Busted!

My running schedule has changed a little this week since I've been on vacation.  Instead of getting up in the frigid morning temps to meet the girls, I've been sleeping in and waiting until the warmest part of the day to go for a run.  I usually prefer getting up early to meet my girls, but this past week it was around 18-28 degrees in the mornings, getting up to 40-45 in the afternoons.  Because I could I took the afternoons.

So for the last few days, it has been just me and my ipod shuffle running the streets of my neighborhood and beyond, and I have enjoyed this.  Because of this change in schedule I've had more time to cool down and stretch after each run and since my days are completely at my disposal, I've taken more time to do these things. 

I'm not sure why or how it started, but when I run with my ipod, this cool down session usually involves a dance move or two.  Nothing major, just moving my feet to the beat after finishing a good (or bad ) run.  I'm thrilled to be a runner.  I'm grateful for the run I just had.  So, I do a little dance in the streets of my neighborhood, sometimes jiving all the way to my front porch and into the house. 

Yesterday afternoon I went for a 6 mile run. It had not been the best run ever due to tired legs and a strong headwind, but I was glad to be out anyway.  With my favorite tunes playing in my ears, I did a little jig up to the driveway and then bobbed my head to the beat while I stretched. 

I came inside to an empty house, so I knew Jason was still out on his run.  Since it was just me and Chance, I sang at the top of my lungs the last lines of the current song on my ipod while sitting down at the computer to download my Garmin and look at my splits.  When the song was finished, I turned off my ipod while I wrote a little note about the day's run in my running log.

And then I heard a noise coming from my bedroom.  Jason was home after all.  I started laughing as I walked to our bedroom, "You are home!" I said, stating the obvious.  He just grinned at me and started singing the lines of the song I'd belted out when I thought I was alone.  I doubled over laughing.  It was a tad embarrassing, but he was my husband, after all, who had vowed to love me through thick and thin, through off key notes and dramatic song finishes.

I confessed to ending most of my runs that way when I came into an empty house with only Chance as my audience.  Of course, Chance usually comes running in with a concerned look upon his brow...as if I'm being harmed.  I'm not.  I'm just singing.  Loud and proud.

For the rest of the night we joked about it, and when Jason would break out into a mimicking version of my song, we would both start laughing.   No doubt about it, I was busted.  It probably won't change anything, though.  There's nothing like a jig and a song after a good (or bad) run, and despite my brief moment of embarrassment, I'll probably continue celebrating each run with both.

A Message

While this is primarily a running blog with bits of life and (attempted) humor thrown in, I must, from time to time, visit another favorite activity of mine and that is reading.  Oh, the joys of a good book!  And during the holidays I love nothing more than unwrapping one or two placed under the tree for me, and devouring them during my time off.  And yes, devour is the word.

I will cast away my usual schedule of going to bed early and getting up early for staying up late with my nose in a book and reaping whatever consequences that may bring for the morning (which, during the holidays is usually none).  I will fit my usual run into my day (preferably the warmest part) and then will be drawn back into my book, emerging only when necessary (food, husband, bathroom). 

I received two books this Christmas, which were on my amazon wish list.  My mom-in-law got them for me and when I unwrapped them Jason said, "Great, she'll be gone for a week."  I just grin.  Yes.  Yes, I will. 

What can I say?  I love the way it feels to read a good book.  I love thinking about it while I'm in the shower or on a run and planning my return to it.  It feels like returning to the welcome arms of a lover, when I pick up my beloved book with a sigh of contentment, greet the characters I've grown to love or hate, and follow them through their story...I love it.  I crave it.  I miss it when it has been away too long, that feeling.

My recent love affair is with a book called "I Am the Messenger" by Markus Zusak. I added this to my wish list because Zusak is the author of another book, "The Book Thief," which is an amazing story, so I trusted that I could choose another and be equally as enthralled.  I was not mistaken. While completely different from "The Book Thief," Zusak does not disappoint in his second book.

Once I fall in love with an author and his or her works, I will plunge unafraid into their other stories until (if ever) I find a reason to end the relationship.  Mostly, when I'm in, I'm in for keeps and eventually these authors cannot keep up with my constant hunger for what they have to say.  Ann Patchett.  Maeve Binchy.  Terry Kay.  Marisa De los Santos.  Margaret Atwood.  Countless others, and now Markus Zusak.

The story of the messenger involves a 19 year old cab driver who is living what I would describe as a dead-end kind of life. He has a view of himself that he lives up to - deadbeat, loser, etc.  One day he haphazardly stops a bank robbery and from that point begins receiving playing cards in the mail with instructions on them.  Mostly addresses or names of people.  He has a message for them, and in the delivering of these messages, he finds some for himself as well.  I am not yet to the end, but I have completely loved every word.  Zusak has a writing style that can combine humor and poignancy so well together...I really can't describe it with my own limited descriptive powers. Suffice it to say, it is the perfect combination of everything and I have truly enjoyed my time in this story. 

It will be hard to finish it.  Hard to leave what has been a pleasant part of my own life for a few days.  Sure, it's make-believe.  Sure, it's just a book.  Words on a page.  But sometimes I find that these simple words on a page move me in a way to change things a little bit. 

Elizebeth Drew has a quote that I have had in my heart since college and she says this:

"The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it."

I love reading stories that inspire this intensity in myself.  And I hope to one day be able to write such a book that will inspire the same in others.  Whether it is a true story about running adventures, or something fictional, I'd love to do for others what authors like Markus Zusak have done for me.

The messenger delivers messages to strangers and then to his closest friends (which is where I am now in the story).  I have been so moved by his experiences and his descriptions of them, that somewhere in all these messages I have received one of my own. 

Needless to say (but I'm saying it anyway), this is a good read...or a worthy love affair, however you think of it.

My Own Personal Rave Run

This Christmas, Jason and I went to visit his family in Kentucky.  They live in the country about 30 minutes from Bowling Green, and it is a truly beautiful place.  One thing I love about visiting my in-laws is having the opportunity to get outside and run through the rolling hills of the Kentucky countryside.  The course is challenging because of these rolling hills and there is very little flat road available. This course can also be treacherous in that the rare driver is certainly not looking for me as they fly down these empty country roads.  It can also be somewhat tricky because people out here do not keep their dogs fenced in and they run freely...sometimes after me.

Still, it is a favorite run of mine.  I enjoy getting out of the city, tackling a hard run in gorgeous surroundings.  I usually carry a stick with me in case of any run-ins with a dog or two, but I have only had to use it once or twice and even then, only to warn.

It is a great place to think.  For some reason, it feels easier to do so when I'm running out there.  Maybe because I am away from all the usual parts of my life, and it is easier to look at them from afar.  Or maybe the surroundings simply make me more pensive than the usual routes through my hometown.  Either way, they have provided for many a thoughtful run. I run with my ipod, but it is usually very low or completely off since I'm trying to listen for cars and dogs.  It is peacefully quiet and my only company is the occasional cow watching me from behind his fence as I run passed.  

This past week, I decided to visually document my route.  I carried my usual stick in one hand and my little red camera in the other.  I'm sure, to the occasional passer by (usually an old farm truck) I looked strange in my bright running garb, a stick in one hand and a camera in the other.  Could I scream "city girl" any louder?

It was a cloudy day, and a cold one too.  This was the preface for a huge snow which would begin later that night (providing me with my first white Christmas ever, but that is another story altogether), but at the time there were just gray skies and a light wind.  I rounded the first curve after walking down the gravel driveway from the house, and I was soon greeted by the first of 3 dogs I would be visited by that day.  He was big, but not fearsome and all he really wanted from me was my stick.  The owner was outside, so she quickly called him back and I continued on my way.

I ran along, enjoying the rolling course and paying more attention than usual to all the beautiful sights so I could photograph my favorites.  There was much from which to choose. 

 

I tried to capture the rolling-ness of the route.  In some of these pictures, I think I succeeded.  There have been days when I have run and all the fields were bright green, the sky a vibrant blue, and the sun warming everything.  This day was not one of those days, but it was still a scenic run all the same.

The second of the three dogs, was this little guy.  He is, by far, the most fierce of the lot.  He barks and snarls at me, charging when I turn my back.  This is the only dog I've encountered that I think would actually bite if given the chance, but I have my stick and I sternly tell him to go home.  His size is not overly intimidating, so while this is a brief obstacle in the run, it is not overly concerning.  This dog has been a permanent part of this route since I started running it, so I know when to expect him.

 

The turnaround point was at the top of this hill.  This course is 3 miles out and then straight back home.  I tried to deviate from this course once and experience a new road I'd never been down before, but two dogs quickly chased me back on course and I have not deviated since.  Usually this 6 mile route is enough to tire me out, although I have simply duplicated parts of it when I wanted more miles. 

This little guy was the third and last dog I would see on my route that day.  He was completely uninterested in me, so I snapped his photograph and continued on my way.  I was relieved at this point, because I was pretty sure I would get no more surprises on my return trip to the house. 

On my way back, who should I see running in front of me but my very own husband.  I tried to catch up to him, just enough to snap a good picture of him, but keeping up with Jason is futile, and the hills made it even more so.  Still, you can see the white spec in this picture, and that is him.

Once I made the final turn before heading back to the house, I was greeted once again by the pup who wanted my stick.  Since I already knew he was the friendly sort, I spoke a little greeting, but tried to discourage him from following me.

I usually finish my run with a walk along the horse pasture to greet the three horses belonging to Jason's dad, but it was cold and I was ready to get warmed up.  I will have to save those pictures for another time when I document my own personal rave run.  Perhaps in another season, when the colors have changed.  

These pictures may not document the beauty that I enjoy every time I run this course, but it is my attempt anyway.  While not as impressive as the rave runs posted in Runner's World magazine, this is my own version of one I hold dear to my heart.  Sometimes because of the course itself, and sometimes because of the experiences I have while I'm running it. 

Remember That Time When We...

There is a marathon among the many Mom and I have run together that we love remembering.  It wasn't a personal record or a scenic course.  We didn't meet any new and interesting people, but it was still one of the most memorable.  The reason for this is because it was one of the absolute worst marathons we have ever run. It was so bad, it was funny. You know that delirious, hysteric kind of funny where you have to laugh to keep from completely giving in to your misery and curling up into a ball on the ground? That was it.   

In 2003, Mom and I flew to Ozark, Missouri (pronounced "misery" for the purposes of this story), to run the 1st Annual Ozark Mountain Marathon.  This was a point-to-point course, on the shoulder of a highway which traveled through the Ozark mountains (please note the words "highway" and "mountains").  I was planning to run the half-marathon, but because the course was laid out as it was, I would be able to run with Mom the whole way, keeping her company for half of her race.

The morning of the race was cold and rainy.  And when I say cold and rainy, I mean it was 48 degrees and pouring sheets.  We huddled under the porch of some country restaurant near the start waiting for the rain to pass.  The race director postponed the start in hopes that the rain would clear up, but it did not.  Why not back out, you ask?  Well, that would have been the sensible thing to do, but we'd traveled all that way so... we intended to run.

Eventually, the race director started the race despite the constant downpour.  It was so hard to step off of that porch, and I don't know that I have ever been so cold in all my life.  I kept thinking I would warm up, but I never did.  Mom and I tried to forget about the numbing cold, but it was increasingly harder as the rain continued.

It was made worse by the fact that we were running along Highway 65.  A highway!  This meant that cars and semi-trucks were flying by, throwing more cold, wet wind into our already frozen faces.  The hills (mountains) were unending and we many times we could not even see the top when we started to climb.

It was a long time ago, so I can't remember every detail, but I do remember how unbelievably cold my hands were.  I could not stick them inside my gloves and sleeves because those places were soaked too.  I think Mom and I tried just about everything all to no avail.  Everything was wet and the temperature was dropping.

Another fun fact was that there were no port-a-potties along the course (highway).  This meant that when we had to go, we went on the side of a highway, baring our buns for all the world to see.  Twice. 

Mom asked me at one point if I could go the entire marathon with her.  I considered it, but I knew there was no way.  I had only run one marathon at that point, and I wanted so badly to get out of that weather.  I hated to tell Mom no, but I didn't see how I could go 13 more miles when I reached that blessed finish cone (for a cone on the side of the highway was, indeed, all it was).  Mom said she might stop too, but I encouraged her to keep going.  I knew she was just as miserable as I was, but I also knew she would be mad at herself tomorrow if she didn't finished the race.

When we finally did reach the half-way point, I was thrilled.  I ate a cookie and got some water and climbed onto the bus that would drive us back to the start line.  I promised Mom that I would be back with some dry clothes, coffee, ibuprofen and whatever else I could think of as soon as possible.

The bus had to wait on all of the half-marathoners before driving back to the start.  I was the last one (out of 19), but for some reason the driver did not know.  As I sat there, wet and cold, I began to shiver uncontrollably.  When the bus finally started driving the 13 miles back to the start, my entire body was shaking and tensed up from the cold.  I had no idea how I was going to unfold myself and drive to our hotel, but I managed to do it once we finally got there.  I cranked up the heat in the car and drove at lightning speed to the hotel.  I figured I had a reasonable story if I were pulled over. 

I pulled off my wet clothes to see bright red skin from head to toe.  I took the hottest shower I could stand, and the quickest too.  It was still raining, and the temperature was steadily dropping.  I grabbed a dry sweatshirt, ibuprofen, food, and some coffee from the lobby and then drove at lightning speed once again down hwy 65 looking for the lone runner that was my mom.

When I found her I did a little Dukes of Hazard maneuver to park in the median and then ran across the highway to Mom.  She had warmed up a little and did not need the sweatshirt, but she took the food, coffee and ibuprofen I offered.  I cheered for her at several spots alone the route until I finally parked behind the marathon finish cone (no clock, no supporters, no real finish line, just a cone and a man sitting in his truck with his stop watch) and waited for Mom.  She had a very steep hill to climb before she reached it, so when she got within ear shot, I began screaming and cheering for her as she climbed her last, miserable hill.  She finished in 9th place out of the 10 marathon runners who ran that day. 

While waiting for Mom to finish running, I had gone to pick up her finishers medal and my award (despite being last, I won first place in my age group), so I drove Mom straight back to the hotel where she could shower and get warmed up.  We were so glad to be finished, and we were so glad that we did finish despite the misery of that run Missouri.  

I'm not sure where or what we ate afterward, but I do remember driving around looking at antique shops and then laughing at the thought of getting back out into the weather.  We got dessert and drove straight back to our hotel where we got in bed and stayed there until it was time to go home. 

The next year, as I was looking on www.marathonguide.com for a marathon, I noticed that the Ozark Mountain Marathon was crossed out.  It had been so terrible, that it had been discontinued.  They picked it back up in 2009 under a new name and with a different course.  I offered to sign Mom up to run it, but she declined.  I'm not sure why. 

Just a Thing

Shortly after the Rocket City Marathon, Mom and I were talking about her race, and I mentioned how she seemed okay despite not making her goal. At the age of 60, Mom decided she wanted to go for a Boston qualifying marathon, and has trained unbelieveably hard to get there.  Rocket City was to be the race and she needed a 4:30 finishing time.  That would not only have been a Boston qualifier, but a personal record as well.

For whatever reason it did not happen.  She ran out of steam, got nauseated and tired, possibly started out too fast...the list of things that can go wrong during a marathon is a long one.  As the 4:30 pacer, I had to leave her when she dropped pace and that was hard.  Part of me worried about her, but part of me knew she would be just fine no matter what happened.

And I was right.  As we talked about the race and how it had not turned out the way she had hoped she said, "My real goal in this life is to get to Heaven. Qualifying for Boston is just a thing."  She talked a bit more about how qualifying or not qualifying would make no difference once this life was over, and that one is only remembered about 50 years (if that long) once they are gone from this life.  We are, after all, just a mist that appears for a little while and then we are gone...as if we were never here in first place.

I was blown away.  Such perspective! These are things I believe, and from time to time I consider them, but I don't live out that perspective every day.  I have run marathons where I fell apart somewhere during the race, and I had to work hard to pull myself out of the blues the week after. I have let a thousand other tiny little things that mean absolutely nothing get me down and ruin a morning, an afternoon, an entire day...and for what? 

I'm so glad Mom shared her perspective with me that day.  She wasn't preaching or trying to change my life, she was simply explaining why she was not upset about her marathon.  She has her eye on another goal that is way more important, and in that race she does not intend to miss the mark. 

So yeah, Mom is pretty amazing.  She's run a total of 61 marathons, running in every state of the US, and she started all of this at the age of 44.  She has been an inspiration to me as a runner, and I will always be grateful that she introduced me to this wonderful sport I have grown to love so much.  And while I could certainly use some perspective where running is concerned, I could use it in the rest of my life as well.  When something seems bad, inconvenient, disappointing or upsetting, I need to remind myself of just how important it is... or isn't.

If I am remembered for anything, I'd rather it be that I was a good friend, a good wife, a kind person who made people laugh.  I'd like to be known as a follower of Jesus Christ, both by the One I follow and those who witness my attempts to do so.  I, myself, would like to qualify for Boston one day.  Some days it seems doable, others it seems completely out of reach. I intend to keep trying, but I hope to keep it in perspective.  I hope I remember, whether I make it or not, that it has no bearing on what really matters in this life or the next.  It is, after all, just a thing.

The Test

Here's how I see it.  It is only sort of a test.  That is because one can't really fail it.  It is more a test to see what they see. 

I'm referring to the art of gift giving.  

I love buying gifts for others.  Especially those I dearly love.  I like to make a list, ponder it, make notes, ask questions, ponder further and then decide on what I think is the perfect gift for them.  The gift that will make them smile.  The gift that will show them I know them pretty well and spent time and effort to choose something great. It isn't so much about the amount of money, but the item itself.  A lot of pressure?  Nah.  Mostly because I love this activity. 

When it comes to receiving gifts, I'm not going to lie, this is fun as well.  I do not expect to receive gifts and I am not hurt when I do not, but I certainly enjoy seeing what others have chosen for me when they choose to do so.  But my most favorite gifts to receive are those from Jason.

This is where the test comes to in.  What does Jason think of when he thinks of me?  Running?  Laughter?  Shiny things?  Nose in a book?  Snuggled up on the couch with a movie?  A red sweater?  A warm scarf?  A scent?  Does he know my favorite things?  Books, songs, socks (I really do love socks), brightly colored hats to wear when running in the cold, new games for my DS.  And when he puts all the information he knows about me together, what does it lead him to choose when it is time to make that purchase and put it under the tree?  

Maybe I'm making it more complicated and meaning-filled than it is...but I'm a girl.  It is what we do.  And I see meaning in the gift chosen for me.  I see meaning in how much time was spent.  The proof that he thought about me when I wasn't around, that he took time out of his schedule to do something nice for me.  To shop (which in itself is a big deal). 

So I still approach Christmas just like I did when I was little.  I wake up Christmas morning earlier than usual.  I slip on my bedroom shoes and make my way downstairs or down the hall at a faster pace than on a normal morning. I am impatient with those who do not move as quickly as I do.  And don't even think about suggesting that we eat breakfast first.  I love all the brightly colored packages.  I love handing out the gifts I've chosen and I look upon those chosen for me with excitement.  Because it means someone thought of me.  This someone probably loves me, and they spent their time and money to show me. 

So maybe it isn't about the gift at all.  The old saying may be true after all:  It is the thought (and the love behind it) that counts. 

For (or From) the Record

It seems that I left out some very important information from my last post.  It has since come to light that my amazing mom WON THIRD PLACE in her age group in the Rocket City Marathon.  AND, as if that were not fabulous enough for a 60 year old who ran her second fastest marathon, which was her 61st marathon overall...she and her daughter (me) won third place in the parent/child division!

So this wee little post is dedicated to Erin McGuire, the toughest ole girl in the south, and the best mom a girl could ever hope to have.

Congratulations, Mom!

Marathon Pacing = Amazing Experience

Being a pacer at the Rocket City Marathon this past weekend turned out to be tougher than I thought and just as wonderful as I'd hoped.  I found it tough because it was difficult to stay on one exact pace for 26 miles.  And I was nervous about going too fast and wearing out my runners too soon, and going too slow and not getting them to the finish line on time.  There is a balance there and believe it or not, it is sometimes hard to find it.

But what an amazing time I had!  Oh, it was the best experience!  Here's the story.

The weather was perfect.  Not too cold, not to warm, not too windy and mostly overcast.  I lined up at the start line around 7:45, held my 4:30 pacer sign high and the runners started to come.  I met many of them as they told me their goals for the day, how many marathons they'd run, and where they were from.  They had many questions about me, such as how many marathons I'd run and what my best time was.  One guy told me I looked like I ran much faster than a 4:30 pace and asked if I'd be able to slow down for them.  That made me feel good, of course (although, I have no idea what "look" I had going on), and I assured him that I could slow down.

Mom is in light pink with a white hat.

My pack of runners stayed with me up until the half marathon point.  I lost many of them there, including my mom.  I was worried about her and would turn around often to check on her.  A few times she looked really tired and I prayed she would not overdo and hurt herself.  Every once in a while she'd holler out "Pearl!" and I'd hold my sign high in the air so she'd know where I was (Pearl is my nickname, and I am not the tallest of individuals).

She had a group of good friends running with her, so I knew she would be fine.  I also knew she would not be upset about not making her 4:30 goal, so I held pace and tried not to worry about her. 

A few people stayed with me, and we talked about races, where they were from, their running experiences.  As I lost those who started with me, I gained others and got to know them as well. I met two girls who were grad students at Auburn, running their first marathon.  I met a man who graduated from Auburn in 1981 when I was 1 year old.  This was his 23rd marathon.  I met people from Tennessee, Virginia, Wisconsin and all over Alabama.  Every time I met a first timer, I could see the excitement in their eyes as they took on this challenge, and it was amazing to share in that excitement.

While some people were very happy to see me and many kindly expressed gratitude for my presence in the race, some were not so thrilled when I showed up.  I could understand that.  I have been caught by pacers I was trying to beat, and it can be disheartening.  I told them, however, that I was only a minute behind the clock and that they should come and run with me.  I jokingly threatened one guy with my sign, and he ended up staying with me for quite a while (I'm formidable, what can I say?).

As I ran on, my numbers became sparse.  My strategy was to run a little under pace (which is a 10:18 for a 4:30 finish) so that my runners could stay with me and still have time for aid at each aid station.  I would grab a water or Gatorade, walk for about 10 seconds and then slowly begin jogging, increasing in pace until I returned to 10:05 or so.  I explained this to the runners who started with me, and they were all game for that plan.

A few times I was a little fast, so around mile 23, I stopped and stood looking at my watch until I felt enough time had passed for runners wanting a 4:30 pace to be on target.  It was only about a minute, but I did not want to discourage people who were still on pace.  One such runner was Brian.  He was struggling, but hanging on really well and I knew he could do it.  Every once in a while I would tell him how much he had left, and how many minutes he had to do it.  There was plenty of time, and I think that encouraged him to keep pushing.

I took the liberty of encouraging any runners I came upon as I neared the end.  The last 6 miles are usually the ones where people begin to fall apart, and there was evidence of this as far as I could see.  I felt like some sort of coach carrying that sign, so I cheered for everyone I approached and encouraged them to run with me.  Some did.  

I crossed the finish line with a chip time of 4:29:18, and a clock time of 4:30:01.  I could hear people in the crowd saying, "She's right on pace!  She's exactly on pace!" and I was pleased.  It was a lot harder to do than I'd imagined, but despite being a tad fast at times, I hadn't missed the mark. 

I turned to cheer in Brian, who did in fact make his 4:30 goal.  I then quickly got out of the finishing chute and ran back to where I'd seen Dad and Gary who were waiting for Mom.  It wasn't too long until we saw her and she looked good.  She said with a smile on her face, "I gave it up!  Wasn't meant to be today," and finished in 4:43, which is her second fastest marathon time.   

While I waited for Mom, I saw many of the runners who started with me and they weren't missing the goal by much.  I saw several others inside the host hotel and they smiled and thanked me for my help.  I had not expected so much gratitude.  I never realized it would mean so much, but it felt good to know I, in some way, helped other runners around me.

As I said before, running a marathon is a long, hard race no matter how many times one has done it.  It was a true honor to be a part of that journey with so many runners, and I would gladly do it again.

It wasn't a personal record for me.  It wasn't one of my best.  I didn't get to feel the exhilaration of pushing my self to the limit and racing this challenging event.  But it had to be, hands down, one of the most rewarding experiences in my running journey and I enjoyed every step of the 26.2 miles I ran that day.

A Very Merry (I hope) Weekend

I'm sitting at work, on the cusp of a busy, fun, exciting (possibly somewhat tiring, but we won't focus on that part until the end) weekend!  How am I supposed to focus and actually work with so much about to take place? 

Here's the rundown. 

Today I will work (erg), then at lunch I'm off to Fleet Feet to hopefully switch out a bad pair of shoes I just bought.  I think there is a wrinkle in the tongue and it is leaving an awful bruise on my foot.  I have bought a zillion pairs of Asics Gel Cumulus and this had never been a problem, so I'm hoping to swap it out for a better pair to wear tomorrow.

I'm leaving work early for a much overdo massage, light and easy before tomorrow's race (which is sort of a relief as I thought she was trying to kill me last time), and then I'm off to the race expo to get my packet and my pace team shirt.

Tomorrow it is MARATHON TIME and I cannot WAIT!  Did I mention I am excited about this?  I need to be at the race by 7:30 so I can be in place by 7:45 to allow 4:30 runners to find me.  I cannot wait to meet them all! I am excited and a wee bit nervous.  I want to be a good pacer, encourage my runners, and see my mom reach her goal.  So far the weather looks good.  We were concerned about rain, but that should not be an issue until the evening.

After the marathon it will be home, possibly to Cracker Barrel with Jason, and that night we have our Mayfair Homebuilder's Christmas party (that is the name of my Sunday morning class at church).  We were told the theme this year is "A Country Christmas" and we are to dress in country attire.  I personally would like to procure a denim jumper and button up shirt with a large, lacy collar (possibly with embroidery on any part of that), but I have no idea if time (or energy) will allow me to find such an outfit.  Or maybe Jason and I should dress in camouflage.  I mean people out in the country hunt all day and then come in for dinner, right? 

Sunday will dawn bright and early, and we will be off to worship and then that afternoon we will go to the Vaughn Braun Center to watch my sweet niece, Caroline (aka "bug") in her performance of the Nutcracker.  She will be a mouse and an angel and I've already gotten the scoop on how I will know which mouse she is.  And yes, I am the cheesy aunt who will get teary-eyed and sit on the edge of her seat when she comes out to dance.

Then, possibly the best part, I will be hanging with my niece and nephew while their parents go to their church Christmas party (they are The Seekers class).  My secret hope is that I will get to play with legos and watch the latest Barbie movie while sipping some of Julie's hot cranberry tea.

Does it get any better?  And now do you understand why working is so troublesome?  Ah well.  I am off to look at class numbers.

A First Time Pacer

Running is a lot like marriage in that once you've been at it for quite a while, it may seem like very little is new and there are no more "firsts" because you've already experienced them all.  WELL, that is a misconception for both marriage and running, and "firsts" are not as hard to find as one might think.  You just have to spice things up a little!

This weekend I have been given the awesome opportunity to do just that (where running is concerned, although since I've only been married 3 years, I don't feel that we've run out of "firsts" yet).  For the first time ever in my running experience, I will have the opportunity to be a marathon pacer.  I will be the 4:30 pacer for the Rocket City Marathon this Saturday, and I could not be more excited!

When Eric Charette e-mailed a group of runners (myself included) about the possibility of having pacers in the marathon, I was ecstatic.  He had yet to pitch the idea to the marathon committee and he was putting out feelers to see who was interested.  I was very interested, but felt that the only pace group to which I could commit was the 4:30.  I had already promised to pace my mom for her 4:30 marathon finish and Boston qualifying time, and I did not want to go back on my promise.  Even if Mom did not factor into it, however, I probably would have chosen this pace group anyway, as I have only run 1 marathon under 4:00 and 6 under 4:30.  I felt that the pace for a 4:30 (roughly a 10 minute pace give or take a few seconds) would be comfortable enough for me to maintain easily while encouraging the runners around me.

The marathon committee approved the pacing group idea and Eric solidified the pacers for each group.  I checked with Mom to make sure she did not mind, and she was all for it.  She said it would force me to stay on pace even if she did not.  Usually, when we run together, she tells me a pace she wants to run but if she drops I will drop too to accommodate her.  In the marathon she wants me to hold the pace no matter what, and now I am committed to doing just that. 

It feels amazing, when I look back a mere two years ago to the first time I reached and broke a 4:30 marathon time. My best up until that point was a 4:43 and a 4:30 seemed doable, but so very far away.  On April 26, 2008 I ran the Kentucky Derby Marathon in Louisville, KY finishing in 4:28, and I was thrilled, amazed, overjoyed.  Jason, his brother Jonathan and I had all traveled to Kentucky for this race.  It would be Jonathan's first marathon ever, a major PR for Jason (2:38:58), and a major PR for me.

I remember the moment around mile 20 when I realized where I was and how much time I had to finish.  I felt great and knew I had what I needed to push it.  I had been keeping my eye on that 4:30 pacer the entire race and had managed, to my surprise, to stay with him.  As I approached the finishing chute, I saw Jason standing outside the fence cheering for me.  "I DID IT!  I DID IT!" I screamed at him as I ran through the finish line.

It was then like one of those cheesy moments in the movies where the lovers are reunited after a long separation for whatever reason.  I ran to the chain length fence where Jason was standing on the other side.  We grabbed hands and kissed through the fence as I excitedly repeated the fact that I had done it and Jason excitedly told me about his amazing finishing time.  We then went to check on Jonathan...who thought he might die, but he recovered quickly and had done rather well for his first marathon (3:56:57) - and on VERY little training, I might add.

And now, two years later I am the 4:30 pacer.  It blows my mind. I remember how I used to look at 4:30 marathon runners in awe wondering how on earth they ran that fast.  And now, not only can I do it myself, but I have the opportunity to help others do it!  Amazing.

I am honored to be the 4:30 pacer this Saturday.  A marathon is a long, hard race no matter how many times one has done it.  I will be running with people who are striving to reach that 4:30 goal, just as I once was, and I am thrilled to be able to join them on that journey and help them through it.  I will wear my bright red Nike Pace Team shirt with pride, and I will hold my 4:30 sign high as I pace for the Rocket City Marathon.

Do You Need New Tires?

This morning as I got dressed to run, putting on layer after layer, I thought to myself, "I feel like the Michelin Man."  I had on my warmest running tights (men's with a very thin layer of something fleece-like inside), a short sleeved running shirt, a long sleeved running shirt, a red pullover, and a bright blue vest in case of wind.  I put on my warmest, thickest gloves and my (Jason's) bright yellow Snoopy toboggan.  It was 5:30 a.m., 25 degrees and I looked like a multi-colored Michelin Man as I headed out for a quick 6 miler (that became 7) with Kristi.

Now, if anyone from the north is reading this, they probably want to laugh.  Go ahead.  I am a native Floridian who moved to north Alabama seven years ago, emphasis on the world "north."   When one is used to wearing shorts on Christmas and t-shirts on Valentine's Day, Huntsville, Alabama is indeed the north.  And this Florida-born girl could do without anything below 40 degrees, especially when it comes to running in it.

Still, once I'm out there running in it, I usually warm up pretty quickly and I'm usually distracted by the conversation with a running partner or the songs on my ipod, and I do not notice the cold as much (emphasis on "as much.")  It really isn't that bad, once I'm moving, but there are always little reminders that it is, in fact, cold weather running.

When my nose, which starts running after the first 8 steps in the first mile, becomes raw as I continually battle the constant flow.  As if it is a race of nose vs. legs, and I'm trying to keep up with both. That's cold weather running.

When my face freezes so that simple conversation becomes difficult as I start to have trouble pronouncing all my words.  That's cold weather running.

When my summer running pace drops significantly due to the simple fact that if I don't run faster, I will keep shivering...and I'm already dreaming of that hot cup of coffee, anyway.  That's cold weather running.

When, once I get home and peel off all the layers, my bum is pink and...numb despite the fact that I had on my warmest pair of running tights.  That's cold weather running.

When I get in the shower and I can't shave my legs because the goose bumps won't go away...and then I can't get out of the shower unless I begin to imagine, once again, that cup of hot coffee.  That's cold weather running.

And then when I'm headed to work I think, "What am I forgetting?" because I'm only wearing 1 layer and a coat.  And the car heater along with that long awaited hot cup of coffee begins to lull me into a comfortable drowsiness...hardly safe during the morning rush hour.  That's cold weather running.

So sure, it's winter in the south.  Hardly the snow-shoveling, boot wearing, frost-bite concerning cold that so many other states and countries face (although my hair has frozen a few times).  But for this Florida born, Alabama bound runner...it's cold.  Period.

Cold, but worth it.  Despite all that I just wrote, I'm not going to stop running in it.  It may be cold weather running, but it's running.  And I'll take it.

Just Looking

My favorite place to shop for clothes is Ann Taylor Loft.  Sometimes I just like to walk into the store and take it all in, imagine what might look good on me, glance at the prices and walk back out.  Sometimes I need a minute to look around and decide which section of the store I want to visit first (which is usually the section for the shorter people).  I'm usually asked right away if I need any help and I usually respond and say, "No thanks, I'm just looking."

Barnes & Noble is another favorite spot, and I enjoy walking in with no ideas and reading all the inside covers of the books with interesting titles or cover art.  I'm rarely asked if I need help in Barnes & Noble but that is okay because I enjoy the activity of just looking (possibly accompanied by a warm beverage).

Sometimes I like to shop online...for races.  If I'm looking for a marathon, I usually go straight to www.marathonguide.com and shop for the date and place I want to run.  If I'm looking for something else, such as an ultra, I usually put in my search criteria on google and shop that way.

So, just for grins I did a little shopping the other day.  Just to see.  Just to allow the possibilities to roam around in my head for a little while.  The what ifs.  The oh-wouldn't-that-be-funs.  The I-might-like-to-do-that-one-days.

And yes, I did tell those closest to me that they could haul off and slug me if I so much as uttered the words "50 mile" and "trail run" together in a sentence.

But I'm only saying 50 mile.  I'm not saying trail run.  And I just wanted to see.  Here is what I found.

1. Destin 50 Beach Ultra - February 19, 2011 in Destin, FL.  The entire course is along the beach.  And it is a mixture of hard-packed sand and loose sand (I already asked the race director).

2.  The Long Haul 50 Mile Ultra - January 22, 2011 in Wesley Chapel, FL.  It is a road race.  Too soon to be feasible, but good to know it is out there.  

3. Iron Horse Endurance Run 50 Mile - February 19, 2011 in Florahome, FL.  Okay, these are trails (don't hit me), but they are unimproved rail trail, described as "flat with grassy and gravel surfaces. No hills."  I could do that.

For informational purposes, I now know these races exist should I be interested and available, and should my husband be game for more of this nonsense.  I just wanted to see.  And I think the Destin 50 could be really cool.  I'm just sayin'.  But it is probably too soon, and I think we want to head down to Florida sometime next year for something else. But no harm done, right?  I'm just looking.

On Husbands and Running

When I met Jason I'd been a runner for many years. Since the age of 15 to be exact, which was 12 years by the time we crossed paths.  He told me later, he'd noticed the girl across the bonfire wearing a bright orange toboggan and a race shirt (me) at a church event.  I guess he thought I was cute, and the fact that I had on a race shirt was a definite draw since he was a runner too.

It was a little while before I realized just what kind of runner he was.  He was the kind of runner I'd never considered, something I knew existed but had never seen. Like Bigfoot, but real.  I probably need to explain because that sounds weird (and Jason's feet are a normal size). 

Jason was usually in the front during a race.  He usually won his age group and sometimes he won overall.  Now, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew someone was in the front of the race (because it definitely wasn't me), but these people...these people who won...I never considered them.

I had no idea what a winning time should or could be, and I'd never seen anyone win a race (unless you count high school track).  All I knew was my time, and I didn't even consider whether it was a "good" or "bad" finishing time.  It just was.  I never considered going faster or that I could or should.  I just ran. Those guys and gals who ran in the front...I had no idea who they were.

My first marathon, run at the age of 23, was a 5:26.  I never considered whether or not this was a good time.  I thought it was AWESOME!  Why?  Because I ran 26.2 miles, of course.  I ran several more marathons before I started paying attention to my time and wondering if I could run a bit faster.  In South Dakota in 2006, I ran a 5:20 marathon and decided I wanted to run a 5:15. 

In Seattle, Washington that same year, I ran a 5:11 and thought I was pretty hot stuff.  This is where Jason came into the picture.  We had just met and after that marathon he sent me an e-mail congratulating me on my personal record.  I was touched that he took the time to look it up and that he knew it was a personal record.  And I said yes when he asked me out for coffee.

Sometime around this point I learned what kind of runner Jason was when I found out he'd won first place in his age group, placing 8th overall in the Huntsville half marathon. Eighth overall?  I had no concept of this.  (Just a fun fact, he won it again the next year, placing 3rd overall.  By that time, I was his proud WIFE).

I had no concept of pace.  I had no concept of finishing times.  I'm trying to make the point clear here that I knew SQUAT about running.  I just ran.  Down the road.  Every day. 

The problem was that this new information about Jason made me aware of my own pace and next to his...it seemed like walking.  It was a little embarrassing.  One thing that made this knowledge worse was the fact that Jason lived about a mile from me.  That meant our running routes were probably very similar.  That meant he might actually SEE me running my very slow pace (as if he did not already know). I thought I might like this guy and I did not want him to see me slogging along the roads of our city like a snail in the mud. 

The only thing to do about this was to watch for him, and if I saw him, I was going to pick it up and run really fast (as if my "fast" would even touch his "slow" but remember, I knew squat).  I ran my neighborhood pretty comfortably figuring he did not run there, but once I got out on the main roads, I kept my eye out.  I would even glance behind me to make sure he wasn't coming, and I'd try to pick up my pace anyway just in case. 

We laugh about this now.  Because the truth was (and is) that Jason was the kindest fast runner you could meet.  He liked to push himself and work hard to achieve his running goals, but he didn't think he was anything special for doing what he loved, and he certainly did not compare himself to others.  He was very content to go about his business, running down the road (quickly) every day, giving it his best in a race, and calling it a day whatever the outcome.  That was very attractive (hence the whole we-are-married-now thing).

We'd been to coffee once and to dinner once, with lots of phone calls in the middle when the Rocket City Marathon rolled around.  I was going for a 5:05, and I meant to get it.  I had to look good in front of this new runner guy.  That day I ran a 4:55, breaking 5 hours for the first time, which was unfathomable to me.  Jason ran a 2:55, breaking 3 hours for the first time and then he waited TWO HOURS for me to finish (waiting around for two hours after a marathon was also unfathomable to me at the time).

We were both very excited for each other, and I waited around with him for awards afterward (look at me, I'm with the guy with TWO medals...).  Nine months later we got married.  And in these 3+ years of marriage I have done things I never imagined or considered or fathomed.  Not anything overly impressive time-wise, mind you.  But I went from running a 5:26 to running a 3:58 marathon.  I went from running a 33 minute 5k to a 23 minute 5k.  I learned to get out and run the day after a marathon.  I eventually ran more than a marathon. 

And here you might be thinking, "Oh he must have coached her and trained her and helped her get stronger."  The truth is he hardly said a word.  He never told me what I should do to run faster or that I should run faster at all.  He never urged me to run when I did not want to, and he never gave me unsolicited training advice.  Sure, he would look at my training plans and support all my goals, but that was it.

And that has always been enough.  He is excited for me when I reach my goals, when I achieve a personal record in an event. He also hurts for me when I fail at what I am trying to do, and he will discuss it at length with me when I want to talk it out.  He never pushes or prods. He is simply there at the finish line cheering me on, no matter the race or the pace. 

Now when I see Jason running down our city streets, I wave enthusiastically.  He does his cool little one motion wave and we smile if the weather hasn't frozen our faces.  I still wear an orange toboggan and race t-shirts and he is still the kindest fast runner I know.  Most of what I learned from Jason, I learned from watching him and picking his brain now and again. 

I write this post not only to share what I think is a funny little tidbit about Jason and I as a running couple, but to also say that sometimes the best way to help someone improve is to simply support them in what they decide to do.  I have known many people who have stopped running or refused to even start because of too much pushing and prodding.  Maybe it was done with the best of intentions, and in some cases that just might work.  But not always. 

I really appreciate that about Jason.  I like his humility about what he does and how he has quietly supported my own efforts despite how they differ from his.  And yeah, I kinda feel like hot stuff now that he's my husband.  Not only do I know those guys in the front, I'm married to one. 

Engaged!