Brave New Life

About a month ago I started thinking about the bittersweet feeling that went along with knowing that, on August 8th, a lot of people I respect the hell out of are going to head back to work. I felt then, about a month ago, that I would miss that. Probably. Certainly.
I wondered what life had in store for me. What would I "be" next? Would I ever "be" anything? Whatever I would "be", and would I "be" any good at it? I've always been "just" a classroom teacher. What am I now?

What am I good for?

So last week I walked into the counseling center on what was my first "full" day in my new life. I was now a contracted mental health counselor at the center where I've volunteered for about 3 years. I got there about 15 minutes early, and as I rounded the corner, the clinical director saw me, picked up the phone, pushed a button on the base, and held it out to me:

"Talk to her. She's in jail for DWI. Her best friend just died and her divorce became final. Really upset, doesn't know where her kids are. Wants to talk to someone."
So I spent my first twenty minutes as a counselor trying to make it meaningful to this distraught mother that her only phone call was to talk to me.

Afterwards, the director was shuffling through the papers on his desk and mentioned he was going up to the hospital to check on a homeless patient who swallows razor blades. Usually, she (the patient) would put epoxy on them, he told me, but this time, she didn't, and now she had internal injuries and an infection.
The clinical director said this matter-of-factly, the the way you or I might say, Usually, I take my flat kit with me, but today i didn't, so I couldn't fix my flat.

A small, silent prayer formed in my head: please, pleasedon'tassignmetotherazobladewoman pleasedon'tassignmetotherazorbladewoman pleasedon'tassignmetotherazobladewoman...

It wasn't that I didn't know what to do, mind you, or that I doubted own abilities. It's just that I wasn't ready for something quite that intense on my first day as a new professional. This counseling center is very central to a lot of social services catering to homeless and indigent people, and now as a counselor, it was real. This is real. Real lives. Real, painful, lives.

Most of the patients where I work are working people who can't quite afford the full cost of a mental health professional, but about a third that come don't have anywhere else to go for various reasons. Nearly everyone gets some sort of help to pay for the services, and that number is on the rise. Some patients are dropped off by the police when police decide they don't need to be in jail for their erratic behavior; they need a counselor.
Some have families they go home to.
Others don't have any family any more - if they have relatives, those slam the phone down when they call.

And here I am, in the thick of it. In the midst of these lives.
These, painful, disheveled lives.

Another counselor was assigned the razor blade patient, but I was asked, Well, what do you think?

I think we need to find out why she swallows razor blades, I offered. Then we'll know what to focus on. I went on to explain how her answer might differentiate her as having a psychotic disorder, PTSD, and/or a couple others that popped into my head and I thought, astonished, Holy cow, I actually know this shit.

The director nodded, signaling his approval (I hope) and hurried off.

I spent the day talking to more people, some in person, some on the phone, all of them in pain. On the way home, I listened to a song that kind of reminded me of the ruined and pain-filled lives that I often see at this counseling center, and that you might see on the street. Sweet Baboo has often worked with these kinds of lives as well, homeless veterans with severe and persistent mental illnesses.

But more importantly,

MUCH more importantly,

Well, I don't think I'll walk around feeling all sorry for myself, wrapped in my existential angst who am I? what am I? any more.

My new vocation will be a daily exercise in perspective, and, will include feeling the wonder at my outrageous fortune, my health, my ability to run, and all the love and friends I have in my life.

...

Long, Boring Post in which I think Out loud, mostly.

Now I remember why I don't spent a lot of time cycling around Rio Rancho.
There are these breaks in the roads...and I think they "fix" them by carving out a deep V-shape, filling it withrubber that sinks. So about every 10 feet or so you tires go WHUMPbump! I can feel the nuts and bolts shaking loose every time I try to ride in the neighborhoods around my house.

But anyway. So I've been DREADING this ride - it's very short, but intense. (I kept it short once I realized I'd left without my flat kit.)

But it really wasn't as bad as I've been fearing. I like to think that this is a trend - that things that look horrifying will actually not be as bad because 1) At least it's not 112 miles of hills, and
2) maybe I've actually progressed.

But anyway.

In other news I've decided to make my old Trek 1000 into a girly fast commuter. I figure that as I conquer my fear of hills I don't have much more of an excuse not to commute by bike. I mean, it rarely rains here, so I don't have much of an excuse. Plus, I'll get experience changing flats. I've never really changed one. Someone always stops and changes it for me. I know how, in theory.

But anyway. So the ole' Trek for commuting. Well, I have the lovely Pistachio, but as it turns out, she is an 8-speed 50-pound steel beast, lovely to look at but for hills and speed, Not. So. Much. The Trek 1000 would be an awesome commuter, given that it's quite a nice road bike and has a triple chain ring.

It's currently mostly silver, with some blue here and there. My goal is to fix it up with girlie accessories, and I'm going to make it a fun challenge by not spending money. How to do that you ask? Well, it involves starting with some of the insane amount of books and such that I have in the house and selling them on Ebay.

My goals are: new saddle, new saddle bag/flat kit thing, bar tape, bottle cages, and perhaps some decals and, if I can pull it off, a paint job. This will challenge me to get rid of a bunch of old crap, and as we all know, people. Will. Buy. Almost. Anything.
On ebay.

Things I already have: fenders, rechargable headlamp, a very cool commuter helmet with winter kit, rain cover, and rear red tail light. I can also borrow the cushy saddle off the lovely Pistachio temporarily which also has a tail light built in.

This winter, when I can't commute for a couple months because, not only am I Optimistic and Stubborn, but all of this is trumped by my general Cold Weenie-ness. I may just bat my eyes at DreadPirate and get her to show me how to strip down my bike and get it painted.

My idea is green and pink and I'm sooooo not interested in knowing that you think that sounds ugly. Thanks.

Let see how much stuff I can sell...

...

Random stuff.

Today's LOLCat picture is for Pirate. -->

So today, I went on about an 11 or 12 mile LSSR. (Long, slow, sweaty run). I'm not sure about the distance because for some reason Msr. GarMEAN wouldn't turn on, so I just ran for about 2-1/2 hours. Slow. Sweaty. It was in the mid-seventies when I started, and low eighties when I finished.

The spaghetti I ate last night seems to have helped, because I felt pretty good. I also started the day off with a Power Bar. For some reason, it takes about a half hour for me to eat these things, which appear to be combination of cement and various sugars. I made the mistake of setting an unwrapped one down on my kitchen counter, 5 minutes, tops. Then, I couldn't get it back up.

I finally pulled it off the counter, leaving parts of it behind. I tried scraping it off with a knife, until Baboo finally expressed concern that I was removing countertop instead of removing the Power Bar. Finally a combination of a Formula 409 soak and scouring pad got it up, and am I crazy for worrying that something I'm EATING is that hard to remove from a Formica countertop?

I drank some Accelerade on the run, and stupidly, only took one bottle. I did surprisingly well, though, and chose a way back that was mostly in the shade, but when I got back to the car, I gulped down the other bottle so hard and fast it was running out of my mouth and down my chin. Then I took a cold bath and ate some leftover spaghetti.

Sweet Baboo and many other Outlaws went out for a 100 mile bike ride.

100 mile. Bike. Ride.

Hey, are you coming?

Uh, NO, Thanks. I'll pass, thanks. I'm doing a 40 mile tomorrow. But hey, don't use up all the fun, okay?

When I got home, I looked up problems with Garmin online, and then licked my finger and ran it over the contacts on the back. Then, it worked. Magic mom spit. It ain't just for faces anymore.

Anway, I'm tired. Mini-Baboo comes back from 6 weeks in Dallas today, and I have to put all the passwords and locks back in everything and then take a nap.

...

Misc. Monday stuff.

I'm like, the last person on earth to discover the LOL cats thing, soooooo I'll be annoying lots of you by putting those in my posts, for a while.

This week has been all about reclaiming the house. Since mini-Baboo has been in Dallas since May 21st we've been at work cleaning out the dirty clothes and wrappers and empty bottles stuffed into every nook and cranny.

MEANWHILE, with Mini-baboo gone, food lasts a LONG TIME without Mini here. Who knew, for instance, that salad greens got that funky after sitting in the fridge for a while? Mini usually helped prevent funky leftovers, by eating everything in sight. I think I've mentioned this before, but I'm still blown away by the loaf of bread that lasted TWO WHOLE WEEKS.

You know, I've been raising kids--three of them--since I was 19, and so I have never, ever, lived in my own home as an adult without children. I'm accustomed to hiding my food and putting passwords and key locks on everything, and my things being taken and/or broken and "nobody" knows how it happened and I swear, Mom! I wasn't anywhere near that when it fell!

So but, you can see that the prospect of my last born graduating and moving on in 11 months is pretty exciting.

This week, I took an old computer and with a flat-screen monitor and fixed it up--I'll leave out the geekiest parts of what I did--and it now sits in the area adjacent to the kitchen, and I can listen to nearly any music my widdle heart desires while cooking or exercising, or watch re-runs of "Scrubs," or "CSI," or look for a recipe or get information information about stretching online, all with a click of my cordless mouse.

I can also watch movies or exercise DVDs on it.

Or all of these at once.

Fabulous.

I especially love having playlists I can listen to on a whim because it is my opinion that life should be like a movie, with the appropriate background music enhancing the scene. This, then, is my only complaint about triathlon: No headphones means I can't further the delusion that I am a star in my own movie.

Meanwhile, I'm working on clearing out a den-like room that is currently full--and I do mean full: of many, many boxes--of my teaching supplies. After that's done, it will become the exercise area. We've decided we want the rest of the whole downstairs to just be full of comfortable chairs, like a giant coffee house, for lounging and whatnot. It won't be terribly impressive or wind up in any magazine. That's not the point. The point is a respite from the world.

Our plans for Mini-baboos area upstairs after May of 09 includes blackout curtains, a kitchenette, and a large, flatscreen TV.

Not really much triathlon stuff in this post, is there? Well, it's back to training tomorrow.

Oh, and here's my monthly miles for June:

Swim: 14,180 meters
Bike: 334.6 miles
Run: 64.38 miles
Hiking: 2 hours
Pilates/Yoga: 4 hours


...

Iron Self-Indulgence and Pampering.

So today I did the following:

• Did a 1-hour spin class (at IM pace)
• Ran a couple miles at marathon pace
• Did 5 quick 100-meter repeats
  
• Sat in the hot tub a little while and relaxed
  
• Did a 90-minute yoga class
• Bought a latte
  
• Got a pedicure (why you no got all you toe nail? You want me put acrylic toenail on for you?)
• Got a message (the kind where you get touched, not where someone talks on your voice mail)
  

And then, well, then I had LUNCH.
That's right. I did all that before NOON.

I rock.

And just for the record, I said "No" to the acrylic toenail. There's vanity, and then there's well, just plain weirdness.


...

Iron-isms.

Iron laundry the state of affairs in which most of your laundry consists of damp, smelly clothes draped about the bedroom, house, lawn furniture, whatever to air out.

Iron napping With no warning, in the middle of the day, I'll just suddenly drop off....Oh? Eh? >snort<

Iron tapeworm Orders you to feed it with anything within reach. In a loud, raspy voice that will not be silenced.

Iron Cravings. Not to be confused with the tapeworm, iron cravings lead you to large quantities of salt, potatassium, protein, and carbs. Usually directs you to unhealthy things such as cheese fries, fried chicken, and fried cheese sticks.

Iron fidgeting Seen mostly during the taper, this is the part where you're tempted to go and get one more long run in...just in case. Surely one set of speed intervals wouldn't hurt? Are you SURE i'm supposed to be doing "nothing" for three days this week?

Iron ADHD. Huh? What were we talking about?

Iron shopping Lets see...Neoprene booties, neoprene cap, new running shoes, sportslick tube, Garmin strap, chois butt'r pocket pacs, chapstick x2, fig newtons, red bull, baked lays...

Iron offspring "Mom, when are you going to call me back? How come you're never home? Where were you all weekend long?"

Iron perseveration How cold is the water? Will it be choppy? Will there by wind? How high are the hills? how cold is the water NOW? Will the run be hot? Are there hills on the run? have you checked the weather forecast for the race venue today? Is it a one loop or two? Is the road in good shape? Is it a closed course? Can I finish before midnight? Did I train enough?
How cold is the water NOW?
Now? What about NOW?

...

How do you plan for an ironman?

Today I'm mostly thinking in print. So how do you plan for an Ironman? Well, if you're not incredibly lazy, you train more than me. But I, of course, am lazy. So here's my totals:

May's totals ....................2008 totals (so far)
Bike: - 282.5 Mi..................... 1042.1 Mi
Run: - 84.29 Mi.......................368.48 Mi
Swim: - 7430 M (4.4 mi)......20730 M (12.5 mi)

These days, I waver between feeling excitement and dread, and worry and confidence. It's a hell of a rollercoaster. And like all rollercoasters, it nauseates me. Erp.
And even though my training has been far less than it should be, it's far more than my training last year. Yyyesssss, that's right. This year I was sorta lazy, but last year I was lazy SQUARED and i paid the price. I finished, but if they hadn't extended the cutoff I would not have. So I'm counting on this training thing coming through for me.

So here's how the planning breaks down, after the cannon goes of at 7am on June 22nd.

SWIM: At IM-LooAvul I swam in 1:31, and I'm fine with this. I will probably be a bit slower this year because the water will about 20 degrees colder. I'll be wearing whatever neoprene is allowed, and I'm confident about beating the cutoff at 9:20 am.

T1: At IM-LooAvul this took about 11 minutes. I should be able to knock about 5 minutes off this. I'll be pulling on cycling shorts, into which has been smooshed a LOT of Baby Aveeno and Sports Slick, a sleeveless jersey, arm warmers, thick cycling socks. Sunscreen applied to my shoulders and arms and nose. Sunglasses.

The Bike: My nemesis. This is what will make or break me. At At IM-LooAvul my bike time was 8:55. 8:55, and the bike cutoff is 5 pm. I've got to take about 45 minutes off my time. yikes. The weather at IM-LooAvul was mid-nineties with about 70%+ humidity. IM-CDA is supposed to be cooler - by as much as 15 degrees - and drier.
Nutrition: My nutrition at IM Loo worked, so I'm not going to change that. De-fizzed coke and three SportLegs capsules at mile 0 and mile 56. Gatorade the rest of the time. 2 Fig Newtons at mile 0, 30, 60, 90 with plain water.

T2: At IM-LooAvul, this was 20 minutes, because I sat down and cried. Think I'll avoid that this time. I'll change to a long-sleeved meshy long-distance running shirt, RaceReady Long Distance Fitness Shorts, of course the insanely sexy Injinji socks, my NB768s, and my Garmin.

The Run: The part I'm worried about least. The bike cutoff is 5 pm, after which I'll have 7 hours to finish the marathon. At IM-LooAvul, I did the marathon in 6:20, when it was hotter and much more humid. I'll be carrying my inhaler, SportLegs, and blister bandaids. I'll also be carrying a hand-held water bottle. My Garmin will chime every minute.
Nutrition: Same as IM-LooAvul, coke with ice and SportLegs capsules at mile 0 and 13. Powergels every 2 miles. Gatorade throughout.

So that's the plan, i guess. I'll be fine-tuning it over the next couple weeks.
Goal: Finish before midnight.

...

Misc. teacher stuff.

Today was the last day of National Teacher Appreciation week.

Last year, and every year before that, members of the Student Association went around with a little cart and offered us coffee and/or orange juice and/or a pastry. They showed up at our door and made a production of pouring us some coffee, and asking if we wanted creme or sugar or lo-cal sweetener, and announced to the class that it was National Teacher Appreciaton Week.

This year was a bit jarring, and a reminder of the current budget crisis: we got an email notifying us that there were four or five dozen plain glazed donuts in boxes in the activities office; if you want one: come get it, first come, first served (there are over 100 teachers at our school.)

Then, we got another email telling us how much we were appreciated, and that in honor of this week, we could wear denim on Friday.

I was all excited when I got up today. , because when it comes right down to it, all I really ask for what I do is a place to park, a padded chair, and the occasional chance to wear jeans.

Then Sweet Baboo put the kaibosh on my morning jeans dance by asking me, don't you have an interview today?

Crap. Well, of course, he was right. I did have an interview today, for a school counselor position in my district, possibly working with elementary-aged children. I went in search of one of my feel-good outfits (you know the one, it's comfortable and whenever you wear it people tell you how fabulous you look?)

My feel good outfit is one of several 2-piece jacket-dress sets that we teachers are famous for, from Pennys, which Pirate loves to mock. (Some day, I will be chic. Today is not that day. I work with kids. )

But anyway. I put on the teacher-dress, and it was then that I realized, lo and behold, it's far, far too big.

I took a spool of thread and a needle to work with me and I had to move the buttons on my little jacket over three inches.

Not quite as dramatic as punching holes in a new belt, but I'll take it!


As far as the interview, I alternate between feeling like things went well and thinking, oh, crap, I should have said...

So, it was a structured interview. I sat behind a table, facing about 7 committee members behind a different table who where all wearing teacher jacket-dresses (go me!) and took turns asking me nine pre-scripted questions designed to reveal the most capable candidate.

My favorite scripted question, after I told them I'd been a schoolteacher for nearly nine years was: What, if any, classroom experience have you had?

I felt like the interview went well.

All the people interviewing me seemed perfectly professional and reasonable and pleasant, and I would enjoy working with and for any and all of them.

I'm not just saying that on the off-chance that one of them happens to read my blog.

Really, I'm not.

...

Mo' marathons.

I'm reading a book called, "I'm not the New Me" by Wendy McClure, which is so funny it's just about made me snort my Special-K protein water out my nose more than once. If you can get a copy, do, but get the full copy, not the bargain paperback. The commentary on the 60's and 70's weight-watcher recipe cards alone are worth the price. I'm going to buy her second book and put it on my coffee table.

So it's slightly less than 6 weeks to the Black Warrior 50K, one of my two "A" races this year and my first 50K race and the final race that, when I finish it, will alow me to join the Marathon Maniacs. Tonight Sweet Baboo and I started our weekly "speedwalk" training.

So, the idea is that by doing this at least once a week as fast as we can, we will build up the muscles used for walking and also learn to walk really fast. This is good for long distance running because walk breaks, especially on hills, allow the musles a chance to lengthen and recover without devastating slow-down.

According to the experts, effective "recovery" walks use a different set of muscles than running. You kick your legs out front and focus on pushing yourself forward, instead of "side-to-side."

So tonight we headed out on the first one and I have to say, my walking pace is pretty slow. It's pretty weird to be focussed on getting faster and then suddenly get into a training regimen where you deliberately slow down, but that's what you do in ultrarunning: Got a blister? Slow down. Got cramps? Slow down. Nausea? Slow down. In fact, there's nothing for which the prescriptions seems to be, speed up. Now, that's my kinda stuff.

So anyhoo, we did out 2.95 miles in about 45 minutes, so just over a 15 minute pace. I had to laught because I realized, honestly, this is pretty close to my first 5K time back in 2005, and I was running as fast as I could and got my ass kicked by an 11-year-old.

The other thing I noticed about the speedwalk is that I didn't heat up as fast. I had to dress a bit warmer than I would have for a run. I really enjoyed the walk, which we did right after dinner.
I guess I'll get faster and more efficient at walking with time. Most of all, though, I get to do it with Sweet Baboo, and I rarely get to workout with Swifty Sweet Baboo. Usually I just kiss him goodbye, and then see him when it's over.

Also this week we ordered my snow shoes from the REI outlet store for the Sandia Snowshoe race. Now, I honestly have no illusions about being swift in any sense in the word in this race, in which I believe I will have my slowest 5K EVAR, comically shuffling around the top of a mountain in giant clown shoes. I don't even ski.

(This admission "I don't ski" actually causes some of the locals to utter a sharp intake of breath and murmer, Dude! I think I'm the last person on earth who is active and lives near a mountain and doesn't know how to ski. But, I mean, I grew up in ALABAMA and TEXAS. Here's what I know how to do: swim in backyard pools, fan myself, and bitch about the heat. Y'all. I also know how to make my hair and makeup melt-proof. That's about it. )

But back to the race. It's a about a 5K out-and-back on the Sandia Crest trail. Either Pirate talked me into or else she was talking about I said, "Hey, I want to do that," I don't remember. But why not? It's a chance to 1) get new gear, 2) get a cool T-shirt, and 3) wear giant clown shoes and run across the top of a mountain with other people in giant clown shoes. Yay!

Always an adventure. I can't wait!

...

2008: A year of changes (?)

2008 is gonna be a year of changes. I can FEEL it.

<--But lets first get the gratuitious boob shot out of the way. (I think there's one there. )

No need to thank me guys.

Well, 2008 is the year no meds. I've been on meds for treating anxiety and adult AD/HD for the past 6 or 7 years, and I've tapered off them (under my doc's directions, of course) and now I'm done. I feel good. I feel calm. A little disorganized, but calm.

Second, it's the year that I accept that I'm going to be a bit softer, and rounder than what one imagines an endurance athlete to be. I entered all this hoping I'd come out of it with a hard body but what I have instead is a stronger, fitter body, and that's fine. I'm happy with that, and will focus on getting stronger and fitter and loving myself.

Lastly, at some point during 2008 I'm going to make a dramatic change in my career. I chose teaching because it provided the best intersection of my talents, abilities, and interests along with the (at the time) role of a single mother. I was available for my children when I needed to be. However, as my youngest approaches his senior year of high school he (thankfully) no longer needs me as much as he did.

Oh, he thinks needs me for ride after practice but we built our home 2 miles from the high school for a reason. Plus it's hard to whine to your mom that you need a ride when you've done an Olympic distance triathlon, a half marathon, AND you're in cross country but especially when your mom's 10 mile run goes past your school. Go on and hoof it, triathlon boy.
But anyway.

I'm good at what I do, and take it very seriously. I have lots of skills in reality but not on paper. Here's some of them that I'm trying to fit into a resume:

• I can make about 30 kids gasp with horror (by writing something on the board, tonight's homework assignment or the quadratic equation)
  
• I can bend and twist any government regulaton or new rule and make it conform to what I'm already doing.
  
• I can scan a room of people and, in about 10 seconds to determine whose cheating, who's sleeping, whose texting on their cell phone, whose watching a video on their ipod, who's doodling instead of working and--HEY, WHERE ARE YOUR HANDS? NO, YOU CANNOT SHARE A SEAT. BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT'S WHY.


• I can stand outside and watch kids get on the buses. And off the buses. And kiss each--HEY, LET'S MAKE A CLEAN BREAK, GUYS. THIS IS A FAMILY PLACE.
  I'm required to do this, twice a week.


• I can test the hell of kids (thanks, NCLB).


• I can use a computer fairly well, and I know the proper bribes for getting first on the list of the tech people when I need it fixed.
  
• I can write a lesson plan and then change it at the last moment because of an unnanounced picture make-up day, "off sight evaculation drill," or other contingency.
  
• I can, by creative use of language, make a parent enthusiastic about the idea that we should, "maybe think of other options besides college for Natalie."

Now, this spring I'll have about 10 years experience teaching and 2 master's degrees, one in Educational Psychology and one in Counseling.

Unfortunately counseling turns out to be a fairly useless degree, which nobody told me. Anybody can call themselves a "psychotherapist" without any training whatsoever in nearly every state, and few people know the difference between a "psychotherapist" and a "licensed professional mental health counselor."

What I do will need to cover incidentals such as running shoes, student loans, the ever-increasing cell phone bill, as well as allow me the time to get in all the training that has helped me become calm and thoughtful and happy. Because, without those, I'm no good to anyone, the people I try to help, my family, or myself.

More on this story as it develops.

...

In which I honestly appraise my 2007 resolutions...

...and attempt to make new ones for 2008.

I don't hate the idea of resolutions any more. I think it's a fine idea to have goals.

here were my goals for 2007, and how I fared:


I resolved not to eat any chlorella this year.
Result: Check. You see, it's my firm belief that you should always include goals you'd do anyway. Makes you feel good about yourself. Things like, I will not eat a bug. I will not pet a rat. I will not eat chlorella. Stuff like that.

Also on the short list of virulently green things I did not consume this year: wheat grass juice. Along those same lines, I also resolved not to try to best Dean Karnazes' 50-in-50 feat (check) or run slower than I already do. (check) or eat disgusting water chestnuts (check).

I resolved not to punch out the next person that insists to me that whey is the superior protein and I'm really missing out. Okay, well, they were right, it turns out. I apologize to all the people to whom I've given dirty look over the years. Whey protein's really the shiz.

I resolved not to buy any more equipment for my tribike with the goal of saving weight until I've taken more weight off me. Okay, I *sorta* did this. I did not buy any more equipment for my bike.
I did, however, buy a new bike that weighs 19 pounds fully loaded. Does that count?
As for my weight, I am holding steady at somewhere between 158 and 162.

I resolved not to be so bossy in public. Check. Now I just give people "the look." Unfortunately, I have found that the same look that has frozen kids in their tracks for 8 years straight is completely useless in the real world outside the classroom.

I resolved not to go on, ad nauseum, about my sexy toe socks. Okay, I didn't keep this resolution. I just can't help it. In fact, it scored me a free pair, because I couldn't shut up about them to the Injinji people that were at the Las Vegas marathon expo, where I gushed nonstop about how wonderful I think their socks are and practically threw my panties at their tent. They invited me to select a pair, FREE, since I wrote about them on my blog. Or maybe to get rid of me, since I'm clearly disturbed. Whatever. Free sexy toe socks is free sexy toe socks.

I resolved not to criticize every west Texas town about how it smells. Check. I LOVE west texas. Every month except July. And, um, when the stockyards are thawing.

Now, some goals for 2008. Hmmm.

1. I want to do become a "marathon maniac" this year. I'm signed for five marathons in five different states, and if I do the Duke City marathon in late October and then do 3 more in 3 different states in 2009, I can join the 50 states club.
I don't know why that's important.
IT. JUST. IS.

2. I'd like to do a 50K run this year. I'm already signed up for one, a 50K trail run in northern Alabama. Now let's see if I finish it. Before dark.

3. I'd like to finish Ironman Couer D'Alene before midnight, and this time without crying.

4. I'd like to get down to around 150 pounds this year. (That's 68 kg to our international friends and 10.7 stone for our friends north of the border and across the pond.) My actual goal is to have a lower bodyfat ratio.

5. I resolve to get my professional counselor's license this summer.

6. I resolve to lower the amount of fat in my diet. On the short list of things that must be avoided: Cheap nachos. The siren song of their cheesy-saturated-transfat goodness calls to me each and every time I go to the gas station. And then Pirate says, horrified, You run on that stuff?

Gratuitious boobs shot and humor, for the guys-->

7. Once again (3rd year's the charm?), I'm shooting for a 30 minute (or less) 5K. This year, I was able to do a sub-10-minute pace for one mile on 3 different occasions. Now I'd like to do it three times in a row, in the same event.

8. I'd like to bring my run volume up to at least 20 miles a week, consistently, for 3 weeks each month.

9. I resolve to clean out the den/study.

10. I resolve to write more silly haikus. Like these:

All these New Years goals

take all the good parking spots
in front of the gym.

Maybe the gym will
thin out if I put free cake

in the locker room

11. I will not consume wheat grass juice and chlorella, no matter how good woo-woo people claim they are for me. >shudder<

12. I will, as my very learned father used to say, $hit or get off the pot. In other words, quit complaining about my job or get another job.

13. I will try to talk more like a grownup and less like a high school freshman. I will say intelligent things like, "that's quite commendable" instead of, "that's the shiz" and "I don't care for that," instead of "that sucks."

14. Oh, yeah...be a better person, make the world a better place, yada, yada, yada.

...

Strength training observations

Ever do a new strength workout for the first time? You know the kind - you do it for the first time and are sharply reminded that you are NOT STRONG.

I did the Wednesday circuit class for the second time tonight. It left me all weak, sweaty, and trembling. Not the attractive, come-hither kind of weak, sweaty trembling. The smelly, dizzy kind of woman.

Anyhoo, I've discovered several things about my fitness, particularly when it comes to strength:

1) I'm hoping I looked just like this -->

2) My upper body strength is for $hit. I am the original 160-pound weakling. I started out doing things with 8 pound hand weights, and promptly switched to 5 pound weights after nearly hitting myself in the head with one. At one point, I switched to nothing. That's right, I was pumping some serious air, y'all.

3) I cannot do a pushup. Not that I didn't try: I assumed the plank position, and did one pushup.
Then I had to hit the mat with my knees to do two more. I had to stuck my big butt WAYYYYY up in the air in what I'm sure was a very attractive series of pushups, pausing between each one long enough to catch my breath, okay, pant deeply--OH and for future reference, do not ever look back to see what you look like in the mirrors that line the wall of the studio when you're in this position.
Just. Don't.

4) I respond very well to group pressure, even imagined group pressure. This particular teacher, when we didn't call out the number of whatever-we-were-doing-at-the-time reps loudly enough, would threaten to give us more to do, and we/I would hastily comply by yelling out as loudly as I/we could, even while the small, still, rational voice in my head was saying, "I'm a grownup. She can't make me do them."
No matter. I was taking no chances.

5) I probably look more like this -->

6) Oh, and here's a weird observation: whenever I see someone who's as heavy as I used to be in the locker room, changing off in the corner or the shower, hoping nobody will see her changing, I want to go and give her a big hug.
Is that weird? I want to tell her how great it is that she's here and that is she keeps at it, she'll feel better about herself. I want to, but I don't.
I'm afraid that I'll come off as condescending.

So I guess my goals are to do a real pushup and maybe use the medium weights in class. And maybe get up the courage to say something encouraging to those girls I see hiding in the corner in the locker room.

...

Rambling thoughts on a long, slow run.

Pirate did a 5K with her mom yesterday, her mother’s first one.
Pirate mom had apparently had, to put it mildly, a good time. I’ll let Pirate tell you about it. If she hasn’t, she should. Soon.

One of the things she told me about over the phone was her mother asking, after it was over, I feel so happy. Is this why you do this? How long does it last?

It's 7:30 in the morning and I'm thinking about this while running--okay, jogging--in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains just east of Albuquerque.

I looked at my Garmin. I felt pretty breathless, so just out of curiosity I paged through the screens. 6217 feet of elevation. Well, that would explain things. I hiked along, pondering the meaning of happiness.

My runs slow down the swirling thoughts in my head. Peace. Which, for me, is happiness. Most of the time, my thoughts are a tornado and I'm in the vortex with random thoughts swirling around me—thoughts, feelings, emotions, images of the past, ideas—they spin around me and sometimes I can grasp a few at a time but the another one blows in and I’m distracted.
Slap any label you want on it: Busy mom, Adult AD/HD, that crack on the head with a ball bat when I was 11.
It is what it is.

I stop to photograph a snow-covered cholla. After that I stop several times wondering if the pictures will mean the same in still life as they do right here, now.

Running slows down the cyclone of thoughts, images, flashes from the past, worries…they slow down so that I can reach out and select them, turning them over, considering them--and let them go again. Study them. Put them back. It slows things down. I hold onto ideas. Crystallize them into plans. Think things through.

I have never felt the "runner's high" but thoughts that flow languidly, instead of their usual frenetic pinging...this is the gift.

I thought about Pirate’s mother again. How long does the happiness last? and crossed my fingers for her. Maybe she’d found a whole new dimension to her life. Just one more person to find the happiness. I envy Pirate that experience. I wish I could have done that with my mom. I don’t know if it would have changed things; her particular heart disease probably started before I came along at age 28.
But maybe if I’d somehow been able to influence her, she might have tried harder to stay alive. Maybe she wouldn’t have turned down that clinical trial I was going to get her into.

Or maybe she would have. You can’t second guess yourself all the time, I guess. I release the sad thoughts about my mother. The wistfulness and longing spin away.

The path in the foothills is on an alluvial plane, naturally hard-packed dirt covered with crushed gravel. It’s a satisfying noise under my feet. From time to time I slow down as I become breathless. Sometimes I pull the balaclava over my mouth. Other times I pull it down. Sometimes I jog. Sometimes I walk “Briskly.” Many times, I stop and look around.

I look at my Garmin again. 6479 ft. A new plan forms. I will jog until it reads 6500 and then turn back.

People pass me, running, or on mountain bikes.

I bend down to tie my shoe and for some reason, decide to take a picture of a puff of snow on a tuft of grass, even though I know that what it is about the snow that made me take a picture of it probably won’t show in a photograph. I can see the individual snow flakes. I want to save it before it gets added to the mind/memory cyclone.


I step lightly to avoid a pile of dog mess in the trail, and another thought emerges from the whirl. Why would people deliberately leave that there? Dogs aren't horses, you know when they're "going." Of the 14 people with dogs I’ve seen, three of them are using a leash (as required by the park).

A thought occurs to me. People think they’re the exception, all the time. Their dogs are special. They are good drivers, other people are terrible. Their jokes are funny. The truth is, most people are neither terrible nor terribly special. They’re someone in the middle. The people who leave those messes probably think they aren’t doing anything bad. They aren’t gleefully laughing about it somewhere.
I forgive them.
I let my annoyance float away.

6482 ft.

I capture another thought. My daughter. She’s nineteen years old, 5’5”, and 230 pounds, sedentary, hates to exercise. She already has high blood sugar. I’ve already buried both my parents. Will I bury my daughter?
I consider this. I can be an example, gently suggest and give advice when asked, but I can’t live her life. That’s what it’s about, after all. They stressed me out and I couldn’t wait for them them to grow up. Then they do, and the worrying begins.

I turn the idea and the worry over in my mind, then let it go. It floats away

6505.

Damn. I missed it. I wanted to turn back at EXACTLY 6500.

Well, okay. I’ll just maybe go up to 6600. Then maybe I’ll stop.

Or, maybe I won’t.

...

Pre-Las Vegas Marathon Checklist

☑ Garmin heartstrap and units

☑Camera

☑Inhaler

☑Jogging bra

☑Nathan hand held water bottle

☑1 white running minidress with red and shiny snakeskin trim

☑1 white jumpsuit with red and shiny snakeskin trim, (including cape)

☑1 shiny red metallic belt

☑1 shiny gold belt

☑1 brown bouffant wig

☑1 black pompadour wig

☑1 pair of long, thick false eyelashes

☑temporary sideburn hair color, black

☑very frosty eyeshadow and frosty lip gloss

☑1 pair large, gold, aviator sunglasses

☑sense of humor and adventure

What? You mean your marathon checklist doesn't look like this?

Well, it should.

Tonight Sweet Baboo and I went to Wigs, Wigs, Wigs in Albuquerque. Let me tell you folks, this lady knows WIGS. She caters to everyone from alopecia sufferers to cross-dressers. She has personally be-haired (is that a word?) all manner of people, including RuPaul. My own hair should look as good as the wigs in this place.

In a small time she took a plain black short wig, and voila, Sweet Baboo had Elvis hair. Then she took a medium-length brown wig, back-combed and teased it into a large brown helmet of hair appropriate for my She-Elvis/Priscilla hybrid.

When I saw myself in the mirror, I had to say it, "It sounded just like a freight train. Y'all."

Think Patsy Cline.

Think Sally Field in, "Steel Magnolias"

Saturday I'm Santa and I'm running a 5K.

Sunday I'm She-elvis and I'm running a marathon.

When did it come to this?

...

I'm Thankful for my Oven

Alternate title: A White Trash Thanksgiving.

The time: Thanksgiving, 1992. I was a college student, but not your ordinary one, oh, no. Despite my insistence that I, Am, Lazy, I tend toward the type of impulsive decisions and movements that really bite me in the ass and force me to work harder than I need.

And so it was that as this particular Thanksgiving day approached, I was a 26-year-old, full-time college student at the University of South Dakota. I was divorced, with a 1-year-old, a 3-year-old, and a 7-year-old. I did not receive child support, and made too much money from my 20-hour-per week, minimum-wage workstudy, to qualify for welfare payments.

To say we were poor is a significant understatment. I used part of a student loan to put $500 down on the house that we lived in. The total price on the contract-for-deed: $2,500. I was on food stamps, child care assistance, heating assistance, and every other type of assistance I could find to get me through college and DONE.

On this particular Thanksgiving, I was given a very large turkey by a local charity, along with all the basics needed to put together a good Turkey Day feast.

Except that, well, I didn't have an oven. I didn't even have a large pot to boil it in, but that was besides the point: who has boiled turkey on Thanksgiving?

I had a range, of sorts - a friend of mine had clued me into it. She found it in a vacant lot with weeds grown up around it, a 1945 model that "looked like it should work." I actually got that thing loaded and drove it home, slowly, sticking out of the trunk of my 1980 Olds Delta 88. For FREE.

I got it home and I rigged some house wiring so that it was on the same circuit as the electric dryer I'd paid $25 for that, one day, gave a huge BANG! and flames sorta, well, shot out of the back of it. Yada,yada,yada, I took the back off and found a lot of charred something, and over $15 in change. As I've said before, my life has been interesting.

Anyhoo, the range and dryer were direct-wired in to the same circuit which is kind of dangerous and definitely illegal in most places, but I was "country" so it was okay.
I could never use them at the same time or somewhere a fuse would blow, but at least I could use them. However, unfortunately once in place I found that only two of the burners worked and the oven didn't work at all, but hey! I had a stove!

Now a friend of mine had an old Coleman grill that her husband had accidentally hit with the truck, and asked if I wanted it. She swore I could cook my turkey on it, given enough foil wrapped around it. It was pretty dented and the legs were trashed, but the lid sealed and so I set it up in my front yard on cinder blocks (no, I'm not making this up) and on Thanksgiving day, 1992, I fired up the coals.

For the next 5-6 hours I tended the turkey that I had wrapped in an entire roll of heavy-duty aluminum foil. I would set a timer and go outside every 40 minutes or so in my parka and snow pants (November, South Dakota) to turn the bird and pointedly ignore any of the 200 fellow townspeople who drove by just a little too slowly to stare at that crazy woman.

But anway. My friend who swore that this would work also came by, amazed, because, well, she'd never actually done it, and was curious to see if it actually worked. There I was: occasionally turning it until juices started leaking through the foil. I guessed it must be done, and dontcha know that eventually, it was, and it was delicious. The meat was falling off the bone, it was so done. But not something I'd care to repeat. A large pan in an oven inside the house is so much more, well, civilized. But if you want to try it, more power to you.

So the moral of the story is, I'm thankful for my oven, even if I don't eat turkey any more.

PS: Animals are friends, not food (you know I had to say it.)

PPS: Now it's your turn: tell me what weird thing are you thankful for?

...

Checking in.

Today's weight: 156.5.

Like to give a shout out to Cindy who called me a WEE LITTLE THING. I don't think anyone's called me that since I was in junior high. At 5'6", I'm not huge, sometimes I feel like it, especially at triathlons, where I'm surrounded by all the little bird people.

Hmmm. Well, I figured out that I stupidly sabotaged myself by entering the wrong nutritional content of Kraft Free Fat-Free Cheddar into my nutrition program. Instead of entering 2 grams of carbohydrate per serving, I entered 280. Duh. This may explain why I couldn't seem to get my carbohydrate level down to 55%-65% where I wanted it to be.

Now that I've corrected it, it turns out that my carb intake has been about 40% of my total caloric intake, which might explain why I've been bonking on my runs. I HOPE that explains it, anyway.

I'm enjoying having cheese back in my diet again. I try to stick to the fat-free stuff because dairy fat is SO bad for you. It's saturated, you know.

My tendon still hurts, especially when I walk, shift my weight, or put on my pants. It stops hurting when I run. So, as long as I run and don't stop, I'm fine. How messed up is that?

My weekly "short" runs are 6-8 miles if I can get them in before it gets dark. 3 weeks until the Las Vegas Marathon.

Oops, the bells is about to ring. My 25-minute lunch period is nearly over. Today, we're learning about relations, functions, domain, and range. I've been enjoying my job, which means that pretty soon they'll give me something stupid to do, like another series of tests I have to give, or something like that.

...

I got nothin'.

Today's weight: 158 lbs, holding steady.

What I've learned this week: I seem to have one day a week where I just blow it, calorie-wise. Blow. It. The good news is that I found out that a one-day a week food freak-out isn't a bad thing, what's important how it averages out over the week. All within moderation, of course. THis is one of the ideas behind the Weight Watcher's "flex points" plan.

My average has been about 2100 calories a day, at about a 53/28/19 (carb/fat/protein) ratio, and I'm looking to drop it a bit lower to average at 1800 calories. I'm still going through an adjustment period as I discover what a 50/25/25/ ratio feels, looks, and tastes like. I'm eating dairy (low-fat) and eggs (egg-beaters) for the first time in about 7 years, and it's taken some getting used to.

I'm also getting used to working out after work each day. Mini-baboo isn't in winter sports, so I am free to head out after work and either dance (Mondays) run down by the river (Tuesdays-Thursdays) or swim and spin at the gym (Wednesday-Fridays). I've been getting used to the self-imposed guilt of not being here to cook for my family, and also getting used to having to plan my days carefully so that the stuff I need is in the car.

I can't stress enough how light my training has always been, that's my dirty secret. Only Baboo has known about this. I joke about being really lazy, but truthfully, I'm a bit agoraphobic. With some practice, I'm getting used to going across town to the gym, and it will just be part of my routine. I have already noticed that although I get home later, I feel calmer and happier when I get to go to the gym a few times a week after work. I'm not stomping around the house muttering things like, "When do I get to go play? When is it my turn?"

See? When Mom's happy, everybody's happy.

Since Sweet Baboo is gone, I'm eating in bed and watching LOTS of TV. Shh. Mini-baboo tried unsuccessfully to get a ride the two miles to the high school, where he volunteered to help out at the state track meet, and then sulked and whined when I declined. He finally got on his bike and went, complaining the whole time.

Take a moment to think about this.

Mini-baboo, who is 16, large and healthy, was sulking because I would not drive him two miles. This is the same 16-year-old who has done an Olympic Distance Triathlon and an untold number of sprint tris and duathlons. It's a beautiful day, too. Sixty-eight degrees, 18% humidity.

He'd better watch it with the grumbling AND the attitude when he gets home. I've been known to go into great detail about how large he was at birth (10 pounds) and the resulting episiotomy. Seriously. Ladies, if you have sulky male child, this works wonders. I've driven him out of the room with his hands clamped over his ears. Sometimes it works for girls, too, particularly the ones that say "ew" when you talk about childbirth.

Later I shall grade Algebra tests. (Sigh.) I'm bored. I'm crossing my fingers that Sweet Baboo has a good race at the Silverman tomorrow, and will then hurry up and come home.

...

Headphone sound-off, wrap-up

So, lots of information I got from folks about thoughts and considerations re: headphones. To wrap up:

1. People who wear them in heavily trafficked areas are just plain annoying, and this includes many races. They get in the way and don't hear people who are trying to pass them.
2. Some people prefer to be more in tune with their surrounding and their own internal experiences and feel that music obsures this.
3. Some people like the music a lot, particularly in training, but don't listen to music during races.
4. Most of the people who commented felt that they were faster without it.
5. There seems to be a relationship between relative running ability and listening to music, although cause-effect isn't clear. As I've told my students, if A and B are related, then either A causes B, or B causes A to happen, or something else altogether causes A and B to happen at the same time.
6. It seems that one of the differences between people who prefer to run with and those who run without is that those who prefer to run without are more competitive, even if only against themselves.

I like to keep an open mind about things. When I originally wrote that post I was kind of ticked off, but you have all (as usual) have given me a lot to think about.

I also think from time to time about my marathon at Ironman Louisville. My previous marathon was 6 hours. My bike split was painful and slow and my feet and legs were sore and I was so tired. By the time I hit the run, I'd been racing for more than 10 hours. Yet, my Ironman marathon, without headphones, was 6:20, and I felt strong.

Perhaps the headphones have been holding me back?
Finishing a little faster would be nice because I'd like to be able to finish some races comfortably, instead of when it's really hot out and the pizza is all gone. Not that I don't enjoy the occasional drama of the last minute finish, but it's hard on me emotionally, ya know?

It bears investigating, I think. I still like my runs along the bosque dirt trail with my music from time to time, but perhaps now I start focusing on the various signals my body gives me. Maybe that will be the next stage in my "evolution" as a runner!

...

10 things to be happy about.

1. I figured out I can sit on the ice pack at an angle; I don't have to put it between my legs.

2. I love my hairstylist. For about 7 years now, I see Tammy every 6 weeks, and every 6 weeks I'm happy. She's also honest: She tells me if my idea for my hair is a bad one.

3. I have the day off today. Baboo and I are going to go see a movie.

4. I'd rather have an injury from hill running at 5100 feet than an injury from being too fat and out of shape to make it up the stairs. Plus, it's an injury found in distance runners and not some kind of ballerina injury.

5. Britney Spears' new album is, apparently, a hit. (I know we've all been worried about that.)

6. Best husband evar is pretty close to having a 1 in front of his weight for the first time since high school. I'm really happy for him. How does one celebrate losing a total of 60 pounds? Eating a lot of food? Women celebrate by buying clothes.
What do men do?

7. My teenager could be stealing money for drugs, instead of just wiping out my stash of toaster streudel. And clif bars.

8. Sure, I'm stressed at work, but at least I have a job.

9. My new admin is kind of strange in a mostly good way. She's real big on the "high five" thing, and super enthusiastic. She's also a runner, which makes me feel less like a freak.

10. I've found almost everything I've lost this month. i've got 3 of my 4 pairs of glasses, i know where my Garmin is (and it's not under the wheel of my car) and I'm just about packed for Soma.

...

Bitchy and moody.

The opening to Kashmir by Led Zepelin makes a really horrible ring tone. I know this now because I heard it several times yesterday. Sure, it seems like a cool idea, but reality is often a kick in the ass.

The More You Know.

Today was the first of several days almost designed to make me bitchy. First, after work I waited for a parent-teacher conference attendee who did not show up.

Then I went to NM Highlands U so that my prof could pointedly remind me, with barely concealed digust, that my title page was still not in proper APA format (because the title was not vertically centered, and because I had supressed the page number on the first page) and, just generally rip apart my paper.

I suppose it is possible that some future client will ask me, Before I decide to make you my therapist, I have to know: Are you well versed in APA format? Because I just can't do therapy with someone who has title pages that are in some other, lesser format.

Another benefit of the meeting is that it's always useful for me to get lots of negative messages so that I can remind myself of how much I suck.
Because, you know, there just aren't enough opportunities for one to be reminded.

Oh, and guess what. The paper is due MONDAY. It's due MONDAY.

It has to be FINISHED. COMPLETELY. ON MONDAY.
So much for Friday off.

I'm cranky.

Also, I'd forgotten to eat most of my 11-hour day. I wasn't hungry, of course, but I was bitchy and moody. And sarcastic. (Sorry, Sweet Baboo) Turns out I only had about 700 calories today. Not. Good.

Hmmm. bitchy, moody, with low blood sugar: Gosh, it's just like being a teenager again! without the boyfriend drama and the chain-smoking!

Oh, yesssssss. I was so cool. Me, my drama, and my scarred lungs. Were. Sooooo. Cooooool.

But anyway. Tomorrow I have 14 (yes, FOUR. TEEN.) conferences after school, in a marathon of another kind, from 2:30 to nearly 8:00 pm. I'm going to run first, and then pull a 13-hour day, and then go home and collapse.

6 days to Soma 70.3

Am I ready?

...