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.

Cameryn

I admit to feeling dread
When I used to think about now
From the safety of the past
Eleven to sixteen
These years are said to be
Pain, lust, anger, angst
Self-identifying withdrawal

It’s begun
Her reddened eyes - puffy, swollen
And then -
Just a glimpse of something
A wink of treasure
Before the door is slammed
And I’m startled into silence
It was so beautiful
Sweet curve of a cheekbone
Delicate line of jaw, neck
Full, red lips
Thick curls of long hair
Long, coltish legs
I’ve become infatuated
Once again

She cries in complete anguished passion
Rocking in pain or
Melodic, laughing, side-splitting delight
Zen, she feels this life fully
Watching her, I do, too
A lump rises from somewhere below
Slides into my throat

Rainbow Fish

Those of us who have children know all about Rainbow Fish. For those who don’t, it is supposed to be a feel-good story, apparently intended to teach the value of selflessness to kids. Personally, I’ve always found it distasteful, even faintly offensive. In the story, Rainbow Fish is a snotty, selfish fish (sel selfish fish?) with glittering, iridescent scales. Like many handsome guys, this Rainbow Fish is a real pain to be around. He won’t condescend to speak to anyone. One day, an ugly little fish starts begging Rainbow Fish for one of his scales, he refuses to give it up, and a short while later, he realizes he’s being snubbed by everybody. At this point, the story degenerates while Rainbow Fish educates himself about society. Finally, Rainbow Fish gives in and surrenders all of his rainbow scales. Now that he’s got nothing left to give, everybody’s his friend.

As a cynical old blues man (which is, actually, how I see myself) might put it, life don’t work that way. There are a number of blues songs written in this vein.

When my crib full o’ hootch
When it full o’ cocaine
I gots me pretty womens
Trine ta make me insane

When my cupboard is bare
When my bottles run dry
Ain’t no folks aroun’
To see this boy cry

Sorry. There are some good old blues songs about the subject, but they were clearly not written by me.

When I moved into my new house, recently, I found the sellers had left me their huge fish tank. And fish. Bastards. I said to my daughter, "Okay, I’ll feed them," but inside I’ve really been sort of morbidly willing them to die before I’m forced to clean the tank. Do not tell my daughter this.

The other day, while feeding them, I saw that one of the smaller fish was swimming in a noticeably lame manner. Upon closer inspection, I could see that another fish had apparently been forcibly removing his rainbow scales. I say "forcibly," because, somehow, I doubt he had given them up voluntarily. But who knows? And even if it wasn’t voluntary, didn’t it serve him right? I hadn’t noticed him acting like an asshole, but I can only assume that he had been. After all, the others were clearly voting him off the island.

The next day, at feeding time, I saw that all of Rainbow Fish’s fins, excepting the tail fin, had been nipped off, and he was swimming . . . well, sort of wiggling . . . in a rather uncontrolled fashion. At this point, even I had a hard time distinguishing him from a piece of food. Except that my own food rarely wiggles.

The third day, he was gone.

One down, four to go.

Running From the Big O

For a brief period, about seven years ago, I ran on a regular basis. I didn’t have a goal in mind and I never ran in organized runs. I had a friend who had a yellow lab and the dog liked to run. My friend could not run with him, so I did. I ran for about a year, several times a week. Thinking about how sad the dog would be if I didn’t run with him kept me going. Guilt is a good motivator. Dogs are good at bringing on guilt. They have those eyebrows and those big brown eyes.

One evening, after I had run for several months, I was running along, minding my own business, thinking mindless, running thoughts, when I felt something weird begin to happen. It was the Big O. It took me about eight steps, from beginning to end, and it went like this:

1. !
2. No
3. Way
4. Oh
5. My
6. Freak
7. Kin'
8. God

Now, like a lot of women, this isn’t something that usually happens to me without quite a bit of preparation, both mental and physical. But I hadn’t been thinking naughty thoughts. My hands were out in the open, where they belonged. This came (ahem) out of the clear blue sky.

After the first time it happened, it began to happen more frequently until finally it happened every time I ran. Then, it began to happen earlier and earlier in my runs, until finally I could only run about five blocks before . . . (!) . . . jeez louise.

You may think this would be a good thing. And it might have been, except that immediately after it happened each time, I was worn completely out. Ready to be back at the house. Ready to climb into bed for a full night’s sleep.

All these years later, when I began this marathon quest, I worried that I would have the "problem" again. There’s no way I could complete a marathon if I had to stop and lie down every five or six blocks.

So, I decided to try. Unlike the time before, I’m in a relationship which satisfies me. I’m older. I thought that maybe it won’t happen this time.

And, so far, it hasn’t.

I’ll keep you posted.

Something About This Running

Each morning when I arrive at work, the first thing I do, the very first thing, is check the blogs.

I read Adolph’s blog. I comment. I look at the other blogs and see that, for the most part, they remain unchanged. Sometimes I’m pleasantly surprised. This morning, I realized I’ve been checking my own blog every day. It sits there, waiting.

Something about this running has dried up a lot of other things in my life. It is all-consuming right now. I say "right now," because I hope it won’t continue to be this way. I hope it becomes just one thing I’m doing. On non-kid days, Tim comes over, we run, we shower, we eat, and I fall asleep watching a movie. I haven’t even been writing. Hence, my blog.

Running ain't my boss, dammit. It’s about time I wrestled it to the ground and rubbed its nose in the dirt. Made it cry uncle. And I’m gonna do that. Right after this nap.

It Worked

I did it
Three miles walking/running
Three miles running
Finally, no pain
I have found the key
Now I am the master
And my legs
Serve me

The Burn

I stretched twice as long as usual. We started out. I prayed that my calves would give me a reprieve from their usual bullying. By the time we had gotten about twice as far as I usually run before I walk, my calves felt like they’d been stretched on the rack and the Marquis de Sade was pinging them with a dulcimer hammer.

I thought about how much further we had to go and I felt my chest tighten with fear. I couldn’t seem to get enough of the hot and syrupy, heavy with humidity Oklahoma air. It wasn’t that I was out of breath aerobically; I was hyper-ventilating from panic. Tim told me to breathe out with three steps, breath in with one. He said to make sure my lungs were emptying completely. At first, I gasped deeply with each inward breath, trying to take in enough air, but gradually I relaxed my breathing and it helped. Tim matched his breaths to mine and we ran in lockstep, the rhythm helping to calm my panic.

The pain in my calves did not lessen. This has been my cross from the beginning. The pain, as always, was intense, my calves screaming at me to STOP NOW. As the pain increased, I began to unconsciously lengthen my stride in an attempt to reduce the pain, but this only made things worse. Tim repeatedly reminded me to shorten my gait and he reduced his own to help me. To my great disappointment, I was finally forced to walk. I cried for awhile, mostly from frustration, and Tim consoled me. I alternated running and walking the rest of the time, and my traitor calves never stopped their torture, ratcheting it up to maximum each time I broke into a run.

I want to see what it feels like to stretch myself aerobically when I run. I want to reach that place - I know it exists! - where I can run five miles comfortably, take a walk break, then run five miles, but unless I can outsmart my calves, I don’t see it happening. I went back to Jeff Galloway’s book and read everything pertaining to calf pain that I could find. I don’t believe my form is severely faulty, because I have absolutely no soreness after running. I believe I am experiencing lactic acid burn and that I may be pushing a bit harder off the ground than is necessary.

Galloway says that you have to exercise for over 45 minutes to get past the burn. Tonight, we will try something different. We will walk and jog for three miles to burn off the glycogen, then we will run. I want to reach that sweet nirvana that beckons to me beyond the burn.

Tonight

Dog and butterfly
Up in the air he like to fly
Dog and butterfly
Below, she had to try . . .
- Ann Wilson

We’ve now run the three mile run three times. Correction: Tim’s run it. I’ve walked a honkin’ big piece of it. And I’m tired. Tired of making excuses to myself.

Tonight, I will run the distance. Tonight, I will fling myself headlong toward N’Orleans. Tonight, my calves will not burn, the hills will be revealed for the oh-so-slight incline they really are, and this insignificant distance will roll away under me like water tipped from a bucket. I will glide. I will fly. I will run like the wind.