Bear Brook Fat Ass, January 29th, 2011

About Christmas time Dad let me know that he and his girlfriend L were going to be vacationing in the White Mountains the last week in January, and could they stop by and stay over on their way home?  This invited the idea of planning a "Fat Ass" event: a run (generally) with no aid stations, a group of crazy folks, and beer at the end.  I had initially planned on a 29K- about 18 miles total- in Bear Brook State Park.  I've never run this distance, plus it's the middle of winter and training time is sparse... this was gonna be a challenge to complete, never mind plan.

With all the snow we've had there was no way we were running without at least some serious traction.  I ended up suggesting snow shoes or cross country skis to anyone partaking.  I downloaded a map of Bear Brook's trails, read the descriptions of each one, coded them for difficulty, and mapped out a route with two "peaks" and plenty of rolling terrain.  Since snowshoeing is more taxing than "mere" running, I downgraded the distance.  The large loop measured a bit more than 9 miles according to the map scale, with three bail-out points between 5 and 6 miles.

Planned route at Bear Brook State Park

Know me and you know that I take my "planner" responsibilities pretty seriously.  I was worried no one would show up.  Then I was worried a lot of people would show up and they'd hate it.  I worried that I forgot something crucial.  The morning of the event came and I knew at least 7 people were coming out to play in the woods and at least 5 were coming back to eat at my place after.  My head swam with logistics about feeding people, ensuring my house guests were comfortable, packing proper food and hydration.

My Runner and Sherpa had met at 6:15am that morning to start on the trails and gain some extra mileage in anticipation of the Peak Snow Shoe Race in March.  Their pre-surveillance of the trails, as well as Sherpa's familiarity with BBSP, turned out to be very helpful.

So, I forgot the map.  Obviously.  Though it turns out I didn't even have the correct one- I had the Summer Trail Map that didn't show which trails were groomed for snowmobiles and what trails we'd have to break.  Luckily Sherpa came prepared (at least the tens of thousands of tuition dollars paid for SOMETHING... saving my ass!) with 6 copies of the winter trail maps. 

Next surprise- Dad and L had one pair of snow shoes between them.  Snow shoes that were likely made by Inuits at least 10 years before I was born.  Seriously, these things shoulda been in a museum.  After learning how groomed the trails were, I suggested they both wear their x-country skis.  L was still gaining confidence in her skis, and Sherpa re-assured her that she could handle the terrain. 

The group heading out from the parking area

Ten people and a doggie set out from the parking lot (which was NOT the lot I had planned on starting from- the gates to THAT lot were closed despite what I had been told by park staff).  The weather was warm: about 25* at 10am.  Spirits were high, and we were all chatting and having a grand time.  I felt great, despite being tired and having forgotten the map.

The first turn came to go up Bear Hill and the trail was steep and ungroomed.  A decision was made that the cross-country skiers, Dad and L, the two "novice" snow shoers G and J, and the doggie would go off on their own.  The rest of us would "catch up" (yeah right).  We didn't see Dad and L again until the parking lot. 

Gazelle, Sherpa, me, Taps, Puma, and photog My Runner

My Runner, Sherpa, Puma, Gazelle, Taps, and myself broke trail up the slope.  The trail on the map appeared to be no more than a quarter mile, but the sign at the trail head stated 1.2 miles to the summit (the first in MANY signs that this day would be longer than expected).  We all worked hard breaking the trail taking turns in the lead until we reached the summit.  About a tenth of a mile from the top we saw the quarter mile summit trail that was the PLANNED route... whoops.  We used it as a return route and began down the groomed Podunk Road.  (Seriously.  Podunk.  I *wish* I could make this shit up.)

The snowmobilers were out in droves.  I knew Bear Brook was popular for snow mobiles, but we spent a quarter of the time hunkered by the side of the groomed road choking on fumes.  The positive- at least half of them were polite and shared the roads with us. 

It wasn't long- ok, it WAS long, but we weren't far into my planned hike when I leaned over to Taps who has a fancy-schmancy GPS watch and said, "How long we been out here?"
"About two hours."
"And... how far have we gone?"
"5.3 miles."
"Shit.  Sherpa, lemme see that map...."

Taps and me on the trails

We were about a third of the way into the "9 mile" loop, and still quite a distance from the bail out points.  I was feeling great, but Gazel had only snowshoed about 4 times this year, and Puma was nursing an injury and coming back from time off.  We weren't going super fast, but I realized there was no way this was gonna be short for anyone.  I confided in Sherpa, who looked at me knowingly.  "I didn't know how to tell you without stepping on your toes..."  Whelp, in for a penny in for a pound today.  Shit, in for a penny in for a kilo and a bonus pack.

Gazelle, Puma, and Sherpa

My Runner giving me a (deserved) long-suffering look

Ultimately we were on the trail for about 5 hours and 11.5 miles.  Dad and L arrived at the parking lot an hour and change before us, and gallantly picked up beer for everyone.  At the mention of beer, Gazelle, true to her name, sprang ahead, eager to take of her snow shoes and relax.

Gazelle waiting impatiently for us to catch up, Sherpa with his trademark Shit-Eating-Grin

I felt GREAT at the end of 11.5 miles.  Puma was hurting, but in good spirits once her shoes were off.  Taps was still bouncing off the walls- that guy has ENDLESS energy.  Sherpa seemed to have a great time, but headed home early (poor guy can't have beer now anyways...).  My Runner had angered his achillies after 18+ miles of snowshoeing in boots not really made for hiking or outdoor sports.

Dad, L, Taps, Puma, My Runner, and I retired back to my place for salty snacks and crock-pot fajitas.  The beer flowed, we chatted about hiking, races and runs past and future, and much more.  Fred got some cuddle love.  I started to fade around 6:30, kicked out the guests, had one last beer with Dad, then excused myself and slept, SOUNDLY, for 10 hours.

I made many "mistakes" with this first Fat Ass.  I'm still not sure what happened with the map scale, and I really should have scouted at least the parking area.  While I understand the decision to break up the group, I was bummed I didn't spend more time with Dad on the trails.  However I was very happy snow shoeing ELEVEN MILES!  And luckily my mistakes didn't result in any serious injuries or illnesses.  Best of all, I got to explore an amazing park that's about twenty minutes from my apartment.

It'll be a while before I plan a Fat Ass again, but when I do I hope to at least not make the same mistakes twice.

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.  

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.

Naked Cartwheels

It’s been an incredibly busy couple of weeks. I work to post at least twice a week, sometimes more, and it’s been tough to find the time. I’ve had meetings every day at work, some with a prominent political figure in this city (who may be my representative but for whom I did not cast my vote). This past weekend Dad visited, hockey Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday night My Runner and I and Mom and Mr. Fixit went to a dinner party at Mop and Face’s place.

Tonight my calendar had “6pm, Whipple St.” I was scheduled to look at a half a duplex to rent. It was cute, had a lot of space, a yard, and was in a quiet neighborhood. Best of all it was within my price range. The owners are a friend of a friend, so it came with a recommendation.

I assume you noticed that all the verbs in the last paragraph are in past tense. I got an email from the owner today that he had rented it out last night. I knew I had gotten too excited about this place. I had even described it to someone as “the one; we’re meant for each other.” But it’s been on the market for a while, and the owners were (understandably) looking to rent it out sooner rather than later.

I’m bummed, but working through it. How? With naked cartwheels. Tonight, instead of having an appointment, instead of scheduling anything, instead of having to see another living person, I’m home. All alone. Well, Fred T. Ferret, is here, but no humans. My cousin/roommate is home for spring break, and I’m taking advantage of an empty apartment and a canceled appointment for some MUCH needed *me* time.

Ok, Leeapeea, but naked cartwheels? That was Face’s idea. I’m sure it was one of those offhand things, “Oh, your roommate’s gone? What are you going to do? Naked Cartwheels! Ha!” Except it’s turned into something more than that. Metaphorically, naked cartwheels represents ultimate freedom and joy. Not only do you have the space to perform a free-wheeling acrobatic attempt, but you also have the privacy to do it disrobed. THAT’S freedom, my friends.

A good life is a life of balance. I love my friends, my family, My Runner, but I also love me. I have to balance my time with everyone else with some me time. Tonight brought the scales back to true. If you’ve been feeling overstressed, overwhelmed, overtaxed, over burdened, take my advice: naked cartwheels.

Bits and Pieces

Lots of thoughts swirling around lately, and mostly unorganized.  A sampling of the bits and pieces grabbed from the tornado of my brain:

Dad's coming up this weekend.  We're meeting at a race on Sunday morning, then he's staying until Tuesday.  This'll be the first time I run with him, ever.  I'm really worried about being slow.  I know it's stupid  - he won't care, we're here to run it together, but still.  My Runner might be joining us.  I'm glad My Runner and Dad will get a chance to meet. They're very similar, which totally makes me a cliché, but what can ya do.  I love running with My Runner, and I know it will make me worry less about being slow, but there's a small part of me that wants to run just me and my dad.  I think that part's smaller than the part that wants both of them there.

I drove around ManchVegas for an hour on Wednesday checking out neighborhoods of apartments listed on craigslist.  It was ridiculously depressing how much some places were misrepresented.  Of course I only viewed the outside on these, but since I'm looking for a new neighborhood I thought that would be a good place to start.  As much as I want a place that's unique, part of a house, a few neighbors, a nice landlord, I think ultimately I won't be able to find a nice place in a nice neighborhood in my price range unless I go for apartment complex living.  Not really my first choice, but it's got the essentials that I'm looking for, and there are always openings.  The other drawback is that my current rental company operates at least half of the apartment complexes in MancheVegas.  They're probably not better or worse than other rental companies, but their tenant screening process leaves something to be desired.

Last weekend I ran the farthest I have yet - 6 miles.  I felt great, and ran an average 9:20min. mile in the Frozen Shamrock 3 mile race the next day.  This week I feel like crap.  My hip's been bothering me, my calves are cramping, and I've been having some, ah... lady issues.  I've taken some time off to rest, maybe too much time.  I've got a 4.6mi run planned with Pocket when she comes to visit on Saturday, then the race on Sun is 4 miles.  I'm still not feeling great, but it's time to get back in the saddle.  I've totally neglected my PT the last two weeks (slaps hand) and I know that's why my hip is bothering me.  The half-marathon is in 16 days; no time to rest on my weary laurels.

Speaking of the ShamRock (half)Marathon, this was today's facebook post:
Coach Jerry Frostick's tip of the week: Less is best, don't try and make up for missed mileage. Everyone has battled the worstwinter that I remember. That same determination will get you to the finish line. Feel proud of what you've done.Usethese last two weeks to heal aches and pains and visualize great things for... your big day!You all will Sham ROCK.
It's like Coach Jerry is reading my mind.  I'm not going to go crazy with miles, but I am working to get my drive, determination, and "sticktoitiveness" back on line.  (When did "sticktoitiveness" become an ok word to use?)


Pocket and I will be heading to my Alma Mater after our run on Saturday to see a show produced by the theatre department from which I graduated.  It hasn't been terribly long since I attended, and most of my profs are still working there.  I've always been proud of my education.  While the name and the department doesn't necessarily have a huge reputation, I felt the professors and program were all well-rounded and encouraged exploration of talents and strengths.  I really hope it's a good show.


Mom recently "guilted" me that I've been dating My Runner for over six months now and she barely knows him.  She's right, it's weird.  I have a very close relationship with my family, so the fact that I'm so happy and they don't know him IS totally strange.  So we're having dinner on Wednesday, hosted by Face and Mop.  I'm super psyched.  Getting the chance to meet some of his family over Easter.  Excited, but oddly not really nervous.  I mean, I hope they like me, and there is a certain amount of strain making small talk with a room full of strangers, but I'm just happy to get to see a little more of where My Runner comes from.


I know I'm "of that age," but EVERYONE is getting married this year.  Three friends, two family members.  Five weddings.  Don't get me wrong, I actually really like weddings.  Celebrating love, eating, dancing, drinking, wearing pretty clothes, all things I truly enjoy.  And, luckily, there's not a single union that I'm in any way opposed to.  The only down side is that my schedule for the spring/summer/fall is now pretty full, and already there are conflicts with weddings and planned trips.  Normally I'm a "first come first serve" kind of gal when it comes to plans, but people tend to only get married once (at least, to each other), and friends and family are sort of expected to prioritize a wedding over, say, a backpacking trip.  Knowing I will have equal but different fun at either event is not helping me make a decision.

Whoops! Uh.... Hi!

You ever get that call? It goes something like this:

You: Hello?

Them: Oh! ... um.... HI! Hey!!!! How are ya???

You: Good! Great to hear from you, it's been a while!

Them: Yeah, heh... actually I called you by accident... I meant to call You Smith... hah... weird how you have the same first name...

You: oh... ha... right. Well, catch you later.

I've been on both ends of this REALLY awkward situation. This morning my phone rang at 8:30am. Since I was at work (and actually doing work - yes, it does happen), I silenced my phone and let it go to voicemail. It was my Dad; weird for him to call since we had just talked on Sunday, but we had been in the process of making plans for a visit. Listening to my voicemail my dad starts out laughing, "Oh, good morning my Favorite Daughter (he likes to call me this since I'm his only daughter. That we know of.) I didn't really mean to call you, but... uh...Hope your day is going great!! Uh..... Bye!"

A one-sided awkward conversation. Who knew?

On the flip side, I used to do this to Seacoast ALL the time. Seacoast and Golden Girl share the same first name, hair color, and (un)lucky fate in having been my roommate at one time or another. I would make a call to (I thought) Golden Girl:

Me: Hey, can you pick up some milk on your way home?

Seacost: Uhh.... sure... not sure how I'm gonna get it from Portsmouth to Brooklyn, though.

Me: OH! Heyy...... uh, how ya doin? (etc.)

Luckily Seacoast had a great sense of humor about it (or she was really, REALLY kind). It was always nice to catch up with her, of course. It was kind of like both of us were getting that unexpected phone call from a distant friend. I always felt kinda guilty afterwards, though.

But Seacoast is a long time friend. What about when you make a call to someone you don't want to talk to? You know, those folks you keep in your phone so you know to ignore the call (not any of you, of course... all those other crazy bums). Like, you mean to call your Dentist, but you end up calling Dennis, the wicked annoying guy from your previous job who wouldn't stop hitting on you even though you were VERY clear that NOTHING would EVER happen. EVER. How does one handle that?

How would you handle that?

My Mostly Crappy Weekend with Dad - a Diatribe

I recently went to visit my Dad in PA. We see each other 2, maybe 3 times a year. I was looking forward to this visit: we had planned it in the summer so I knew I could get time off, and he was hosting a race event for his running club. Friday morning I packed my bags and Fred, ran the car through the carwash (someone was stabbed in my neighborhood and used my car as a blood recepticle. The police said he was a bad guy anyways, apologized, helped me take the crime tape off my car, and let me through the blockades. Ah, Manch.)

From the start my Dad was distracted by race details. I know what it's like to organize a big event, so I was there and ready to help. Having never worked on a race like this (crewing is for one person, working on the race is for all of them) I was a little nervous, but the other volunteers were nice and helpful. Registrations got screwed up, then I screwed things up more during our work around, then the computer system they were using to track runners got screwed up, the people taking the tags didn't do it right, and on and on. It wasn't *that* bad, but for the 4th or 5th time of doing this event, it was more issues than it should have been. Dad was running around trying to fix everything. After the race he was pretty disappointed.

Still, we had lunch at Stoudt's with some of the other volunteers. We reviewed some of the things that went wrong to learn from it, and had a pretty good time after that. I was glad the race was done so I could just hang with my Dad. Oh, except LoLo's daughter and grandson were stopping by this evening. Oh, ok. I mean, *I'm* visiting you, so it's a little weird, but she was a pretty cool girl and her son was cute and well-behaved, so it didn't turn out too badly.

Before she came over my Dad dropped an emotional bomb: "I'm toying with the idea of not coming to Christmas this year. It's starting to feel like an obligation." What? The ONE time of year that we have standing plans, and it feels too much like an obligation? I'm sure my indignation read plainly on my face because he started backpedaling and "explaining" etc. "It's not an obligation to visit you, just the family Christmas stuff." Ok, I know my Dad, and I get that. But still... "I still want to see you this winter, when else do you have time?" Um, I don't. I have time at Christmas because that's when you're there so I block it off all year. It's not easy for me to take time off of work when it's not school vacation. "I'll look at my calendar and send you a few dates, you can let me know." Yeah. Sure. Wow was I feeling shitty.

I *like* tradition. In a big family with separated parents, tradition helps you enjoy the holiday and not feel stressed or emotionally blackmailed. It's like, we agreed upon this arrangement, now we can just enjoy it. This year both my parents decided to fuck with my tradition, and it's felt like an attack. (Mom's story is mostly resolved, but that's another entry). I was not totally involved for the rest of the evening, which I felt a little bad about, but my Dad ended up wasted and falling asleep on the couch, so in the end I was hanging out with LoLo and her daughter.

We had planned on going on a hike the next day. It was sunny and warm and a perfect fall day. I decided to put the Emotional Bomb away for now - we only had one day left - and just enjoy my time with Dad. We had a good morning, and a great hike. We went to this lookout and saw bald eagles and red-tailed hawks. We did a little exploring around historic areas by the river. All in all, the kind of day I like to have with my Dad.

On our way home we go to his other favorite bar. We're among the first ones there - it's just 4pm. I order a beer, he gets a gimlet. And another. We get food and the bartender from Stoudt's comes in after his shift. Dad knows both bartenders *really* well. I decide to indulge and get a martini. Dad wouldn't let me drive us home anyways - he's pretty touchy about that. I'm starting to have a shitty time. Dad's not really talking to me, gimlets are being poured for him without even needing to ask. I'm not really talking to him. We head home, I'm pretty drunk, he might be too for all I know. Sound like a pattern? Sound like the apple doesn't fall far? Yeah....

We're sitting around talking. He asks me about My Runner - we've talked about him several times, but this time Dad asks with that same look my mom gets: "I'm worried you started this relationship so soon after the Boy." I give him the same response I give my mom and everyone else: we worried about that too. Now, it's our own relationship. The Boy and I were done a long time before we broke up.

This is when Dad kinda sorta accuses me of cheating. "It's almost like you had him waiting in the wings." I blink. Seriously? I didn't even know My Runner when the Boy and I broke up. He backs down on that argument and we start talking about the Boy - relationship autopsy stuff. "Well, I always thought he was cheating on you." Again, with the blinking. What? "Well, his behavior, always going to his 'sister's' house, you know." No, this would be the first time I would consider that.... "Plus he accused you of cheating when you broke up. Transference." Hmm, let's think about where the transference might be coming from in this scenario.... Still, why didn't you say something? "Well, I didn't want to stick my nose in your business." YOU'RE MY FUCKING FATHER, THAT'S YOUR JOB!! Especially if you think I'm in a bad relationship! You thought the Boy had a drinking problem, you didn't mention that until things were almost over either. Don't you care that I spent 4 years with an a-hole and you never said anything? It might not have changed the outcome, but then again, it might have. And at least I would have known you cared enough to try.

This is about when I stop remembering things. I went to the car to charge my phone and called Face. Basically ranted this entire post to her. I'm sure she was loving and commiserating and very comforting. I don't really remember, but I know her and that's what she would have done. I called My Runner - luckily he didn't answer since I have NO idea what I would have said. I woke up at 2am on the couch, thoughts of all the crap Dad had said swirling around my brain. A shower, water, and some Advil and I was back asleep and SO ready to leave town in the morning.

Dad made raspberry pancakes for breakfast. I had already packed everything up and was ready to go. We went over directions. I apologized for passing out - I remember how I felt when he did it and to turn around and do it to him... well, who knows if he even cared. I loaded the car, herded Fred into his cage, and said goodbye to Dad. "Next time maybe you can stay for more than 2 days, huh?" I guess by now I should have expected the emotional blackmail. I just laughed - what else could I do? I was so not interested in thinking about a next time right now. I just wanted to go home.

My relationship with Dad hasn't always been good. I remember him sitting me down after attending a 4th of July parade in NJ when my parents were separating, trying to convince me that I should tell the judge I want to live with him. I was 8. After a short engagement, he eloped with his second wife while I was in high school. The original plans were for a small wedding, and Brother and I were one of 6 invitees. That made me feel so special - only to have it taken away with the news of their elopement... 3/4's of the way down a card. I didn't talk to him for years, if I could help it. Took me almost 4 years to tell him how bad it was. She turned out to be a douche and it was really hard to not say "I told you so" when they were getting divorced, but I didn't because that's not what people do when someone you love is hurting. It took a long time for us to build up to the relationship we had... Had. I don't know who this guy was that I visited, but if he's Dad now, I'm not happy with the place that he's in. He's my Dad, and I still love him, but I really don't like him right now.