Lessons - Rewritten Recap

REVISITED in an email to Joe:

At this point - my blog ended because some glitch in the system meant everything else went unsaved. Heartbroken - truly. 4. was referring to the gatorade I drank because I got nervous about the heat. My stomach ended up in a knot by mile 16. I should have trusted that I would be fine but I didn't - I got nervous - and I drank gatorade much earlier on than I normally would have.

5. was generally about how I am so much stronger than I thought that I was. Because I never gave up. I never got down on myself. I never gave in to the inner demons that can end a race. Around mile 5 I ended up meeting someone who was aiming for 6:50s so I ran with him for the next 14 miles or so. The bottom of my foot began to hurt at mile 11 and running over the metal grates added insult to injury. By mile 16 I begged my impromptu running partner to leave me because I felt like I needed to regroup and slow down a bit. Right about then I should have been taking my gel. He refused to leave me and told me we were running this thing together. I was pulled along for the next three miles until at mile 19, I decided to take the race into my own hands. I slowed down to 7 minute pace for the next two miles or so. By the aid station at mile 21 my legs had cramped so hard that I was barely holding decent running form and I realized that I absolutely needed to walk. I didn't give up. I acknowledged the mistakes I had made early on and took the necessary steps to get to the end of the race. Those steps were walking steps. I walked through the aid station at mile 21. Head up - still in it. When the long tables of water and gatorade ended, I started running again. Shuffling at first. And then running.
The next aid station I saw was like an oasis in my muscular breakdown of hell. I walked through this one as well. At this point, I was not allowing myself to walk unless I was at an aid station where I could at least be drinking or hosed down by water. In the midst of mile 23, I abandoned this policy as my running deteriorated to fits and starts. I watched a guy tear past me only to be on the ground begging for water less than 200 meters down the road. I walked around him while people rushed to get him aid and told him good job. And then I started running again. I began to dread the very thought of moving my legs... I wanted the race to be over so badly. Whenever I looked up at a mile marker, my heart sank lower and lower. For the first time in my life, I looked at three miles to go and thought that was an eternity of pain stretched out before me. I watched with detached remorse as the 3 hour pace group passed me at 23. I knew that goal was over. I didn't cry. I didn't lose it. I went over and over the only mantra that managed to stick in my head: You are doing the best you can. This is the best you can. This is all you have.
And then a miracle of bad mathematics and delirium occurred. I came upon the clock beginning mile 25 and my mind registered that 2 miles at 8 minute pace would put me at a PR.* Hope renewed. My heart skipped two beats and I threw everything aside. I took the cold wet towel from a volunteer that I had wrapped around my neck and threw it to the ground. I can still hear it make contact with the pavement. I started running again. And I wasn't stopping until the finish. The next two miles were pain like I had never imagined but they faded into a blur as I ran past the screaming crowds and powered up the final hill to the finish. People were dropping - literally dropping - but I was eerily in my comfort zone for those last 600 meters. I welcomed that hill with open arms and burning legs. I coasted under the finishing clock and barely looked at the time. I figured I had PRed based on the time on my not-so-helpful watch but I had forgotten to hit stop when I crossed the mat. All I cared about was I was finished. I was done. I had just run the fastest marathon of my life.



*I ran around 7:20 and 6:50 for the last two miles. If I had run two 8 minute miles, I would have been far over my PR. Thank you second grade math skills for failing me - you deceived me and gave me hope.

Lessons

I have not run the Chicago Marathon once. I have run it about a hundred times. You read that right. 1-0-0 times in my head. Over and over and over again. It is time to put the miles to rest and move forward. Perpetually move forward...

If I have to sum up my experience, it was a gift of several lessons to be learned. I now have a lot more knowledge both about myself and the marathon to take with me for next time. I am thankful I had this opportunity to run and to be humbled and to realize my body's limits and needs.

Some of these lessons are mundane but they should be listed now as I am fresh off the pavement and the pain is still in my mind and muscles.

1. Pop-tarts are no longer a sufficient pre-race food. It is time to grow up, let go of superstition, and embrace the nutritional advice that surrounds me day-in, day-out. Sugar + carbs = good. 0 grams of protein before a marathon = negligent. Yes! Negligent - my body can't care for itself and relies on me to make good choices. I failed to provide it with the fuel it would need from the very start.
2. Technology can only take me so far, always have a back up plan for when something goes wrong. So I have a fancy little gadget that tells me my total distance and calculates my pace so that I can turn my brain off. Well, when said fancy little gadget malfunctions, I need to be able to turn my brain back ON. That means, when I look at the gun clock at the mile markers, SUBTRACT time for chip time. Don't add. And have at least a vague clue of what the time should be.
3. Calories are important. I am not a machine. I am not able to just muscle through it or get to the finish by sheer willpower and hard work. I trained with gels for a reason. At mile 16 I decided that I didn't want the gel. I don't know if I was delirious, lazy, or my stomach was too knotted to get it down. But I ignored my better thinking that said to take it anyway. From now on, take it anyway! I don't care if it appears to be the most disgusting thing imaginable, EAT.
4. Never disobey the first rule of racing. Never ever ever try something new on race day.

My heart just broke - I wrote a long beautiful recap last week and it was ALL lost except for these first few points. Seriously I think my heart just hit my feet on the ground because it is no longer fresh and I cannot recreate my thoughts and I spent so long on it. When I feel up to it again I will rewrite what I can. As for now... I'm going to try not to be so angry. I don't think I have felt this way since I lost part of a term paper in college. This is actually more frustrating and upsetting because it is personal and it is not a discussion about gender theory and methodologies.

dot/not feather.

Back on the trail and back on our feet in the kitchen. The boy and I have been adjusting to his work schedule, plans for moving, and ramping up of training. This weekend we had a lot on our plates, both literally and figuratively.

On Saturday we determined we needed to be out the door by 8:40 am to be in time for a very important brunch date we had at the Flying Biscuit later. I came to this time with this logic:

11:00 am brunch - 20 min for travel time - 20 min for shower and get ready to roll - 10 min travel time - 1 hour 20 min run - 10 min travel time. I actually articulated this timeline before we went to sleep and I set my alarm for 8:30. Somehow, even with my ridiculously meticulous timing, we were still 7 minutes late for brunch.

First of all. To begin with. Just to start out. Let me tell you - running at 8:40 am on a warm and muggy Saturday in August is pretty stupid. I don't care what the weatherliar says. Forget what the app on your phone says. Ignore the temperature guage on your dashboard... they all lie. It may look like 88 degrees but they are not counting the thick layer of sweat and yuck you will quickly accumulate - adding a layer of insulation that makes 88 degrees feel like a steam room so thick with humid air that breathing is a legit struggle.

But... extra minutes of sleep have been few and far between lately so we made the conscious decision to be stupid and run at 8:40 am. Besides its obvious discomfort... the run was actually not too bad. I felt myself picking it up almost subconsciously around 5.5 miles when I made the turnaround and once I realized what I was doing... it was too late. I was pushing it. I was seeing just how much I could take. How much harder can my feet fall? How efficient can I get this stride? How fast can I get to that next mile marker? By the time I had two miles to go I was playing mind games. I told myself that whatever pace I was running, it was surely slower than my marathon pace so I better get used to it. In reality, I was probably running a good 20 seconds under marathon pace and should have told my unrealistic self to shove it... but instead I convinced myself that I needed to prove I could go this hard for the next two miles or ELSE. Or else I would never be able to do 26.2 at a similar foxtrot.

The things we tell ourselves.

This is what separates runners. There are those who go out and love it. There are others that roll themselves out of the house and prepare themselves to hate it. Then there are still others who absolutely love to hate it. I find myself drifting around in these categories that are much more like a spectrum than little boxes.

So we ran. And we sweat. And we burned some calories... so we were more than ready for our brunch date with friends. I ordered the sausage gravy and eggs... a delectable morning feast of scrambled eggs on a fluffy biscuit smothered with a southern favorite: sausage gravy. The boy got his usual black bean cakes with eggs covered with tomatilla salsa and chunks of feta. He ogled my biscuits. I ogled his cakes. We did what we do best... we shared.

And then we made our way to Charlotte's First Ward to sign our lease on the condo that will so soon be home. To celebrate, we had planned an indian dinner for two at his place.

There is something about indian grocery stores that makes my heart just go all a-pit-a-patter. We walked into a little grocery on Independence and I was in heaven. Strolling up and down the aisles I couldn't stop exclaiming over every little package of some favorite from my study abroad in India. Par exemple... the little green roll of Parle G cookies that we dunked in masala chai at least three times a day. Multiple times I found myself saying, "Ahh yes... this is why I achieved the rare feat of actually gaining 12 pounds while I was in India." Pointing to a particular kind of spicy snacks, I shrieked like the little girl I really am inside. Shoooooooooot that was good stuff!

And so we picked up some frozen spinach, paneer, frozen paratha dough, and naan for my mama (it was 99 cents - take that Trader Joes!). Oh yea, and I threw a package of Murukula snacks in the basket too... and when the boy ate his first bite, his eyebrows went up and I knew it wasn't just me.

We brought home our bounty and got to work prepping our meal immediately. We washed the Moong daal lentils my sister gave me and covered them with water. Chopped up garlic, ginger, onions, tomatoes and chilies from the garden... added the garam masala, turmeric, coriander, and cumin spice mix and threw this all in with the lentils to boil and then simmer for about an hour and a half.

Meanwhile... the boy was busy with his gobi palak paneer dish. He cut the paneer into chunks and dusted it and the cauliflower with indian curry spice before roasting it in the oven. Then he was messing around with the spinach and the blender (I was distractedly chopping away at onion, garlic, ginger, and chilies for him). I sauteed the onion, garlic, ginger, chilies, and tomatoes in sunflower oil for a good hot minute before adding the spinach. When the mixture was close to finished, we added 2 tablespoons or so of plain yogurt, the paneer, and the cauliflower.

The boy pan-fried the frozen paratha dough and we both happily watched it become puffy and flaky just the way it should be!

Last, but certainly not least, we pulled the half rack of lamb that the boy covered in fresh herbs out of the oven. The meat was a little rare but tasted amazing. I cannot imagine a more perfect texture.

When we sat down to eat the daal, gobi palak paneer, paratha, and half rack of lamb... it was 9:30 at night and we were drooling at the sights and smells of the kitchen. We dutifully tucked in our napkins... and dug in.

Sunday morning's 2 hour run at Anne Springs was a whole different story. Late night indian + early morning long run = plenty of carbs alright but a little heavy on the belly.

Meat and Potatoes - done UP.

Let me start with: my feet hurt.

Due to a combination of the two things this is all about: running and food.

I spent Saturday morning running the roots, the rocks, the rambling road of Beatty mountainbike park with some friends. I was supposed to do my long run Sunday but opted to switch it up and do my 15 at Beatty what with the fabulous company, good weather, and zero time deadlines to meet. Got a chance to try out a new means of getting quick calories while running: Stinger products. Amazing... not only did I have enough energy to make it through the end of my run (thanks to Caitlin giving me some of the good stuff) but I was hyper for the next few hours. I was going going going energizer bunny style for quite some time thanks to the honeyed goodness. The chews come highly recommended.

Sunday morning we were up early again (but thankfully not before 7 am for the first time in quite a while) so the boy and I could pound out a 9 miler before our day really got going. The first 4.5 were that weird, I-know-I-should-feel-better-than-this feeling but once we hit the turnaround... it was smooth sailing. Got a nice rhythm and a nice pace going back to the car.

And then the day hit.

Grabbed a Power Shower (meaning, no frills shower time) split a zone bar and hit the road for The Village Church with Scott Waters. After an insightful hour that I enjoyed immensely... we made it to one of our favorite spots in Charlotte: Cafe Monte to split a badass omelette and some brioche french toast. The french toast with berry compote was perfect - no sticky syrupy mess... just pure good crusty bread powdered and drizzled with pureed blackberries, raspberries, etc.

We then decided to go to Crate and Barrel for kicks and came to the conclusion that we need everything. Ok ok... not everything! The chef thought poached egg "pods" were frivolous and was skeptical of their real benefit or effectiveness in the kitchen. However, the furniture section slayed us. Sigh. Someday.

Hit up the Taj MaTeeter and began a meatloaf madness afternoon. Shopping with the boy is always a good time, I usually learn something new and leave feeling like I have accomplished something. Must be some ancient throwback to the days of hunter-gatherers.

We then descended on the kitchen and got going for the remainder of the day. I set to work making dough for the savory tarts we were preparing as a side dish and the boy handled the weekly hardboiled eggs for our breakfasts and chicken with leftover tagine sauce with vegetable rice for our lunches.

I proceeded to throw a fit when my dough turned out completely different than expected and tried to listen when told a dough that is meant to be rolled out SHOULD differ from a pat-in-the-pan dough. But I was having none of this. I was blaming myself for the end of the dinosaurs and everything that has gone wrong in the world since, up to and including this dough disaster.

For the record... the tart dough was perfect and made for a lighter crust for our savory tarts to be filled and eaten later in the evening.

The boy busied himself with the main course next. He chopped carrots (beautifully), onions, green bell peppers, and celery and mixed (or should I say, mushed) that with the lean ground turkey and lean ground veal. He threw in a handful of the freshly dried red peppers I brought him back from Arizona last week before adding a healthy dosage of ketchup, mustard, and worcestershire sauce. The meatloaf mixture was thrown on a silpat covered baking sheet and was ready for the oven.

Meannnnnwhile... shallots and mushrooms were combining in an aromatic free-for-all with some beef stock in a saucepan for the makings of some gravy.

We had been waiting for another sweet potato to be dropped off after we had come home only to find two moldy root vegetables slowly disintegrating in the cabinet. Yuck.

First I got a phone call, "Hey, Skip said Jeff asked for two sweet potatoes but this one was really big so he just bought one."

So arrived our sweet potato.

It was oblong-shaped.

And a little twisted.

And white.

I am not a vegetable-racist but I know that sweet potatoes are supposed to be orange. I had begun peeling the potato and promptly stopped. Unsure of what to do... it was too late for us to go out to the store and get another one. So the boy took one look at it and said, it will just have to do - whatever it is, we're using it.

As it turns out, there is such thing as a white sweet potato and it worked just fine. I chopped the one sweet potato we had and it's awkwardly white counterpart and sent the chunks to be prepped for roasting in the oven. Once they were softened up we mashed them in a large pan, shredded some gruyere over them, added s+p and fresh rosemary from the garden, and mixed in a very little amount of heavy cream. Once this mixture tasted to our liking, we mounded it into the tarts and topped it with a layer of shredded gruyere to hit the oven once more.

Finally... after a few hours... the meal came together beautifully. The tarts were gorgeous and a big hit with everyone around the table and the meatloaf didn't stand a chance of not getting eaten. A crusty 8-grain bread was toasted and soaked up the mushroom gravy in the way only a crusty 8-grain bread could.

Oh... and there was no dessert. BUT there was an appetizer.

Boy's mom brought pate from Dean and Deluca. I had never eaten it before and found it scrumptious. I was then told it was liver mousse. And I didn't care one bit.

Calories in. Calories right back out.

I'm sitting at work scarfing down an energy bar and trying to stave off the shakes. I already ate my hard-boiled eggs and cucumber concoction that has everyone in the office looking at me funny. My heart still feels like it's hurling itself full-force at my ribcage. It is now official. The results are in.

This Morning's Fartlek: 1
Mo: 0

Let me preface this. Last night I did a little strength training before meeting my parents for dinner. Might have stressed the hamstring a little bit (it's kind of high strung - pardon the pun). We went to ilios noche for dinner which is a fabulous little greek restaurant in the South Charlotte area. It has a nice uptown feel until you're sitting outside on the patio and you feel like you should signal before raising your fork. You are quite literally in the parking lot. But this is not where my complaints lie. The dinner gets 5 stars from me - the food was fabulous and the service was top notch. We had a taste of all spreads which included hummus, tzakiki, etc. We started to run low on pita slices and still had quite a lot of spread when our server brought us an extra helping of pita. This is the first time I have been to a restaurant and they anticipated this common problem with spread-style apps. He dropped it off and said, "They never give you enough in the first place." I ordered a salad with macerated figs (thankfully this doesn't mean pre-chewed), fennel, red grapes, goat cheese and grilled chicken with some champagne vinaigrette on the side. Good gracious it was perfect. Especially after my lunchtime rampage on the leftover Ben and Jerry's I had in the freezer. What? I got distracted in conversation and suddenly it was... well... not gone... there are about 3 spoonfuls left. And yes, I did put three spoonfuls of ice cream back in the freezer.

I've gotten off topic.

So the food and service were both fabulous. My issue is the wrought-iron patio furniture. Did the manufacturer of these killer chairs give restaurants of all kinds a discount or something? From the cheap mexican place down the street to a nice thai restaurant in Asheville... my hamstring is in protest over this sorry excuse for patio furniture that appears to be universal. Last night's seating was no different and as soon as the check hit the table, I was up and out of there. Kind of sad because I love lounging around and chatting after dinner. Wait a minute... maybe it is just a ploy to turn tables over faster? I have got it! I've solved the mystery!

I crawled into bed last night with the thought in my head that I could forego the workout and just run in the morning if need be because the sitting at dinner had fired up my hamstring. But this was not to be. I told my running partners what I was thinking when we were lacing up our shoes and all it took was the tiniest bit of resistance and I was all in. Just like when I know they're going to be there... I'll get up at 5 am and meet them at the park instead of hitting the snooze. Jinnie helped me to make the workout happen instead of unnecessarily postponing it.

We did a 4 minute on, 2 minute off Fartlek. We were supposed to be ON 6-8 times. I opted for the 6 because I'm still being very careful with how much I load the hammy. After the first one I felt like we had gone a little quick but it wasn't too bad. After the second... I thought to myself, there is no way I can do 6 of these. But Stan dutifully told me the time was up and we were off again. My legs were burning and my arms felt like metal clubs swinging by my sides. When we slowed down to recover, my temples were pounding and my breath was racing. I barely caught my breath before we were off again. The second to last one was Stan's last so he pushed it extra hard and I just held on for dear life, ending up maybe 10 meters behind him. My last 4 minutes were an all-out fight between my legs and my mind and my lungs. I think everyone lost. Or won. Because when I finished and ran a half mile cooldown... I felt on top of the world. It's all coming back. Yea, Celine, it's all coming back to me now.

If only I could move my arms... that would be good. Must have something to do with that 20 X 50 yd swim workout I did at 5:30 am yesterday. Just now hitting me... moving the mouse and handing people appointment cards now appears very labor intensive.

At your feet.

It is utterly unacceptable that I have not posted anything of late. The running! The fooding! I mean... the eating!

Finally things have been returning to normal in the running world of mo or the mo world of running. Ran 10 miles on tough trails in the stifling humidity on Sunday. It was fabulous. As one client said to me, "The air is so thick, it's chewable." Yuck. But I don't even care. I'm running. And I don't even care that I'm breathing hard and my conversation is not up to par because I'm struggling to keep up with big dogs. I'm running. And that's about all that matters. (I tell those grammar-nazis who say you can't start a sentence with "and" or "but" to go check out journalistic style.)

I did a little tempo action over the weekend too but that was simply because I thought I was going to have a heatstroke so I figured... the faster you run, the faster you're done right? Riiiiiiight.

Cooked for the boy since we last met on the blogosphere. I can hardly say I cooked because he really helped with half of it but I did make the main dish. Decided I would make something that is dear to both of us: curry. I found an incredible recipe on the love-love-love-it lovely Foodgawker.com for Dhaniya Anda Curry. This was a flavorful melange of mustard seed, turmeric, cumin, garlic garlic garlic, fresh ginger, shallots, tomatoes, cilantro, garam masala (etc) and eggs. Yep. Eggs! Hard-boiled eggs for protein, halved and mixed in. The flavors all just popped. It was a little overwhelming to be quite honest.

I also made a little green bean side with a twist. It was a twist on a Madhur Jaffrey recipe that I found on Foodgawker.com as well. Green beans and fennel and tomatoes... more fresh ginger. Needless to say, no digestion problems with this meal due to the massive amounts of the root of tummygoodness.

Boy was given the task of making Gobi Manchurian. This little indo-chinese treat is something I absolutely fell in love with while I was in India. And when I say "fell" in love - I mean, I fell and hit my head so hard I was seeing stars after my first bite. I remember sitting in this little restaurant in Rajasthan and having my world rocked. When we got to Chennai, our cooks at the college asked what special requests we had. The first thing we all said was, "Gobi 65!"

Think Cauliflower. Now fry that. Now dress it up in sarachi hotness and ginger sweetness and garlicly goodness. Throw some green chilis in there. Mouthwatering yet?

It was good. We also made some jasmine rice and the boy made naan he wasn't excited about. Hello, we don't have one of those badass tandoori ovens. Of course it's not going to be perfect. But he's got standards. And that's a good thing.

Dessert was completely unnecessary and didn't happen which was fine since I don't think we could have fit one single grain of rice more into my stomach.

There has been so much more that has been good and bad and ugly but I have been extraordinarily busy with some exciting changes moving around (or) percolating in my life right now. So I will back as soon as I am able to dish it out to you all over again...

Aquatics

Today was a big day. That's right. BIG.

I arrived at the Harris YMCA pool at 5:45 am, towel and goggles in tow. My swimming partner invariably beats me to the pool so I was a little thrown off when I realized none of the swim-capped heads were hers. So I sat down on the bench and waited. I watched lanes open and close. I watched people effortlessly moving through the water. My stomach started to knot as I watched the clock and worried about all the unknowns.

How flipping cold is that water going to be?

Do I even remember how to do anything other than breast stroke?

(Do I even know how to do breast stroke, really?)

Are my goggles going to leak and get water in my last pair of contacts rendering me nearly blind for the better part of a week until my new ones arrive?

Am I going to look like a complete ass?

I waited and pondered and squirmed for about 15 minutes. I resigned myself to the fact that my partner was not showing and went for it - into the pool with goggles smooshed into the soft circles under my eyes (this would be pretty later). First few laps I caved and did breast stroke. Finally, finally, finally - I just did it. I put my face in the water.

Let me repeat.

I put my face in the water!!! (worthy of exclamation points)

I swam for four laps breathing every four strokes and my lungs burned. I kinda liked it but I kinda felt like I might drown so I kinda decided to take a brief moment and observe the other swimmers. They were breathing every two strokes. Well sheesh. What was I thinking? So I went back and forth between two strokes and four strokes and got comfortable. Every 4-6 laps or so I stopped and did a little kickboard since I was barely kicking while swimming. By the end of the 45 minutes I was swimming without counting laps... I had learned a few very important things:

I am not going to drown

and

I can pace myself

and

No one's looking at me

so

who cares if I look like an ass?

F(r)un Times

Freedom Park.

Quick turns.

And an IT band on fire.

Yesterday I ran with the boy and two gentleman from my Blue Ridge Relay team. We met somewhere near East Boulevard and did some crazy loopage all over the area. This was the first time I had run after work in a long time and it was gor-geous. The sweat was just pouring off me but I wasn't in the mood for taking my shirt off so it was a rather sticky run with little ventilation. But I am not at all complaining because I like running in the warmth.

Ran 8 miles which was about 1.5 more than I technically should have but I felt good. Had STEM done on my leg earlier in the day and so my hamstring was not even a factor during the run. Iced the ITB and hammy even thought it wasn't really killing me but watching a movie is perfect time to ice.

Got a tasty bit of leftovers combined... tagine sauce a la chicken and rice with some black bean cakes from monday's dinner. 9:15 is officially too late to eat dinner. The only issue with running at night is your belly stays empty way too long. Well that's not the only issue, there is the whole problem of getting too tired or too stressed or too busy by the end of the day. That always sucks.

So I guess the lesson on that is: I am so thankful for my morning running partners. Where would I be without them?

Craving

Steak Quesadilla, Tortilla Soup, originally uploaded by draw4yrlif.

It is a cold, rainy Monday morning and I'm thinking this little blitz from my brother's blog looks beyond satisfying.

Highs 'n Lows

This hamstring injury has been a rocky road and it hasn't been a damn thing like ice cream.

Recap Revisited

To motivate myself a wee bit (and because I was messing with my Garmin) I went back through and updated my Athleticore log with splits from Thunder Road. As I write this I feel like that 30 something who is still trying to play beer pong with the boys and remain in his college football days. Except I'm a 20 something and this was relatively recent and I am still in it. Right?

Thought the running side of this blog could use it:

Running Competition
Date: 12/12/2009 7:50:00 AM
Competition: Charlotte Thunder Road Marathon(Road Race)
Event: Marathon @ 3:04:23.00 (7:02 / mi) Place: 1
Warmup/Cooldown: 0 mi
Shoes: Mizuno Precision 10 (10/31/2009)
Temperature: 31°F to 40°F
Conditions: Cloudy & Dry
Intensity: Hard
Overall Feeling: Excellent
Comments: Here goes!

_______________________

This race was so much fun! I was so thankful to Logan and Joe and everyone else who ran some of this with me!

Start was pretty pathetic - couldn't get to the line until more than a minute after the gun went off. This helped me run under control for the first mile, about 7:24. Next few miles were a little quicker and then I slowed myself down purposefully so I could save myself for later. Hung out with Alice for a few miles and talked some strategy for the race and about our goals, etc. Ran with the CRC guy who was running 52 that day for a while... definitely good conversation pace! Beautiful area at this point... I absolutely love the first half of this race. Saw Joe and Jinnie around 10 right before Logan joined me. From 12 on, Logan and Joe and I just rolled along laughing and having a good time. Felt good and gradually started picking it up but I was proud of myself for biding my time even though I knew there were women ahead of me. Took the lead around mile 20 after running with Amelia for about 3/4 mile when I got to hear that she kicked butt and PRed in the half. Running through NoDa was great with the "wall" that Logan and I slapped as we went through and Plaza Midwood was awesome with the drunken corner cheering me around the curve and downhill. It was at that point, around mile 24, that I really felt like I was racing this thing and it was time to finish up. Mile 25 came and went and then it was go time! Kent hopped in out of nowhere and it felt like old times as we kicked down the hill to Try Sports or flew over the boardwalks at McMullen. Last mile ended up being about 6:08 pace up that tough hill to the finish so I was proud of that! Overall, I had the most wonderful experience ever and cannot wait to do it again! But of course, I need to wait a while :)

splits:
7:24
6:58
6:52
7:19
7:31
7:14
7:13
7:17
7:05
7:07
7:04
7:12
7:14
7:06
6:57
7:07
7:05
6:55
6:46
6:48
6:49
6:40
6:35
6:30
6:20
6:08
6:07 pace - 2:58 for last .49

Total: 3:04:29
6:58 avg
2116 cal burned

Talk about all over the place!

Morning, Miles, and Norah Jones

Kinda interesting when "to failure" occurs on the first rep. Ouch. Did a little workout on my lunch break with our trainer here at the office and ended up in the fetal position of failure once or twice. I think I dropped a few four letter words as well but that's not a big surprise. (This is something I'm working on).

Got my run on this morning with my Thursday am running partner - starting things back up again. I was pretty pumped as we made our way down the sidewalk chattin' it up. Passed along the highlights of Norah Jones, discussed the Wilco CD he borrowed from me (and returned insulated in paper towel and little plastic baggie when he met me running this morning), and recapped his Twilight race and recent workouts. Felt pretty smooth during this run but was a little more tired than I'd like to be on a 5.5 mile run. Good news... I mapped my run when I got home and it turned out to be 6 - so there. Longest run since I've come back. No, I'm not going to stop counting those.

Speaking of Norah Jones. I have to make a comment. She sang a pretty wonderfully rockin' song about her dog being her only man of the hour and so on. Two things:

1) What kind of dog would the likes of Norah Jones have?
2) What man in his right mind would lie, cheat, or argue with the likes of Norah Jones?

Just thinkin'.

I've always wondered these things when listening to Ben Gibbard, Connor Oberst, and Chris Carrabba - who breaks hearts like these? But you know what? I'm kinda glad they did... because the music that evolves out of heartbreak and heartache and gut-wrenching tears on the pavement is the kind of music I get into. I let it float around in between my ears and I soak it up in my skin and I let it light my memories afire. This is the kind of music I get into. A few eggs cracked to make some omelets of musical genius. Keep 'em crackin loves. Keep 'em crackin.

Injury Schminjury

So I been doin' a little running lately. If all goes right I'm a gonna have a 25 mile week this week. This is much more palatable than the 10 mile week I had a couple weeks ago. Oh and infinitely more acceptable than the 0 mile week I had the week before that. I no longer feel so discouraged as my hamstring is still very tight but causes me much less pain than before and I am nearly pain free when sitting in vehicles, on my office ball, on couches, on wrought-iron patio furniture, on wicker chairs... well anywhere really that used to drive me crazy.

McMullen Creek Greenway was its usual pseudo-zoo on Monday morning. As my running partners and I briskly made our way down the boardwalk we encountered some interesting sounding wildlife. I say 'sounding' of course because we didn't get to lay eyes on the creature making our skin crawl. Not to mention the bullfrogs sounding off... you have to love little wilderness encounters at 5:30 am. Thomas and I started pushing ourselves a little bit on the way back. I think the nudge to pick up the pace stemmed from our chitchat of frustration at coming back from time off. We commiserated about how much more difficult pace X feels now when it used to just roll for miles.

I'm feeling about 85% better... one step at a time. I woke up today and felt like crap so I decided to cancel my run for the day. By lunchtime I was feeling equal parts better and lazy so I got 4 quick miles in on the lunch break. This was only a half mile less than I had planned for the day but hey - I'm in the business of takin' what I'm gettin'.

And that's all for now, miles and smiles folks.

Out of My Way Cow...

Venison burgers, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.

Pecan encrusted venison burger on sourdough.

Yeah, I know. Kind of ridiculous.

So, I had one of those busy days at work that are pretty fun but go go go all day long. On my lunch break I took some alone time and did something productive with it. Worked on making my upper body and core strong in order to come back from all this more prepared for hard training and less likely to suffer injury. That is the idea at least. After my workout my boss took me outside for a gait analysis. Lessons were learned: 1) shorten your stride and 2) stop squeezing your ass. Apparently I have an issue with relaxing... who knew?!

I would have loved to practice this but today was a day off so I rushed home to get in the pool. This was the first day I tried swimming in the pool in the backyard. It was hot hot hot on top and pretty chilly underneath but once I got used to it... I was in heaven. So much more interesting surroundings than an indoor pool! I did a little aqua jogging while checking out the rose bushes and smelling the smell of the fake green grass. The mind tends to wander when its idle and I wondered if they ever felt like making it more authentic by adding fake doggie poo. I'm going to go with a 'no, never' on that, but it was worth a wonder. I finished up with more breaststroke and called it a day after I did as much as I possibly could in 20 minutes. I figured 20 minutes of cardio for the day was better than 0 even though it was crazy. I left work at 6:00 with plans to get home, swim, shower, and get to dinner at the boy's by 7:00 so we could see a movie by 7:40. I pulled up to his house at 7:03 and we only missed a few previews. Not bad work.

Dinner was incredible and I wanted to eat it slowly, enjoying every mouthful. Butternut squash was diced and I'm going to go out on a limb and guess they were pan fried in a dusting of curry. Maybe they were baked because there was absolutely no hint of grease. Maybe I should ask next time so I don't have to come back through here and edit. *Update: They were roasted in the over. Or maybe he meant roasted in the oven and his big thumb hit the wrong button.* Anywho - those little cubes of orange perfection did it for me. Then there was the pecan encrusted venison burger on top of sourdough bread... topped with bacon and pickle. Mmmmyumm. The dish was rounded out with a coleslaw incorporating grapes and mangoes... a little sweetness. Even though we were in a hurry, I still took my time with my food. This was far too good to be rushed.

Penne Pasta and the Big Bed

I believe I ended my last post with how much I love Mondays. But let me just say... I love Tuesdays as well. Tuesdays are the nights I can bet on a wonderful meal and conversation with two people who mean more to me than I could ever put into words. My mom is always cooking and my dad is always looking to see what he can help with. He and I are both learning the balancing act of being helpful and being Captain Underfoot, though he has a good bit more experience than me. Guiltily watching my mom rushing around the kitchen, we ate fresh veggies with Raita Dip from Trader Joes that was surprisingly perfect with the cucumbers, grape tomatoes, broccoli, celery, and carrots. Mom made a whole wheat penne pasta dish with a tuscan twist - some white beans were baked in. Homemade lemon-pepper salad dressing over a very simple salad of romaine and heirloom tomatoes was a perfect light compliment to the heavier pasta.

We sat around and talked outside on the porch (amidst the wisteria) and I fought the conflicting urges to go get seconds and to stay put lazily in my chair. My stomach eventually won out and I helped myself to some more carbohydrates for all the runs I'm not running. (Shhhhhhh....)

We came inside to a mountain - and I mean a mountain - of dishes. We're talking K2 or Everest style, not Mt. McKinley. So Dad got going rinsing and I got going drying and our mouths got going chatting. So much of who I am and what I believe is based on the conversations I have had around or beside the dinner table. The kitchen holds the secret formula of what makes me Me. The mountain of dishes melted away as we addressed big and small issues alike. We talked about everything: from overcoming trauma; to forgiveness and family dinners; to the honor system and unspoken rules of decency and tradition at UVA.

Finally we got everything back in its place and then shared a silly moment. My parents just bought a brand new bed to replace the brass bed frame they have had for over 25 years. We all ooohed and aaahed over the size and sophistication of the new King of the house. Then we all sat around on it - sprawled out and everything, playing with the cats and chatting. We were quite comfortable and then I got ready to leave/roll out/peace/bounce.

I kissed my mom goodnight on the cheek as she tucked herself into bed and I laughed. When I was younger and lived at home, I would kiss her goodnight every single night. I don't know when I stopped doing it. It might have been sophomore or junior year in high school. But I did stop. And then I moved away to college and when I was home I was usually out late and the opportunity and thought to kiss her goodnight had faded away. Over the past two years I have been home more regularly (sometimes even routinely) and have started saying goodnight again. The closeness we have always shared is there in that last moment before she calls it a day. She is my mother - but she is my friend. And I laughed because it was so easy and pure. It was so natural - it was like muscle memory on an emotional scale.

Trio of Yum

2010-05-03 18.43.13.jpg, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.

I was treated to a trio of yum last night. After a very little cooking weekend due to traveling, I think the boy was in a mood: eggplant parmesan, lamb ragout, and scallops. Funny thing is... this is not an unusual thing for me to find on my plate. I'm beginning to worry that I'm being spoiled by the fabulous food I encounter nearly every day. The first bite of scallop took me off guard with the richness of the mingling apple and bacon flavors. The eggplant parmesan had a layer of butternut squash puree in the middle which made for tasty texture and the lamb ragout was served with homemade fettucini. The dish was a combination of things that needed to be used up in the refrigerator... talk about a ridiculously good use of leftovers.

I was so hungry on the way home after missing my afternoon snack that I was shaking. When I walked in the kitchen I found the boy hard at work. Whenever he's in the zone there is a purposeful quickness and rigidity in his movements. Tongs in/tongs out. The snap of tongs on the edge of the pan. These are good, good sounds. The oven opens and another surprise arrives. These are good, good nights when the mundane task of eating for nourishment is turned upside down to make it an event all in its own right. And then there was book club... I do so love my Mondays.

Muggy and Buggy

5:10 am: Alarm off.

5:11 am: Mo off.

I was so excited to get going this morning that I hopped right up and put on my running clothes (dutifully laid out on the bureau beside the bed). Took a while actually getting out of the house because my eyes were all groggy and my body is not used to the 5 am business anymore so I struggled a bit... think I might've run into a doorway but that would not be at all unusual behavior for me.

Met up with my running partners at the Greenway. I haven't run with them very often lately (thanks hammy!) but we used to have a really great routine going in the mornings even when it was in the teens and we were wearing huge, baggy hoodies over Mizuno Breath Thermo shirts. Yuck. Anywho. Husband and wife duo who drive separately because one leaves to go straight to work. She was there about 5 minutes late which was no worry since we weren't going very far. No sign of her hubby.

"He has a million pairs of running shorts and I just did laundry on Monday but apparently he couldn't find any. So he said he would come if he found any shorts."

We stood there and stretched a little bit waiting for him. He showed up within a few minutes and we ran down to meet him at the beginning of the trail... he was wearing bright yellow shorts with a much longer inseam than I am accustomed to seeing him in. I would venture a guess they were swimming shorts but... I could be wrong.

It was a pretty funny start to the morning. I didn't mind a little laughter as they chided each other back and forth before finally settling into, "Ahhhh but I love yous" and we got in our rhythm of running into the darkness. They had just returned from a 13 mile fun run at the Turkey Pen (no joke) with some crazy folks with WNC Trail Runners. I looked it up and was a little jealous... they all got in a local swimming hole afterwards and everything - SHOOT - watering holes? That's what I'm talking about after a 13 mile hot n' sweaty run in the sun!

No hamstring pain for the 4 miles we ran together this morning... grabbed an iced chai afterwards. This was probably a bad choice of post-run nourishment. An hour later I was still jacked. Whoo-eee.

Can't wait for Wednesday when I can do this all over again!! Might get to hit the trails at Reedy Creek Park this weekend... getting pumped.

Work(space)

Sometimes I really, really love the people that come into our office. One of our clients informed me a bit back that he used to be a big runner. I believed him, of course. But it wasn't until he brought in an old news article and started chatting with me about marathons and his old school tiger racing flats that I realized he was definitely not kidding.

Sidenote:

There is a distinct problem with being open with everyone and telling them about how much I love running and how great running is and running running runningrunningrunningrninunnging.

Basically, it's pretty obvious what I think about all day long. And some clients appreciate that and tend to ask me how my training is and when my next race is and so on. Unfortunately, my little injury has made these questions seem more like mental/emotional torture than anything else.

So, back to my story, this client comes in and asks if I'm back to running yet. Yea yea, a little here and there.

"Well, you know, you need to get back in shape fast so you better start cranking out those miles... you know what? You should just go out there and do quarters. Or better yet, hill repeats - no one ever gets hurt going UP a hill." - Sarcasm rocks.

For some reason, this struck me as hilarious. And a little humor goes a long way for me sometimes. Today was the first day I felt significant improvement with my hamstring and I've been looking forward to trying out a short 4.5 mile jaunt all day long. The minute I walk out this door today, I am driving to the gravel entrance of the greenway and I'm going to relive what its like to be a runner. Because really... once a runner, always a runner. It is a mindset loves.

Fevrier

Back in February my running was at what I might call a peak. I felt on top of it during every single run. I wanted to go after it and push myself to the very limits of my being every time I stepped out the door. I was IN it. I just resurrected something I jotted down after a solo post-work run. A tangible reminder of what it all feels like.

02/19/2010

racing daylight
my legs are burning
trying to keep up with my lungs
my breath is racing my blood
coursing through my veins
leaving my brain
flowing faster to the muscles that need
so desperately
need it
and the oxygen is not free flowing
its cutting out
falling out
faking me out
and i am just living up to expectations
and running with the darkness
feet pitter patter
spit splatter
and there i am basking in the
afterglow
and streetlights throw shadows
bathing me in sweat and beams of light
ive pushed to my limit
and ive been in my own head for the last 6 miles
and i havent thought about anything
or everything
or this or that
ive thought about racing daylight
and feeling infinite.


Working my way to getting back there. Spent a half an hour in the pool on my lunch break today and did a LOT of breast stroke. I was going to say "stroking of the breast" but that just sounded way wrong. Well, oops, I guess I said it anyway. Did some boarding of the kick too and that actually felt really good - like I was stretching out some tight muscles. All I need to do is learn how to sit without being in pain. That would be fab.u.lous.

Reaping the benefits.

Finished Product - Fig Tart with Vanilla, Orange, Anise Ice Cream, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.

Late Saturday afternoon we finished up the ice cream in the kitchen aid attachment and called it a day around 6:30 so we could go check out a newish local restaurant, Fran's Filling Station.

Fran's was fabulous. The fried pickles were the best I've had since the spears I had in Charleston. Fran must understand that to be fried pickles there must be PICKLE and not just a mass of fried batter. Yeah, we like the fried stuff but I want more pickle with my fry. The boy had meatloaf, his friend had ooey gooey meatballs, and I had mussels. The ooey gooeyness is written on the menu, I'm not just making it up. And dannnnnng I think he had the winning dish! They were served in this incredible bowl of sloppy, saucy yum. My mussels were the meatiest I have ever encountered - served in a mild red curry sauce. Could have used more kick but I'm not complaining. Just sayin'.

After gorging ourselves at Fran's, the delicacy we had worked on all day just wasn't calling to me in the same way. So we made the tough decision to wait and serve the dessert on Sunday - this proved to be a spoon-lickin' good decision.

Sunday night dinner in Hoffland again. This time, there was quite a bit of sausage leftover that needed to be used. Originally, the boy thought we should make brunch for our friends but this was a complicated ordeal so I suggested he serve Breakfast for Dinner. Turned out to be a good idea because the Biscuits n' Gravy this jersey boy cooked up could put a southern momma to shame. Wish I knew exactly what he put in the gravy but I do know it started with a roux and I was honored to throw in the flour as he whisked away. Next I did the super tough, arduous task of opening the Pillsbury tin of biscuits and laid them out evenly on a baking sheet *wipes sweat from brow, phew.* Boy was busy all day, no time for makin' biscuits and apparently these are the best anyway. Meanwhile, an egg casserole with zucchini, red peppers, mushrooms, cheddar, and caramelized onions was getting going in the oven. *Update: Apparently the 'cheddar' that I thought was in the egg casserole was shaved sweet potato. I was corrected, "Not cheddar, that's not how I roll." * The sausage was mixed in with the gravy and carefully poured over the browned biscuits. The egg casserole with artichoke mousse on top sat on the side - lookin' pretty.

When served, no one could get over how good it was. Ten people around the table just entranced in the goodness that comes with home cooking. As everyone finished (some with their second portions), I was saved from seconds because I had work to do.

The tarts had been baked the day before and were ready for filling. We had read in the Joy of Cooking that coating a tart with egg white, melted butter, or a light dusting of flour would keep a juicy filling from making the crust soggy. So... I went to work painting the tarts. From the fridge we gathered the pastry cream and fig mixture. On Saturday we bought dried california figs because no fresh figs were available at this time of year 'round here. We pureed a portion of them in the food processor with a little bit of fig jelly that the boy had on hand and added a teensy bit of light cream. We chopped another portion of the figs and mixed this in with the puree to add to the texture. I took a mound of this mixture and placed it in the center of the tart before the boy filled the rest of the tart with the pastry cream. After consulting the Food Bible we sprinkled on top a spice mix of cinnamon, sugar, and fresh ground nutmeg (got to use my weapon of choice in the kitchen, the zester, again). We popped this all in the oven for a brief spot of time and then took it out to be plated. The ice cream we had finished and frozen all night was scooped on the side of the plate with fresh, homemade whipped cream. Looked great and tasted even better.

Revisions: use fresh figs (of course!) and less orange zest/ more anise seeds in our ice cream. Loved it though - what a fun feeling to serve the tarts to everyone at the table. The ten of us shared the four tarts and it was puh-lenty.

Don't you call me a tartlette...

Tarts ready for baking!, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.

We bought four 5in tart pans for the day's project with full knowledge this meant more tarts in our future. As we started to press the dough in the pans we thought for sure we would have some left over but as we neared the end we realized that we might actually be running a little low. Our last tart was a bit thinner than the others but after baking, it turned out to be the best one. More room for pastry cream and figs!

Making the ice cream and pastry cream left us with a good number of egg whites just hangin around. (Can you picture egg whites 'hangin around'? Yuck.) So we attempted to make meringue kisses. These were a colossal failure. After I sampled about 5 of them to rule them out as at all edible... we surrendered to the confectionary gods and tossed 'em. You know, if the sugar sticks to your teeth so hard that your mouth is cemented shut... this is not a good thing.

Saturday Sweetness

Ice Cream in the making!, originally uploaded by mo mckinley.

This past weekend was a "no plans" weekend. Well... better put, a "no plans" Saturday as we already had made Friday and Sunday plans.

8:45 am. Eyes open. Wake up.

9:00 am. Phone call - showing at the house in half an hour.

9:01 am. Go time.

Got everything cleaned up and squared away before heading to the boy's for breakfast. Green eggs and green juice - perhaps we were celebrating Earth Day early. I'd never seen a juicer in juicing and I was impressed to say the least. Spinach, a mango, an apple, and orange went into the juicer and what came out was ohsogreen goooooooooodness. The fresh pesto mixed with the eggs made for variety in palate if not palette.

And then a rare moment of stillness struck us. Sitting at the kitchen table, forks to empty plates, we looked at each other. What next? Chess was one consideration but I wondered if 9:45 on a Saturday morning was too early for thinking that hard. So I suggested we take on a little baking challenge.

Maybe I need to qualify that. I say "challenge" because for me, any kind of baking is something nifty and new. Yea, that's right, I used the word nifty. But for Jeff the world "challenge" is not as fitting - he's got this stuff down pat - pat as in pat-in-the-pan.

We ended up making a bit of a throwback to our dessert at Oliveto in Berkeley, CA. After a little trip to Sur la Table, the Teeter, and Fresh Market - we were ready to go. First we started the ice cream.

We followed the basic vanilla ice cream directions in Alice Waters' The Art of Simple Food and then added toasted anise seeds and orange zest. While the mixture chilled thoroughly in the fridge we read up on making pastry cream and crust for our tarts (or tarts for our tarts?).

Three Miles/Three Donuts (Calories Out/Calories In?)

On Tuesday, I was cleared to run three miles the next day. Laying in bed that night I tossed and turned like it was a third job. I thought to myself, "It's like I'm waiting for Christmas morning." When the alarm jarred me awake I did not quite hop out of bed but I made it to my feet and got dressed. Running shorts, sports bra, super-bright tshirt for protection from cars. I unwrapped my shiny new shoes from their packaging and jump-started my fresh start. Well, I'm not quite sure "jump-start" is the correct terminology as I ambled down the road at a brisk walk to get things movin' and groovin'.

We started on a downhill. When my legs started moving it was like a rush of relief flooding my body - the frustration of the past week shedding itself little by little. I was on high-alert, hyper-aware of every ache and pain as we moved silently in the dark. The morning seemed strangely quiet, my voice bouncing lightly off the asphalt. I concentrated on each step and tried to apply everything I have learned about proper form and mid-foot striking and the lean and where my arms should be. It was more work than I wanted 3 miles to be but it always is when your attention is so focused on the body and its movable parts. My anger at the situation flared up again as we pulled into the driveway and my run was over.

I've been tackling a whole new (yet old constant) issue of ignoring the compulsion to compare myself and my training to the work everyone is putting in around me. After the marathon, I allowed my competitive edge back in. Like an old friend, it was on my couch and in my heart before I even realized it. Being a competitor - wanting to win - willing myself onwards fast fast faster is something I had been lacking for years. I'm not sure when or why I got that drive back but it settled itself right back into my running. As inspiration, being competitive is a boon - as basis for ruthless comparison, it is a bust. This new injury has thrust the whole thing into the spotlight, front and center. Perhaps it is best now to learn where to set the limits on healthy competition. It is such a beautiful thing to push oneself as hard as humanly possible to keep up with a training partner on a tough day - knowing on somedays it will be the other way around, keeping you both in check. Beads of sweat clinging to our eyelashes and pollen staining our lungs... these are the things I miss enjoying with other runners. It is not recording the miles in my log or hitting specific splits or racing that I long for. Sure, all of that is part of it. But the raw, tangible feeling of breath racing through my lungs and muscles on fire for the sake of burning... that is what I truly cherish in the miles. I can be envious of others for enjoying that aspect of running, but I need not covet the mileage itself.

Compelling

I have come to a few conclusions today.

I say today as if by 9:00 am my day is complete.

On my way to my car this morning I decided that I don't care about running fast anymore. All I want to do is run. So if that means I have to give up the idea of running quickly and winning anything or achieving time goals and personal records again... then I just might be fine with that as long as I can run.

I just can't do this anymore. I cannot sit on my butt and watch everything else around me. Running is a compulsion. The need for it burns in my consciousness to the point that I cease to truly feel anything else. And for that... I cannot continue this endless game of waiting. Tomorrow I will run. And the next day I will run. And that is just the way it is.

And the saddest part...

is that I continued watching.

And I watched

the

whole

thing.

I can hear the brain cells tearfully saying their goodbyes...

Failures in Food and Television

Honestly, I should feel ashamed of myself.

Last night was one of those rare nights when I had absolutely nothing planned for the evening and was sorta kinda flying by the seat of my pants (or skirt, or whathaveyou). I got off work and dutifully stopped at the closest Teeter for some much needed grocery shopping. Now, here is a short musing on Teeterhood: in Charlotte, there is a Harris Teeter situated nearly every half mile to mile from one another. Naturally, we would like to swing by the closest one on the way home - however -proximity is not a proper basis for deciding where to stopnshop. For example, I believe we can all agree that not all parking lots are created equal. A poorly planned parking lot that drives up my blood pressure and increases my likelihood of stroke at an early age cancels out any convenience of stopping at the "closest" Teeter. I need to remember this next time because really, another 2-5 minutes of driving is totally worth not getting hit by people itchin n' scratchin for their next Starbucks hit.

I survived and made my way home to *gasp of utter shock* do my laundry - using both laundry rooms in the house next door to maximize my laundering abilities. I wasn't sure of possible plans for later in the evening but I knew I should probably get something to eat.

But I was still on strike.

So I went over to the drawer in my room, which is, essentially a pool house or guest house equipped with amenities of sorts. I tore open a pack of expired salted peanuts (for protein) and settled onto a chair in front of the television I hadn't turned on since moving in in January. I pressed the TV Power button and an image of CSPAN filled the screen. I had been checking out the channel when the healthcare debate was raging full force. Not in the mood for political pontificating, I channeled up. To static. Channeled down: static. Menued: static. Guided: static. Split-screened: side-by-side versions of static.

Hrmph.

I turned it all off and tried again. I tried the other remote. I tried both remotes at the same time. I stuck my head in the dusty space between the TV set and cabinet and checked out the wires.

Hrmph.

Fine then. I headed over to the house and turned on the TV there. Apparently two shows were being recorded on Tivo and I couldn't switch from the 25th anniversary of some rock n roll shenanigan without interrupting recording and well I just wasn't about to do that because it's not my Tivo. So I went to the TV on the other side of the house. Repeat performance of the TV in my room. No static. Just black screen of VID-1. (Try remote 1, Try remote 2). Honestly, am I television-challenged or remote-challenged or is this just a useless challenge confirming my belief that television is stupid and rots the brain cells of which we only use 10% to begin with.

Now what? Food.

I'm not hungry for some reason but I know I should eat. I don't feel like going anywhere. So I look around the cabinets for something innocuous that wouldn't be a big deal if I borrowed. I settle on microwaveable, single-serving Annie's Organic White Cheddar Macaroni and Cheese. Welcome to the land of "healthy" easy mac. Dubious claim indeed but I'm not picky tonight. All I need for this is a bowl and 1/2 cup of water. Innocent enough. I spend the next fifteen minutes in the dim lighting looking for a measuring cup. I'm not kidding - I scoured every drawer and cabinet in the entire kitchen. Nothin. So I guessed. I miscalculated and there wasn't quite enough water to absorb the powder cheesiness and so it was a little funky.

This is why I should be ashamed of myself. It has been so long since I have cooked for myself that I messed up microwaveable pasta. Shit.

Somewhat defeated and much deflated of ego, I notice the TV is finally showing something decent on a channel I can watch - Gran Torino. Great movie - maybe not the uplifting, easy going film I was looking for but I'll take it. I settle in and start getting emotionally wrapped up in the plot and characters and complex thoughts on race and life and death and just as the going gets really rough in the movie - a warning pops on the screen alerting me that the channel must switch to continue recording the next show. I can cancel the recording and continue watching OR switch channels as directed. And so I glumly watch the channel switch from the violently jarring images of lives marred by gang violence and racism to...

Cougartown.

Really?

How was it? Awesome of course. When is a milkshake NOT awesome?

4:48 am

I am fumbling around in my laundry basket. There are at least five pairs of running shorts in here... why can't I find just one?

Because... it's 4:48 in the morning and really - a growing lady like myself should be sleeping right now. I usually avoid this situation altogether by laying out my running clothes the night before but last night I was on strike.

When I get in the car I just blast my eardrums into awakening - drive past the even-crazier-than-me cyclists - and pull into the church parking lot where we meet for Miner's Run. The loud music suddenly seems way out of place as my headlights swing around to light up a number of headstones in the cemetery. I quickly turn it down and turn off the car... slightly uncomfortable for no good reason. Waiting for the rest of the group, I think about how when I was younger, I used to hold my breath when I passed a cemetery. I only did it because my sister told me to. I never really understood the concept and then one day someone told me it was terribly disrespectful of the dead. So I stopped doing it.

Meg and Spada met me early and we made our way down to the rubberized track. I knew it was going to be a struggle when the loops around the dark track started to feel like work less than ten minutes in. We looped back around and picked up the rest of the crew to head down Sardis - and right about then, I knew I was in trouble.

I ended up in a very engaging conversation that took a good amount of energy both mental and physical. Completely rehashed last night's book club discussion of C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity with a fellow lover of his work. As taxing as this was and I didn't feel like I should be pushing it hard like that... the conversation was so good that I do not take it back for a moment. Spada and I eventually broke off from the group to head back and with the unfortunate weight of time pressing down hard - we continued a non-recovery pace to the car.

((Meanwhile)) Spada's been doing a little book exchange with Paul Mainwaring - another incredible athlete in the area - and they have been switching at Miner's Run. So Spada has two books in his hands when we start the run, thinking he's going to run into Paul along the way. Paul apparently didn't show today and Spada ends up leaving the books where we will come back later - about two miles in. On our way back he dashes over to grab his two books, "Hey, you're in the book club, but I've got the books!" I really can NOT imagine running with two big books in my hand. ((He's a champ.))

For the last six miles or so I could feel my energy levels dropping to the floor... I was starving. Last night was book club night which means two things:

1) an incredible night of thought-provoking discourse on humanity and its twisted tangle with christianity

and

2) dinner by the boy

I had rushed over to dinner around 6:30 so we could eat and drive uptown without being late. (I hate being late. No really... I absolutely despise it). Roasted brussel sprouts (with a sprinkle of nutmeg, making it a little different than usual) were just being pulled out of the oven as a skillet of lamb cheesesteak sizzled on the stove. The buns for the cheesesteak were toasted with melted Roaring 40s bleu cheese and filled with the lamb, bell peppers, and myriad of spices. The bleu has a special place in our hearts - we first encountered it on our trip to Gary Danko's restaurant in San Francisco. It completed the cheesesteak so perfectly without overpowering it. Incredible. For being such a stinky, potent little cheese - I was very surprised. Unfortunately... we were in a hurry and I felt like I shouldn't take seconds. On my run this morning, I realized I reallllllly should have. If not for the calories, just to savor the flavor.

Oh well. The four (or five) rice krispy treats I had late at book club probably didn't help the situation.

Regret

Whatever I said about that nighttime run being "necessary" was stupid.
It was not necessary. It was stupid.

Rocks, roots, and two exhausted runners.

Dear sir or madam... it is that time of year - when everyone starts feeling the beauty and the warmth and the need to be out of doors. We got a later start to running than my usual 5:30 am so I actually got to soak up the sunshine and the 70 something degree morning.

Decided to do a true long run this morning. It brought me back to the days of marathon training... when 16.5 was pretty standard fare. It was a confidence building run for both myself and the boy because it was his longest run yet and it was proof for me that I am not losing "everything." Stopped for water and a bathroom break after about 50 minutes or so but other than that it was 2 hours and 12 minutes of continuous running.

Not too shabby.

Especially on the trails at Anne Springs which were putting a serious hurting on my legs for the last half hour or so. We were fortunate enough to hit almost all my favorite spots on this one run. Took Blue Star again and followed that along beside the water until it curved off towards the Dairy Barn. Don't let the name fool you... this is no po'dunk little barn action here. The wooded trail gives way to a wide open field of long lush grass.

After you cross the road you run beside another large expanse of green green grass accompanied by a picture-perfect white picket fence and a scattering of horses. Does it get much better? Along the gravel road a gleaming white dairy "barn" dominates the landscape. It is an imposing but beautiful structure that is in stark contrast to the humble, historic cabin a little further down the way. The gravel takes you to a loop around Lake Haigler which is a nice respite from long straightaways. This brought back all kinds of memories of painful glory from the Anne Springs Half Marathon I ran last year around this time.

On the way back, I hopped through the grass conjuring images of Sound of Music and Jeff made the comment, "It's all fun and games until someone steps on a snake." This put me squarely back into alert zone as I made for the trail opening.

I felt a little sore and my legs were protesting a bit but when I reached the trail map kiosk that ends the run I was exhilarated. Ran over to the water spigot and turned it full blast on my outstretched palms - raising handfuls of cold water to my mouth. This is my kind of beginning to a day. We walked over to the car and I collected chocolate milk money from my honey.

Later in the day we sat around and shuffled through my taxes before heading to my parents' for dinner. A little more complicated than usual this year but I had a semi-professional help me out. And he was cute too so... no complaints. Then we were supposed to bring an appetizer... we brought something so beautiful it is a sin that I did not photograph it and post it here.

The boy whipped up some boursin cheese and light cream to a nice consistency and refrigerated it for our tax session. Then he rolled cold red grapes in the cheese before dropping them into a bowl of crushed pistachios which I whirled around to coat before dropping on a cookie sheet. Assembly-line style, we prepared a healthy number and put them in the freezer to keep for a bit. We served them in a white, square-shaped bowl and the green color of the pistachio looked perfect. Filling in taste and texture the grapes were a hit but we had some leftover - perfect for the next day's snack as we sat around preparing food for Easter dinner!

Impatience Wins Out

It is Friday night. My blood is boiling in my veins because it is time to run and I have been holding back this rush of thought and stress and emotion for too long. I am fully aware of the stupidity and the immaturity and the impatience involved.

But I'm running.

I'm heading down the driveway into the dark night. I'm hopping over sidewalks and lowering my eyes against the headlights down Fairview Rd. I'm taking matters into my own feet so to speak.

My breathing is hard. Harder than it should be. My feet are falling loudly. Louder than they should be.

But I'm running.

My eyes are squinting so hard and all I can hope is that these sidewalks are smooth smooth smooth or I'm going down down down.

But I roll up to the house after a 40 minute super-short jaunt and the sweat is beading up on my skin as the dogs rush me and try to lick the salt off my legs... the day is over. And I'm ok with that... now.

It was stupid. But it was necessary.

Oct-o-pus

Octopus terrine, originally uploaded by draw4yrlif.

My brother's octopus terrine... I found this while salivating through his pictures on flickr.com. Looks like something needs to be attempted... and I don't think I even need to run that many miles to justify this. Ha... as if I really justify anything through mileage.

Pepperoni Miles

New route on the roads this morning. Thursday morning runs are becoming a new routine... and I am liking it. I get up and start heading down the road until I see my running partner and he shows me the ropes. I've been housesitting for this beautiful little abode for most of 2010 so far and I am still finding my running legs in the area. Exploring is in order as soon as I get healthy. For now, when I don't have time or energy to get lost, I'll just follow someone else's lead. Tidbit from the run with Spada today (check out his running blog here):

Spada: So you want to know what I have to drink every night before I go to sleep?

Me: Umm... iced tea? (his aforementioned drink of choice)

Spada: No no no... a milkshake.

Me: Milkshake?! Chocolate or vanilla?

Spada: Well... funny you ask. Usually vanilla, but I got chocolate this last time. It takes me about three days to go through a half gallon.

Me: You're kidding, aren't you?

Spada: No way! Every night... for the last 15 years.

Me: *speechless*

______________________________

Yesterday I asked the boy to join me for lunch. He asked where I wanted him to meet me and I said, "Well, are you ok with cheap Mexican?" Enter Huevos Rancheros and Pollo con Queso (emphasis on the queso).

That was round one.

At night we helped a couple friends of ours move into a new spiffy place in the uptown/downtown area. We had done a good bit of up and down the stairs and out to the car and up and down the stairs and - well you get it - before hot pepperoni pizza arrived. Shining in all it's greasy glory. And let me tell you something, it hit the spot.

That was round two.

Round three was my body retaliating this morning. I felt like a fat sack of snacks* on my little ten mile jaunt. Yuckity yuck yuck. But it was really good at the time, right?





*fat sack of snacks is pretty much a trademarked expression from a good friend of mine and therefore, I cannot take credit for its genius of descriptive ability.

Miner's Run

1:22 am

I'm wide awake and it's... not morning. (Shameless Bright Eyes allusion).

Monday nights before Tuesday Morning runs I barely sleep... constantly worried my alarm will utterly and completely fail me. I toss and turn trying to put ideas of missing the run out of my mind. It comes once a week and I dare not miss it without damn good reason.

4:43 am

I'm awake again. And I have two more minutes before the alarm is off and I am off and eventually - we are off.

The North Carolina Parks and Recreation Department apparently doesn't appreciate our need for an early start and has forewarned that those of us who park outside the locked gates of the Sardis Rd. entrance to McAlpine will be subject to towing. We are worried about obesity in America and yet we can't let people use the public park facilities (for which we pay state tax money) during hours that are conducive to the hectic work schedules demanded by a competitive/capitalistic/pick-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps society.

Alas... our run that began as a beautiful jaunt entirely on a very soft, gravel surface now must start at an unnamed lot farther down the road where we proceed to run on the sidewalk for more than a mile and a half before getting to the gravel. It doesn't sound like a big deal... but to us - three more miles of pavement is definitely a big deal. Every step I take on sidewalks is one more step closer to an injury. I know this.

The Miner's Run began sometime in November... my M/W/F morning running partner told me he had run on a Tuesday morning with one of our other running friends. A Tuesday morning? Why, this was near blasphemy to me... but we decided to give it a try the next week. Our group of 3 grew exponentially each week to the large, ever-changing gathering we now have. The group is unpredictable - sometimes the pace will be stable and conversational... at other times we will be gasping to keep up with each other, one-stepping the whole way. Every once and a while, half the group will split off to do some blistering paced tempo run while the rest of us thank goodness it is not a workout day for us...

The first time the group was really big - about 15 runners - we all kinda fell into to pace together from different directions because some people were late and found different entrances to meet up. Someone watching the approaching mass of runners with headlamps said, "Wow, it looks like a bunch of miners." And that is how this run got its name.

Take Notes

I just called a client to remind him of his appointment tomorrow. I was about to hang up with the usual, "Have a great day!" when he asked, "So, what did He make for you this week?"

Well, he made cassoulet last night.

A good portion of the Hoffmann family was there so the boy got to feed quite a few people which is always nice. On Friday he made braised white beans as part of a request from a friend of mine who is obsessed with Zoe's Kitchen's white beans (nevermind that he has never even been to Zoe's.) Finely chopped celery and carrot along with fresh thyme, parsley, s/p and some other seasonings went into the beans that eventually made their way into the cassoulet with tender chunks of chicken. The dish was served in individual iron skillets with crumbled croutons baked on top. Lots of praise was muttered between mouthfuls.

Homemade biscuits as the base for strawberry shortcake were a special surprise from who other than the boy's brother in law. His wife said it was the first thing he ever cooked for her... maybe he was making a throwback to those days? Very sweet... another wonderful thing about food - the memories it preserves and the love that is wrapped up in all of it.

The meal was welcomed after a fun little run with friends at McAlpine Creek Park. The park has quite literally been a staple of my life. In middle and high school my sister and I referred to it as our "summer home." Cross Country practice started at 6:30 pm M-F over the summer. I was always anxious. We would meet up at our coach's truck in the parking lot... leaning on the back of the truckbed and wiping away premature perspiration. We hadn't yet begun the warmup and the muggy heat of a southern summer already had our t-shirts drenched at the nape of our necks. The gathering of sorts was always an opportunity to size up the new freshmen and wonder who was going to be the surprise. Who might just be the one to test your dominance? Shake up the top seven lineup?

Like I said... I was always anxious.

Whenever I go back to the park... especially in the hot heat of summer, I can feel it all come back to me. Ingrained in my head or forever in my veins - I get a little anxious. It brings me back to a time when I lived and died by the success or failure of the day's workout. I would get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the schoolday drew to a close and I knew we had mile repeats. Or 800s. Or a ladder. Whatever it was, I knew it was going to hurt and I feared it. Bumping along beside my coach on the bus I would pepper him with questions. I always stood on the stairs next to him as he drove to meets... we evaluated the competition together as he talked me through the negativity that was blocking the receptors in my brain. We would get there and I would really begin to fight my demons. Wet tears still stuck in my lashes, I would join the circle with my teammates for the Lord's Prayer. My coach would tie my shoelaces for luck and it was go time. A calm before the storm always settled over me at the starting line before the gun went off. My coach always said he could see it in my eyes - cool - collected - ready. My lungs would burst and scream for air for the entire first mile before the oxygen could catch back up with me... and I never settled into a pace until the back loop or the third mile of the course.

It took time for me to learn that love - not fear - of running would best carry me where I wanted to go as fast as I wanted to get there. I needed both confidence and patience - two things often wanting in teenage girls. Some days were (and are) still harder than others... but eventually I was able to get ahold of myself.

To get it together.

To accept what I could and could not change.

To love my body and all its limitations.

It is an on-going process... one in which I learn when to challenge myself and when to settle down.

When to get ahold of myself.


I told our client that I had already been informed that I would like dinner tonight. He said, "Take Notes."

Morning

It is 4:48 am.

My eyes are peeking over my feet at the clock at the end of the bed. Green hazy numbers blinking into my existence.

I have 17 more minutes before the low beeping of my alarm goes off and I have to face the morning.

It is this in-between time that defines my running. 75% of me is begging to go back to sleep. To succumb to the warmth of the covers and the comfort of unconsciousness. Fighting the ebbing sleep, I find myself frustrated and pathetic: Why am I doing this? I am consistently amazed that that 25% that knows me best is able to win out in the end.

It is not until my running shorts are on and my shoes are groggily tied that I begin to comprehend why I am awake. I head out down the driveway, one foot in front of the other and the dark night of morning envelops my small frame. I am meeting a running partner at the end of the street and this means - there are no excuses, there is no turning back for the solace of sleep.

The pace and conversation make the run go by swiftly. I feel the easy rhythmic breathing as my stride quickens towards home... my morning is complete. I have accomplished much more than a nine mile run - I have won once again over my doubts and desire for one more luxurious hour in bed.

From over leaves to leftovers.

So today was Run 2 and a glorious little run it was. We managed to perfectly time the day so that we beat the rain and icky cloud cover that dominated the day. Anne Springs Close Greenway is one of my favorite little spots to run here. There are 30+ miles of trails on a variety of soft surfaces. I always start at the sports complex and take the Blue Star trail because I don't have to worry about scuffles with the mtnbikers who are out there enjoying it as much as I am. This trail has a hiker's only policy and by nature, it is more "rustic" - meaning those root/rock camouflaging leaves blanket the ground more thickly and if it weren't for muscle memory, the trail might be hard to spot.

We took the North Tunnel where our voices sang back to us [hollow and true]. We made a brief pit stop so I could show off a grist mill replica (and to stretch the hammy) before taking my favorite sandy footpath beside the creek for a while - soaking up the sights and sounds falling away as our footsteps took us onward. The rush of the water on the rocks was a beautiful, tranquil reminder that I really woulda coulda shoulda taken a potty break back by the grist mill earlier.

OUTNBACK- pretty self-explanatory. We went about 30 minutes out and turned around to do it all over again. All the downhills now uphills and vice versa. It was getting muggy. But a good muggy. This run felt like such an accomplishment even if it was only an hour. It was pure enjoyment and living in the present and everything I really appreciate about running. Unfortunately we waited far too long to eat a real post-run meal and kinda were beat for the day.

Boy made his Sunday night dinner for the family and I made myself the opposite of scarce. When I walked in, every frying pan was in some stage of use and there was an array of leftovers making their comeback. Roasted pork butt from our dinner with my boss on Saturday, chicken from Thursday(?), corned beef from St. Patty's.... you name it. He likes to call this "goulash." The scalloped potatoes with gruyere cheese were mouthwatering melty goodness but I do believe that the piece de resistance was truly the corned beef's revisiting. Cubed corned beef, chopped onions, red bell peppers, fingerling potatoes with spices and a fried egg on top. Absolutely perfect blending of funky chunky textures and the softness of the egg.

So the next time you dread using up the week's leftovers - just remember to be creative - it could really turn out to be dynamite. Or gross. But let's just be half-fullers and say dynamite.

Day 6.

I'm about to put my head through a wall.

That's all, unfortunately.

Repeat Performance

Day Five of "time off" and I'm getting a little antsy.

Antsy might be putting it lightly. Driving down Park Rd. yesterday I saw a guy hoofing it on my left, I squinted into the side view mirror to catch his stride thundering down the sidewalk. Guy was moving. And he had the whole midfoot-lean going on too. I pulled up to a stop sign on Queens Road West and there were runners in every angle of my peripheral vision and straight ahead and and and... really? It was a beautiful day and I don't think I could have handled driving down Dilworth without jumping out and joining a pack of runners.

But then I woke up this morning and hopped out of bed to a slightly uncomfortable reminder of why I'm taking this time off. I have to keep in mind the four day break I took in the middle of my toughest last weeks of marathon training. I had been putting in some miles - often pretty quick ones - and everything was running suh-mooth. Then 22 miles went wrong somehow.

I drove over an hour to run a 12.1 mile trail race in Troutman, NC. Got up super early to make sure I wasn't late... had everything ready to roll. I planned it so I would run a 5 mile warmup, the race, and a 5 mile cooldown to get my 22 for the day. Unfortunately when I got there it turned out that the monsoon-esque rains we had had that Tuesday caused the park officials to close the trails. [PAUSE] Silent prayer thanking God I essentially live out of my car and my road shoes were in the backseat. This meant that my planned 22 miles on a soft surface to prevent injury were going to be run on an extremely hilly, paved loop course on the park road.

Life handed me some lemons. But I didn't really have a choice what to make with them. I got on the road and did what needed to be done. My first miles were a decently paced warmup and then I ran the first half of the race really laid back anywhere between 7:15 and 7:20 pace. At the turnaround point I decided I still had over 10 miles to run and a bathroom break was going to be necessary.

Let me remind you, this was a two loop course. Those running the 6 mile race would come around the corner into the chute while everyone in the 12 would make a sharp turn and head back out. As in most races where there are multiple distances, it is not always clear who is running which race. The bathroom happened to be directly beside the finishing chute. You can see where I am going with this. So here I come... pushing the pace veering just outside of the chute and the whole crowd is yelling for me (who they think is winning the race) that the chute is 'that' way. Much to my own humiliation I found myself gesturing wildly at the porta potty and shouting that I was just going to the bathroom. Don't mind me.

With that behind me, I decided it was go time. Started pushing the miles from my comfortable 7:10 marathon pace to 6:45 and then 6:20 and then a little faster and a little faster as I gained on the people who passed me on my potty break.

The cheering section was liking this.

Finally, I had two guys ahead of me and I decided 6:10 was as quick as I safely needed to be going with 7 miles still to go. I hit the last heartbreaker of a hill and finished up - the crowd cheering wildly this time as they knew I was really finishing. My last mile registered a 6:05 on the Garmin. I walked through the chute and turned around... back to the grind. I was in a hurry to get back to the celebration but I had some work yet to do. My legs were starting to burn a bit but mentally I was feeling pretty all together. Some people picking up markers for the course drove beside me for a little while asking me questions. I told them I was doing my longest run before the Thunder Road marathon that was coming up. They were pumped. Told me they were going to look me up in the results. I wonder if they did.

The last 2 miles were somewhat tortuous because I could not get away from the steep grades both up and down. The watch beeped 22 as I rounded the corner into the parking lot and made for the food. I was stuffing my face with a banana and downing two Nesquik's with the way-too-small-to-be-normal straws when a couple women came up.

"You know... if you hadn't gone to the bathroom... you would have beat those guys."

"Yeah, maybe. I just kinda had to go."

They thought that was pretty cool. I did too but I was being humble and trying not to be too geeked out that I just ran 22 miles in 2hr39min on a long run. This would be the workout that sent me the message: you've got this shit.

On the drive home I stopped by the little town of Davidson to get some eats at Toast and then decided to stretch out the legs and walked a few miles out on the trails there. The flooding apparently did not affect THESE trails. Hrmph. I tried to be nonchalant about the ROTC strategy game going on in the woods after I noticed a few camouflaged souls in the bushes staring intently at clipboards. Of course, this awareness came after my "discreet" bathroom break in the woods. Shoot.

The next day my left knee was bothering me but I blew it off as routine soreness from running farther than I had ever run before. My tempo that week was to be 10 miles Marathon Pace and 4 miles "faster." My training partner and I started out at a decent 7:06ish pace and held something around that before dropping the hammer rolling into mile 11. Daylight was winking out halfway through the run and we were going to be finishing in the pitch dark on the greenway. With 3 miles to go I just started running away. Away from every little thing that was on my mind. Every unspoken word. Everything I should and shouldn't have done or said. Running all out, I passed the post that marked my 14th mile and walked it in. O-u-c-h.

I had just PRed in the half marathon. I felt on top of the world.
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And then it all kinda fell apart. The next day it was raining and gross with 20 miles on the calendar. My knee was throbbing and I thought I might just get on the dreadmill and see how far I could go.

I ran four miles and got off. Four. Took a day off. Ran the next day and the pain was getting to the excruciating 8 stage. My boss sent me to our chiropractor friend and we worked something out. I would see them routinely and I would take 4 solid days off and see what happens. This happened to be going on around Thanksgiving - the perfect time for running with family and ingesting more calories than my body knows quite what to do with. I got antsy.

But I waited it out. My first run back was a Sunday run with the crew at Anne Springs. The trail is rocky, rooty, and covered in rock/root-disguising-leaves. Chameleons I tell you. So this was probably a poor choice. My knee felt like it was falling apart 5 minutes in and I pushed on for another 20 before politely excusing myself to go cry alone in the woods. I was so high strung that this was enough to put me over the edge. I ran the three miles back to the car with tears stinging my face - salty, not sweet. I got in the car, laid my head on the steering wheel, and took a deeeeeeeep breath. It was all going to be ok. (But I didn't know it at the time.)

The next morning I hit the greenway and felt terrifically bad after about a 1/4 mile but somehow it started feeling better the more I ran. The clicking in my knee was a little less and after seeing my boss and getting an adjustment that afternoon I thought a few more miles at night would be a good call. Birthday present to myself the next night I ran 5 miles with absolutely no knee pain. It wasn't like magic. The next few days were a little rough and I needed to spend a lot of time concentrating on my gait and not heel striking and doing all the things I was supposed to be doing all along. You know. Like stretching n' stuff. But over the next week - 7 days left on the countdown - I started running relatively pain free. I hadn't done a run over 12 miles in over two weeks so I was getting ready to play it safe on the downhills but I was pretty confident it was going to be all good.

It was go go time. Not go go as in go go girl but go go as in let's get this show on the Thunder Road.

Hummus Frummus and other friendly figs.

I've been given very explicit instructions to take a few days off. Possibly more than a few days.

You see... I've got this supertubularsomethingorother that has been bothering me lately and I've been just pushing forward in my usual manner. Apparently my turning 24 a couple months ago means business as usual is no longer acceptable. I have been informed that in one's old age stretching and time off between runs are two essential components of running that I have been neglecting. Perhaps because I was unaware that 24 constituted old age. Then again, a couple weeks before my marathon my chiropractor used the "A" word in relation to my knees. Arthritic knees? Really? And then he sealed the deal with, "But that's ok, that's normal for your age." W-o-w.

Alas... I am taking a few days off of running. Don't worry, this does not mean I am taking a few days off of eating. Nope. Not even for one hot minute.

My total mileage for Saturday was a big, gaping 0 but this did not stop me from devouring the good eats at Dinner and Dominoes at the Campbell household. The opener was homemade pita and four spreads. I watched the final stages as the dough was gently rolled out and placed on the baking stone in the oven one at a time - ballooning into an airy existence before being taken out (burning his hands) to become a vehicle for the spreads to reach our mouths.

Four spreads: sun-dried tomato hummus, tapenade, dried fruit medley of goodness, and a more standard hummus with parsley.

The tapenade went first.

The sun-dried tomato hummus was a close second.

And really, we were supposed to have room for dinner after all this? Pita and conversation are a nice combination but the aromas from my mother's cooking were enough to convince us to relocate to the dinner table.

She promised some kind of middle eastern dish... it went far beyond couscous. I wish I could describe the sauce but after cumin I get a little lost. The mixture included apricots, figs, green olives, and braised chicken thighs with more flavor than you could shake a (drum)stick at. The panna cotta for dessert was just a little italian cherry on top.

And shoot. I sandwiched this with a whopping 0 miles on Sunday too. I am convincing myself that this is a necessary evil and as soon as it's all taken care of I can go get it like I've never gone and gotten it before.

Pictures? I know... I'm going to work on that.