I drink too much coffee

Last night, my 2 year old found my bookmark and wrapped it around his sippy cup like a coffee sleeve.

"Look mama, I drink coffee, too!"

Space Coast Half

Although I trained for and ran a marathon last January, and although I have kept up a somewhat respectable training routine since then, Sunday was my first official half-marathon. I was timid, mostly because my left foot has been aching; a mysterious soreness that seems to alternate between my plantar and my achilles. Basically, I feared that a long run at race pace might knock me out of the sport for a while. No one has ever confused me for being Kenyan, so it wasn't a huge shift to slow to a 12 minute mile or slower.

I drove up to Cocoa for a warm Florida race that unveiled a new theme this year: Space. From the countdown of the Space Shuttle on the jumbotron at the start, to the alien costumes running past me, the excitement was in the air. I even saw dolphins twice along the Indian River route. Without the lust for a PR, I was able to pay attention to the moment and really enjoy running for running's sake. After feeling fine at the turn-around, I started to pick it up a bit. By the last 5K, I was full of energy and inspiration. I was passing people left and right, even skipping my intervals with little effort. All was well, I had made up lots of time and was ending up a little faster than predicted.

When I came around the corner of the public park, the crowd went wild. Not only did I have the regular race photographers snapping away, I had video cameras surrounding me. People were clapping and yelling "Looking good!" I felt like a million bucks....until I hear a bicycle approaching from being and a man yelling "Get out of the way!!!!!"

Thirty-three year old, Ezekiel Ruto, was hurtling towards me and quite possibly would have mowed me over had the "Lead Runner" biker not come through. Ezekiel was completing the full marathon just about the time I was finishing the half. Still, it was a great race. And basking in the winner's glory for 25 seconds was nice, too.

6.2

Six a.m., my wristwatch alarm goes off, and I roll out of bed trying not to wake anyone up.
I push the button to start the coffee brewing and change into my clothes not-so-neatly arranged the night before by the front door. Ten minutes later, I'm driving to meet up with 2000 other folks from the community for what may be my favorite family get together of the day. Even though it's a race, I endure more stress and competition from a Thanksgiving Meal than I do a Turkey Trot.

I am so thankful for discovering running...aches and all. With a sore foot, this morning wasn't an all out sprint, or even as quick as my regular pace. It was about seeing the hundreds of people whom I've met along the trails. It was about getting a jump start on all the calories I'm about to consume. It was about flooding my body with enough happy endorphins to hold me through the entire day with the relatives on Thanksgiving.

Happy Thanksgiving

LOL

Not amused by my site?
.....perhaps dis is more yer stylz

Note to Miami Drivers:

I'm not saying Hello from my bike - I'm turning right.
You should know better than to think it would be a friendly gesture, we're not in Oregon.

(Although, I do understand turn signal sightings are somewhat foreign, more so than the elusive thing called "friendliness" - stop trying to kill me).

1600 Meters

My neighbor, when I was 6, was on the Olympic Swim Team. My mother convinced this young man to come over to our house and work on the swimming skills of my older brothers' and I. Mostly what I remember is that he made me do too many laps and I had to choose which side I was going to breathe on. He doesn't get swimming, I thought. He only enjoys going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Where is the joy in that?

Years later, long after swimmers started being taught to breathe on both sides, long after I could no longer could amuse myself for hours on end in the shallow end, and months after gaining the equivalent of a 6th grader while pregnant, I returned to swimming laps.

It took me a dozens of sessions a la snorkel & mask to relearn breathing both left and right while making my heart pump (although I never really got used to the looks at the gym). And it took applying my knowledge of Jeff Galloway's training method to convince myself I could cross the pool multiple times without drowning. A couple birthdays later when I started training for the sprint triathlons this summer, I was still pretty uneasy in the pool. I look forward to my runs, I enjoy taking my bike out, but going to the pool always seemed like homework.

But last week, it clicked. The runner's high morphed into the swimmer's high. Three months ago, I committed to defining a swim workout as a total of 1600 meters, roughly a mile. And twice a week, more or less, I've been plugging through, 100 meters of Freestyle, 100 meters of Breast Stroke (I think of it as Break Stroke, since I can catch my breath), followed by a 30 second break. Last week, by the time I was half a mile through, I was craving more - like the water was a drum and my arms were pounding out a jungle rhythm - Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba. I didn't want to stop, I could hear the song and needed to continue. I dropped the Break Strokes and replaced them with Freestyle. Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba. This is all at a stark contrast to what my swim usually is: Oh, dear god, I have 2 more laps before I get a break. Not last week. No, I understood my old coach's back and forth, back and forth.

Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba

I have to go swim......

Show You Care

Did sending a check to the victims in Phuket leave you feeling a little empty? Did you feel like something was missing after collecting 47 cans of corn beef hash for the Khao Lak kids?
Perhaps not enough people knew you took the time to be anonymous. Now, show you care by showing off your Tsunami Merit Badge. Ahh, getting credit really does feel good.