Wholly Dazed

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from your friendly Hallmark Christian*!!

This holiday season has been filled with family, friends, and finally in the North East, SNOW!!!

My Runner and I broke out the snowshoes this past Monday to give them a whirl.  I huffed and puffed through the 2-ish miles in the woods.  We were (ok, mostly he was) breaking trail.  The wind was still gusting a lot and the trees creaked and cracked above us.    It was great!

Pops came up for Christmas as usual and came up (pre-snow) to My Runner's house and for a trail run in the woods.  I spent some time with my Grammy, Great Aunt, and Aunt for lunch on Christmas Day, and was able to put in a significant visit to my mother's large family for dinner.  Back to work for a few days this week, but it's nice and quiet with most people on vacation.

My Runner has put together a few posts of a year in review, along with a spectacular slideshow.  It's inspired me to actually take some time to look back on my year, highlight the high points, ruminate on the lessons learned, and set goals for the new year.  I'll do this throughout the month of January and over several posts.

I've also been putting off research for the next car on my list: the Ford Fiesta.  A cursory search says it's a good car that's well reviewed, but my brand perception of Ford is giving me researchers-block.  I might just skip it for now and head on down to the Nissan Versa & Cube....

If you're at work, I hope I've sufficiently distracted you for a few minutes (and playing on JibJab is totally fun).  If you're on vacation, get off this damned machine and go play!!

*Hallmark Christianity is a phrase I created to describe those that have a Christian heritage, and maybe were baptized once upon a time, but NEVER go to church- not even at Christmas or Easter.  These folks DO celebrate Christmas and to a certain extent Easter, but in the most superficial and consumer-based way, embodied by the Hallmark Greeting Card.  

Two Homes, One Heart

So this is a blog about life and love and dealing with problems and this post is about all three.  I just haven't posted something of such a personal nature in a while and thought it should come with a disclaimer, as it's a bit of a shift in gears.  (Get it?  Because of the car posts...)

I've often joked that I have a home in the city and a home in the country.  Now that My Runner has purchased his own house, that feels even more true.  But the reality is that I have an apartment in the city, and My Runner invites me to visit his home.  That's a subtle but emotionally important distinction.

 I know he's excited to have his own place, and settle into it.  "Hell, *I'm* excited for him that he gets the chance to live on his own, set things up the way HE wants it, and make all the home decisions.  I know it was a great growing experience for me, and I hope he finds benefit in it as well.  He has asked my advice on some things, but ultimately has made his own choices.  I've helped (or attempted to help) on some of the projects around his house.  However, there's a line that I worry I keep crossing.

I'm an over-share-er.  You want to borrow something I have, then help yourself.  Need extra storage?  I've got space.  Like my sweater?  Sure you can wear it Wednesday.  That's me.  I generally don't get annoyed until someone, say, borrows my underwear or has sex in my bed (ok, this was ONE college roommate, but yes, both happened).  And even then, honestly, the right person asking in the right situation I'd be like, well ok, go for it.

I don't always realize other people have different boundaries than I do.  I try to be considerate, but because it wouldn't occur to me that, say, leaving earrings on the table or a coat in the closet might be an encroachment, I just don't think about the earrings I left on the table.  I think My Runner doesn't mind one thing here or there every now and then.  But because I've been staying at his house so much, my stuff is spreading, and more of it is staying... The other night I got a text from My Runner: "You moving in?  I think you have more coats in my closet than I do."  I'm sure it was meant in a joking manner, but the message was clear- you're NOT living here, so please don't take advantage.

On the flip side, My Runner has offered a place to keep some toiletries, the bed stand on the side of the bed I sleep on is empty, and he, at one point, mentioned keeping a few things at his place for work-clothing emergencies.  I'm at his house just about every weekend from Friday night to Monday morning, and generally one more night during the week- ie, more than I'm at my own place.  So, where does the line get drawn?

I want to be considerate of his space without having to worry that I'm overstepping.  But I don't want to seem like I'm withdrawing.  And honestly, I know me and I know at some point I'll absent-mindedly forget a pair of shoes or a hair tie or something, and I don't want that to cause a major issue.  Ultimately, I don't want to worry about this all the time and have it be a "thing."

Obviously it's time for a brief chat about what's ok and what's not.  He's rarely at  my house, and with my non-borders, it's never been an issue when he stayed there anyways.  And honestly, while a discussion will help me remember a bit to keep my "stuff" tamed, I'm bound to forget.  So there also needs to be an understanding that I'm NOT "playing games" or being passive-aggressive, but just forgetful.

There is a darker side to this, and I'm embarrassed and a bit ashamed to admit it.  Of course my actions came from being excited for My Runner to have his own place, but upon examination there was some selfishness at play too.  I would often interject or respond as if I had any authority at the house.  Like, when the neighbor asked about cutting trees, *I* said "That shouldn't be a problem."  Or I would state "We just moved in," leaving out the necessary language to indicate that we had just moved ONE PERSON in.  I don't recall doing this on purpose, but I do recall replaying these things in my head after I said them, thinking, "that can't be good."  But I didn't make a very conscious effort to stop.  I guess part of me wanted it to be true, and part of me was so excited for him I just didn't care.  Not until he cared and expressed to me how much it bothered him.  I know this was rude behavior, and it's embarrassing to admit bad manners.

So now, I make a conscious effort to not answer on behalf of him, and to make sure it's clear that I'm not a resident.  But that doesn't mean I haven't screwed up.  It's possible that I wasn't paying attention while talking.  Actually, that's likely because I rarely pay attention to what I'm saying until after I've said it.  (I don't recommended this- it gets me into trouble A LOT.)

Maybe some day this will all be a moot point, but for now it seems like an important stepping stone in our relationship.  How do we express our boundaries?  How do we tell each other when we're hurt or bothered? What's acceptable behavior and what's not?  What can we forgive and learn to live with, and what's unforgivable?  The actual topic might not be incredibly weighty, but the practice of resolving this little thing might have implications in how we resolve the big things.

**Edit: this post was written and for the briefest of moments published before I spoke to My Runner about the situation.  Since he reads the blog (hi baby!) I figured it'd be best for our relationship if I brought this up with him before putting it out for the world- or the 8 or so of you that read this- to see.  The chat was quick and productive, and as per usual I blew the issue way out of proportion in my head.**

VT 50, 2010: Run with Love

Sometimes I put too much pressure on myself. It's in my nature. I was training to run 13 miles in the mountains of VT. Not JUST run it, but run it in time for two other people, one of them my DAD, to run 37 miles within a cutoff time so our team wouldn't be disqualified. This was the first race where the finishing time mattered. And it was killing me. I was psyched to be on a team with dad, but half my training runs would involve me breaking down at some point when it was super hard (we're talking 2-4 mile runs here) and sobbing, knowing in my heart that I'd fail.

This same self-pressure followed me all the way to Vermont. Heading to Mt. Ascutney to pick up our race packets, the foliage was gorgeous, the sun was shining through the clouds, and I started crying. The mountains were so high... I'd have to run those... I was cracking under pressure- with all the beauty around me my face was leaking with worry. And I wasn't the only one.

The VT 50 run- it's about family. I crewed My Runner at the VT 50 last year with his Pops. VT 50 is the first ultra My Runner ever did- at the urging of his Pops. 2010 is his 11th year here. Puma had run the 50k twice and was trying for her very first 50 miler. My Runner and Sherpa shared miles here, and Sherpa was here today for what is possibly his final VT run before he and his lovely wife move West.

At Long Trail Brewery, post- first-freakout cry, pre- second.

Pops couldn't make it this year. Depending on the moment it was disappointing and devastating. I was really hoping Pops could meet my Dad and Sherpa and Puma and everyone- we could all share some time. Lil' Bro was supposed to come with Pops, running in a leg of the relay.

As My Runner, Puma, my Dad, his buddy Ed (Dad and Ed and I making up Team Patriot) gathered in the dimly lit tent in the pre-dawn hours on race day, I realized that no matter who was THERE, this race is about family. We run into Sandel and say our hi's, and GillyGirl, who was pulled at mile 47 last year and is back for her vengeance. People who have run with Pops come up to us, recognizing My Runner and tell stories of his Pops. My Dad and I stand around sharing nervous energy. We chat with others who have notable race shirts on. Trail runners- Ultra runners- it's one big, extended family. My mood lightens and it's time to line up at the start.

The Larch.  The.... Larch. 

Nah... it's a Maple.  Or maybe an Oak? Eh.  Lookit the pretty leaves!!

I line up with My Runner, Puma, Sherpa, and GillyGirl. We're all hopping about in the blue light before the sun breaks over the horizon. Nervous, excited, ready to go- runners always remind me of horses pawing the ground. You'd think, from TV or something, there'd be some sort of grand send off- a starter gun or a buzzer or something. Nope. Out here in VT it's just some guy shouting "Go!" "Go?" "Did he say go?" "Are we going?" "Yeah! Go!" and we're off.

Puma's running a full 50 miles. I was hoping to share a few of the first miles with her, but she's conserving and she's back a bit not long after the start. I share the first few miles with Sherpa, GillyGirl, and My Runner, chatting, sharing dirty jokes, and belching up breakfast (blueberry bagel with peanut butter anc chocolate Boost... not so good on the way up as the way down...). One thing trail and long-distance runners have above road-runners is the ability to really share the miles- chatting eases the burden of time and lightens the load. I mean, when you're out there for 12ish hours, you gotta talk to SOMEONE, right?

Sherpa runs on ahead. GillyGirl is a bit ahead, but I keep her red skirt in sight on the straight-aways. My Runner hangs back to urge me on. It's hard, but I'm going. The concern of the last few months is gone- too late to worry now. The fastest way out is to finish my 12.3 mile leg. I chat with some others around me. Met a guy from Virginia up in New England for the first time running. A woman who has been leap frogging with me has run this leg of the relay before with a team from work- she's probably 10 years older and 70 lbs heavier, but she's keeping up with me, if not passing me, a lot. I admire her and vow to train my ASS off... sooon... My Runner waits for me every now and then, giving great encouragement and advice.

In a moment of mouth-diarrhia the previous day, I noted that Vermont was a "bumpy" state. On race day, I got to know just HOW bumpy. The hills were HARD- even though I was fast-hiking up them rather than running. Still, looking at my watch I was making great time- getting into aid stations before the time that would mark a 12-minute mile (my super-goal; my realistic goal was 14-minute miles). I was about 3-2 miles from the end of my leg when I started cramping up in my torso on the downhills. I think I was tensing so I wouldn't fall and hurt my ankle again, but man it made breathing hard. I ended up walking a great flat running stretch just to let the cramps subside.

GillyGirl and me heading up one of VT's "bumps"

I got into Skunk Hollow (the 12.3 mile aid station) having done 11:40-ish minute miles. As I came in I saw my Dad, raised my arms up high, and shouted with joy. Seeing his big smile as he snapped a photo was awesome! His leg was next, so I grabbed his jacket and camera, we hugged and high-fived, and he was off. My Runner had grabbed some food and water and was ready to get back out for the rest of his 50 miles, so I gave him a quick kiss and sent him on his way.

Me and My Runner heading into Skunk Hollow.

Please don't sue me.  I'd pay for this photo if I wasn't touching my boob by accident.

Team Patriot had a great day. My Dad achieved his goal time for his leg of 19ish miles. He was thoroughly back in love with New England as he finished his leg. The spectacular views from the course and the almost peak foliage combined with a cool clear day would have made ANYONE fall in love with New England. Ed was our ace-in-the-hole, though, passing something like 5-7 relay team runners in his 18 mile leg. I'm a little sad I didn't get to see him finish, but My Runner had asked me to run him in the last 3 miles.

oooOOoooo.... purdy....

As I reunite with My Runner he's thinking he can hit a PR. I'm happy and proud of him. We head up the back of Mt. Ascutney to some truly beautiful trail, and My Runner, who's just run 47 miles, is KICKING MY ASS. I do my best to keep up and not slow him down. He seems happy for the company and wants the time to keep him going. We chat, I pant on the uphills and recover on the downs. We pass a LOT of people- he's shifting into gear.

I feel the downhill cramping but fight through it. As we emerge onto the ski slopes and start doing the backs and forths, My Runner asks, "Is that Sherpa ahead?" I grunt agreement (cramping) and he plans to sneak up and pass him- the finish is about half a mile away. Though I can't see his face, I know all too well the impish (ok, shit-eating) grin on his face... as Sherpa turns shocked to see My Runner there. Smelling blood he kicks it in and zooms down the slope. I know I can't follow at even a respectable speed so I duck out of the course and go straight down the hill, meeting up with My Runner, my Dad, and Ed in the tent near the finish.

My Runner smelling blood.  He's ready to kick some ASS!

 

I managed a smile for this one.

I've reunited with my team. There's a lot of family here, as Mr. and Mrs. Strong have come to watch people finish. Puma's here, having run strong 31 miles before missing a cutoff and being pulled. She seems a bit disappointed, but more so determined to do better next time. We head back to the cars and Dad breaks out some beer for us all to share while we catch up on our experiences and wait for GillyGirl to finish.

In the parking lot sharing some beers I could see how well I really did- and how much I stressed unnecessarily over this run. It drove me forward in my training but I directed energy to worry rather than to powering my body and readying my mind.

VT 50 was WAY outside my comfort zone. But my family had my back. They always had. And while I knew, I didn't really KNOW. Like doing a trust falls, I just had to relax and know that no matter what happened, win or loose, "fail" or not fail, they've got me. I'll never truly fail as long as I keep the love.

Pineland Farms Trail Running Festival- 25k

We woke up early.  My Runner and GB were running the 50k, which started two hours before the 25k. I sat outside with them while they got ready, somewhat awake and alert.  Puma was running the 25k, but heading up with the boys to take pictures and fill her time at the festival before the start.  We'd convinced Mr. Strong to join us for the 25k, so now four of us (Mrs. too) would be crossing the start at 10am to run 15.6 miles today.

In the car on the way, I realized I had forgotten my team shirt hanging on the clothes line.  Between being tired, nervous, and emotionally strained, I started crying.  I didn't feel like I could ask to go back for it (even though it was offered) but I didn't want to not represent the team.  In the end, it was one of many little moments that my mind made into big huge deals over the weekend.

The weather was getting warmer, and the air was hazy from the fires in Canada.  We had run out of sunscreen.  Normally I carry several tubes with me, but my car had broken on Thursday before the trip, and in the commotion I had forgotten to transfer everything I needed.  With my ghost-like skin, I need sunscreen on a daily basis or I'm likely to turn into a lobster, then shed the entire layer of skin, and remain pale as a ghost.  One more thing to worry about, ::plop:: on my plate.

I arrived at the farm with Mr. and Mrs. Strong, and we met up with Puma.  Three newbies and a veteran, we bumbled about trying to figure out what we'd need, where things should be put, where were the aid stations, etc.  As start time approached, my nerves (oddly) settled.  We snapped a few pre-race photos, stashed the camera, and the four of us lined up.  Mrs. Strong was pretty adamant about running together, though I know she's a much stronger runner than I am.  I told her we'd see, and though I'd appreciate the company I didn't want to hold her up.  My main goal was to finish- who knew how long that would take?

Mr. and Mrs. Strong, Puma, and myself

A cowbell sounded the start, and we were off, moving at a trot.  The first path is much more narrow than the corral, resulting in everyone crossing the start quickly then slowing as we all try not to bump into each other.  Puma pulled ahead of us as Mr. and Mrs. Strong and I stayed together.  We kept it an easy pace, chatting with each other.

Like yesterday, the course was beautiful.  It was nice to see more of the farm.  Aid stations were incredibly well stocked with not only water and food but ibuprofen, sodium tablets, and :: hallelujah:: sunscreen.  By the time we were really out, all my nerves had calmed.  I was feeling good, the Strongs were running at about my pace, and we were having a great time.

As we reached the 5k mark, handily noted for us by a sandwich board on the course, I realized I was feeling much better today than yesterday.  I attributed part of that to the company, and part of it to the "warm up" of running yesterday.  I realized I still had a long way to go; I didn't want to put the cart before the horse.

We caught up with Puma at some point before 10k, ran with her a bit, and eventually passed, though she stayed pretty close behind us for the rest of the run.  My Runner and GB were on the same course as us, doing 2 loops to make the 50k, and we finally crossed paths at the "Yurt" aid station, which the course hits three times.  They were looking great well into their second loop, and it was awesome to get the chance to pass along well wishes.

The Strongs and I stuck together the whole run.  There had been the usual "you don't have to wait for me" and "run your own race" mutterings, I think we were all happiest for the company.  We spoke of many things (fools and kings), including upcoming hikes, family (good and bad), the run itself, potential future outings, trips to Portsmouth, and Coffee Talk with Linda Richmand.  For some reason, this classic Mike Myers character captivated Mr. Strong and myself- we passed probably 5 miles with impersonations.

Our spirits were definitely high.  Our bodies, however, had other ideas.  Mrs. Strong had been suffering from shin splints as a result of her 10k jaunt the day before.  Mr. Strong's knees were starting to have issues around the 15k mark, and ibuprofen wasn't keeping up with it.  I was just plain tired, and my feet felt like they were mincemeat.  We ran the last third of the race much slower than the first third, though despite her shin splints Mrs. Strong lived up to her name and was ready to kick ass and take names.  Mr. Strong urged us on.  We would run forward, waiting for him at aid stations or walking through a nice shady area.  I can't say I minded the pace.  I suppose we could have kept running, leaving Mr. Strong on his own, Mrs. Strong leaving me in the dust, but we had spent the last 3 hours together talking, working through our highs and lows, enjoying the day, activity, and company.  Why would I run away from that?  For a 10 minute earlier finish time?  Whatever.  Any finish got me a cowbell- I'd rather we crossed together as a symbol of our journy.

And that we did.  3:43:10 for all of us.  Three way hug, cowbells received, Mrs. Strong sat Mr. Strong down to rest his knees and brought him some restorative brew from Smutty Nose.  I had seen Puma in the field before we finished, so I knew she wasn't far behind.  I waited at the finish line, and sure enough there she comes, 3:49:47, looking strong.

Having started two hours before us, I knew My Runner and GB wouldn't be much father behind us.  I ran (yes, literally, after running 15.6 miles) to the car to get the camera for post-race pictures, meeting up with the rest of our camping group in the process.  I was hoping to meet up with my runner in the grove before the finish and run in with him.  I handed the camera to Puma and walked into the shady grove, scrutinizing every runner in a whit shirt, white visor, and dark shorts.

As I waited, an older runner walked into the grove having a hard time.  Suddenly he stopped, grabbing his thigh- he was cramping up.  I walked over to him and offered my assistance- salt tabs? ibuprofen? water? food?  I shifted to crew mode in .02 seconds.  He was so close to the finish... or so I thought.  He was running the 50 MILE!  He had one more loop to complete!  This guy had to be in his 60's, maybe older. Even though he was struggling I was thoroughly impressed by this man.  He politely declined my offers, thanked me for my assistance, and explained he'd been cramping since finishing his first loop.  We walked together as we chatted, and when we emerged from the grove he felt well enough to run a little.  I wish I had gotten his name or race number so I could follow up with his results.

The boys came in shortly after that.  As they crossed the road into the grove I fell in step with them and started talking with my runner, ready to run in with him.  GB had other ideas, challenging My Runner to a sprint to the finish.  I knew I didn't have that power, so I walked behind them, glad I gave Puma the camera to catch their finish.

We grabbed beers, chatting with some other runners from the area, and basked in the sunshine.  With all my nerves and emotional ups and downs, I didn't even stop to think that this was the longest distance I had run to date.  I was happy with my finish time, and had a great time running with the Strongs.  My ankle felt great, and I was excited to start a training schedule and get back out there with My Runner.

Pineland Farms Trail Running Festival- 5k

Saturday promised to be a beautiful, if warm, day.  Five of us piled into Puma's car to head to Pineland Farms for the Saturday events: 10k, 5k Canicross, 5k, and Barefoot 5k.  We'd have representation in all but the Canicross, a 5k run with your doggie.  Puma, having just come off a 5 day through hike, would be taking the day off and enjoying the festival.

Me, Mrs. Strong, My Runner, and GB (photo by Puma- thx!)

And festival it was!  Tents with food, beer, free-bees, and music were spread out in the grove on campus.  Farmland, mostly hay fields, rolled out around us, inter-spaced with shady wooded areas.  There were dogs a-plenty, some ready to race, some just kickin' around.  Start and finish for all races were in this grove.

Mrs. Strong was participating in the 10k, starting an hour before the other events, and we got her registered and in line just in time.  Thank goodness the race started late!  Since the Muddy Moose where she ran 14 miles for the first time, Mrs. Strong has been running with her neighbor and, while rushed to get started, seemed very confident in her abilities.

Mrs. Strong, putting her sneakers on at the starting line

Shortly after the 10k, the Canicross event started.  I think they wanted all the poochies off the course when the other 5k events begin.  It was fun to see all the different kind of dogs that were running.  From huge labs to tiny terriers, just about every type of dog was represented.  Personalities of the dogs matched the owners, as the elite runners moved to the front, and their competitive dogs barked, jumped, and pranced.

Canicross start.  That little pup almost got hisself CHOMPED.

The 5k start was next.  I'm the only one participating in this, with My Runner and GB both participating in the Barefoot 5k, starting 10 minutes after mine.  This is the first run I've done in 6 weeks.  Other than one hockey game and a couple of workout videos, I haven't moved since April 24th, the day I tore my left ankle to shreds.  My goal was to finish uninjured and see if I would be able to participate in tomorrow's 25k.

::Hugs::

My Runner sees me to the starting line.  I'm nervous, but ready to get out there.  I feel good, despite the MASSIVE hangover I woke up with.  My ankle is in check, and as long as I don't space out, I should be able to run these trails without falling.

I am SO. OUT. OF. SHAPE.  I walked about 30% of the race.  Running alone isn't my favorite, but not many folks were into chatting.  Still, the scenery was pretty, and I was focused on scanning the trail for potential hazards.  The elite runners in the barefoot start passing me just before mile 2, and as the course folds back in on itself I see My Runner and GB.

Waving and smiling, all I could think was, "don't let them catch you."  That motivated me.  That and trying not to get my picture taken while I was walking (fail, see below)

See that ripped dude behind me?  Yeah, he's running.  Not this girl.

Still, they were a bit behind, and I was getting winded.  I "ultra walked" the hills to conserve and catch my breath.  Then I'd walk the flats.... that was an ego blow.  Chatting with another 5ker who was not used to hills helped pass the time, but as more and more Barefooters passed me, and as I got closer to the finish line, I kicked it in gear (not high gear- don't have that one right now... just not neutral).  Finished the race in 34:38.

Mrs. Strong had come in shortly after I started at 1:05:28- an excellent time.  The Barefooters came in 26:09/10, yes, less than 2 minutes behind me.  Was happy to catch this bit of action:

Boys....

In my good days, an 11 minute mile would have made me sad.  Saturday, I was happy to have finished feeling good, and even happier that Smuttynose had sponsored the race, offering unlimited free beer to runners.  I still wasn't sure participating in the 25k was a good idea, but it was at least still an option.

FIVE WHOLE DAYS?!?!***

*** Not really anymore.  Family emergency caused My Runner to change plans.  If I actually pre-planned these things, this would have been up in proper timeline order.

My Runner is through-hiking the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway over the course of this week with Puma.  He's done this trail before with Mr. Strong, and they had such a wonderful time that Mr. Strong is taking his wife on the Long Trail this summer.  My Runner's taking a break from the cubicle farm and getting some time in the woods.

One one hand, I'm happy he's able to recharge.  Boy does he need it.  And the weather this week, though a little warm, will otherwise be perfect.  On the other hand, I'm green with envy.  I wish I could be out there now, soaking up nature and taking a break from being told what to do.

Ok, gonna dig a little deeper and reveal that I'm jealous too.  He's out there with Puma.  Not with me.  Not alone.  Not with Mr. Strong.  Jealousy isn't a pretty emotion, and I don't like that I feel it, but hiding it away doesn't help.  I'm not worried that anything "untoward" would happen.  There's no basis in reality for my feelings.  That doesn't mean I don't feel them.

Actually, it was worse in the days leading up to their setoff date.  Come Monday morning when they're both packed up and ready to go, I feel fine.  Sad that I have to go to work, worried that My Runner is still sick and hacking up lungs, but not jealous.  It still pings a bit here and there, but on the whole, I think that childish part of me had it's moment, and grown up me can prevail.

My Runner and Puma will always be friends.  I like Puma, she's a nice girl.  So, how do I deal with these occasional ugly feelings?  The plan?  Let them out.  I think if I say it out loud, the reality of the situation will take the legs out from underneath the pettiness, and in the harsh light of day these fears will have no control over me.

What do you think?  How do you deal with what you feel are your petty emotions?

MMT 100- Crew Report

Entrance to Caroline Furnace Camp

We arrived at Caroline Furnace Camp in Fort Valley, VA in time for the pre-race meeting. The race director reiterates all the important stuff from the website and points out important people. The runners grab their race packets, we get some grub and set up camp. It's 8pm by the time we roll into our sleeping bags, but since the alarm went off at 3am, we're ready for bed. My very chivalrous Runner gives me the sleeping pad- I feel like a wimp accepting, but he won't take no for an answer. Only later do I realize he knows he's not going to get any sleep anyways: his mind already running the miles ahead.

The alarm goes off at 4am, giving us enough time to put on clothes and eat breakfast before the start of the race at 5am. My Runner and Ultra Dad pose for a few photos, line up with the other 180 runners, and with a shout, they're off. We had briefly gone over the plan the night before, and someone had mentioned it would be 9am before they arrived at the first Aid Station (AS) with crew access, Edinburg Gap. 4 hours to go 11 miles seemed a little slow, but perhaps they knew something about the terrain that I didn't. Kiddo and I head back to camp to catch some z's. We planned to arrive around 8-ish so we would have time to get a good spot but not have to wait too long.

Kiddo and I got to Edinburg Gap at 8:15am. There were about 7 people standing around. We unloaded the Binto Bar (a pack the size of a Rubbermaid tote), the camp chair and the cooler, and settled in. Someone asks if the last runner has come through yet... oh shit... CREW FAIL! Checking with the volunteer in charge of timing, I find we missed them by mere minutes. I try to keep my voracious swearing under my breath, but I'm beating myself up. My one responsibility and I fail at it. I'll be damned if I miss them at another AS.

My Runner and Ultra Dad coming in to Edinburg Gap.  Thanks random photog for catching my missed moment.

The next AS we could be at was mile 32, Elizabeth Furnace. I estimated a 10-minute mile, knowing that even feeling good they wouldn't go faster than 12-minute miles. But the sun was shining, the air was warm, and I would rather be way early than miss them AGAIN. I had no idea what they might have needed at the first AS that I wasn't there to provide- blister prevention, Gu, sun screen, bug spray... The stations were well stocked with food, water, and Gatorade, so I knew they wouldn't be hungry or thirsty. I didn't know if My Runner would be fuming that I wasn't there or worried that something happened to us. (The second. He's a nice guy. I was fuming at myself.)

Crewing is a "hurry up and wait" activity. We got to Elizabeth Furnace about 3 hours before the guys showed up. I put on sun screen, moved the stuff closer and closer to where the runners come in, chatted with folks, and generally hopped around anxiously. Kiddo did his best to amuse himself without phone or internet, which was kind of a stretch for him. He IS thirteen after all.

Temps were high and the guys were wilting as they came in. Food, water, sun screen, cold Boost and iced tea, refill on Gu, and a bit of a rest. Kissed My Runner and they were off. Not long before we'd see them again- 5 miles later at Shawl Gap. Of course in those 5 miles they'd be going 1000 feet up, AND 1000 feet down.

Check the elevation change between #5 and #6.

I'm telling you, this terrain was beautiful, but RUGGED. Ever driven on the Kancamagus Highway in NH through the Whites? Yeah, something like that. I mean, I've run 5 miles under an hour, but that was in friggin' Lowell. These 5 miles took two experienced and strong runners just under 2 hours to tackle. Ultra Dad came in strong, but My Runner was downtrodden. I shared words of encouragement from Sherpa, who had called when I miraculously had service. They were in and out at Shawl Gap and ready to move on. Good thing- as much as I love hanging out with my honey, time at an AS is time wasted.

After a not-so-brief trip to Wal Mart where Kiddo and I ostensibly picked up supplies for our runners, but really were just killing time and grabbing dinner, we headed to Habron Gap, mile 53. The scenery on the drives was breathtaking. The sun was setting and the guys hadn't taken headlamps with them. Too heavy to carry 20 miles, but useful to, you know, see when it's dark. The runners come in to Habron on a wide gravel road, so at least it was a safe(ish) place to not be able to see your footing. My Runner came in feeling pretty good sometime between 8 and 9pm, having gotten a second (or third, or thirtieth) wind now that the temps dropped with the night. He asked how close to the cut-off he was (each aid station will pull runners if they arrive after a certain time), and I tell him he's got a bit more than 2 hours. The Reaper is chasing them, but not too closely.

He was about 10 minutes ahead of Ultra Dad, who came in dragging. Kiddo was psyched up because Ultra Dad had been talking about him pacing the guys, ie, stepping in and running some miles with them; a true Team Robert.  Kiddo's not a runner, but he does bike and swim competitively, and I think getting the chance to "help" on this run really inspired him.

But Ultra Dad was done. He had dehydrated, and that messed up his feet and his back (so many crazy things happen as a result of dehydration in these endurance sports...) I could see in his posture he had given up. Finally My Runner had to head out- he had stayed way too long. Kiddo pleaded, whined, goaded, enticed, I even through a few carrots up for him, but to no avail. Ultra Dad was done at 53.6 miles.

I knew this could be tough on My Runner mentally and emotionally. He started running Ultras BECAUSE of his dad. They were a team.  I'd get to break the news to him in 10 miles at Camp Roosevelt, by which time he had already guessed.

We're now well after midnight, and I'm bushed. I haven't even run today, but hauling gear to and from the truck, anxiously awaiting the runners, listening to a 13-year-old prattle on about energy drinks and video games... it's enough to tranquilize a horse. I gave Ultra Dad some time to pull himself together after running 53 miles, we drop another runner off at the start/finish whose blisters have taken him out of the race, and head to the next AS. I help the guys setup at the AS and take 20 minutes to snooze in the camp chair before beginning my AS ritual of restlessly pacing around. My Runner is in pain. He's gone through all his water, he's got a rash, he's tired. I give him what his body needs, then I try to give him what his spirit needs. Rubbing his back I encourage him to go on. Kiddo is ready to pace My Runner, and I think that helps seal the deal; he's ready to keep moving. Gap Creek is only 5 miles away, but just like the other short leg, it's a CLIMB. 1450 ft up, 1000 ft down.

Gap Creek is the most festive AS I've seen. Christmas lights line the trails. Acoustic covers of well known songs are playing. The station is serving pancakes, bacon, and eggs along with other standard AS fare. There's a fire pit where folks have gathered around, dozing. Runners sleepily clamber in, for it's now just before 4am; they've been at it for almost 23 hours. The course comes through here twice: once at 68.7 miles, and again at 95.4. We see some of the leaders coming in for their second round- these folks might still make 100 miles under 24 hours. There's a cot near the tents where runners can catch a quick nap- might be all they need to regain the strength to keep coming.

Ultra Dad and I pass some time chatting, but soon we're both nervously waiting at the trail head where the 68 milers are coming in. We can watch the headlamps of the runners as they descend the incline into the AS. They're so high up they look like fireflies in the sky. As My Runner and Kiddo come in around 4:20am, I can hear Kiddo yakking away. I pity My poor Runner and hope Kiddo has been more of a help than a hindrance. As he comes in, he asks how close he is to cutoff. "One hour," I told him, and I watched him deflate. Without admitting it, without him saying a word, without him consciously making a decision, I could see he was done. He took time before admitting what his body had already decided. Doing the math over and over in his head, factoring in the pain he was in, he realized there was no way he'd make the finish before the 36 hour cutoff. He relinquished his number to the AS volunteer, signaling his official dropout. 68.7 miles in exactly 24 hours.

Some runners view a DNF (Did Not Finish) as a black mark, a scourge. Some see it as a challenge to try again next year. I think My Runner is at peace with his decision. I'm proud of him for the hard miles he ran. The man barely trained, was (unknowingly) battling a chest cold, and ran for 24 hours, 68.7 rugged-ass miles.

I've written before about my love of crewing, and this race was no different.  I wish I hadn't missed the first AS, but luckily the guys weren't in much need and if there were any to miss, it was that one.  Hopefully I made up for it by being as prepared as possible with fuel for their bodies and their hearts.  Having to focus so intensely on someone else's needs is oddly freeing, almost meditative.  I'm able to push my own issues aside and trivialize my personal traumas, leaving room for a kind of calmness. I wonder if this is how my mother feels when she's nursing...

The Finisher's Belt Buckle

My Runner and I talked about next year on the ride home.  Would he come back for another attempt?  Would Ultra Dad?  What does he want from Massanutten?  A finisher's buckle?  Time with his father?  These questions are still unanswered, but My Runner did quote, "The will to finish means nothing without the will to train."

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!?!

I did it again.  I broke myself.  Again.

Three weeks ago I rolled my left ankle at the Tuesday Night NHSSC Hockey finals.  It hurt, I had to walk around the track, but I was still able to finish the game.  I gave it a few days, then started taping it and was back to running and hiking.  Last Saturday, the morning of the move, My Runner, Puma Girl, and I ran in a 5K trail run hosted by EMS.  It was hard- I hadn't been training much and boy was I feeling it.  The trail was primarily uphill for the first part of the course, and it was taking the mickey out of me.  I realized I should probably slow down when my tunnel vision prevented me from seeing a root, which I then tripped on and fell flat on the ground.  No worries, brushed my self off and kept going, albeit at a slower pace.

At the top of the hill My Runner was waiting for me.  (Puma Girl was battling her own owies, so she took it slow.)  I was tired, so it was nice to have the company.  The view was beautiful at the top of the hill, and My Runner's chatting with me about training etc.  We were running downhill, and I was starting to feel better.  I had the clarity in my brain to begin thinking about a training schedule, since I have a 25K (15.5mi) trail run coming up at the end of May, not to mention the possibility of pacing My Runner at Massenutten, so I shoul-

::Insert epic fall here::

I don't know if I tripped over anything.  I think my left foot came down on an uneven surface, and I felt the ankle start to roll.  Normally I would have just gone with it and it would have been fine, but since the ankle was already hurt, I then felt the pain of tearing, my ankle rolled further, and I went all the way down, rolling into the brush on the side of the trail.  And of course I was bawling.  I was feeling intense pain, but also rage and frustration.  I knew this was a bad injury.  I wasn't going to be able to walk it off.  

It took a long time to calm down.  The longer the pain was intense, the worse I felt emotionally.  Most people were lovely and expressed concern when they passed.  The Run Director stopped and checked in on me; she was so concerned.  I hiked about a mile out, first on My Runner's shoulder, then on Puma Girl's when she caught up to us and My Runner went to get the car.  

That was last Saturday.  After the sprain, I shopped around EMS for an hour or so (what? they were having a great sale!), iced it on the way to Manch, and MOVED (with the generous help of My Runner, My Parents, and some friends).  I tried to be brave and I tried to help, but I was in a lot of pain the whole day.

It's 6 days later and I'm still in pain.  It's better.  It's healing.  But there's still a good amount of swelling.  I have bruising halfway up my calf and down into my foot.  Unpacking last night left me limping again.  I keep it wrapped most of the time and ice it on and off throughout the day.  Had to bail from a wicked fun sounding 5K this Sunday, and needless to say that training schedule I was working on when I fell has been tabled.  

Most of the time I'm level headed about it.  I realize that there's nothing I can do but do my best to help it heal.  Stay off it as much as possible, don't get back to running or hiking too soon.  Sometimes I get caught in the pit of despair, though.  I start thinking about the events I've committed to, and especially as the weather gets nicer how much I want to be outside running or hiking.  I think of how "behind" I am in training.  I feel my waistline expanding as my caloric burn reduces but my eating habits don't change.  

I fell into the downward spiral this past Monday after watching my team play hockey without me.  My Runner noticed, and quoted me to me: "Don't let something you can't change ruin a perfectly good night."  I hate it when My Runner outsmarts me with... me.  But, at least I still end up being "right."  :-)  I'm trying to heed my advice this time and not get too down about being injured.  It sucks, but why should I let that ruin my life?  It's not forever.

A Walk in the Woods

Saturday I went on a brief hike in Fox Forest with My Runner and our friends the Strongs.  The Strongs are hiking the Long Trail in VT for 30 days this summer, so we're testing new gear and getting some miles in together.  My Runner and I will be hiking in a bit here and there during their trip.

It was rainy and much colder than it's been the last few weeks, but I was so happy to be outside it didn't matter.  Well, proper rain gear and the absence of a pack helped.  The Strongs brought their dachshund Seamus, who was pretty rugged for the 5 mile hike in the rain.  My Runner had started cleaning up some of the trails in Fox (ok, I helped a *little*), and it was very obvious what was worked on and what still needs work. 

Ridge Trail in Fox Forest

The Strongs are a great couple.  My Runner and Mr. Strong met in college and have been friends since.  Both Mr. & Mrs. Strong are athletic, mainly backpacking and doing yoga.  They work in high-stress jobs in the high-stress state of Massachusetts, so the fact that they're very laid back people with open minds and hearts is even more amazing.  Spending the morning hiking with them gave me great joy.

Being the busy social bee I am, that afternoon I drove to northern NH for a reunion of an outdoor adventure class I took as a senior in High School.  This is the course that gave me the (small amount of) knowhow and confidence to do things like backpacking, hiking, and other outdoor activities.  It was great to see people I had such intense experiences with over ten years ago, and how much we still had in common.  It was also great to see Coach, our teacher, again.  Coach MADE this class.  Literally and figuratively.  He still teaches in, in a slightly different form at a different school, but the class is by him and will likely die when he retires.  You could call it a cult of personality, but I think it's his sheer drive and love for what he does.  Not just outdoor education, but self-education.  I learned more about me, about what I can do and accomplish, about my limits and the limitations I put on myself, in that one class in one year than I had the first 18 years of my life.  And I was happy to get the chance to tell Coach that, even at (almost) 30 I still feel the effects of his coaching every day.

Group Photo. Coach is the tall guy in the back

Back to Hillsboro where My Runner and the Strongs were partying down.  The next morning hailed a race: the Muddy Moose.  For me and Mr. Strong, a 4 miler.  For My Runner and Puma Girl, 14 miles.  Mrs. Strong piped up during the partying-down, "I could run the 14 miler."  HELLS YEAH was the unanimous response, even though she had never run more than 7 miles.  We all went to bed too late and with too much beer in our bellies.

The next morning arrived EARLY.  The clouds were still hanging low, but the temps were warmer than the predicted 30's and 40's; thank goodness for small blessings.  We loaded into the cars four an hour plus drive to the muddiest trails I've seen.

Running 4 miles felt like 10 on these trails.  You could run extra lengths and bushwhack through the trees to avoid the mud and puddles, or you could dive right in and hope you don't turn your ankle on a hidden rock or stump.  Either way you were gonna get wet and dirty.  I chose for option number 2 most of the time, but boy does that take a LOT of energy.  Each foot had an extra pound or so from sand and water.  You never know how deep you're gonna go, so you land harder on every step.  You're constantly ready to loose your balance, so all your stabilizer muscles are on alert.  I've never had more fun on a race!  I wish I hadn't been nursing an ankle, I totally would have gone for the 14 miler (and probably died in the process, but died smiling!)

Playing in the mud

Mrs. Strong DID do the 14, and kicked it's muddy ass!

Mrs. Strong, living up to her name

After the race, changing into dry socks, shoes, and clothes, we headed back to Hillsboro for some hearty food, kitty snuggling, and quality couch time.  That's the other benefit of being a runner- couch time is *restorative,* and therefore totally acceptable.  :-)

Dolphin Challenge, Part 2

Shamrock Half-Marathon, 3/21, Virginia Beach, VA
Net time: 20:30:34

We were at my parent's house with a group of people.  I had to get to rehearsal, but I hadn't brought any clean clothes with me, so I was searching through my mom's closet looking for something that would a) fit and b) not look like "mom" clothes.  I was hoping My Runner might bring me to rehearsal since he drove, but he was looking more than a little cozy with some other chick that was there...  Of course I was mad, but I was late.  Mom let me borrow her car, which was parked at the other end of the parking lot, in front of some sort of meeting place.  Folks were heading in to the meeting to learn about a pyramid scheme and kept urging me to come into the meeting.  When I told them I was running late to rehearsal, they closed ranks and blocked me from the car!!  What the heck!  I finally made it to the car and was trying to decide if I should run them down when-

Shit- I'm supposed to be getting ready to run 13.1 miles!  I flew awake, saw that it's later than I meant to wake up, jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.  My poor Runner was startled awake by my actions as well, looking around dazed and only able to ask, "What?" and "Why?"  After a few panicked moments, I realized I'm not running TOO late, just later than I wanted.  I took a few deep breaths, crawled back into bed for a quick restorative snuggle, and congratulated myself on having the fore site to lay everything out the night before.  (ok, My Runner's idea, but I had the fore site to see it was a good idea....)  The adrenaline got my system going, and I shoved food down my throat hoping that I won't cause a stomach ache.

The race started at 7am: earlier than I have to be to work on a normal day.  Before official sunrise.  So early, in fact, that I barely had time to contemplate the ridiculous task ahead of me before we arrived at the start line with 13,000 participants.  I looked around at the huge crowd, My Runner streaming words of pride and encouragement, and I started to feel more than a little anxious.  The start "gun" was fired, My Runner kisses me and wishes me luck, and I start to cry.  I'm not sad, or afraid, exactly, just... overwhelmed.  I dashed the tears away, trying to refocus on the task at hand and tune into the excitement and joy around me.

Pocket had been texting me since about 6:30am.  K's house was RIGHT on the route less than a mile into the course, so they'd be watching for me outside, with a little "pick me up" gift: a Gin Bloody Mary.  See, the day before we had gone to lunch at Mahi Mahi's right on the beach, where K introduced me to Bloody Mary's made with gin.  I love gin, and I love Bloody Marys, and this one was made with yum-yum spiciness that was JUST up my alley.  I loved it so much she promised me one for the race, which seemed like a GREAT idea at the time.  Cutting across the broad crowd of people to get to Pocket and K I wasn't sure how well my stomach was going to handle gin, tomato juice, and spice this morning.

The start of the race was rough.  I wasn't hitting a stride, I was struggling.  I started looking around me at the other people running along side me.  Not only does this help get me out of my head, it helps me appreciate the SPECTACLE that I am a part of.  There were several couples running together.  One wife joined another couple complaining that her husband just won't slow down enough for her, and I eavesdropped on their friendly chat.  Two girls in CRAZY costumes ran by (I couldn't get a good picture).  They were both wearing green brocade dresses, tiaras, green fairy wings, dangling bells from everywhere.

The beer tent appeared.  My Runner spoke of the mystical beer tent, but alas it was VERY early in the race for beer, plus I had barely indulged in my Bloody Mary.  I fervently hoped they would still be there when I was coming back around and passed without partaking.  My mood lightened.  My Runner always comes back from a run with stories of people he talked with while on the trail (or road, as it were).  I decided to try a conversation.  An older gentleman was wearing a shirt with this on the back:

Figuring it was a good place to start, I asked him about it.  Did it mean he's not 55?  He says, you're too young to know the song.  But it's from a song.  Oh, I said, what's the song?  You're too young, he says, you wouldn't know it.  Oh.. OK then.  Well, good luck!  Hrmph.  Completely unsuccessful.  Feeling rebuffed, I looked around for something else interesting, and found it in some poor girl's unfortunate sweat pattern:

I mean, she had no control over it, but watching that "kissey face" on the back of her shirt made me giggle.  And that's what I desperately needed.

That and to take off some clothes.  It was a little before 8 and getting quite warm.  I took a break by the side of the road and removed the mobian sleeves and my long sleeved shirt from under my Team Robert shirt and instantly felt better.  One discomfort delt with, another one coming on... I had to pee.  There were port-a-potties every half-mile or so, with relatively short lines, but I wasn't sure I was ready to stop yet.  I had just started getting into a rhythm, and I didn't want to break out of it.  At this point in the course we were running in "nature"- still on a paved two-lane road that ran through a park.  The sun dappled through the trees, and we were surrounded by what would soon be lush and verdant Spanish moss forest (though still dormant in March).

I was starting to enjoy myself.  We passed a DJ playing YMCA and yes, all the runners did the YMCA.  I hugged the right hand side of the road for a while, though this forced me to run on the rumble strip or in the gumball strewn road shoulder.  My legs are still tired even though my mood is good, and I realize I might need to put something in my body.  Hey, I have stuff!!  I take some Advil, eat a cliff shot (not worth trying if you never need to eat this stuff... ugh), drink some of the Gatorade-like stuff in my water bottle, and stop to pee.  Ten minutes later, I feel like a frickin' champ.  Who knew monitoring one's blood sugar would be so important.  I'm a little less than half-way, and quickly approaching mile 6 where the "large" aid station is and where I've given myself permission to walk if I need it.

It's warmed up to the high 60's at this point.  Perfect for short sleeves and shorts, cool enough that I'm not feeling dehydrated.  I hear music ahead of me again and expect another DJ but no, it's a live band!!  They're asking for requests and while I don't hear the shoutout, the response is "We've played Freebird three times already this morning, man!"  I laugh with all my non-mp3 wearing compatriots and the band strikes up "500 Miles" by the Proclaimers.  Such a great toon and I am in a GREAT mood!  Singing along with the lyrics, running to the rhythm, loving where I am and who I am.

We took the turn off of Shore Drive into Fort Story and approach the mile 6 aid station.  It's HUGE.  There's probably 30 volunteers handing out water, Gatorade, and energy gels.  I grab a few free gels for my stash (won't need them on the race), and some water, and thank the volunteers I see.  I had "allowed" myself to walk at this point, but I was feeling great and getting really excited to see mile marker 7, where I would officially break my distance Personal Record.

The Fort was open, we were in direct sun now, but the breeze kept me cool.  We were approaching the "hill" on the course: a man-made mound of about 5% grade.  If you're from New England, you would call it flat.  Advice from My Runner to "give words of encouragement when you see it's needed, it'll pay back," came to my mind as I was feeling great and others were dropping around me.  Not being used to offering encouragement (that's a whole therapy session that I won't get into) I felt a little lame with my "Halfway there"s and "You're doing great"s.  I was often ignored, or at least not acknowledged, but those who did sent me a quick smile.

Race volunteers direct us to the opposite side of the road.  It's hard to tell what's going on, until we hear sirens behind us.  A fire truck comes through.  Shortly after, an ambulance.  All around me is fearful speculation, with some light banter to break the tension.  I'm behind a few runners about my age pondering what's going on.  I quip that the ambulance is getting ready for me at the end of the race.  We all laugh, exchange a few pleasantries, and then we come upon the ambulance and fire truck parked.  No one quips.  No one says anything.  Some people close their eyes in silent prayer or well wishing.  Some give the whole scene the stink eye, hoping it won't happen to them.  Rubber necking happens.  Most people just feel bad for those who won't be finishing today.  I'm not sure what the nature of the injury was, but I could see the disappointment on the runner's face.

Coming out of the Fort I see the Lighthouses, which I know are major landmarks because everyone talks about them.  They're pretty cool, don't get me wrong, but I've never really had a thing for lighthouses (except maybe the one from Pete's Dragon).  There's an official photographer, so I strike a pose (not being able to strike MY double horns pose due to the full hands) and as I raise my arms in celebration I hear "Hey, hey!"  No need to look around, that's my phone with a text.  Pocket's asking me if I've passed her at 42nd st. yet.  I text back, "88th St.  Think I run THAT fast?"  "Just don't want to miss your sweet ass," comes the reply.  It's good to be loved.  :-)

I'm on the "final stretch" now, which is still about three and a half miles.  I've been warned it feels REALLY slow, and I can see why, as I slowly pass 78th St., then 77th St., knowing that the finish line is south of 37th St....  Pocket and I keep in touch and this helps pass the time.  The first Marathon runners are booking it up Atlantic Ave, and I marvel at their strength and we cheer them on.  People are still on the street, cheering, playing music.  I keep hearing "Good job, Leah!  Keep up the good work, Leah!  Come on, Leah!"  I finally realize why they print names on bibs... Even though I don't know these people and they don't know me, hearing my name with the cheer makes me know they care, if only for that one moment, that I'm out there.  That feeling is awesome.

I let Pocket know I'm about 10 streets away and have saved some Bloody Mary for a toast.  A spectator jokingly chides me for "Distracted Running," and I shout back that it's not illegal yet and we "toast."  My feet hurt with a few blisters, and I can tell my knees are tired, but nothing's broken so I don't linger on those feelings long.  I'm excited to get to Pocket and K for a restorative toast and picture break.

Pocket's taking some video as I approach.  I "pull over," uncap my Bloody Mary, cheers with K (who I assume has hers in her travel mug), and take a long pull.  At 42nd St, I have almost exactly a mile to go.  Pocket starts taking off her jacket and putting down her stuff.  Before I can ask she says, "I'm coming with you."

I feel a big smile on my face.  I have a pacer!  Pocket's jumping in to finish what is a pretty epic feat, and I'm happy that she's there for me to share it with.  I leave my Bloody Mary with K and we rejoin the crowd headed for the boardwalk.  The finish line is in the same place as the 8K finish, in the shadow of Neptune.

We turn the corner onto the boardwalk and I feel elated.  I can't believe I've run this far.  I can see the pride in Pocket's face, and I'm ecstatic to share this moment.  Aaand that's when the fun police come up to us and pull Pocket off the course.  LAME.  Still, I gave her a hug and kiss and thanked her.  She wished me luck and I turned towards Neptune.  The big Finish Line is stretched across the boardwalk, and I take these final moments to take in what I've just accomplished.  13.1 miles.  I RAN 13.1 miles.  And I felt pretty darn good.  Crossed that finish line I sounded my Barbaric Yawp!

I can't believe I finished.  I felt so energized.  Walking through the "gauntlet,"I  realized it would be hours before My Runner was done.  Not sure where Pocket got to after the Fun Police came, I went to text her when I saw My Runner left a message.  He called from mile 8.5, checking in to see if I'm done, how well I did.  Looking at the time he left the message, about 10 minutes before, I ran out to Atlantic Ave and saw the mile 12 marker.  Some quick math told me even if he's trucking I should be able to catch him here.  Sure enough, a few minutes later, there he was coming down the road.  I jumped up and down, cheering and waving my arms.  He saw me, smiled, and headed over for a high-five.  I let Pocket know he was heading their way, and I gathered up my stuff and headed back to the hotel for a shower.

The feeling of euphoria lasted.  I showered, changed, changed again, stretched, decided on a third outfit, headed out the door, realized I should have my bib for the beer tent, changed a fourth time (euphoria is obviously not a contributor to good decision making), packed a long sleeved shirt, my medal, and sandals for My Runner, and headed out to watch him finish.  I have to commend the race organizers here- they really knew how to arrange traffic flow.  Our hotel was on 21st St, the finish line was at 30th St, plus the "gauntlet" stretching a block or two.  The Beer Tent area took up several city block lengths of the beach.  Still, I made it to the finish line and a little further at a good walking clip, and was able to find a prime watching and cheering spot.  I do love cheering runners on, and I followed the convention of using the name on the bib.  I watched several runners finish strong, many finish totally spent.  One guy cramped up right in front of me and had to walk it in.  A man in a hand-pedaled bike finished strong.  A few of the half-marathon walkers were coming in to the finish, and let me tell you I was totally impressed.  These were people who looked like walking ONE mile would be a challenge.  How brave of them to take this journey.  It reinforced my belief that every one has their own potential to explore and fulfill, and I was inspired by these strangers who were working hard to fulfill theirs.

After what felt like ages, but was probably 15 minutes, I saw My Runner, looking good, heading down the boardwalk.  I tried to snap a picture with my phone, but he's still so far away it doesn't come out.  I can't help but jump up and down and shout his name!  Another high five and through the finish line he goes.  Later he tells me I nearly killed him 'cause he got all choked up....  awwwwww....  I hustled my butt to the beer tent area for real congratulations to each other.  We grabbed our tasty brews, picked a spot on the beach, and enjoyed.

I felt great the rest of the day.  A little stiff, sore, but no major issues.  Did I get a big head from that?  Maybe.  (Yes.)  We dined at Murphy's that night, sitting next to the indoor fireplace and listening to the same band that played "500 Miles" on the course.  It's still light out when we get back to the hotel, but I'm a little sleepy.  I just needed a little rest before the rest of the night so I put my head down on the bed and.... SLEPT FOR SIXTEEN HOURS.  Jeeze, guess the race DID take the mickey out of me.

What's next?  I've been training and worrying and looking forward to this race for so long, I feel a bit lost at sea.  Running with my Dad for the first time after VA Beach last weekend I almost died.  Running on trails in Fox Forrest yesterday, I'm getting my legs back.  I registered for the 4 mile Muddy Moose, and am *considering* a 25K trail race on Memorial Day weekend.  Can I pull off another "in over my head" run?

Dolphin Challenge, Part 1

Towne Bank 8K, 3/20, Virginia Beach, VA

Net time: 51:50

The alarm went off at 6am, much earlier than a vacation alarm ought to.  The race started at 8am; we'd planned to meet Pocket and her friend K at 7:30am.  We took advantage of the early start to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic from our room, a sight I’ve rarely witnessed over the water, never mind take the time to enjoy when I have to be up so early. 

We split homemade egg and bagel sandwiches from the day before, frozen from the hard-working mini-fridge.  I’m not used to eating so soon after waking up; usually I don’t eat for an hour or two after waking up and finishing my coffee.  We headed out into the chill morning air with the 20,000 other runners towards Neptune to meet up with our friends, jogging on the way to stay warm.  A few minutes of searching through the crowd and I spoted Pocket and K.  We paused for photo op, and moved to the back of the pack at the start line, almost 4 blocks from the actual starting line.

It took us ten minutes to cross the starting line with all the people running.  I looked around at the folks in costumes, kilts, wigs, funny hats, crazy makeup.  I love the spirit these people bring to a race- makes it feel like a party.  I wish I had the balls or patience to run in a crazy getup.  Maybe someday I’ll go all out for a 5k.  When I helped my dad by working an October Fest 12k, one of the entrants ran the whole thing in lederhosen and a purple felt fedora with a feather! Even more impressive are parents running with child-filled strollers. 

Technically we were not allowed to run with iPods, dogs, or strollers, but obviously people were ignoring those rules.  While I’m always impressed at someone’s performance with the extra burden of a child and stroller, I wish more people had followed the guidelines.  With 20thousand people these things become a danger to others.  iPods make it impossible to hear a runner coming up behind you with an “on your right,” or “excuse me.”  Even the most well trained dogs can act out in a large crowd, or a spectator’s dog can go bananas at the site of a dog in the race, causing an upset to runners.  Strollers become battering rams.  With crowds this big, passing is difficult enough with just one’s own body.  Passing with the stroller-equivalent of a tank is nigh impossible.  We ran alongside a man on the boardwalk who spent his whole run yelling at people in front of him to make way.  Wouldn’t it be more fun to let your child stand on the sidelines with other family or friends than having them hear you yell at strangers? 

My biggest challenge of this 8k (4.9 miles for those of you not versed in computing, like me,) was staying together with Pocket and My Runner.  We spend the ENTIRE race weaving in and out of people.  My Runner was always in front of us, which  alternately motivated and infuriated me.  In any case, it kept us running and kept us challenged.  It gave Pocket and I a chance to catch up on each other's lives now that she lives three states away.  

The race started cool but weather warmed up quickly.  I took off my “sleeves” and rolled up the sleeves to my long-sleeved under shirt pretty quickly.  By the time we were on the south end of the “boardwalk” (made from cement… non-traditional but dualy functional- take it up with the Army Corps of Engineers, I suppose) it was well in to the 60’s and sunny. 

It was around this time I needed a little “inspiration.”  When running is hard, or I need a smile, or I’m just feeling frisky, I’ll grab a handful of My Runner’s well-developed runner’s butt.  Sorry if that’s TMI, but seriously, if you felt that ass you’d be willing to run for  miles too, whether it was to emulate it or to tap it.  Seriously.  It’s that good.

Ok, I’ll get back to the narrative.  I needed inspiration, so I went to get me some.  Unfortunately, My Runner sped up just as I grabbed my “piece” and this poor girl he had been passing got a full body check from yours truly.  Now, in hockey terms this was no big deal.  I probably wouldn’t even apologize for the minor infraction in the course of a normal game.  But with running, well, it's not a contact sport.  I expressed my apologies pretty profusely, but I don't think she was impressed.  I turned back to Pocket for corroboration, then realized I just ran over this chick in an attempt to grab ass.  I was the dick in this scenario, no getting around that.  Awwwww….  Still, inspiration was given, and that girl now had a story to tell.

We swerved from the boardwalk back onto Atlantic Ave. to run past the Start line.  Around that time I *thought* we were done, I started pulling more gas from the tank.  Pocket and I talked a little about that.  I love the end of a race, where you know how much is left and you can empty your tank and make a strong finish.  Well, turns out one should study the course in order to use this functionality (apparently it's a figure 8).  There were more miles left than I had anticipated when I was ready to “empty the tank.” 

We took one last turn onto the “boardwalk” for the finish.  K was waiting for us on the curve, camera in hand.  This was the first time I’d had a “fan,” and I was WAY more excited than I ever thought I would be.  Honestly she was out there for Pocket, the promise of sharing Pocket's free beers (she's not much of a drinker, like My Runner and I), and because it was convenient (a measly 8 blocks from her current residence).  I mean, she seemed genuinely excited to see us round the corner, but I wouldn’t expect someone to be out there if it weren’t for the same kind of circumstances.  Still, it felt AWESOME to see her.  We rounded the curve, headed into the sunlight, and were greeted with the awesome Neptune: Ward of the Finish Line.

Heading towards Neptune with Pocket and My Runner and almost 20thousand others, I felt giddy.  I started cheering us all on, "Woooo"-ing at full voice.  Here we all were, on the beautiful beach, spending time together, being active, and participating in an event with tens of thousands of people.  That's not nothing.  We crossed a pre-finish line; I realized this was so our names would come up on the screen from our “D-Tags.”  The MC announced the names of the finishers, which was pretty killer.  My Runner’s name was announced, my name was (mispro)nounced, and Pocket’s name was announced.  We all crossed the finish together, feeling fine and ready to take in the beer and the sun.

The race organizers had set up a long corral, allowing finishers to walk after their run, pickup our finishers medal, t-shirt, food, water, and any other swag they were handing out, before finally turning into the beer tent area, serving exclusively Yeungling beer.  We grabbed some beers, and Pocket and I went off in search of K.  Once we were all found, we kicked off our shoes and relaxed in the sand, toasting our wonderful day.