WHY I CAN'T READ MUSIC

I discovered, in composing this post, that I have just learned why I don't bike or swim right, either.

What's the common thread here?

I wing it. There are better ways to do all three, and I envy people who "can," but they can because they've learned properly in the first place.

In the last several days I've made reference to playing the piano very well even though I don't read music well. Shirley commented on this and I feel the need to elaborate.

I don't read music well because I resisted, I refused to learn. I was stubborn. My ultra-musician mother tried to give me piano lessons starting when I was about 6, partly to debunk the myth that parents can't teach their own kids. The experiment served only to reveal the myth as truth, at least in our case. It didn't work for my mom to set piano-lesson time, specify assignments, and enforce practice time.

I practiced on my own. I practiced what I wanted to practice. I practiced by ear. My mother played the accompaniments for choral arrangements she was working on with her high-school kids (she morphed from a professional soloist into a school music teacher) and I listened and then played them myself. Yup, both hands, full chords and arpeggios, when I was 8, by ear. I had no interest in the little ditties in the Learn To Play books. I did learn enough to play the stupid beginners' pieces in the books, but I fought my lessons. I sassed. I sulked. I got dragged to the piano bench where I sat with my hands in my lap. I won. Eckstein got put away and I played Ol' Man River by ear. My mother gave up. My music-reading never went beyond the second book.

When I was about 11, we moved, and one of my mother's new friends was a piano teacher. They thought I might be happier with a neighbor than my mother as a teacher. It might have worked, but by then there was a new fly in the oatmeal: I couldn't see. I was hiding this because I didn't want to be a dork and wear glasses. I did learn the neighbor-lady's music, at home, on my own, squinting at one note at a time, with my eyes 3 inches from the music, the piano-room door closed for secrecy. I memorized them. Then I played the pieces for my teacher, she coached me on any rough spots and wrong notes, and she and my parents were pleased. When my teacher presented me with new music during a lesson, I refused to play it. I said I couldn't bear to play it without practice in her presence when I could learn it on my own and play the polished result next week.

For a while it worked. But she was suspicious. One day she insisted I take a stab at a simple new piece. I swallowed. I sat. I said I didn't want to take lessons anymore, I was making more progress on my own. I'm quitting. My teacher had been watching me stumble around obstacles other than sheet music and she told my parents she thought I couldn't see.

I was busted. I went to the eye doctor. I got glasses. I refused to wear them, until one day, trying them by myself where no one could watch, I discovered I could see individual leaves on trees and the mortar lines between bricks.

So now I could see. I still refused piano lessons, having hated both go-arounds with them. I learned by myself. I still read one note at a time, though, as I'd been doing for years. I learned the accomaniment to "The Swan," the Schubert and Bach/Gunod "Ave Maria"s, and played them along with my mother's cello. She and my dad (also a professional musician, a trumpet player with Vaughn Monroe back in the Big Band Era) said I played as artistically, sensitively, and generally beautifully as any pianist they'd ever heard. I listened to what I heard coming from my piano and I knew that they were right. I'd heard plenty of music and musicians in my environment and I knew that what I was playing was outstanding. They didn't push about the lessons anymore. I was doing it on my own. One note at a time, but once I went through a piece of music a couple dozen times, I had it memorized, and could really start to lean into it. "Moonlight Sonata" took me a month to crawl through and a summmer to perfect.

During all my high-school years, I was the organist at a small rural church. I'd get the hymns a month ahead, explaining to the pastor that I really needed that much time to work on them. It would take me probably 20 seconds to figure out each next chord, finger by finger, dot on the staff by dot on the staff. But I nailed them and I played them on Sundays.

SWIM NOTE: I got Girl Scout swimming lessons, from a certified instructor, but I had to take my glasses off to swim and never got comfortable in the water because I couldn't see.

I agreed to voice lessons. I loved my vocal instructor, who was also my choral director and French teacher (and I actually learned from her to speak French, which I still do, quite passably.) I could read the music for my voice lessons, since there was only one note at a time to sing. She accompanied me and it sounded good.

One day she was late to my lesson. I occupied myself on the piano waiting for her. She stood outside the door listening to me playing "Moonlight Sonata" (she hadn't known I played piano), and when I was done, she walked in and asked where I'd learned to do that. I told her, by myself. She said, "Would you like me to help you?" Gosh.... no edicts, no directives, no coercion: "Would you like me to help you?" The ball was in my court. I accepted. So we started spending half of each voice lesson on piano work.

I told her I could only read notes one at a time and had to figure each one out. She asked me to show her; I tried one of my vocal accompaniments, and she said, "I see what you mean." And she said I could take my music home and learn it at my own pace and she'd help me with details like fingering, touch, and expression. She was the piano teacher I had needed all my life: she saw what I could do and what I needed, and not only let me do it my own way; she OFFERED to do it my way because she saw that that was the only way I could do it. She was an elderly nun at my Catholic high school. She's dead now. I hope she sees from Heaven how much she influenced me, because I never told her, because I never realized the magnitude of it till she was dead.


I wanted Debussy's "Claire de Lune." She gave it to me. I learned it over a couple months. It became my specialty. She gave me Rachmaninoff's "Prelude in C# Minor." She gave me whatever I asked for and I struggled through it until I could combine my ear and my memory and produce amazing music.

I sang at weddings and in church at Christmas and Easter and played the piano in my living room and voice studio.

I graduated. Went to college. Played the piano in the dorm lobby. Got married. Had no piano for 6 years. Got a basement freebie and learned more Rachmaninoff ("Prelude in G Minor") on my own, along with a lot of Chopin and more Beethoven. I played my old favorites from memory. This was a slow process. It had been so long. But the fingering that my voice teacher INSISTED on (she was a BEAR for fingering, one of the things I convinced my mother didn't matter)led me back to where my ear couldn't take me and the music slowly came back under my fingertips. I even tackled the 31-PAGE "Rhapsody in Blue." I never got all the way through that one, although I learned much of it.

Anyway, if you've read this far, you're almost done. You now understand how I can be the pianist I claim to be without really reading music.

And, extrapolating this to my swimming and biking..... I do those the way I read the music. One note at a time. One swipe at a time. One pedal revolution at a time. One arm-recovery, one kick at a time. I read books and try to do what the books say.

I guess I should take lessons.

MUSIC.... MOM AND ME

At the daycare where I work, when the children lie down to nap, my co-teacher turns on classical music on National Public Radio. The other day, one of the featured works was "Carnival of the Animals" by Camille Saint-Saens.

This is a creative epic featuring 14 little movements musically representing a number of animals in illustrative, eloquent, sensitive, and in some cases, even comic style. It's been a favorite of mine all my life.

"The Swan" movement brought me to tears, right there among the sleeping toddlers.


It's a cello-piano piece in which the cello solo portrays the swan gliding gracefully along the water surface, while the piano forms the rippling water of its wake.










Photo by Steve Rutherford -- thanks!

It brought me to tears because, when I was in high school, I used to play that piano accompaniment for my mother, whose cello sang the swan. We were beautiful together and, there in the room with the children, I imagined hearing that music after my mother is no longer here, and that is what brought the tears. I will never be able to hear that music again without tears.

I got to thinking..... I need to recall and re-learn that music, and she and I have got to play it together and record it. I haven't played it for 40 years. She only gets her cello out, nowadays, to play "O Holy Night" in church at Christmas.

My mother used to play with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. And the Baltimore Symphony. And the Washington National Symphony.

My mother was major league. She stopped playing the cello professionally to have a baby. Me.

I called my mother and told her, that this summer, we have to make a recording of us playing that music together. She was thrilled.

I called my mother again. I want us to record all the stuff we used to play together, The Schubert Ave Maria. The Gunod Ave Maria (which is Bach's "Prelude in C Major" for piano, with an overmelody composed by Charles Gunod.) Sometimes I played these to accompany her cello. Sometimes she played the piano to accompany my singing.

There's Bach's "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring," which was played at her wedding, and mine, and Valerie's, and Jonathan's, and Avery's (my children... my mother played it at all 3, to a tape of herself on the piano.) The Lullaby from Madame Butterfly. I'll have to learn that one. The list goes on.

She is extremely excited about getting out her cello, and digging out the music, and playing it all with me. I keep calling her with more compositions I want to include. She calls me with ideas of hers. Some I've never played. It is going to be a huge project for us both. She has to get her bow arm back into use. I have to get my piano fingers back on the keys and get my flowing and rippling back into smooth silk. In some cases, I'm going to have to get the sheet music and learn it, or re-learn it, note-by-note, since, as I said in my previous post, although I am an artistic and accomplished pianist, ironically, I never had real lessons (except voice lessons) and barely read music. Kind of like someone who's functionally illiterate memorizing Robert Frost and Shakespeare.

I am really looking forward to this. We're going to record ourselves playing together, for the first time in my 56 and her 87 years. And when she's gone, I will weep whenever I hear this music performed. Especially "The Swan."

And it occurs to me.....we will be recording the tape that will be played at her funeral.

And, eventually.....mine.

WHAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW

Jade Lady tagged me with a meme: 7 random or weird things about myself. Well, pretty much everything about me is random or weird, so it shouldn't be hard. I just hope my internet connection holds out long enough to list some, tag 7 other people, and publish it all! Actually, it's going to be hard to find 7 people who've been reading my blog enough to realize they've been tagged.

You can find other weird things about me in my last Odd Facts About Me post here, from a long time ago.

Here goes for this go-around. I don't think they're as interesting as the last ones. Maybe I'm just not as inspired today. Or nowadays.

1. I hand-feed grapes to a vicious rooster. He attacks the other livestock feeders. I tell them it's because they don't feed him grapes. They say they're not going to get close enough to feed him grapes.

2. I broke down and colored my hair a few days ago, after 5 months of letting the gray grow out. It was making me look my age, which I generally don't.

3. I keep writing and deleting a controversial opinion for this one. I think I'll save it for a separate post and see what kind of hate-mail it engenders.

4. Not that the guys (or even girls) care, but I've just passed the 10-month mark since my last period. It doesn't count as menopause until it's been a year. Last time, I thought I was clear but then after 6 months... crap, hadda start counting all over again. I was 55 then. Sheesh.

5. I can bend the last, short joint of my fingers while keeping the middle joints stiff, except for the middle finger of each hand... doesn't work with these two. Two of my children can do this. One can't, and neither can my husband. My mother can and my grandmother could.

6. I can't roll my tongue into a tube. My husband can, and two of our three children can. I haven't tested the grandkids or their fathers. :-o

7. Although I play heavy-duty classical stuff on the piano (Bach, Rachmaninoff, Debussy, Beethoven, among others) I have never really had lessons and have a terrible time reading music. A new piece takes me hours to dope out one note at a time. After a few weeks of doing that (a little easier each time) I finally have it in my soul and can play it so it has life and breath.

I tag:

• Nancy
• Linae
• TxTriSkatemom
• Flo
• Shawn
• PinkChick
• Downhill Nut

I HATE THIS!!!!!

Our frickin' internet connection.

Or lack thereof, more precisely.

I hate it.

It's wi-fi provided to each of the 6 campsites at this workplace (which is not a genuine campground, just private property with sites connected to water, electricity, cable TV, and wi-fi.) It doesn't work.

Sometimes it does. Then I get online and maybe have time to read and answer a few emails before it goes out again. Or post something on my blog or read comments. And then I try to reply to folks who have been so nice as to comment, and *plip* the connection's gone.

Sometimes it says the signal is low but the speed is 54mps. Or sometimes it says the signal is excellent but the speed is 1mps. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

This is driving me crazy.

Only 4 more weeks here till our work-camping contract is done. Hopefully the wi-fi will work better at the next place. And the places in between.

BACK ON THE BIKE

SavageMan is coming. Sept. 21. You've got to click on the link, just to see the slideshow of course images that plays in the banner, including beautiful misty images of the foggy lake swim last year. You just gotta see this course. It'll make you want to register.

I'm still in my 2-week post-marathon rest from running, but I'm back to biking the 16 miles to work Wednesday thru Friday.

I haven't recovered enough from everything (illness, marathon) enough to be able to bike The Monster Hill, which I have determined via GPS to be, disappointingly, only about 11% grade over 0.2 miles. Wednesday I walked it to measure it; yesterday I started riding it but bailed after probably 50 yards.

I have got to get back to getting up that hill. The Westernport Wall at SavageMan averages 25%, with one section at 31%.

I've got 6-and-a-half months. With hills around Winchester, VA, where we'll be staying, and sojourns into nearby Garrett County to see our family, including baby Sarah, who is due May 22; I expect to train on the actual race course during those visits.

HAT STORY

This happened years ago, when I was in my Purty Thirties, at our son's Little League game.

We were sitting in the bleachers and I looked down the line towards first base, where our son was headed. When he got there, I started to look back at home plate but caught a man down at the other end grinning at me, so I smiled back. He was wearing a hat that said something, but I couldn't make it out, so I smiled again and turned back to the game.

Well, in the course of your son's Little League game, you look towards first base quite a few times, and each time I did, this guy met my glance, and I looked at his hat, trying to make it out, and he grinned at me, and I smiled back because I'd been caught staring at him and his hat. This little scenario repeated itself every little while for the whole game, he smiled, I squinted at his hat, I smiled.

Eventually the game broke up and the bleachers started clearing out. The man with the hat came closer, and finally I was able to read what it said:

"Smile if you're not wearing panties."

BLAZE OF GLORY

I'm still backtracking.

Monday, Feb. 18, the day after the marathon

I'm euphoric. Although my marathon didn't go as planned, I had a wonderful time. I've got a medal. I've got a new tech shirt. I've got a Texas marathon on my map. I showed up, I ran, I conquered!

I walked the last 9 miles because I'd been sick and I'd messed up my race strategy and my nutrition, but I'd trained for 4:15 and expected 4:30.... suppose I hadn't blown up? Suppose I hadn't been sick? Suppose I'd done it "right?" It was my last marathon and I'd hoped to go out in a blaze of glory.

Of course, a REAL blaze of glory would have been 4:15 and an entry into Boston. Which, of course, would have meant another marathon.

But..... suppose..... hey, I'm all trained up and then my training went out the window. Except it's still in me. Suppose I rest up and get over my illness, and in a month or so, go do another marathon, and get it right this time?

I start cruising the internet for possibilities.

Dang. Look at this: The Big D Texas Marathon. April 6. 7 weeks away. In Dallas. As it happens, we're going to be in Dallas that weekend for our nephew's wedding on April 5.

Dang, I could do this. It's only $75. I'm excited. I can take a no-running rest for 2 weeks, get over my illness, do just one more 20-miler 3 weeks before the race, and go for broke, as long as I don't drink too much at the wedding.

I don't even have to decide yet. You can register on race day, $85.

I get excited. I feel elated, high as a kite. I can do this!! I want to do this!!

My husband, who always, always, always supports my athletic training and events, who helps us afford new gear for me, who goes with me whenever he can, questions me. Why do another one now? Didn't I need a Texas marathon, and didn't I just run it? What's this about "doing it right?" Besides, we need 4 new truck tires, and $75 is one-third of a truck tire.

I crash to from the clouds to the ground. The parachute didn't open. Forget it.
___________
Evening: I have gone to work at the daycare the day after my marathon, medal in my tote bag, pain in my quads, confusion in my heart. I want a "better" marathon. I use my hands all afternoon to support myself crouching down and getting up, picking up toddlers, sitting on the floor with them. I hurt. My throat is scratchy. My head aches. I am tired.

This is marathon aftermath. And do I really want, again, in less than 2 months, to struggle past mile 23, mile 24, mile 25, wanting to quit, struggling not to slow down, or maybe having, once again, crashed at mile 17 and been walking since then? Or scrabbling for a 4:30 when what I need for Boston is 4:15, and there is NO WAY I can run a 4:15 anytime soon???

I realize that thinking about this marathon in Dallas is buying into a mindset I normally resist: that the only "better" race is a "faster" race, and I don't buy that at all, and I discourage it in my friends. "Better" is more than "faster." "Better" is stronger, or more comfortable, or more fun, or more satisfying, or digging deeper to hang in there..... "faster" is not the only "better."

I ponder. Putting aside the notion of "faster," it would be hard to have a better marathon than I ran yesterday. I ran strong after a conservative start and put in a 10-miler that, as I said in my report, would have thrilled me had it been a 10-mile race. I had surmounted a lot of obstacles, including training minimized by work and then a bout of die-hard illness.

Here is what went down on Sunday: I ran a great 10-mile race, followed by a 10K cool-down, followed by a 9-mile Appalachian Trail Training Hike. I met a wonderful friend, I had a lot of fun, I cheered on my suffering compatriots, I petted dogs, I thrilled kids by taking candy from them, I got a medal and a shirt when shirts were hard to come by, I finished happy as a pig in a poke.

This marathon had a taste of everything I have loved in 20 years of marathoning.

Maybe I don't need to do Dallas. Because I really did go out in a blaze of glory.

YESTERDAY

Thursday, Feb. 21

Because I'm still not ready to ride my bike (legs and throat are sore), I'm still taking Steve to work and collecting him after I get off from my own job. It makes a very long day for both of us. Monday, the day after the marathon, I had a scratchy throat again, which became a very painful *sore* throat Tuesday and yesterday. It's about 50% better at most today; this is Day 3 of a sore throat and it's recommended that you see a doctor for a sore throat that lasts 3 days.

When Steve and I left for his job this morning, there was an injured coyote lying in our driveway. It got up and hobbled off to the side of the driveway at our approach, lying down again just a few feet from the driveway. When I got back over an hour later, it had moved away few yards through a fence into an adjacent field, off this property. I called Animal Control to report an injured animal and they said they'd be out.

Then I took our cat, Annie, to the vet, for her first illness in the 14 years of her life. Some kind of respiratory infection. When we put her on the scale it wiggled and she jumped off and grabbed onto the inside my lip. I had to unhook her claw like a fishhook and got a laceration about half an inch long. The vet gave Annie some amoxicillin and I took her home.

The coyote was dead. The groundsworker here had told the landowner that Animal Control was on the way, and the landowner went out and shot it.

Since my throat was still sore AND I now had a cat-claw laceration through a mucous membrane (cat claws dig in cat-poo, ick) at a time that I'm in a generally run-down condition from being sick 2 weeks, running a marathon half-sick, and have a new sore throat, I trekked over to the urgent-care center for the third time in two weeks and was given a new antibiotic. I got the same doctor, who recognized me as the one with the worst case of conjunctivitis she'd ever seen in all her practice. Thanks. She asked how my marathon went. Thanks! I told her I'd run half-sick and she said, "Well, at least you finished." Good answer!!! She gave me a new antibiotic for my throat and my cat-scratch.

Then off to work, where one of my 19-month-olds had a febrile seizure. I'm a nurse, a seizure doesn't freak me out, but it was definitely a departure from normal at the daycare center.

What a wild day. Injured coyote, trip to vet, dirty cat injury, dead coyote, doctor visit, kid with a seizure.

Whew.


______________

Postscript: Today, Friday, Feb. 22. I'm better, rode my bike to work, taking it easy in the low gears. Annie's respiratory infection is better but she's started limping badly on her left hind leg (like the coyote?) so I'll probably take her back to the vet tomorrow. We haven't heard how the little girl with the seizure is doing. Usually the way it goes is, temp starts going up, seizure starts, seizure stops, kid proceeds normally with the rest of her ear infection or whatever it is. I hope she's OK, and she probably is.

The coyote still lies where he fell in the field. He'd gone through a fence and is technically on the neighboring property so no one from here has moved him and the neighbor, ironically a vet, probably doesn't realize he's there. I guess the buzzards will have to take care of him.

Life is weird.

MY LAST MARATHON

If you haven't read my previous post yet, you should, if you have the time, because then this one will make more sense. In fact, if you back up a few more, to "The End is in Sight, you'll see that I was calling this "My Last Marathon" weeks before marathon day, and that is what I planned to entitle my race report even then.

And then there was "The Plague," which nearly meant that at my most-recent marathon, the Vermont City Marathon last May, I had unwittingly already run my last one.

OK, on to the show.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 17, RACE DAY

Photo by Ellie Hamilton around Mile 24

I needn't have bothered setting the two alarms. I'm awake at 2:30a.m. Just awake, not deathly ill, although I still have a headache and a scratchy throat. I work on relaxing all my body parts and dozing for another 2 hours. At 4:30, my planned rising time, I get up and take my temperature. 98.9. Hmmm. At low-temp time of day. I don't feel well. I do not feel like doing this. I feel like going back to bed. It's not too late.

One Imodium on an empty stomach with just a swallow of water is my standard day-starter when I have a race or anything that starts early and lasts long. Since I had the runs a little yesterday, I take one more half an hour later for insurance. I force down a little bit of yogurt. I do not feel well. But you never know, and I still want very much to meet Skatemom. If I don't run, I can give her a good-luck hug and ask her to carry my thoughts with her.

I put on my race clothes and drink some water, but I don't want it. I take a couple Tylenol and wake Steve up. It's time to go. If we go. It's still not too late.

Journey sees me with my running shorts and Ironman hat on, and pricks her ears, raises her eyebrows, and lifts the back corners of her lips. "Aww, I'm sorry, you're staying home," I tell her. Down go the ears. Down go the eyebrows. Down go the lips. Down goes the dog to her cushion. Down goes the chin onto the paws. I really don't have to do this.... I can still bail.

In my hip pack I have, along with gels, salt tablets, X-Strength Excedrin, and Imodium. On a last-minute flash of practicality, I also stash my insurance card into my pocket and write on the back of my bib, along with all my medical info, "Insurance card in rear shorts pocket." I have never done this for a marathon before. Ironman, yes, but not for a marathon. Today I pack my insurance card.

And we leave. I keep pondering saying, "Let's just turn around and go home.... I'm sick, I don't have a marathon in me today."

I wrestle with this all the way to the race.

We park somewhere and walk a few blocks to the start. I have not researched exactly where the start is, but we follow groups of people dressed for running, and we find it. The PA is blaring: "If you have had vomiting or diarrhea in the last 24 hours, do not run today. There will be other races. If you do not feel well today, do not run." ~Sigh~ He hasn't said, "Do not line up, do not find your friends." I still don't have to run just because I'm here.

I find Skatemom amazingly easily, in the 4:30-finish area, where we'd agreed to meet. Skatemom was running around 10:20-10:30 miles in training, and although I trained for a 4:15, I've been thinking for several weeks that although I'm making the training paces, there's no way I can keep it up for a whole marathon, but I've thought that on a good day I could pull off a 4:30, so that's where we start, even though I am still not sure I'm going to start, and less sure I'm going to finish.

Skatemom is delightful!! If you get a chance to meet her, you gotta make sure you do. She's so cheerful and delighted with everything and just makes you feel better just being with her. While we chatter, I leanmy back against Steve's front just for something to lean against, since there's no place to sit down.

And then the cannon booms and the fireworks go off and after a 6-minute walk with 12,000 other bodies we cross the starting mat under the rockets' red glare and I start my watch and we start jogging.

Skatemom and I talk about a bunch of stuff, and jogging doesn't feel half bad, and we make the first mile marker in 11:30 and walk a little. This isn't bad. In fact I feel a little better. We jog some more and then I start feeling actually pretty good. We hit a hill and I find I don't need to slow down for it.... I've run worse ones back home in Western Maryland and this is the kind I call a "Power Surge." And amazingly I find I have the power. I seem to have made that miraculous recovery I didn't hope much for last night. Or this morning.

Skatemom and I had different run/plans and after about 3 miles she want to follow hers (run 10 minutes/walk 1) and I'm thinking I can probably do OK with mine (run 2 miles, walk 2 minutes) so at that point we each go on with our own race. I'm going to miss the company, I can feel it already.

Although we started in the 4:30 start area, the pace group that was there was the 4:45 group. I didn't see the 4:30 group anywyere close and was thinking, since I probably wasn't going to finish and still might not even start, I wouldn't bother finding them. But now, 3 or 4 miles into the race, I'm ahead of the 4:45 group and feeling miraculously good and I start thinking, If I can catch the 4:30 group, then when I reach them I'll be able to slow down to stay with them. Or if I don't catch them, I can still run 4:30 pace myself and come very close to that at the end. If I finish. So I start running pretty peppy, looking at my 4:30 pace band and finding that by 6 miles I'm within about 15 seconds of the target split, although I still don't see the group. It can't be long now. I've been getting closer and closer with every split. Even though I'm running 2 miles and walking 2 minutes.

I was scheduled for a gel and salt tablet at 4 miles but felt like I didn't want them. Ick. I really didn't want them, even though I felt well, I just thought.... nah, I can't put those in my mouth right now. So at my 6-mile walk break I take those and then start running again to try to find those 4:30 folks. My watch is showing 1:02:26 at 6 miles. This is not half bad, considering the conservative start and my walk breaks. I am gaining on them!

But at mile 7 I see I've lost about 15 seconds and am now about 30 seconds behind the target split, and at mile 8, even though it's been 2 miles since I walked, I'm off by close to a minute. I don't feel as though I'm slowing but I obviously am. I'm fading. Maybe I better walk a little longer this time, rest up a little try to get it back. I duck behind a bush and take a quick stand-up pit stop, just for insurance.

At mile 10 I'm at 1:44, not a bad 10-miler at all; in fact, one I'd be thrilled with in a race.

But I can tell I'm getting tired, and I'm doubtful I'll catch that group, but the 4:45 group is still somewhere behind me, and maybe I better walk a little longer, maybe 5 minutes, just to save myself. It's going to get easier from here because the half-marathoners split off onto a different course, and by the half we'll have more downhills than ups. I'm going to walk awhile to be ready.

Except, somehow, I now feel really tired when I start running again. At 11 miles I've lost more time and I think, "When am I supposed to walk? 11 miles or 12? How many miles has it been since I walked?" Like, duh, walk every 2 miles, that's the even-numbered ones, sugar. But I was losing it.

At 2 hours I'm hurting. Hips, quads, neck, shoulders. I pop 2 X-Strength Excedrin.

By 13 miles I'm thinking maybe I'll call Steve and tell him I've had enough. I really do not feel peppy at all anymore. It's just going to turn into a bad day.

14 miles and the walks have become random, more frequent, and longer. It's been an hour since the Excedrin and I pop another one. What-the-hell, might as well go for broke, and I pop a 4th one. This brings me to the equivalent of 2 X-strength aspirin and 2 X-strenghth Tylenol (Excedrin is not very strong, really.)

I'm thinking the 4:45 group is still behind me, though, until the 5:00 group catches up to me right before mile 15. I tell them they've got a new group member and they welcome me. Approaching the mile marker, they tell anyone who wants to, to go ahead, because they're in a competition to see which pace-group leaders can come the closest to hitting the splits right on the head, and they need to slow down a couple seconds to hit it. It feels very comfortable running with them. I'm happy.

Less than 5 minutes later they leave me in their dust.

Maybe I can make a 5:30.

But by mile 17, I'm done. This sucks. I want to bail. I don't feel sick, and thanks to all the Excedrin I don't hurt... I'm just flat-out done in, just t-i-r-e-d. I've gotten my nutrition all messed up skipping scheduled gels and salt -- I've taken some but not all I planned because my timing, running, walking, sweating,and exerting aren't as I planned, plus I've just been forgetting. I started too fast trying to catch my pace group, ending up running under the right pace, and I realize I've blown up and blown it. I'm at 3:31 at mile 17 and even if I walk the rest of the distance I'll still make the 7-hour cutoff.

So that's what I'm going to do. I've gone this far, I'm not quitting, but I'm not running. This is my last marathon and I'm going to make it last and have a blast.

And once I make that choice, the worry is over, the pressure is off, I'm happy again, the frustration vanishes, and I start having fun, remembering what fun it is to have fun in a marathon, petting dogs, hi-fiving kids, joking around with fellow sufferers about how bad we feel, laughing uproariously over a sign on a church that says "TORTURE IS WRONG," groaning over the ubiquitous "It's all downhill from here" line the spectators keep tossing us, and I am partying there in the back of the pack and I don't care how long it takes me to get there, just give me my final medal and finisher's shirt and let me go out in a blaze of glory.

Now and then I get inspired and run a little bit. I pick up with a girl who's run/walking about 20/20 (seconds) and that feels good for awhile but then I decide to go back to walking. Some gallant spectator has left their chair and I sit in it and take a break for a couple minutes, cheering and getting incredulous laughs from marathoners shuffling by when I tell them I'm taking a break.

I walk or briefly jog with lots of folks. A guy who's got blisters. A woman whose hips are killing her. She's running with a man who's training for IM France so I regale him with my IM Florida horror stories. Now and then I sing out or yell out, "I AM NOT DOING THIS EVER AGAIN!!!" and get either laughter, cheers, or silence from my neighbors, depending on whether they're in it with me or too miserable to acknowledge or just listening to their iPods. But this is definitely my last marathon, I've known that for weeks, and I am celebrating it, hallelujah, baby.

Slowly the miles tick by, in 15, 16, sometimes 17 minutes. The end is near. I started, I've kept going, I have not DNF'd, I no longer feel sick (I must have killed it), and I'm going after that medal and shirt, and somewhere in the last mile I start running again and cross that mat running and grinning from ear to ear.

5:45:09 on my watch. It's done!! My marathon career is over!! I am never going to do this ever again!!

They are out of finisher's shirts.

6,000-runner field limit, 7-hour cutoff time, and they are out of finisher's shirts before 6 hours. How can that happen????? But I do have a medal, and then the clothing-dropoff-pickup guy tells me they may have shirts several blocks down the street at the "Shirt Exchange," where you can exchange the shirt you got at the finish for one that fits; or, if you have a race bib and medal but no shirt, you can exchange your no-shirt for an actual shirt, if they have any left and you want to wait in a long line.

I waited in the long line. I toughed out the whole course, I wanted my d*mn shirt. The shirts ran HUGE and everyone was exchanging for smaller sizes, and supplies were running low here, too. Luckily, even though I'm still 15 or 20 pounds overweight, I'm essentially a very small female, and they have men's X-small which fit me fine. So I am finally in possession of a finisher's tech shirt for my efforts and my $110 entry fee.

And we're walking back to the truck and I'm very, very happy to have started this race, let alone finished, and I'm tired but not sick anymore, and my quads hurt but not very much, and I never, ever have to run another marathon.

Except.... I trained so hard and I know the things I did that made it go wrong (besides getting bronchitis a couple weeks out) and I know things I could do differently (like following my race plan) to make it go right. Maybe I will do another one.

Just not this year.

BACKING UP

Of course I want to write about the Austin Marathon, but I need to describe it in perspective starting with the day before -- and that's too much for one post.

So I'm starting today with the day before, and we'll take it day by day from there.

Saturday, February 16

After having had bronchitis (etc.) for 10 days, feeling better (and running) Wednesday and Thursday, on Friday I felt like I was getting sick again,and on Saturday I was worse, with a headache and scratchy throat and just feeling sick all over. Got up early, though, to feed the creepy critters (45-minute project) and be ready to drive Steve to work, which I had to do in order to keep the truck to go to packet pick-up.

TriSkatemom and I had plans to meet for dinner, and I was dying to meet her finally, after previous near-misses.

So I drove Steve 45 minutes to work, then drove back to Austin and picked up my number and race packet. I called Skatemom and we decided, instead of dinner, on a relaxing, sleep-inducing pre-marathon soak in her hotel's hot-tub. I can't tell you how good this sounded to me, since I live in an RV with no bathtub, and was currently aching all over. I wandered slowly around the expo looking at stuff I either didn't want, or wanted but couldn't afford, and feeling worse and worse: tired, thirsty, headachey, sandbags for lungs, sandpaper for eyelids, and finally thought, there is no reason for me to be here, and I went home.

I figured that my only hope for even considering running was to go to bed and stay there. I knocked on our neighbor's door and asked if she could do me the tremendous favor of taking over the afternoon feeding of the creepy critters. I even called Skatemom and cancelled our hot-tub plans. I mean, I felt THAT bad. And I went to bed.




I had to be up again at 4p.m. to go pick up my husband, and I wanted to hit the sack at 6 when we got back, but I hadn't packed my race stuff yet. And then I got the runs along with my other symptoms. I was tempted to just say, "I'm not packing, I'm skipping it, I'm sick." But I took some Imodium and Tylenol and vitamin C and thought I might make one of those miraculous recoveries, so I continued to go through the motions, behaving as though I were running the next day, just in case. Pinned my number to my shirt, tied my chip to my shoe, packed my gels in my hip pack, wrote my name on my pre-race garbage-bag warmups (so Skatemom and I could find each other), did everything as though I expected to run, even including shaving my legs for the occasion....even though I was 60% sure I wasn't running.


In bed finally at 8:30, loaded up with medicine for cough, cold, pain, and sleep, I debated whether to bother setting an alarm clock, or just forgetting the whole deal. I set two alarms, and fell asleep feeling like crap.

BLOGGER ENCOUNTERS!!

Guess who I had lunch with today?

Sherly Perly!! What fun! She's here in Austin from Florida, visiting her sister Joyce. The three of us had lunch and what a grand time we had! Talked and talked and talked for 2 hours. Joyce is a marathoner, too. So we all had lots to chatter about. I met Shirley at Ironman Florida in 2006 and it was great to see her again.

Be sure to go to her blog and click the link to see her video-entry to Team Evotri, a community of athletes who use their own endurance-sport experiences to reach out to challenge others to pursue active lifestyles. The top ten videos will be available for viewing and voting at Team Evotri on Monday, Feb. 18. If Shirley makes the team (through your votes) she'll be part of this inspiring effort. Plus, she'll get MAJOR schwag!!

Tomorrow I get to meet up with Skatemom! This is Blogger Weekend in Austin!!

WEATHER OR NOT

I'm recovered and ready to run the Austin Marathon on Sunday. Except I did short runs Wednesday (20 minutes, to see if I could run) and Thursday (4 miles at 9:42 avg including a couple minutes of walking) and today I feel it a little. Prior to Wednesday it had been 17 days since I'd run a single step. Maybe the pace run on Thursday was a little much.

There's athlete tracking by text or online chip-tracking. My bib number is 4098.

Tomorrow is packet pickup and it could be tricky. BAD WEATHER expected, not the best day to be driving anywhere. See this mess?



The pink is a winter storm moving east; warm moist wind is coming up into the tan section in Texas, where at present there's a "Hazardous Weather Outlook." Strong-to-severe thunderstorms with possible tornadic activity. I'm looking at the hour-by-hour forecast trying to figure out when to slip into town, grab my packet, and scoot back home. Guess I'll skip the expo. I was really looking forward to it but might as well save my money and my energy and get back home before storms start (about 11a.m.) The Weather Channel is calling it "potentially the most dangerous February day in Texas history." Great.


Sunday, however, marathon weather will be practically a dream.
7:00a.m. start -- 48*F, clear
12:00 -- 61*, sunny
Wind -- NW at 10-15mph, the only possible kink. However, the loop course goes more or less north for the first half, and more or less southeast with a net elevation drop the second half, so negative splits are possible.



WE SHALL SEE!!!

PRE-MARATHON PLAGUE

Usually about 2-3 weeks before a marathon I get a cold or something. I call it my standard pre-marathon illness.

This time I've got something that ain't no plain ol' cold.

I felt unmotivated on Sunday but that's not unusual. Skipped my planned 12-15-mile run. Monday started a progression of increasing fatigue, achiness, sore throat, headache and cough. Called off work Wednesday thru Friday, on which morning I woke up with blood-red goopy eyes as well. Like, gross. So now I'm on a week of Augmentin and a week of quinolone-antibiotic eyedrops. The quinolones include Cipro which is sometimes associated with tendonitis and Achilles tendon rupture, but the doctor assured me that the drops would have only local effect and would not rupture my tendons just in time for the Austin Marathon next weekend. I can't wear my contacts for a week and have to pitch all my eye makeup and start over.

My marathon is in danger. I have not run all week. I did not run all of last week, either, recovering 2 days from my 20.2-miler and then crediting my 3 bike commutes as runs. And I sure as hell am not going to be running the coming week. So by marathon day I won't have run for 3 weeks.

It could go one of several ways:

• I won't be well enough to run it and the whole deal's off.
• I'll give it a shot and have my first-ever DNF.
• I'll finish struggling and slow and be glad it's my last marathon.
• The enforced rest will solidify my training and I'll run a blistering last marathon and go out in a blaze of glory.

This is not impossible. It's happened to me before. Illness or injury has sabotaged my last 2 weeks or month of training and then I've run an amazing marathon.

So till then I'm going to eat very well, hydrate very well, rest and sleep as much as I can, and hope for the best.

I'm glad the marathon's not tomorrow.

THE END IS IN SIGHT

No more 20-milers, if I don't want to do them. I accomplished one today (sort of surprised me: first, that I made it for 20 miles, and second, that it wasn't half bad.) If I make the Austin Marathon my last one, I'll never have to run a 20-mile training run again.

If.

Austin will give me 24 marathons. I might have to do one more to round it up to 25.

Or not.

The 20 miles took me 4 hours, including stops at traffic lights, stretch breaks, and a horrendous (horrendous) pit stop. I knew there was a gas station a quarter-mile ahead but I also became mightily aware I wasn't going to make it that far. I dove down into a culvert. I was in view of houses' second-story windows but didn't see anyone peeking as I anxiously kept scanning them. The stop itself took a long time, complete with cramping. Sorry so graphic, but runners will relate.

My Achilles tendons and hips started to hurt at mile 8, and I took 2 aspirins and 2 X-strength Tylenol, and the pain never got any worse. When all that wore off after my finish, I took two Aleve. I am such a pain-pill junkie...

My Timex Ironman watch battery has taken 5 years of licking and quit ticking. So I had no lap counter or any way to stop timing at pauses, only my total time.

I ran/walked a 2-mile/2-minute pattern, drinking water every 2 miles and taking a gel and a salt tablet every 4. This worked so well I think I'll use it as my marathon strategy in 3 weeks.

Anyway.... my 20-miler is over. I set out to do 16-18 and not only ended up doing 20, I ran an extra .2 to simulate that demonic .2 after passing mile 26 on race day. If I don't want to I never have to do another 20-miler. I may be done with marathoning.

But I've said that before.

GUESS I'M NOT RUNNING THIS ONE...

Following a link on Nancy's blog, I found out that professional triathlete Amanda Lovato is running a half marathon in Austin this weekend.

Hmmm, could be a good training run and I wouldn't be alone and so bored. It's the 3M Half Marathon, one of a series of prep races leading up to the Austin Marathon on Feb. 17.

I should have known.

Raceday registration (the only option left) is $90. So typical here, Deep In The Heart of Excess.

I need new running shoes more. Or a new pair of bike shorts to ease up the saddle pressure that contributes to the ache in my lower pelvic bones when I run.

What I'm planning instead, and maybe I won't be alone, who knows, is to drive to the marathon finish, run the last 9 or 10 miles backwards, then turn around and run back to the finish. Then I'll have run the last miles of the marathon and feel encouraged when I come to familiar landmarks. This was helpful to me the 5 times I ran the Columbus Marathon. "Oh, yeah, I know this place, I know where I am, I know what's ahead, I can do this!"

ADO ABOUT NOT MUCH

Tomorrow is a bike-commute day. Predicted high temp: 53*F. At the time of my commute: 40-something. Wind-chill factor: 30-something. Cloudy but not raining.

Main issue: Stay warm. I can do that.

Today I got up to feed the livestock at 8, then worked till 10 spreading mulch, then ran with Journey from 10:30 till 11:25, then showered/shampooed, made and ate homemade chicken-noodle soup and was on the road to daycare at 12:50, handling toddlers and all their issues (poop, toys, snacks, fights, biting) till 6:00. Stopped at the supermarket and bought steak and wine, came home and enjoyed both watching American Idol, checking in with my classical-cellist-turned-country-fiddler mom by phone about who was good and who was lousy. Called granddaughter Abbie and talked about her baby sister, expected birth date May 22, 2008, whom Abbie refers to by name as Sarah as if there were no question, Sarah is already her sister, she just hasn't come out of Mommy yet. They'd better name that baby Sarah.

My mother is much better. Still doing her 4 X day nebulizer treatments with Pulmo-Cort and Albuterol. Bronchitis takes a long time to get over, especially when you're pushing 90.

I told her also to make sure she drinks more water (6 oz. per hour), eats green and/or orange vegetables with her microwave meals, and since she's feeling so much better, it's time to start walking on her treadmill again, starting with 2 minutes a couple times a day.

Yeah, my almost-87-yr-old mother has a dreadmill. Wish I had one.

What else? Oh, yeah, I'm being harrassed at work to produce my high-school diploma, which is (I think) in a safe-deposit box in a bank in Maryland. I'll give them a copy of my R.N. license .... normally, you're not given an R.N. license unless you've finished high school.

It's the first time since June 2, 1969 that I've been asked to produce a high-school diploma for employment. I feel affronted.

I'm going to bed. I drank too much port to care about much of anything.

THE THRILL IS GONE

Or maybe it's just on vacation.

I think, after the Austin Marathon, I'll take a vacation from marathons. It's the training, the long runs. I just don't feel into it.

I needed 18 or 20 miles today, since I bailed on last week's attempt. Well, last week I made it 10 miles. Today, I made it for a half-marathon. My own, not a "real" one with other runners and a t-shirt. I set out planning 18 or 20 but got to a place where I knew if I hung a left I'd come out on our road and could just loop back home, so I did.

I think I planned a training season that was too long and peaked too early. Normally, I just increase my long run by 2 miles every 2 weeks up to one 20-miler 2 weeks before the race, and by race day I'm ready for the next step-up, and then it's over. This time, I've been following a 17-week plan that increases to 24 miles.

I ain't runnin' no 24 miles in training. At the start of the program, I thought I would, but I forgot how much I hate long training runs.

Anyway, after 13.1 miles, physically I could easily have kept on going. I could even have done the distance again, probably. Mentally I was dead.

Well, the marathon is 4 weeks away. If I do 16 miles next weekend and then taper, I'll finish the marathon, I'll give my borderline injuries a chance to subside, and I'll be off the hook.

My mother stayed 2 days/nights in the hospital, by the way, and is home doing her own nebulizer treatments 4 times a day, getting a few visits a week from a home-health nurse, and recovering slowly. Bronchitis/pneumonia take a lot out of anyone, especially someone who's a couple months shy of 87 years old.

HOES

Where we're workcamping, most of our work is, essentially, gardening: a lot of hole-digging and shrub-planting. Six senior-citizen couples.

So one day we were getting together to start, and in the tool shed I saw half a dozen new garden hoes. I picked them all up, took them outside, and said to the older fella who was standing outside,

"Hey, Dave.... did someone go out and get you guys a bunch of hoes?"

Poor old Dave didn't get it. "Yeah, they work better than those shovels for some of the work," he answered, with a totally straight, honest face. Nope, he didn't get it.

As opposed to one of the other fellas, who saw me heading toward the planting site with a hoe and yelled,

"Hey Ellie.... you goin' ho'in'?"

DNF

Better to DNF a 20-mile training run than the marathon.

My Achilles tendons were pulling again. And my lower hip bones were starting to hurt they way they did in the Vermont Marathon. This was an hour *after* I'd taken 3 Excedrin.

And before I started, I'd talked to our son in Maryland, and he was taking my mother (who's 86) to the ER. And around mile 8 he called and said she was being admitted with pneumonia.

And when I got to the end of my first 10-mile loop, I just didn't have what it took to do another go-around. Not with my feet and hips already acting up. And not if I was supposed to stop at the grocery store afterwards to pick up some things. And not if I want to fit in another 20-miler somewhere in the next couple weeks and still make the marathon.

I had set my watch to beep every 25 minutes, and each time I walked a little while drinking from my Camelbak, and every other time I took electrolytes and an Accel Gel. I'm pleased to report that despite some walks and a couple stops (pit stop, phone call) I was able to keep an even pace, running each 25-minute segment in exactly 25 minutes ;-P

Sub 1-hour!

Progress continues!

I'm now using my commute as training, not just commuting.

15.87 miles over rolling (long) hills with some slow upgrades as well as fast downgrades. And you know about the Monster Hill.

Yesterday I did the whole trip in 59:57 (rode the hill), and was I ever thrilled! Average speed 15.9mph. WOOT!! Previous record was 15.7 average, but that was with a tailwind.

I've been working on leg strength by keeping my gears higher on the uphills. Yeah, I'm gear-mashing, but it's not like I have to save my legs for the run. I'm working on making the hills harder and making it up them. SavageMan is coming.

ONWARD AND UPWARD

OK, enough theology for awhile. It's been interesting and it's made me think and re-evaluate and re-firm and confirm what I believe.

But now let's talk about the bike.

Specifically about this Monster Hill near the end of my bike commute.

I've ridden it a few times, walked it more. But today...
Today.....

I not only rode the hill, I rode it in my MIDDLE chainring!! Not my small one! My lowest rear gear, yeah, but NOT my little bitty granny chainring.

This has been my goal for the whole winter: to ride that hill not in my granny gear. I only half-expected to do it by the end of the winter. And here I've done it not even halfway through January.

Guess my next goal will be to click up that rear gear one notch.

SavageMan is 8-1/2 months away....

WHAT IS SCIENCE?

In her comment on my post "I Misunderstood," Nancy gave a link to the NAS recommendation that public school science classes focus on evolution as the basis of modern biology, and exclude references to a Creator or a pattern of "intelligent design."

Although I am a Christian, and a fairly right-wing one, too, I happen to agree, pretty much in line with this rationale from the recommendation:

"The report stated that the idea of evolution can be fully compatible with religious faith. 'Science and religion are different ways of understanding the world. Needlessly placing them in opposition reduces the potential of each to contribute to a better future', said the report."

This is in line with what I said a couple posts back about trying to prove God's power, or existence, scientifically..... it can't be done in quanitifiable, measurable terms(although I personally feel that the the evolution of the natural world is its own evidence of God and of His power.)

"... teaching creationist ideas in science classes confuses students about what constitutes science and what does not, according to the report's authors."

This works for me, too. Render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's.

Science is science and religion is religion, and although I find each in the other and believe each enhances and explains the other, not everyone wants to mix them, and I would never presume to present my view as absolute truth. I'd get arguments even from my own church.

TICKER UPDATE & QUESTION

I had to move the runner back a pawprint or two, since I gained back some weight over the holidays. Bummer. Things are looking down for the marathon. The question, as always: which do I want more?

There's no way I'll be at my goal weight by Feb. 17. But it would be nice to be at about 125. That's only 7 pounds away. Think I can/should do that in just under 6 weeks?

WHO KNOWS?

When I can't find my keys and then see them in some unlikely place, how do I know that's not God walking with me and reminding me where I was when I absent-mindedly put them down? "Ellie, you forgot your glasses, wellllll, whaddaya know, there are your keys!"

When I'm backing out of a parking space and discover I missed, by half an inch, scraping a smaller vehicle beside me that I didn't see parked there because it's below my line of vision in the truck, how do I know that wasn't God steering my awkward truck at an angle I couldn't have managed if I'd tried? "Let me give you a hand here, there's a little car down there you don't see..."

When I'm mulling over a problem and suddenly the answer is so clear I wonder why I didn't think of it before, how do I know that isn't God saying, "OK, Ellie, here's an idea...."

When I'm fixing myself a snack I know will not help my hopes for training or weight, and I make a false move and it falls on the floor and gets covered with dog hair, how do I know that wasn't God getting my attention and reminding me, because He really is interested in my smallest concerns? "Hey, Ellie.... you're not even hungry, why are you fixing that?" A little crude in His method, maybe, but not impossible. Everything is possible with God :-)

We keep looking for evidence in lofty places, in unexplainable medical cures and partings of the seas.

How about in the little things of minute-to-minute life that hint that He is always with us?

I'm not saying all those little coincidences ARE God.... I'm just saying, how can we know they're NOT?

I MISUNDERSTOOD

The JREF challenge, linked to via Nancy's post, did not ask for evidence of the existence of God, but for evidence of supernatural power. I misunderstood this when I read her post, but when I followed the link I got it clarified for myself.

Anyway....

It got me to thinking about the existence of God (although I think "existence" is a state that He somehow transcends) and what the evidence is.

I do not think evidence of God is found in the "supernatural" but in the natural.

I find no conflict between science and religion. The study of science and natural laws, the development of the human mind leading to new discoveries, new abilities, new medicines, new treatments, new technology, is the study of God's world.

I find no conflict between the "theories" of creation and evolution. I don't think there could be one without the other.

In fact, in the astounding evolution of the natural world as it is now and as it continues to evolve, I find the greatest evidence of God's power.

PROVE IT

Hmmm. My very dear good friend Nancy has posted about an interesting challenge at her blog today. She didn't originate the project; she's passing on the links to join in.

The challenge is to prove the existence of God. Or of any kind of supernatural and/or paranormal entities or powers.

I'm not getting in on the action, because I can't prove the existence of God, although I believe with all my heart.

The point I want to make is, neither can anyone absolutely prove He does not. This is why I don't believe in atheism. I don't believe anyone can be truly an atheist because no one can say with absolute certainty that there is no God, knowing without doubt that they are right.

The most anyone can claim is agnosticism.... uncertainty as to the existence of God.

Because it can't be proven. Either way.

NEW YEAR, NEW HOPE

Remember my Purple Heart Plant that froze in Michigan in late October? My Ironman Plant? That had only a few little tentative sprigs surviving under the dead, frozen branches?

It's alive again.

It's my reminder never to give up hope. When I'm discouraged or overwhelmed or can't figure out an answer.... some green sprig in me will survive and grow.

When we came to this place, near Austin, I couldn't imagine where I was going to run to train for the marathon. No road looked likely and I thought I'd have to drive 10 miles to go running. I did not like this place. But I've found great running roads and a job I love and I have this great bike commute to work and it's all going so much better than I'd pictured at first.

And my plant is growing and growing to remind me.... hope should never be considered dead, even if it seems frozen.

If you look closely, you'll see that part of this plant is -- a different kind of plant.

That's my sweet potato plant. Back last fall, when we went to Winchester, VA, the immediate area didn't look good for running or biking, and I figured the campground job with its work schedule would spell the end of my Ironman training. It turned out better than I could have imagined. Not only did I find a great pool, great running routes, and wonderful biking, but the campground manager asked for a copy of my training schedule and arranged my whole work schedule (and therefore everyone else's as well) around it. And, after IMFL, I joined the Shenandoah Valley Runner's Club and did some fun winter races.

I expected nothing and got everything.

During that winter, I went to see if there were any useable sweet potatoes in the basket for supper, and found that one of them was shriveled up but had inch-long sprouts on one end. I saw an inedible sweet potato and got a lovely plant. It became my "Expect-something-where-you-don't-expect-it" plant and I planted it into the same pot with my Purple Heart Ironman Plant. It, too, froze back to nearly nothing in the frost. I really didn't expect it to grow back at all. I grieved for it.

But there it is, shooting up.

In everything give thanks.

GOT ANY FIRES TO PUT OUT?

Granddaughter Abbie, thrilled with one of her Christmas presents from her firefighter-paramedic daddy.

She'll also put on her nurse's scrubs and her real stethoscope and pretty darn near give you a complete physical. We sent her a doctor's kit for Christmas.

MIND GAMES

19-mile long run today, training for Austin.

When things started feeling like they were getting a little less comfortable (which often starts about 8 miles into my run), I started the mind games. I also took 3 Excedrin tablets, to be at their peak a couple hours later. (3 Excedrin have 750mg of acetaminophen, less than 2 Extra-Strength; 500mg of aspirin, less than 2 regular; and about 190mg caffeine, nice little hit.)

Then I started the math. 19 miles was the plan. At 9 miles, feeling just a tad tired with 10 miles to go, "If I feel this good 16 miles into the marathon, I'll be in good shape." I turned onto a road I haven't run before, to add a couple of needed miles, and encountered some hills. Stress I hadn't counted on, but they were actually kind of a relief, using different muscles. At 11 miles, it was, "If I had 8 miles to go in the marathon, I'd be at mile 18, and I'm feeling pretty darn good for 18 miles, looking forward to that 20-mile mark." Then I had to make a pit stop (sacrificed my bandana for the cause) and it was a little hard to get going again after that, quads had tightened up (don't ask, let's just move on...) and I thought, "Well, if I don't have a bad patch till I've got less than 8 miles to go, I'll be doing pretty darn well."

And so it went. At 13 miles, only 6 to go, I'm at the 20-mile mark. I figure I was using my right brain (the philosopher side) for these calculations, but with math being a left-brain function, I had to keep swatting away reality: "You're not at 20 miles, you're only at the halfway mark, you just passed 13 miles. If you feel like this at the half, you're in trouble." SHUT UP, LEFT BRAIN!!!! If I don't feel any worse than this with just 10K to go I'll be in great shape. Keep on going, don't slow down.

Except I had to stop. Traffic light at a crossing. Long wait. First the eastbounders got to go. Then the right-turn lanes. Then the westbounders. Then the left-turn lanes. I looked for a crossing gap but none appeared. And during this stop, in fact a few moments after I stopped, I began to feel like shit.

Light-headed, short of breath, nauseous, anxious, "I'm going to pass out, I'm going to have a heart attack." I knew what this was, physiologically: Same amount of blood going to my heart and lungs even though my legs and arms weren't pumping it out as fast, temporary overload. Knowing that, though, didn't make me feel any better, and when I finally got my crossing signal, I could no more run than I could bench press a couple hundred pounds. I was pretty sure that, if I could start running again, things would even out, and I told myself that, but the mind game didn't work, I just couldn't bring myself to run, and I walked about half of mile 16 and pondered calling my husband to come and get me. "You wanna DNF? Is that what you want?" Nope, I sure don't.

Right Brain encouraged me to walk to the next stoplight, walk across, then start running again and not walk again till I was done. And at mile 17 I thought, "If I feel like this at mile 23, that'll be pretty normal, the last 3 miles or so are always a struggle, don't slow down unless you're dying, which you're not." I could see, far ahead, the intersection close to our lane, and I imagined that I was seeing and hearing the finish line up there. That helped. Except it was a mirage because when I reached the intersection I was not at my finish but had that diabolical 0.2 miles left till our lane. That's OK. The last 0.2 is always a cruel trick of irony.

Right Brain pondered going PAST 19 miles to 19.2, just to make it realistic.

Left Brain said, "The hell you will."

Left Brain won. I hit mile 19 and my stopwatch just as I reached our gravel driveway, which I can't run anyway (large, ankle-twist-potential gravel.) So I walked the 0.25-mile driveway as my cooldown. Thinking, "If I feel like this at the end of the marathon, I'll be OK, and I'll be happy, and I'll sure be glad to stop running."

3 hours, 33 minutes. Average pace 11:13/mile. Sure don't know how I can run 26.2 miles faster than that but there's that race-day adrenalin to help out a person's Right Brain.

New Grandkids

Our French daughter, Cecile, who was our exchange student 10 years ago and was our daughter for that year and has been ever since, is a mother. She bore a son, Hevan, on December 12.

We have another grandchild on the way. Our son Jon and his wife Jamie are expecting a daughter in May. Almost-5-year-old Abbie has volunteered that she wants to name the baby Sarah. I think that would be beautiful. The same enduring, never-out-of-style type of classic name as Abigail, with the classic surname Hamilton. And it would be lovely for Abbie to get to be the one who suggested her sister's name.

Abbie goes to school with a Sarah, and an Ella, and about three Lindsay's, but she wants to name the baby Sarah. "I like it."

So, until further notice, I'll call the new granddaughter Sarah. I don't have a picture of her yet.

Because of Sarah, I am doing the SavageMan Half-Iron Triathlon next year, instead of hiking the Appalachian Trail. Because of Sarah, my friend Sally (whose name, of course, is Sarah), who has thought she was too old at 60+ to hike the AT, has another year to think about it, and is thinking she wants very much to go with me after all. She called me a couple weeks ago and was extremely excited to find out I've put it off for a year, because she can't go in 2008 but is getting very worked up about doing it in 2009.

Because of Sarah, life is different. Life is better.

TRIATHLETE IN FOUL MOOD

Well. Today at Barnes & Noble I decided to get the latest issue of Triathlete Magazine, the first I've bought since I was training for IMFL, just because I'm tentatively dipping my toes into considering myself a triathlete again, being as how I'm training for a marathon AND bike-commuting to work AND planning on doing (conquering) SavageMan in September.

Well. I hope you don't have to be of Triathlete Magazine caliber to be a triathlete.

The only thing in the whole issue that panders to the likes of me, athletically and economically, is chocolate milk as a recovery drink.

Money, money, money. Pay up front for your Kona slot, or to register for next year's IM-wherever. Even though you're already broke from this year's registration and training season.

Reviews on new gear..... not stuff you're likely to find at Goodwill.

Bikes that cost my year's income.

Kona, Kona, Kona. The Only True Triathlon In The World. M-Dot. M-Dot. M-Dot.

OK, I did an M-Dot race. I also did an ultra-distance triathlon (same distance as Ironman, different nomenclature) that was not M-Dot. I did the non-M-Dot race first. Was I an IronMan after that race? I did it an hour and 20 minutes faster than my M-Dot race. Did that mean anything?

Ironman is a brand-name. M-Dot is a trademark.

Am I more of a nose-blower if I use Kleenex than if I use Wal-Mart's Great Value Facial Tissues?

Am I less of an athlete because I have only one pair of tri shorts (that I got on eBay, one not-even-noticeable hole in left leg above hem) and wash them by hand every night and dry them above the electric heater in preparation for the next day's ride?

Am I a less-able triathlete if I have an $1800 Trek 2100 bike than someone who has a Cervelo XXX with internal hydration system and disc wheels? And have never bought a new set of wheels worth as much as or more than my bike?

How about if I've worn the same pair of bike shoes for the last 3 years?

How about if my Bento Box (from eBay) is ripped and torn but still serviceable so I don't buy a new one?

How about if I don't go to New Zealand for an Ironman race because I can't afford a ticket to New Zealand (even if I could afford another M-Dot registration?)

How about if I have to decide whether to register for the Austin Marathon out of my current paycheck and get new running shoes out of the next one, or vice versa, because I can't do both out of one paycheck and still buy groceries? Am I still an athlete?

How about if my energy drink is cold sweet tea instead of InfinIT?

I don't know, this whole issue just pissed me off. I think I'll go back to reading Backpacker (which also pisses me off..... $6000 on gear to go hike the Appalachian Trail where you pretend to live on nothing for 6 months, see what it's like to be homeless, although you can go home any time.... suppose you take practically NOTHING with you to live on nothing. Are you still a hiker???)

Essentials are:
For running: Running shoes and some kind of synthetic socks. I've been very happy lately with Danskin Now socks from Wal-Mart, $3.99 for 2 pairs. (There is a large contingent of runners who maintain that running shoes and socks are unncecessary and even deleterious.)

For biking: bike, biking shoes, helmet, sunglasses (from Wal-Mart.) I have a pair of tri shorts but in college and when I was a kid I rode in my jeans. No helmet, either.... it wasn't heard of.

For swimming: swimsuit, goggles. Maybe a wetsuit. Maybe I'm a traitor to myself because I own TWO wetsuits, a sleeveless one and a long-sleeved one. I should sell one. If you have two coats and your neighbor has none...

For hiking/backpacking: some kind of decent shoes, sleeping bag, shelter, water + drinking vessel, food, and some kind of pack to put it all in. And just go. Just hit the trail.

I'm tired of stuff and paying money for stuff that advertisers advertise to make you want to buy so they can make more money.

I'm tired of hearing about Kona. I'm tired of reading about gear I can never aspire to have. I'm tired of reading about achievements I can never aspire to achieve.

Sometiiiiiiimes......
I wanna talk about ME.

PURSUING LOWER NUMBERS

Scale, BMI, and, hopefully, my marathon time at Austin in February.

After I set up my ticker, up above, I logged an initial loss of a couple pounds, then neglected it when I regained them plus 4 more. I didn't resume updating it till I'd re-lost below that initial loss. I was too embarrassed about the gain to re-do my starting point. This wasn't fair to me, since it didn't show how much I'd actually lost.

So now I've reset my starting point to reflect that high point. As of this morning, my total loss is 14 pounds. My BMI is below 25 in I don't know how many years.

This could pay off at the marathon, especially if I can take off another pound a week or so before then (8 weeks left.)

No secret formula involved. I'm just not eating as much. I eat breakfast -- lately nonfat plain yogurt mixed with uncooked oatmeal, fruit, half a scoop of protein powder and a little sugar. Lunch is a PBJ sandwich; not the most nutritious entry, but on whole-wheat bread it has some merit. I think the kicker has been the hours I work at the daycare center, and the 16-mile hilly bike trip there 3 days a week. I'm eating my PBJ about noon (before I leave, or after I get there if I've ridden my bike) and then not till 7pm. I don't keep snacks at work and I've discovered nothing bad happens if I get hungry and stay hungry until I get home. Then I eat a regular dinner, but it's late enough so that I don't go into post-dinner grazing mode, if I go to bed early. If I'm hungry at bedtime a glass of milk fixes it.

Gosh, eating less helps weight loss. Who knew?

BRAIN TRAINING

17 miles today, working up to the Austin Marathon. I didn't feel like going. I made myself. I didn't feel like continuing. I made myself.

My body never felt bad -- it was my mind. About this point in marathon-training I always think, "Why am I doing this? Again? It sucks!"

Debating whether to go do my planned run today, I felt like today was make-it-or-break it day: If I did not do today's run, I was calling off the marathon.

I did the run.

My Achilles tendons, ailing for nearly a year, crippling me at the Vermont City Marathon in May, and bothering me all summer even just walking around, have healed up. I only got a couple of very short complaints from the right one; the left one was quiet.

No pain across my hips and sacrum like in Vermont; that, too, continued to bother me for months but has stopped now.

No quad pain, even though this was a big problem just 2 weeks ago on a 15-miler. Today I popped 3 Excedrin an hour into my run, figuring it would be starting to kick in about the time I started to ache, and at its peak in my last few miles. Whether this made the difference or whether it was just a pain-free run, I can't say for sure.

My body never felt bad. It was my mind. It was all in my head. There's been some splash recently about how the perceived need to slow down or stop is coming from the brain and not the body. The brain is trying to keep the body from doing exactly what we're training it to do: extend its limits. The brain is thinking there may be distance yet to cover and says, "If you keep this up you're going to be tired. You better quit while you're ahead." But the body has no awareness of miles to come; it only lives in the present (although past minutes or hours affect how it feels in the present.) So you can tell your brain to shut up and your body to keep going. The advice I've read (and I'm not going to hunt up a link; my connection is slow tonight -- I've seen it in a number of places recently, Runner's World being one of them) says, pay attention to your body, and if there's no medical reason to stop or slow down (like chest pain or respiratory distress or unmistakeable musculoskeletal trauma), then keep on going and don't slow down.

So I kept going (although checking my splits afterwards I see I did slow down, even though I didn't feel like I was) and even picked up the pace the last tenth of each mile and kept saying, "I'm training my brain. I'm training my brain. I'm training my brain."

I think my brain needs the training even more than my body does.

If you're going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared, don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there.
Rodney Atkins

URBAN BIKE COMMUTING

Well, I like commuting. I'm glad for the "excuse" to ride 16 rolling-t0 hilly miles 3 days a week, I'm gaining some fame for same at the daycare center "You ride 16 MILES to work??? I couldn't ride 16 FEET."

Some things have taken some practice to get the knack. Like getting from the right-lane bike lane across two right-turn lanes into a left-turn lane. Takes a couple over-shoulder glances, a rearview mirror, a good signal with my bright-red bike-gloved hand, and some quick pedaling. Then I wait right smack in the middle of the lane in line with the cars, to make sure they see me and don't try to squish past me. I try to remember to gear down before stopping at a light, to make acceleration faster when it turns green.

The one VERY BIG KILLER HILL in my last mile, well, it gets easier each time. Only on one day have I weenied out and walked it, and that was after having done a 4-mile tempo run before changing clothes and jumping on the bike. I thought as I approached the hill, gosh, I ran hard, I'm a little tired, maybe I'll walk some of the hill..... and I knew right there I was screwed. If I even let myself THINK I might walk.... I might as well just get off and walk, because it's over.


So now I don't think whether I might walk. Today I did a combo of 8 pedal strokes standing and 8 sitting. That made the hill go a little faster but also got me winded. I've got a cold, though, so maybe after it's gone the stand-and-pedal system won't whup me.



Fiberjoy made an interesting comment about my orange-hunting-vest-wrapped backpack -- but, hokey as it may look, I'm keeping it! I think I'm a lot more visible with a blaze-orange humpback than I would be with my plain maroon backpack on my maroon bike, even with a lime-green jersey, which isn't bright day-glo Safety Green, just humdrum lime green. If I look weird and someone takes a second look, that second look may be what keeps me from getting pushed into the ditch, or into the next traffic lane.



And Kent added a good comment, too. Gosh, two new visitors to one post, gotta love it!

I SHOULD EAT LIKE THE SLOTH

At the work-camping facility where we're working (in addition to both our outside jobs, Steve as an RV repairman and me at the daycare center), there are exotic pets. Several days a week, it's my job to feed them.

I wish I'd already taken pictures of them, but I haven't yet. I'll have to lift some from the internet.

We have a small herd of capybaras, including 3 babies less than a week old,

and, of all things, living in an atrium, a two-toed sloth (picture above.)

These critters are spoiled rotten.

The capy's, 3 males and 2 females are named Bob, Bob, Bob, Daisy, and Daisy. The new babies aren't named yet.

The sloth is named..... Her Majesty.

Twice a day, Her Majesty gets:

3 baby carrots, sliced in half lengthwise

1/2 apple, cut into thin strips

1/4 cucumber, cut into thin strips

1/4 zucchini, cut into thin strips

1/4 yellow squash, cut into thin strips

4-5 thin strips raw sweet potat0

2 thin strips acorn squash

2 thin strips pumpkin

2-3 thin strips hard pear

2 thin slices mango

If I would eat that twice a day, I'd be totally healthy and have no weight problem, I'm sure.

The capybaras get, divided among the 5 adults (the babies haven't been factored in yet, they're still nursing and the mom keeps them more or less sequestered from the herd, foraging):

One large bunch leaf lettuce

One large head cabbage

2 ears fresh corn (which I only buy for Steve and myself when it's 5/$1)

1 stalk broccoli

1.5 apples (the other half goes to a couple of dwarf goats)

1 carrot

Steve and I do not eat that well in terms of fresh produce.

We should. The other day, I thought, I like mangoes, and I never buy them because they're expensive. But that damned sloth gets them, and I decided, what the hell, I'm buying myself a mango. It was damn good, too.

PEACE ON EARTH

A fellow daycare worker has this bumber sticker on her car.

I think it's awesome.

Peace on earth, goodwill to men.

I'm in.

Steve's Beer Prize

Something rattled in Steve's beer bottle when he poured it. He'd had it in the freezer and thought it was ice. But it still rattled long after it should have thawed. It was just a little too large to shake out. So he broke the bottle out of curiosity and the possibility that it was a million-dollar prize or something.

Whatever it is, it's plastic. Doesn't appear to be worth anything....

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BIKE

This is my commuting backpack, dressed in its Wal-Mart hunting vest, which I've had for years for running during hunting season. It gives me 2 extra pockets, one of which I use for a sandwich, where it doesn't get crushed. And it seems to make me visible -- so far, drivers have been very polite to me.

I took my bike in to the shop b/c my gears were slipping and my rear shifter was tricky, like sluggish.... doesn't click right away. Sometimes it takes a couple of tries, including downshifting my front gears and then upshifting and trying again.

They replaced my gear cables, which were rusted, and tuned everything up.

My bike FLOATS now. It's amazing. I'm cruising up hills in my middle gears.

Which is good because that's all I can use.... my rear shifter needs to be replaced, kaput, and I've gotta wait till next payday. The mechanic tried irrigating and lubing it to no avail, and after that treatment it's slightly more sluggish than it was before. Very hard shift up. So for today's commute I kept it in the middle rear gear and just used my triple chainring as a three-speed. And it worked. The bike, as I said, floated. I only had to shift down lower (still the lowest granny gear) for the fiercest longest hill. And I managed to get it back into the middle gear after reaching the top.

Other than the broken gear shift, the bike rides like a dream.

Commuting by bike is cool. I like it. I've got the hang of moving to the left turn lane from the right side of the road. It takes me about 1:15-1:20 to cover the 16 miles, with waits at stoplights sometimes lasting 5 minutes. I haven't had to try it in rain yet, but that will come. I've got my Marmot Precip rain gear I got for hiking the AT. I'll need to get a rainproof pack cover.

In my pack, I take:
Baby wipes
Deodorant
Jeans
T-shirt
Sweatshirt (I get cold after riding)
Underwear
Shoes
Electric hairbrush/dryer combo gizmo
Brush
Eyeliner

It takes me 15 minutes to put myself back together, and then I give myself 15 minutes for lunch (sandwich and cold sweet tea, my cheapskate energy drink,) and I'm ready to roll with the babies.