentence was just as amusin'.

Boogerville

I have been sick with a chest cold since last Thursday. My running has been curtailed, because deep breaths result in hacking coughs and I'm so hopped up on seudoephedrine that I would probably have a heart attack if I ran around the block.

Fun stuff.

I owe Tim a debt of gratitude for taking care of me over the weekend.

Other than that, ain't got nuthin' to say. Don't get too close.

The Journey Continues . . .

Click this link and

Come along.

The Grammarian

There once was an insane grammarian
Who some thought was quite antiquarian
When she saw a mistake
O’er the coals she would rake
She thought of herself as abderian

She loved all the people around her
But, woe to the lonely propounder
Who put forth a jest
Where the spelling was guessed
The meanie would quickly pound down her

So, sorry if I have offended
Your jokes and your stories are splendid
I love every one
Your selves you’ve outdone
And I hope that our friendship is mended

And limericks, please all of you write
I’ll read them and laugh all the night
And please make them naughty
I promise not to get haughty
They give me such total delight

Food

When Cameryn was about two and a half, I was able to take a year off from working and stay home with her. We lived in a house on a lake then, and that summer was the first time I could remember experiencing a truly free summer. My childhood summers were working ones.

Since Cam was such a little snip, she took a nap for about an hour and a half every afternoon after lunch. I used that time to lie out in the sun with the baby monitor close by so I could hear when she awakened from her nap.

One afternoon, when Cameryn woke up, she didn’t call to me. Instead, she lay in her crib, talking to herself in her little breathy voice, while I listened on the monitor. She was listing all the foods she loved best in the world.

“Ice cream, and chocolate cake, and popcorn, and pizza, and cookies, and ice cream, and cookies, and chocolate cake, and candy, and cookies, and . . .”

For years, when I thought back on that day, I assumed she was simply amusing herself. For the past few days, I have been restricting my caloric intake while still continuing to run, and I have come to realize that the litany baby Cameryn was reciting plays in the back of everyone’s mind, all the time.

You just have to stop chewing in order to hear it.

Albuquerque

Last night, Tim and I discussed one of our concerns about the Duke City Half Marathon. The event website states that the elevation increases by approximately 20 feet between the start/finish of the run and the halfway mark, but it doesn't give any information about how hilly the course is. I run a relatively flat training run and Tim's is more rolling, but neither is what most people would consider hilly.

This morning, I contacted Rodger Sack, a former club president with the Albuquerque Road Runners Club, and requested further details about the course. He was kind enough to send me the following reply:


There are almost no hills on the Duke City 1/2 marathon course. It predominately follows a bike path that parallels the Rio Grande river and the only hills would be overpasses over cross streets - nothing you and your training partners won't be able to easily handle. I would guess that the elevation of the course would be in the 4,500 feet above sea level range and the elevation change of less than 50' for the entire course is probably accurate. It is a pretty course through the scenic south part of Albuquerque. Enjoy.

Oh, How Quickly It Can Be Snatched Away

On the heels of the victorious completion of my longest distance ever, I shagged my butt to the doctor for my quarterly checkup. My blood pressure, if left unchecked, runs about as high as one would expect of a person who weighs twice what I do. I’m on medication and closely watched by my physician.

When I last went to the doctor, I had not yet begun to run. Three months later, I am running almost daily and faster than I would have ever thought possible. I feel good. My clothes fit slightly better, but I don’t look much different. I figured I’d probably dropped four or five pounds. My scale isn't working right now, but I haven't been worried about it. With all this exercise, why should I?

The nurse at the doc’s office told me to hop on the scale. To my shock, the scale registered twelve pounds more than it did three months ago. Twelve. Pounds. Twelve. The nurse took one look at my face and suggested we get a second opinion from the other scale, located in a back hallway of the doctor’s office. Twelve pounds.

Jeez louise.

Don’t talk to me about muscle weight. I know I’ve probably gained some muscle, but not twelve pounds’ worth.

Sigh.

But just think how much faster I’m going to be when I drop this fat.

Oooooooooo.

And she’s back.

Running Girl

Sunday, July 24, 2005, at approx. 10:00 a.m.
9 miles
1 hour, 47 minutes
Yesssssss!

Entering the Poem
- Nancy Ortenstone

Glory

Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout
Heat prostration
with mobilization
I’m here to say
It’s a manifestation
of procrastination

Let me hear ya say
Amen!

We’re all
Slumpin’
and
Grumpin’
When we’re
Pumpin’
We’ve been
Backslidin’
Hot outsidin’
Jekyll and Hyde’n

Come on, can ya say
Amen!

I’m just chuggin’ along
Sluggin’
Water juggin’
Not doing nothin’
But runnin’
Funnin’
In the sun’n

Glory
That’s my story
My allegory
Just check
My inventory
on February 6th

Brothers, let me hear ya say
AMEN!

My Lover

My splendid lover knows my name
My true self in my heart
Though he and I are not the same
In phrase, or limb, or art -

Diverse tints, when they’re made as one
Create a lovelier shade
Than does the same dye layered on
With brush or trowel or blade

Against his masculinity
I’ve found I’ve no defense
It’s so - my love is not like me
- Viva la difference!

Aspirations

The Door in the Dark

In going from room to room in the dark,
I reached out blindly to save my face,
But neglected, however lightly, to lace
My fingers and close my arms in an arc.

A slim door got in past my guard,
And hit me a blow in the head so hard
I had my native simile jarred.
So people and things don't pair any more
With what they used to pair with before.

- Robert Frost


I Died for Beauty, but was Scarce

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied."
And I for truth, -the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

- Emily Dickinson


Witch-Wife

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay


The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

- Wallace Stevens


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-e.e. cummings


Magic Carpet

You have a magic carpet
That will whiz you through the air,
To Spain or Maine or Africa
If you just tell it where.
So will you let it take you
Where you've never been before,
Or will you buy some drapes to match
And use it
On your
Floor?

-Shel Silverstein

Who I am

In an earlier comment to one of my posts, Mom reminded me of the ten-year-old little girl I used to be, who wrote poems for Grandma Ford.

When I was ten, I was struggling to assimilate my sexual identity with the rest of myself. Puberty came earlier for me than for most and, with it, issues and worries about sex and love.

When I was ten, I was trying to deal with my family. They were lovely and hateful, ugly and sweet, bad for me and good for me, and I vacillated in my feelings about them.

When I was ten, I worried about my body and prayed that it was becoming something I would be happy with. I tried to will it to do so.

When I was ten, I began to worry about the kids around me at school and on the bus. Some of them were mean and would physically hurt other kids. Some, mostly girls, spent their time wounding others emotionally.

When I was ten, I was learning to write. I spent much of my spare time reading and writing. I wished I could write as well as the authors and poets I read.

Nothing’s changed.

What Do You Mean I'm Not LaToya?

He was more like a Geraldine from a time machine
I said I do mind and what do you mean I am Michael?
He, who would ask little boys to fool around?
He said I am Michael, who would ask little boys to fool around

He told me on the computer screen - and it was obscene
Because I am such a girly thing, I must be Michael
Who would ask little boys to fool around

People always told me, beware of little dudes
Don’t go around those amusement parks
Mama always told me, ID before you love
Smell them for their shampoo, ‘cause Johnson’s is taboo

What do you mean I’m not LaToya?
I’ve got the boobs, the mane and I have the buns
(Just ask Tim about my buns)
I say, I have the buns. Just ask Tim about my buns.

The thirty days and the thirty nights
I just could not abide
I could not stand against his demand
It was a brand
‘Cause Michael asked little boys to fool around
So listen closely, my tribal member, this does not entice
Not entice!

He told me balls were what I would need, then he laughed at me
He knows LaToya is much more of a man than is Michael
He, who would ask little boys to fool around

People always told me, beware of little dudes
Don’t go around those amusement parks
I guess I’ll have to give in
There’s not much that I can do
But please don’t misconstrue
I’m not hip to little dudes

What do you mean I’m not LaToya?

Creativity and the Dry Blogger

My sister, Jane, says
She is too dry to blog
As dry as a bone
Her brain’s in a fog

With all of this sweat
And all of this heat
It takes all you’ve got
To stay on your feet

But I disagree, Jane
Your muse is still there
It’s protected by bone
Heat-shielded by hair

Like so many other
Of our secret wares
We hold it too close
We hide what’s "down there"

But sometimes you must
Admit that you’re dry
Head down to the drugstore
And buy some K-Y

Oh, don't be so shocked
It’s not unrelated
This blog keeps my writing
Quite well lubricated

Don’t Eat Them Nasty Sliders with Cheese Spray and Green Olive Spread

We had planned to get up early on Sunday and run. Somehow, we didn’t get out there until it was too late and way too hot to even think about it. We decided to wait until after 7 p.m. to do our run, and to tack an extra mile on the end.

We pretty much dinked around all day Sunday, watching movies, taking naps and doing the odd bit of laundry. There haven’t been many such days for me lately, with all the house-related duties that need my attention.

The fridge was pretty well devoid of food and I needed laundry detergent, so around noon we got in the car and headed over to Big Lots, saying we would pick up some burgers on the way home. Big Lots has an international food section and we allowed ourselves to get sucked into its vortex. There was goat milk chocolate spread. There were pickles of every kind, from everywhere you can imagine. There was green olive spread. Green olive spread. Yes, I said green olive spread. The label said it was made with green olives, olive oil, basil, capers . . .it sounded fabulous to me. We got some. We picked up some chips and, while we waited at the register, Tim impulsively grabbed a can of cheese spray. We didn’t inspect the ingredients. Some things you just don’t want to know.

We headed over to Braum’s to get some burgers and they were having a special on a "Bag o’ Burgers," basically five sliders. We got one and asked how much it would be to add cheese. It was 40 cents a burger. Good grief! I told Tim we could always use the cheese spray. Yes! The cheese spray! He smiled and gave me the thumbs up.

Apparently we had gone to sleep, normal adults, on Saturday evening and somehow had awakened Sunday morning, college kids with the munchies.

We got home. We put both the olive spread and the spray cheese on the burgers. We wolfed them down. Oh, the foolhardiness of youth.

Six hours later, I was hungry again and I knew it was going to be too late to eat when we returned from our run, so I quickly made some pasta and ate it. We got ready and drove to the lake to run. I was fine during the warm-up, but about a half-mile into the run, I felt like I was carrying a three pound stone in my gut. I won’t go into further detail, but it wasn’t pretty. I didn’t know it, but Tim wasn’t feeling too hot, either. He apparently covers it up better.

I made it about two miles, maybe a little less. Tim ran on ahead, got the car, and picked me up. My hero. I mean that, with all my heart.

If you see me with a can of cheese spray, olive spread or any one of the aforementioned food items in my hand at any time before the marathon, knock it out of my hand and kick my ass.

Following Instinct

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to be a speed demon. I don’t expect to finish in the top half of the marathon. I don’t even care if I’m dead last. I just want to finish.

But I gotta tell you: I can’t imagine running for 8 hours. 8 hours. Running.

I know people will do that very thing in the Mardi Gras Marathon. I may be one of them.

It will take me increasingly longer to do my long run each weekend. This will rapidly become a major time consumer. I have made a commitment to myself to work up to running five miles with a one-mile warm-up each day. If I could do this in an hour someday, it would be a perfect lifetime workout. Right now, I’m walk/running three miles for a warm-up and running three miles about three times a week, and it’s been taking me about 90 minutes to do it. I’ve been running very slowly and it takes me as long to run three miles as it does to walk it.

I’m just thinking that I would like to get done a little sooner. Not for glory (that’s well out of my reach!), but to just be done. Sooner. I know that the 15-26.2 mile stretch during the marathon will consist of slower miles than the 1-15 mile stretch, for virtually everyone. In order to start out with 15-minute miles and finish with 15-minute miles, I would have to be some kind of robot. Which I clearly am not.

So, I decided last weekend to do some interval training to strengthen my legs and get my speed up. I know this may cause some protest among the tribe. One member has already expressed her disapproval. But hear me out.

I warmed up, then ran slowly for one block and fast for two blocks. I did this several times, then I alternated one block of slow for one block of fast, then two blocks of slow for one block of fast. It wasn’t easy. Toward the end, I walked a bit on my slow blocks. By the time I was done, I was tired, but not bonked. The kiddo and I went for a bike ride for about an hour and I felt fine.

Last night, Tim and I ran for the first time together in nearly a week. We ran/walked our first three miles, then stopped to use the restroom. Then we ran the other three miles. My speed was much increased and I felt much stronger. Tim commented on how strong I seemed to be. I felt wonderful, in fact. When all was said and done, it took us 80 minutes to do the whole thing, including the bathroom break. We believe we shaved 15 minutes off our three-mile time, finishing it in a record 30 minutes.

This morning, I feel great.

Instinct rocks.

Scary Adventures in Iowa

The weekend before last, Tim and I took the kids to Iowa to visit his family. Although the trip is long, it is not unpleasant for me, because I have a longstanding diabolical scheme of using annoying driving habits to keep Tim firmly ensconced in the driver’s seat, eyes bloodshot, mitts clamped to the wheel, for hours on end. I get to sleep. Don’t try to tell me we womenfolk don’t know what we’re doing.

We got to Iowa, we ran. Well, Tim ran. I tried to run through what was fairly intense lower back pain. I ended up walking practically the whole distance. I thought it was kidney pain. I drank a lot of water when we got back. It didn’t help.

We drove a couple of hours about halfway through the trip to attend a family reunion. As the visit progressed, so did my pain and a weird twisting sensation in my upper thighs and hips. I started wondering if I had somehow cracked my pelvis. (No comments from the peanut gallery, here. I mean it. If I have to pull over and stop this blog, somebody’s gonna be sorry.)

Tim’s dad suggested that it was sciatica. Absurd. After all, I thought, sciatica would mean no marathon.

We drove home. I woke up the next day. Incredibly intense pain. Crap.

A little internet research provided me with a physical test, which confirmed Tim’s dad’s diagnosis. I also discovered that the long car rides were probably the catalyst, and that poor posture (slumping while sleeping) almost certainly exacerbated the problem. It did not mean no marathon. What a relief! I was advised to take a week off from running. And stretch. And take ibuprofen. And sit up straight.

Last night Tim and I walked three, ran three. No pain. I iced my back. I woke up this morning. No pain.

Sciatica schmiatica.

Thirty-Nine Candles

On this day, in 1966, my mother finished the work she had begun 40 weeks earlier. She labored for several hours and pushed me into the world, a person.

Thanks, Mom.

Thirty-two weeks from now, I will finish the work I began two months ago. I will labor for several hours and I will push myself over the finish line, a marathoner.

Bricktown Blaze Results

The results came in for the Bricktown Blaze 5K. My time was 39.04 and Tim's was 32.57. The website gives the overall picture.

http://www.limbsforlife.org/

I feel good about my time. I refuse to think about the jerks who cheated. Freakin' jerks.

Jerkin' freaks.

Jeakin' ferks.

Ferkin' jeaks.

What was I talking about?

Tim

I'm posting again today to call attention to Tim's comment on my Cameryn post. He has a rare quality, a lack of cynicism, that reveals itself on the occasions (also, unfortunately, rare) when he writes poetry. I am going to resist the impulse to go on. The poem speaks for itself.

With You

We've talked to a few people and we know everybody did well. We were with you Sunday, in mind if not in body. In the spirit of togetherness, Tim and I ran a 5K this weekend, on Saturday night. It was the Bricktown Blaze, a run to earn money so needy folks can receive prosthetic limbs through a charity called Limbs for Life. Yes, there were people with artificial legs in the run. Yes, they kicked my butt. I'm pretty sure those legs were bionic. I’ll post a link to the race results when they come up.

We’d still like to run a half marathon with the tribe, in Albuquerque or somewhere else, if that’s not good. I believe that having a shorter goal toward which to work will help us.

Tim and I have been running on the flats. We’ve been walking for 45 minutes and then running approximately 3 miles. Although it’s been hot, we try to run early or late, if possible. This run was at 5:30 p.m. and it had a couple of good hills.

I learned a few things from this run.

First, and most importantly, come marathon day, I can’t run with anyone I know. Tim and I had discussed the fact that he would be leaving me during the race. I thought I was okay with that.

Apparently not.

I’m just too dang competitive. I tried to keep up and then, finally, was forced to give up and let him go ahead, but I felt like crap for about fifteen seconds. I wasted a lot of energy, to boot. I know Tim felt bad. I can’t do that on the big day. The marathon will be long. Long. Long. Let me repeat: Long. I can’t afford to waste any energy, mental or physical. I need to start out on my own pace, keep my own pace, and not allow even the opportunity for thoughts of staying up (or back) with somebody to torture me.

Second, people cheat if they can get away with it. They are big freakin' cheaterheads from hell. This run had a turnaround and then the route headed back the way we had come for the second half of the run. Tim and I lined up at the back of the pack and, believe me, I know the people I passed. I got a good, long, slow look at their asses flapping. After the turnaround, I passed several of them for a second time. This is bad. Tim said he actually saw people turning around early, and they did not respond to him when he called them on it. Some of the scores on this run, therefore, aren’t real.

Third, when really big cops manning the roadblocks yell encouragement to you, it sounds like they’re making fun of you. I didn’t, however, find out what it’s like to kick them in the shins (and, thus, what it’s like to go to jail). They apparently couldn't hear what I was saying under my breath.

Fourth, it’s pretty cool to run into a stadium full of baseball fans at the end of your run. The run ended up at the Bricktown Ballpark and they had a big timer set up. We stayed and watched the Redhawks lose a tremendously exciting game against . . . the New Orleans Zephyrs. Musta been kismet.