Call me Ahab.

Dear Diary,

This past weekend Sweet Baboo and I ran the Air Force marathon. We're on our way to completing all five military marathons this year, and have already done the Army, Navy, National Guard, and will do the last one--the Marine Corps marathon--in late October.

This one has been around for 17 years. It's held on Wright-Patterson AFB, near Dayton, OH. There is a 3/4 mile walk to the start line, so there's your warning. But at the start they have Potty City, and there are two long double banks of porta potties with NO WAITING. One might tempted to hang out in one and nap, or just get out of the rain. Might. The full marathon is small, and you aren't too far back from the start line when the cannon goes off.

By mile five I had found my white whale.The white whale is that person in every race that I choose, for some arbitrary reason, to chase down. It clears my mind of the general despair and tendency to compare the race to an exponential decay function, which theoretically never reaches zero. In other words, the race feels like it's never going to end. Like Ahab I'm a little mad at the end of a race so this keeps me sane.

There are criteria for being my white whale. Usually they done something to catch my eye. Maybe they just gave, or I imagined that they gave, me a weird look at mile five, or they look just a bit too smug and cheerful while I'm suffering, or maybe it's something real like I saw them cheating or acting like an asshole. Maybe they run really funny and it must seems like I should be able to beat them. They aren't nice thoughts that put a person on my radar. It is what it is.

There are several reasons why I chose this particular gentlemen as my white whale.

First, he had a really stupid haircut. I believe it's referred to as a "faux Mohawk" and I'm sorry to say this, gentlemen, but everyone looks stupid in one.

Second, he had a really stupid tattoo. I think it was supposed to look like the muscles of his legs were showing with the skin peeled back, but it was badly done so just ended up looking stupid.

Bu most importantly, the third thing to make him my white whale was what happened around mile five. As I was reaching for a Gatorade in the outstretched hand of a volunteer, he ran up, reached across me, and snatched it away, inches from my hand.

Oh fuck no you did not just do that. It's on, buddy.

A major White Whale requirement, I forgot to mention, is that it looks possible to run them down. This guy was tall and muscular like Sweet Baboo but unlike Sweet Baboo he had a highly inefficient stride. As he sprinted away, his greying rooster hair bobbed in the breeze. He stomped down the course and out of sight. I figured he'd wear down eventually.

I'm patient in hunting the whale. I run along, seething, thinking, oh, I should have knocked that cup out of hand accidentally...that's what I should have done. I should have called him a dick to his face.

But I am a master of patience. And passive-aggression.

About mile ten, as I was coming out of one of the many potties on the course (this marathon had more potties at the start and on the course than any marathon I've ever done. It was a dream. No waiting.) I caught sight of him about a block ahead, already walking. I was almost disappointed, having built up in my mind a scenario where I passed him near the finish. I ran along, using a Galloway 4:1 ratio, and caught him by mile twelve, passing him easily. Despite several more potty breaks after that, I never saw him again.

Then I was bored. Stuff hurt due to my crappy training and the twenty pounds I've gained in the past year. It's a nice course, very runnable and it was great weather (a might steamy at the end, but hey, it's not supposed to be easy) fantastic volunteers and only a few rollers at the beginning and then again at the end. Nearly the entire thing is on the air base and the roads are closed or nearly so. I visited the potty some more, scored some Vaseline from the medical volunteers to protect the lady bits, but generally it was uneventful. I suspect I was someone's white whale because there were some folks working hard to pass me. Some did. Some did not. One guy ran around me and pivoted abruptly, running backwards in front of me, scaring the crap out of me.

WHICH IRONMAN?!?

I was confused at first. Pop quiz! Then I realized: the tattoo. Then I had to think. I sputtered, oh, I, uh, Kentucky!

Eventually I was at mile twenty-two, slowly grinding my way toward the finish. I was moving slowly, in a straight line, through an aid station and chugging some more Gatorade. Just then, a loud, grating woman's voice screached in my ear, look out!!!! I'm passing you on your left!!!

What the fuu---? I wasn't even moving left! The woman, a very smug-looking racewalker, waggled by me, looking very, very bitchy. And smug. You know the type. They're all, you with your running, why, I'm not running and I'm doing a marathon! And I just passed you! Idiot!!

Yep, I was sure that's what she was thinking.

And just like that, I had my new white whale.

Oh, it's on, bitch...

....

 

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Diets. Tuesday twelve.

Dear Diary,

12. I've been fiddling around with weight loss diets this year and have come to some conclusions:

• Low carb. I work out strenuously a minimum if an hour a day, often two hours a day, and I NEED FUEL. And yes, I know there is one for athletes, it's just not for me.
• Paleo is just weird. It's like a cult or something.
• Mayo clinic is an excellent book to read about nutrion and portion control, rather than a diet.

11. There is one system for me that has worked, and that is Weight Watchers. I've decided to try it again. Problem is, doing Weight Watchers with Sweet Baboo is enough to make me eat a cake. For one thing, he gets about 129 points a day. I get 26 points. He walks across the house and earns another twenty points. I run six miles of trail and earn okay it's really a hike/jog about three.

10. Week 1. a disaster. One of the nurses brought in soft, fresh bagels from Einsteins. Am I made of stone? For the record, three bagels will wipe our your weekly points. Also, one of the techs eats bacon for breakfast. Every. Single. Day.

Fucker.

Mmm. Bacon.

Week 2 was just me being unable to say no to anything. Bacon...cupcakes...whatever. Kettle chips are my weakness. They are my Kryptonite.

Week 3. has been better. I'm slowly recapturing some of that willpower I used to have. I even was able to ignore the cupcakes with a pile of frosting on them, into which was stuck some candy corns. I ordered a coworker to eat the last two so I wouldn't have to look at them any more.

9. I've been good about getting to Olympic weightlifting three days per week. I started to run into some problems with my knees (achey) and the top of my lower leg (sharp, shooting pain) but then i started doing more yoga and my coach showed me a killer quad stretch and that went away.

8. I have "discovered" chopped salads, thanks to Subway. Mmm. Juicy. I toss them with Walden Farms stuff and a touch of balsamic because the Walden Farms stuff tends to be a bit sweet. Sometimes if I've been good, a tablespoon or so of shredded cheese. If I've been really good, a tiny bit of chopped bacon. Mmm.

7. It's amazing, isn't it, how much eating can get out of hand? I'm all, I don't understand WHY I put on so much weight...I eat like a bird! Yeah, right. An ostrich, maybe. I was eating family-sized Greek salads and large souvlaki pita sandwiches in one setting. So now it's a small greek salad and a single souvlaki on a skewar.

6. I've lost three pounds this week. In the past when I finally nutted up and used some willpower, I was able to drop pretty fast. I'm hoping this is a start. My knees and ankles are getting tired of all this extra weight.

5. I have a new running partner.

I know what you're thinking. It's either, why hasn't she been running or with the dog? Or maybe it's when did she get a dog? Chloe, or Coach Chloe as I call her, is a harsh taskmaster. She's a complete spaz, first of all. She totally freaks out when mountain bikes approach. It's a workout keeping her from leaping at all the dogs that are off leash DON'TEVENGETMEFUCKINGSTARTEDONTHATSHIT and she pulls like I'm waterskiing. I wear a getup that Sweet Baboo cooked up. It consists of a repelling harnass, repelling line, full strength carabiners, and a doggie back pack from REI.

She looks like a sweet little dog, but she's about 55 pounds of kick ass. We adopted her on 2009 and she's part Rodesian Ridgeback and part other stuff. Mutt stuff. She drags me running up hills that I would rather walk, and nearly kills me pulling down hills faster than I can safely navigate.

 

4. Week 2 of standing at my desk. The first week was tough. Not only was there a parade of curious coworkers (including one doctor who I call Doctor Drama, who breathed, oh, you're going to get in so much trouble from JCO because he is, after all, Doctor Drama) but i've been working out the practical aspects. More on this as it develops.

3. This Saturday Baboo and I are doing the Airforce marathon in Dayton. I already have Ohio, but we're trying to get on all the military marathons this year. We have already done the Navy, Army, and National Guard. The last one is, of course, the Marine Corps. Oooorah!!

2. Walden Farms also makes calorie free toppings. pair them up with Arctic Zero frozen ice-cream-alike stuff, and it's not awesome, but it's a very low calorie banana split, or sunday, or whatever.

1. For my Honolulu marathon trip, I have purchased: 1 pair of ex-officio convertible hiking pants, two sarongs, two pairs of flip flops, and two pair of sunglasses. Dreadpirate says that's all I need. Anything I missed?

...

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Burning calories when my body's not looking.

Dear Diary,

I hate that whenever I sign up for anything that involves having a profile, and I have to categorize myself as sedentary. I might run a lot but I sit for eight hours a day at work. I've also been trying to figure out why these 20 pounds keeps hanging on. I was speaking to a collegue who just had her hips replaced, and she went on a rant against sitting. It undoes everything, she said.

I recalled that in my last job I had to get work out of my inbox, which was down a flight of stairs. I would also print and fax using a machine that was downstairs. When I started that job, and began daily six to eight trips up and down the stairs throughout the day, I rapidly lost 20 lbs. In this job, I've put on 15 lbs in 16 months. I sit, sit, sit.

And then there's this excerpt from a reviewer on Amazon who summarized a chapter of the book, "The First Twenty Minutes":

8) Sitting adversely affects the health of even the well-exercised. Even if you exercise one hour a day, it does not counteract the ill effects of sitting for the rest of the day. It's important to break up the long hours of sitting, even if it's for a two-minute stroll. This was probably the most shocking discovery for me, who felt very virtuous by exercising every morning before my one hour drive to work followed by 8 hours sitting on a chair!

So, i found a flight of stairs near my office. It's actually two flights, leading up to the roof. I bought this watch

It has 12 alarms on it and instead of beeping it vibrates. This is nice for when you're in a meeting and need a reminder of the time but don't want to be obvious about leaving when your watch is leaving. It's also nice if you're hard of hearing or work in a noisy environment. I bought it primarily for doing therapy, but it also reminds me to take medication in the middle of the day.

I set alarms for 10, 12, and 2. Each time the alarm went off, I slipped on my flats, went over to the stairs, and ran up and down them, twice. This has the added benefit of doing some "high knees" which I badly need, as I tend to shuffle. I started doing this the week of august 30.

I'm also investigating ways to stand more at my desk. I'm kinda intrigued by this, because when I was a teacher, when I went back to school i would automatically drop about 10 lbs. i think this was mainly because I walked and stood almost all day.

Apparently it involves some jerryrigging and cushiony mats.

So here's my experiment:

I've spent two days standing at my desk. It reminds me of when I was a teacher and went back to school in August. Back then the first week was agony, lower back pain and foot pain. for my experiment, the first day, my feet hurt, so I brought an anti-fatigue mat from my kitchen. Ahhh. The second day, my hips ached a bit, so I walked around more. Better.

But, I felt more alert, and I didn't get my afternoon sleepy.

I'll keep you posted.

 

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Product Review: Free Country Swimsuit, size Large.

Dear Diary,

A rep from Free Country wrote me and offered to send me a swim suit if I would review it for my blog.

Say it with me now:

Hell yes I'll take your free stuff!

What I like about the new trend in swim suits is that you can pick your tops and bottoms, mix and match. Of course, the companies get more money that way, because they can charge the same for one part of the suit as they used to for the whole suit, but whatever. I get to customize my look.

The Free Country web site has other things besides swimsuits although, now that summer is drawing to a close, they are having a pretty fantastic sale. Their swimsuits are, for the most part, pretty functional.

Right my, with the 25 extra pounds hanging on, my "look" says, "tankini." What I like about "Free Country" is that they also sell plus sizes, and while their models are not really plus sizes, they aren't Vickie Secret girls either. They look relatively like, well, normal people.

This chick, for instance, looks like she could finish a marathon, and might have even read a book.

This chick, however, does not:

And don't even get me started on how VS insists that I wear a 16, when the rest of the fashion industry says I wear a 12. Fuck you, Vickie.

Here is what ordered from Free Country. I wanted something decorative and functional.

 

When it arrived, Sweet Baboo thought that the convertable swim top was just a regular top. It can be worn that way. It has lined, supportive cups and I'm talking real support, not a "shelf bra" and srsly, is there anything less appealing than the idea of putting pair of breasts on a shelf? I would argue that there is not. It has convertable straps, which I love. I asked ahead of time, about the fabric and was told it was chlorine resistant. It is good, thick material that reminds me of speedos chlorine resistant suits. If they're the same, this thing will last forever.

Test 1: Lap Swimming with DreadPirate. Who hasn't posted in more than a year. Ahem.

Dread Pirate has made herself the boss of me as often as she can. She is a perpetual mom, and knows also that I'm coming out of about a 9 month major depressive episode, which I'm still struggling to find the words for, but plan to post about soon. She convinced me to come swimming with her at our gym.

Anyway, i like my shoulders. Whenever I can I wear racerbacks, and when I have convertable strapes I criss cross them in the back to show off my shoulders. I swam 1200 meters in this and didn't have any problems with movement, mine or the suit's. It was quite comfortable for my hour of swimming.

Test 2: Hot tub.

Eventually, it started raining, and I was all, "oh, it's raining, so I'm going to go sit in the hot tub.' One does not necessarily lead to the other but in my world, it does. of course, since the hot tub is also outside DP gave me a look that used to shame me but it really doesn't work any more, and I went over to the hot tub. No part of the suit crept anywhere it shouldn't, and I felt like I had decent coverage.

NOTE: I noticed today that this particular top is marked way, way down in $$ on the Free Country web site, so if you like it, jump on it.

Test 3: Hawaii.

Actually, I can't post about this because it hasn't happened yet. Sweet Baboo surprised me with trip to someplace warm in December! The Honolulu Marathon is there, and we'll be doing that as well as, I hope, some snorkling and surf lessons, both of which I have long coveted but never done. I'm packing light, under DP's direction I'm taking some flip flops, running shoes, one set of running clothes, a pair of lightweight hiking pants, two sarongs, and maybe a hat. And sunglasses. I'm taking this suit, too, because it's pretty and flattering and I can move comfortably in it without feeling the need to tug at it.

Over all, I'm very pleased with the suit that is pretty but modest, comfortable and durable.

...

 

 

 

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Thoughts on Miley

Dear Diary,

Here are my thoughts on the matter, and that's all the attention I'm going to give it.

1 oh, holy shit my mom would roll over in her grave if i did that in public.

2 as if I could ever wiggle my ass like that. i wish i could wiggle my ass like that. Not in public. But still

3 the tongue thing is kinda weird.

4 okay, now that i've watched Thick's and Cyrus' videos, the whole thing makes sense.

5 how can lauper say that she's encouraging date rape? I though we were trying to get away from blaming rape on victims and how they act, is Lauper trying to turn back the clock again?

6 wtf, she's 20. I did some outrageous things when I was 20. My ex husband loves to tell people about them. Nobody cares, but he doesn't have a life, so he does it anyway.

7 your kid who used to love Hannah Montanah cried when she saw that? Why was she watching MTV? I mean, srsy. It's MTV. Srsly

8 the fact that Trump said "Bravo" is just creeeeeepy.

9 i still wish I could wiggle my ass like that.

10 "gas pedal?" Whaaaa tf is that?

...

 

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Inspiration Friday.

Dear Diary,

This is Olga, and I wish I had this on a poster.

 

Olga cannot jump further than me or run faster than me, unlike most...

 

she cannot throw a shotput or discus further than me.

 

Yet, she is still considered one of the finest athletes in the world, because she consistently sets records in her age group in the long jump and other events.

This year, she will be 94. Not surprisingly, scientists are studying her.

You can read more about Olga here.

 

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Iowa/South Dakota Marathon Double, a belated report.

Dear Diary,

During June I got two new marathon states. We did a marathon double: Marathon to Marathon in Iowa on Saturday, and then South Dakota on Sunday. This is my belated race report for those races.

When we go to places like Iowa in June, that are green and moist and lush we are often struck with the notion of what it would be lie to live in a place like that. That lasts about a day, diminishing somewhat when I have to start propping myself up with a cocktail of antihistamines, sudoephedrine, and nasal spray. I'm incredibly allergic to many green things and some black things. I'm talking about grass and mold. These are the reasons I live in New Mexico.

In any case the Marathon to Marathon is a lovely run. It's a nice course. The weather was lovely, and given that I live and train at an altitude of 6000 feet, I felt like I was swimming in oxygen. I made record time in the fist quarter of the race. But that's when things took, literally, a turn for the worse. About mile 8 or so we turned north, and for the next 15 miles we were subjected to the smell of money that was so powerful it stayed in my nostrils until mile 23.

The "smell of money," for the uninformed, is the smell associated with a large-scale hog operation. The hogs are confined in large warehouses, and their waste flows out into "lagoons" next to the buildings. And these lagoons do not have palm trees and girls in hula skirts.

Hog shit smells a lot like people shit. So basically, a solid shit smell for 15 miles of slow running. The last three or four miles, thankfully, it began raining and rained continually. The wind blew the rain from a different direction so that I was thankfully upwind for the rest of race. I finished, in Marathon, Iowa, and went down into an old school basement to shower, and it was the Best. Shower. Ever.

We had a nice post race meal during which I was subjected to karaoke. I will tell you that you have never heard the musical embodiment of the white race until you've heard Macy Gray's "I Try" sung by a farmwife in Iowa.

We got into our rental and drove to Volin, South Dakota. This is where I lived while I was in college and the first of my many graduate schools, from 1991 to 1999. I have an old friend there, Nancy, who gave us a nice room to stay in, cooked for us, and We caught up.

An aside, which you can skip if you like:

The swan lake marathon had a special meaning for me. I lived not far away when my children were small and I was in college. There was a time in my life, pre-Baboo, when I found myself heartbroken and devastated. I had just gone through another divorce, quite unexpectedly, and my mother was dying. I was looking into checking myself into a hermitage owned by the church I attended at the time, but I needed someone to watch my kids. I asked a friend of mine, who said, "i've got a fishing shack up at Swan Lake. You can go any time you want."

So, every friday morning I would pack up the kids and a case of wine coolers and some trashy novels and head up there. No phone. No internet. No radios. no video games or TV. The kids were forbidden to take off their life jackets but could otherwise have as much fun as they wanted, within line of sight. I dragged an old aluminum chase lounge down into the water, eschewed sunblock, and read and drank wine coolers most of the day.After the kids went to bed each night, I sat out on the dock, thought about my mother, and end of yet another marriage, and grieved. I didn't eat. It was the best. diet. ever. i carefully scheduled this mini-breakdown to end when school started, and when I returned to my final semester of grad school, I was golden, thin, and at peace.

Eventually, I got better.

We all do.

But anyway.

I packed clothing for a warm run because, after all, this was the forecast: warm, sunny, dry. Turns out, not. So. Much.

The next day it was pouring. We ran through the rain in the dark to find packet pickup, and ran through the rain in the dark to the start line. I opted for the early start, and I ran through the rain, the dark, wearing a trashbag, for about an hour. On muddy dirt roads. The really fucked up part was that I had sunglasses on. So, I had a choice: run in the pre-dawn darkness without glasses and not see a thing, or run with dark, rain smeared glasses in the pre-dawn darkness and not see a thing. The rain let up, for a little while, and I ran down a well-traveled road, wondering why everyone was running on the other side until a semi loaded with hay blew by me and nearly blew me off the road. Around mile 10, and I was running down another muddy road, and it started raining again. At mile twelvish, I was miserable. I was tired, undertrained, and I had just run a marathon the day before.

I stopped at an intersection where i could run right, and finish a half marathon.

Done.

i'd be done.

Or, I coukd turn left, and do another thirteen miles. I stood there, in the rain, thinking...thinking. Then I decided: okay. I'm going to turn around and look back down the road behind me. If Sweet Baboo is right there, I will finish the marathon. If he's not, I'll take the coward's way out and we'll just have to come back to South Dakota another time.

I took a breath.

I turned around.

Mother. Fucker.

He was right there, running toward me. At first he didn't see me, because I was jacketed and hatted and standing in the rain, so I called out to him. He listened to me whine and complain about how tired I was, how wet I was, like he has patiently for the past thirteen years. Then he finished the marathon with me. As he has many times.

I just realized I forgot to fill in Nebraska. Damn.

Then we flew home.

The end.

...

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