Trisko Update

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Friends, the trisko is looming. I will run my very first half marathon (unless you count the two half marathons that composed last fall's full marathon) on Sunday, May 11.

Training for a trisko is really different from training for a full marathon. I have long runs to do, but they just aren't that long. And because the distance isn't quite so punishing, there is no taper - and no accompanying taper madness.

Two Saturdays ago, I ran a 10 mile run that kicked my heiney-butt all over the place. I was tired and had to stop to walk a couple of times. Every injury I have ever had in my entire life came back to say hello - except for the shin pain that had me so worried. It was like, "Knee pain? What the hell - you haven't been around since January. What are you doing here? And now you, hip pain? You went away in November, and you sure as Yoda are not coming back now."

But the good thing is, this is not my first big race, so I know that every once in a while, I'm going to have a bad run. Because on Saturday, I ran 11 miles, rocked it out, and felt completely fine afterwards. Just hungry.

I am also considerably more prepared for the race than I was for my marathon last fall. I've reviewed the course map, and it features a big-ass hill towards the beginning of the race. The hill is on 4th Street in Moline, and Stately Wasser Manor is on 3rd Street. That means that there is absolutely no reason for me to not make that hill my bitch. I plan my training runs now so that I have to run up that hill at some point - usually when I'm fatigued. I'll have to post a picture of the monster so that you will all be impressed by how bad-ass I am.

Less bad-ass is the fact that the time I took off for my hurt shin has made me change my goals.

Old Goal: 2:00 or less, in preparation for a 4:00 marathon in the fall.

New Goal: Whatever.

Few Words

The challenge of this week's Take It and Run Thursday is to post some wisdom about running in 13 words or less.

My first thought was to give some advice that I repeatedly learn the hard way:

Don't overtrain. Just because you physically can doesn't mean you should.

But really, there has never been better coaching advice than that given in the genius film Better Off Dead. Sure, it's about skiing, but it works for us, too:

Go that way... really fast. If something gets in your way... turn.

Down by the River

Steve called me late yesterday afternoon to tell me that he had to work late. That's fine, but it meant I wouldn't be able to get in a run, since it was also my night to recap American Idol. Again, that'd be okay, except that I know I won't be able to run today either, since he's got another work thing. And that trisko is looming closer, you guys.

Then, I decided to make it work. I wouldn't be able to do my scheduled five miles, but if I kept things interesting for Jack, maybe I could do three. And to make things as interesting as possible, I decided we should go to the bike and running path down by the Mississippi River.

This little outing took considerably more work with the Cub involved. For one thing, I had to figure out how to cram the jogging stroller into my car, ultimately shoving it onto the passenger seat. And I had to pack snacks. Then Jack wanted to learn how to make Gatorade - "Some for you, and some for me, too, because I'm going to run too, Mommy."

The second I parked my car, Jack pulled off a classic kid move: "Mommy, is there a potty here?" The answer to that question was either "No" or "Yeah, see that rock over there?" And thus, I became the one to teach my son how to pee outdoors. I always thought his dad would take him through that rite of passage, but I was desperate.

I finally got him in the jogger, only to have him immediately dump 3/4 of his goldfish crackers on the ground. Jack and I established that there is no Five Second Rule outside when he saw a partially eaten container of McDonald's french fries lying in a parking lot and was intrigued by them. We do not eat food off of the dirt - not even french fries or shrimp cocktail.

At last, we were off. Jack had a fine time looking at ducks, waving at babies, and checking out the dogs. I actually managed to get in about 2-3/4 miles before he asked me if he could run, too. He'd been more than patient, so I unstrapped him, and we took off.

Running a quarter of a mile is probably very much like running a 10 miler if you have little short legs like he does. But Jack really kept at it. Every once in a while, he'd stop to walk, and I'd ask him if he wanted to ride in the stroller for just a little while. Every time, he responded by saying, "I want to run" and taking off once more.

There is no doubt in my mind: the kid is a future distance runner. I think he's in for quite the dilemna the fall of his freshman year in high school when he has to decide between Daddy's sport of soccer and Mommy's sport of cross country. I'd be willing to bet money that he'll wind up a cross country runner. He likes playing soccer, but I've never heard him laughing with glee the way he does when he's running.

After our run, we stopped for Gatorade - me in my green water bottle, Jack in his Thomas the Tank Engine sippy cup. We discovered that the geese that live by the river are a bold and frightening lot. My friend Felicia writes on her blog Life Aboard Mazurka about a pair of geese that pretty effectively terrorize her boat home. She calls them the Cheneys, which made me instantly think of this goose as Condi.

Jack and I stood on one side of a park bench, with his sippy cup on it, and Condi was on the other. She marched right up to us hissing. It is really weird to see a bird hiss, and at first, Jack thought it was funny to see a bird sticking its tongue out. But Condi got awfully close to us, and since she and Jack are roughly the same size, he started to feel intimidated. "Mommy, I don't want that goose to lick my cup," he said, "Will you please pick it up?" I had to admit that I was scared of the goose too and was nervous about picking the cup up. Then, Jack, Roary, and I tried to scare Condi away by roaring at her. We sounded ferocious, but Condi was nonplussed. She backed up slightly, so I swooped in and rescued the sippy cup. Jack and I then retreated.

It was a really fun night. What had looked like an evening of me being slightly resentful at not getting a run in turned into an adventure.

Family Sports Weekend

This weekend was the first time this year that we've had warm weather. Finally, it feels like spring, but it's been cold for so long that the warm weather feels precarious. I wanted to soak up every minute of it, for fear that it will start snowing again any second. As a result, the boys and I spent a lot of time outside, and it wound up being a big Family Sports weekend.

On Saturday, we went to a track meet at Augustana. It was a lot of fun to watch, and of course brought back lots of memories for both me and Steve. Jack, too, loved every minute of it. In between races, he'd run back and forth in front of the bleachers, just dying to get out on the track himself. When the meet was over and the athletes had cleared out, I told him we could go down there. Jack merrily ran along, yelling, "YOU CAN'T CATCH ME!" and "GO, AUGIE!" After we turned the first curve, I suggested we turn around and run back. No way. Jack wanted to go all the way around the track. He stopped a couple times to walk, but he did it. 400 meters is a long way if you're only 3 years old, so I think that the boy is a future distance runner.



Yesterday was time for more sports. The three of us played frisbee, catch, and soccer. And then, we set up Jack's new mini golf course, a Christmas present from his grandparents. It's a very cool toy - we can set up the courses in a number of different ways. And it's designed such that it's not ridiculously hard for a little kid to do. On the first hole, all three of us got it in one on the first try, so Jack didn't get frustrated at not being as good at it as we were.



After a quick trip to buy flowers to plant, I suggested that Jack and I stop by the grocery store for popsicles, which we could then eat on the back step. Jack's response? "I love you, Mommy."

No Ifs, Ands, Or...

It's time for another edition of Take It and Run Thursday. This week's theme is Inspiration. There are so many things that inspire me to run, but today, I want to talk about a very special inspiration, one that is behind me every step of the way.

I am talking, of course, about my butt.

My butt and I have had a tumultuous relationship over the years. When it really began to come into its own, I was a teenager. What had been a non-entity when I was a kid suddenly became very curvy, very bubbly. Not even Sir Mix-A-Lot could keep me from feeling a tad self-consious about it, and in retrospect, what a complete waste of anxiety. I mean, please. I was a teenager, and I was running about ten miles a day. I had no idea how fabulous I really looked. I can't believe I bothered wearing a pair of running shorts over my tights, when really, I should have worn a bikini every single day to show off how amazing I looked. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young.

My butt and I went off to college, and although I'd get in the occasional run, I also discovered the joys of bourbon, with its accompanying joy of 3 for $1 chili cheese dogs from Stop-In, preferably eaten at 2:00 in the morning. This same trend continued for years after college.

The result? My butt grew bigger and more bubbly, though my waist stayed relatively small. Buying pants became one of the most traumatic things I had to do; it was impossible to find anything that fit right. Pants that fit in the waist were impossible to get over my butt, and pants that fit my butt left such a huge gap in the small of my back that I could have just skipped carrying a purse and put all of my gear back there. And skirts? Forget it. A skirt that was an attractive knee-length in the front was a micro mini in the back once the fabric had made its way around the countours of my heiney.

Then, I got pregnant... and huge. I tried not to look at the scale when I went to the doctor's office, because really, that was not information I was interested in learning. I do wish that the nurses would be a bit more considerate when adjusting that scale. They should really start with the weight at, like, 500 pounds, and then adjust it downward because you are such a delicate little thing, rather than beginning at 100 pounds and knocking that little lever evermore to the right. But I do know that towards the end, Jack and I were over 200 pounds. I also know that not all of that weight was the baby.

At one point during my pregnancy, I got out of the shower and made the mistake of looking in the mirror. I screamed, then found Steve and said, "There are purple stripes on my ass! How long has this been going on?" Steve, both diplomatic and smart, said that he hadn't wanted to tell me, because there was nothing I could do about it. I shrugged it off and ate a ham sandwich the size of Texas.

After Jack was born, the purple stripes faded to a less livid hue, and the butt started to shrink back down. I still had problems finding pants that fit, but a combination of being too busy to eat and lugging around my giant economy-sized baby got me to the point where I had a pair of jeans that I absolutely loved. They were dark denim, boot cut, and made me feel so much cooler and more attractive.

Still, my butt and I were not peacefully co-existing; I couldn't wear those jeans every day, much as I would have liked to. So, I took stronger action. I started Weight Watchers, a program that I loved because it seemed so sustainable. It wasn't that I couldn't eat cookies any more; I had to see cookies in context with the rest of my diet and find the right place for them. More importantly, I started running more.

My body transformed. Not quite to my teenaged self - that ship has definitely sailed - but into something newer and stronger. Before long, pants started to fit me again. I tried on a pair of jeans, giddy at the fact that I was even considering a size 8. I stepped out of the dressing room and asked Steve, "Do these look good? They're tighter than I'm used to." Steve looked at me, his eyes widened, and he whispered, "Get them." I did, and when I wore those jeans the first time three people asked me if I'd lost weight. I immediately went back to the store and bought three more pairs. I still have that dark denim boot cut pair that I loved so much, but I keep them for shovelling show since I can wear them comfortably over two pairs of long underwear.

Since I started running seriously again, my butt and I get along just fine. It's no longer something I have to work around when I'm getting dressed. I can even wear skirts. I've chosen to think of those once purple stripes as racing stripes, and of my butt not as something to run away from, but as a muscle that keeps me moving - both literally and figuratively.

My Prince

Jack, admiring my dress: Mommy, you look pretty enough to be a princess.


Me: Jack, where was Grandma when I picked you up?
Jack: She went to the gym to exercise.
Me: Oh, that's good. I'm glad Grandma is exercising.
Jack: When I get bigger, I am going to exercise with you, Mommy.
Me: Will you? I'd like that.
Jack: I will go running with you, Mommy. Without the stroller.
Me: Will you run races with me?
Jack: Yes, and I'll say, "You can't catch me!"
Me: I'll do my best to catch you, but you're fast.
Jack: And we will run races together and then I will beat you.


Jack: Mommy, where do you work?
Me: At Terrostar, remember.
Jack: When I get bigger, I am going to work at Terrostar with you, Mommy.
Me: Oh, yeah? I'd like that.
Jack: We will go to work together, but I will have my own desk and 'puter.
Me: Good idea.
Jack: And we will have lunch together and we will go to Starbucks.
Me: Cool. I'll tell my boss to save you a spot.


Jack notes the framed photo he moved from his bookcase to his nightstand.
Jack: That picture of you and Daddy, Mommy.
Me: Yes, Daddy and I gave you that picutre.
Jack: I moved it over here because I miss-ed you, Mommy.

These are all moments for me to remember when Jack annoys the heck out of me. Three-year olds have moments of being not so great, but things like this more than make up for it.

Red Rubber Ball

Okay, Internet. I did it. I went running again. I was SO nervous that I decided a little tribute to some BRF's would help. So, for Topher, I wore my new running tights, 'cause I know the man loves his spandex. And, so that the tights wouldn't completely scream LOOK AT MY BUTT, I put on some red lipstick in honor of Nancy. And I set off.

I ran 3 miles, slowly (32:something, compared to the 4 miles I ran at 35:something), on a flat surface. But you guys?

It was fine!

No pain in the leg before, during, or after.

Thank you so much to all of you who have written in kind words of support. I really have been scared that I'd have to take a significant amount of time off of running. The sad thing is, when I thought I had a stress fracture, the fact that a semi-broken bone would hurt and all was really not a concern to me so much as the fact that it meant I wouldn't be able to run. Yes, that is nuts - thank you for noticing.

Something that you catlickers might not know about me is that I absolutely love oldies music. And there's a song that comes to mind right now, called "Red Rubber Ball," which I downloaded in commemoration of my state of mind right now.

I should have known you'd bid me farewell.
There's a lesson to be learned from this
and I learned it very well

Now I know you're not
the only starfish in the sea.
If I never hear your name again
it's all the same to me.

And I think it's gonna be all right.
Yeah, the worst is over,
Now the morning sun is shining like a Red Rubber Ball.

Freaking Out

Remember when I said that I was treating my shin pain by resting, icing it, and trying not to freak out?

That third part is not going well right now.

I have not been running since last Sunday. I'm planning on starting back with an easy, slow 3 mile run tomorrow. The leg hadn't hurt me in days, until...

(cue foreboding music)

Yesterday, I spent about 10 minutes playing soccer in the backyard with Jack. The leg started hurting almost immediately.

Crap in a hat, you guys.

I am still going to go through with my plan to go running tomorrow and see how I feel, and "if" it still hurts, I'll call my doctor.

That "if" is in quotes, because my sense of dread tells me it will be. That same dread tells me that this is a catlicking stress fracture and that it's a good thing I haven't registered for the trisko yet.

I'm really down.

I love it when a plan comes together

It's time for another Take It and Run Thursday, this time about training plans. Training plans rock my socks. The very first one I followed (besides the divine wisdom of Coach Quick)was Hal Higdon's beginner's marathon training plan. Following the plan gave me a lot of confidence. I mean, it's Hal Higon; dude knows what he's doing, and if Hal says I should run an easy 3 today, then by Yoda, that's what I'm going to do. Hal's and my goal for my first marathon was simple: to finish. And, sure enough, it worked.

My goals now are more ambitious, and in turn, so are my training programs. I am following Uncle Hal's intermediate program for a trisko. It includes speedwork and weight training, two things that I did not do in the beginning program.

After the trisko, I will start training for the Quad Cities Marathon. I'll use the plan laid out in Dave Kuehls' Four Months to a Four Hour Marathon. Between you and me, Internet, I think that four hours might be too ambitious of a goal for me right now. My first marathon was 4:57, and while I am positive I can do much better, shaving 57 minutes off of my PR is likely a bit much right now. However, I know that I will finish stronger in marathon #2 by adding some track workouts and tempo runs as Kuehls suggests.

I love training runs because they give me confidence that I am doing the right thing to prepare for my races. Even more importantly, they make me feel like a serious athlete (which evidence keeps suggesting I am). I am not just out there running a couple of miles around my house that are pretty; instead, it's a 3 mile recovery run. Or I'm running a tempo run to build speed, or a long run to build endurance.

And when I cross the finish line, I'll be able to say, "I love it when a plan comes together."

Fake Swearing

Okay, Internet. Several of you have now asked about some of my more colorful phrases, such as "catlicking" and "Laws!" Why in the name of Yoda (there's another one) would I say such things?

Here's your answer:

Captain Crazy Cubbypants here has not only developed the ability to understand people when they speak, but also to repeat them. Often, the results are amusing, like last night when he said, "I'm not a monster, you know," and "Sorry I freaked out back there, Daddy." What would not be so cute would be if he learned some of the choice four letter words that used to be such an important part of my vocabulary.

Okay, it would be kind of cute. But it would not be, so much, socially acceptable. Steve even calls me out for using the word crap. I was like, "Are you fucking kidding me? I can't say crap?" And then he pointed out that if Jack started saying crap, it would not sound too good to, say, his teachers or people at churches we are auditioning.

So, what's a mom to do? If you smack your funny bone, saying, "GOLLY, THAT SMARTS!" is not at all satisfying. So, I make up my own swear words. And if this means that one day Jack will get caught saying, "For the love of Yoda, Catlicker, if you don't give me back my catlicking Roary, I don't know what I'm going to do," I think I can live with that.

Jack Wasser, Boy Genius

The boys and I were having dinner last night.

Steve: That's great, Jack. You're so smart.
Jack: WAAAAHHHH!
Me: What happened, Cub?
Jack: WAAAHHH! I bit my tongue.

Quick, call Mensa, because they just don't come any sharper than this one.

Not Running

Okay, Internet. I am trying not to freak out here.

For about a week, I have had some pain in my left leg, inner shin, towards the bottom of it.

It is not too painful to run on, and in fact, diminishes the longer I run. It occasionally, but not always, hurts when I walk.

So, as of yesterday, I am doing the following:
1. Resting, at least until Saturday. No running at all.
2. Icing it a couple times a day with my friend the bag of frozen peas.
3. Trying not to freak out.

So far, I'm doing pretty well with numbers 1 and 2. This is despite the fact that it was catlicking beautiful out yesterday, and scores of people ran past me as I drove home from work, looking happy, and I got a new pair of running tights in the mail.

I thought about just running 3 miles, slowly, to see how it felt, but instead, I made myself sit down with the peas. I am really trying to keep this in perspective - a couple days off might be all I need to feel better. It worked with the achilles pain last summer. And if that's all I have to do, it won't screw up my trisko plans, because the fact of the matter is, if I had to, I could run one now. Maybe not as fast as I'd like, but I would finish.

But you guys? I'm freaking out. Because, let's face it - I don't have shin splints. I have not suddenly gotten back into running after a period of inactivity, and I'm following a training plan that is not making me overtrain. Dr. Google tells me that it's either a tendon problem or... a stress fracture.

Crap in a hat.

Please, Goddess Nike, please don't let me have a stress fracture.

That's My Boy!

Saturday afternoon this week meant special Mommy-Son time. Jack earned enough stickers on his chart for staying in bed at night to earn a trip to Bouncetown Adventures.

Sweet Yoda, was that kid excited. As we drove there, he and Roary sang a song that the two of them composed, lyrics consisting of the words "Bouncetown USA!" over and over again. Imagine my disappointment when we got there only to discover that the place didn't open for another half an hour. Crap in a hat!

I gave Jack the bad news, immediately assuring him that we would be coming right back. I also launched into the important parenting technique known as Distraction. We had half an hour to kill - did he want to go to McDonald's and eat french fries or to Starbucks?

He chose Starbucks.

Could it be more clear that I brought the right kid home from the hospital?

So, after a quick break for caffiene (for me) and chocolate (for both of us), it was back to Bouncetown. And Jack was a perfect gentleman. He looked out for littler kids. He took turns. He shared the Spongebob Squarepants ice cream treat that I bought for him.

And when it was time to take a bathroom break, he happily complied. As he and I were leaving the bathroom, he heard a little girl about a year older than he is pitching an absolute fit. Jack looked at her in astonishment and said:

There's no crying in Bouncetown!

Ask Betsy

Did you know that people who comment on my blog are among the most superawesomesexy people on the entire internet?

Well, you totally are.

In the past few months, I've gotten comments that included questions. Since I don't feel like doing any work right now, it's time for a round of Ask Betsy.

My friend Courtney (who I went to college with and is pondering running a trisko and who totally should and also is awesome)asked about my weight training program - do I do major muscle groups, or what?

I try to keep things simple. I do lat pull-downs, biceps, triceps, hip flexes, leg curls, leg extensions, and inner and outer thighs. I keep the weights fairly light and do 2-3 sets of 12 reps. When I start marathon training in a couple of months, I am going to meet with a personal trainer to get some recommendations.

Database Diva wondered how I managed to make it from high school to 2007 without any major injuries. Ah, that's easy. In those 10 years, I didn't run that much. A couple times a week, I'd go out and run maybe 3 miles. I'd knock out a 5K if it was somewhere cool and I wanted a t-shirt. I quit running completely when I was pregnant. My doctor's advice on exercising was to listen to my body. My body said, "Eat a ham sandwich the size of your thigh along with a chocolate milkshake and a bag of gummy bears, then what say you and I take a nap?" And I listened. I also hardly ran at all when Jack was a baby because I was just too worn out. I was a serious runner in high school, then had a fallow period, then came back to it again. How I came back to it and got serious again is, of course, a longer post.

My last post created several questions about my beloved coffee. TriGirl Thea asked if Folger's has a bad name in the US. I can't speak for my entire country, but I find it watered down and bland. Shelah asked if drinking coffee makes me hot. I am probably not the right person to ask, because nothing would stop me from drinking it and because I have been known to walk through a snowstorm for ice cream. It doesn't bother me, I'll say that much! Nibbles asked me what my favorite kind of coffee is. I tend to like Latin American coffees, like Guatemalan, but I also like Kona, Jamaican Blue Ridge, and Sumatra. The house coffee at Stately Wasser Manor is Verona from 'bucks.

Nibbles had more questions - if I get bored running in loops and how the trisko training is going. I don't get bored with the loops because they're long and varied - it's not like running laps around the block. Sunday, for example, I am going to run three miles down a big-ass hill, to the path by the Mississippi River, and back, get some water, then do a flat 1.5 miles out and back through some neighborhoods. And the trisko training is going really well. It's so much fun to be doing speedwork again. This week I did 8x400, and I rocked those bitches out! My pace averaged 1:47, which is really fast for me.

The Bets was psyched to find another woman named Betsy who is a runner and a coffee lover. Well guess what - there are three of us. Check out another Betsy at Eat, Drink, Run, Woman. EDRW Betsy is training her butt off in hopes of qualifying for Boston, and since she lives in Seattle, I think it's safe to say that the girl knows her way around a cup of coffee.

And finally, for those of you who have astutely noted that Jack is the cutest thing ever, all I can say is that this is empircally true.

Good Hydrations

This week's Take It and Run Thursday is all about hydration.

So, about hydration? I'm for it.

Honestly, I don't really do anything that unusual. When I have a long run, I'll put an insulated bag with a water bottle (reusable, naturally) in it and will drink when I loop back by my house. This system works well for me because I don't like to carry water with me. I haven't found anything yet that's comfortable and doesn't leak. And it's kind of nice having my water waiting for me when I loop back home.

When I'm finished running, I have a bottle of Gatorade waiting for me in the fridge. I like the yellow kind, and I buy it in powder form to mix with water, since it's much cheaper that way.

But if we're going to talk about liquids that are vital to one's well being, there's only one that truly fills my heart:

Coffee.

I have been drinking coffee since I was 11 years old - almost as long as I've been a runner. I can admit with absolutely no shame whatsoever that I am truly addicted to it. And for me, the first cup of coffee is like that first hit of heroin for an addict in withdrawl - it's not so much about feeling good as it is about avoiding feeling bad. The subsequent cups of coffee, however, are pure joy.

Do I drink coffee before going running? Um, do you expect me to be awake when I'm running? Because that's obviously not going to happen on its own. That said, if I have a long run scheduled in the morning, I limit myself to that one cup. Then I'll choose Gu with caffiene to make up the drug loss... and treat myself to a great big latte later on in the day. A pre-run cup of coffee poses no problems for me, especially since I go to the bathroom eighty million times before any run in a bit of obsessive panic. And again, the prospect of going without coffee is just not a possibility.

I love everything about coffee. The color, the texture of the beans. The sound of it brewing, and the sound of it as it pours into my cup. I recently started adding milk to my coffee, mainly as a source of calcium, and I love watching the light color swirl into the dark. I love the way it feels when I cradle a hot cup of coffee in my hands, and I think coffee ring stains are kind of beautiful. And the smell is pure heaven. I had a job in college working for a coffee shop, and when I was finished with my shift, the smell would linger in my hair and on my clothes, and I loved it. I am also a coffee snob. If you offer me Folger's, I'll drink it if I have no other choice, but I'll be silently pissed off about it.

In short, I like my coffee like I like my running: a latte.

Jack and Roary

Jack: MOMMY! Roary poked me in the eye.


Jack: (whining)
Me: What's wrong, Jack?
Jack: Roary broke my sunglasses.


Jack: MOMMY!
Me: What's wrong, Cub? It's time to go to sleep.
Jack: Roary hit me.
Me: Roary, tell Jack you're sorry.
Jack (as Roary): Sorry, Jack.
Me: Now hug each other and go back to sleep.


Jack: Did not.
Roary: Did too.
Jack: Did not.
Roary: Did too.
Jack: Did not.
Me: Stop it, you guys.



I don't see the need to have another kid.

Boo Boos: A History

This week's Take It and Run Thursday is all about injuries. I've been a runner since about 1984, so I've had my share of injuries, aches, and pains over the years. I always think of the advice of my high school cross country coach, a man destined to his job by his last name. Coach Quick would tell us that one of the most important things to learn as a runner was what injuries you can run through and which you can't. So, for what it's worth, here's a history of my running boo-boos and how I handled them.

What: Shin splints
When: At the beginning of pretty much every single cross country season.
Cause and Treatment: I'd complain to Coach Quick that I had shin splints, and in return, he'd offer me absolutely no sympathy. Basically, the reason I had them was that over the summer when I was supposed to be doing some minimal running to keep from getting totally out of shape, I... didn't. My treatment was to slather my legs with Icy Hot, do some stretching exercises, and most importantly, suck it up.
Lessons Learned: In the case of shin splints - or their cousin, sore muscles - pain really is weakness leaving the body. It's not serious, and in time, it will pass. And I should know better than to slack off for months and think there will be no ill effect on my fitness level.


What: Pulled muscle in my groin (sexy)
When: Sophomore year in high school
Cause and Treatment: I was running a cross country meet on a very muddy and slippery course. My leg slipped out from under me, pulling the muscle. Sweet Yoda, did it hurt. For about a week, instead of running, I'd go to the pool, where I'd run in the shallow end and swim the deep end. The lower impact allowed my leg to heal, which was a good thing, because I needed to fill in for one of the top seven in the state meet. I had a pulled muscle, but she had tendonitis.
Lessons Learned: Be careful on dicey terrain. Cross train to get better while still maintaining fitness. And remember, there is always someone worse off than you are.


What: Stress fractures in the shin bones of both legs.
When: Senior year in high school.
Cause and Treatment: Stress fractures were tragically common on our team. Why? Because the track, where we pounded out a lot of miles, had seen better days. It had all of the softness of the highway. Unfortunately, the only treatment was to stop running for a while. The good news is it happened at the end of the season, so I didn't miss anything.
Lessons Learned: Beware of hard surfaces. And by the way, the school has a new track now. It's much softer, plus a lovely shade of maroon.


What: Achilles pain
When: July 2007
Cause and Treatment: So, it turns out that it wasn't a good idea to add a bunch of extra miles to my marathon training plan, especially if those miles were a really hilly 10K that I raced pretty fast. I took a couple days off from running, iced it, and took Advil. I was lucky that I wasn't hurt more seriously.
Lessons Learned: Don't overtrain - duh. No matter how good you're feeling, the rules really do apply to you.


What: Chondromalacia patellae, a pain under my kneecap
When: November 2007
Cause and Treatment: This one really scared me. I was feeling pain in my right knee every time I went running. Even if I took some time off, I'd still find myself limping around after a run. I was afraid I'd done something serious to myself and that I'd have to quit, or that it'd be a chronic condition I would have to deal with forever.
I saw an osteopath, and he explained that my knee problem had to do with the cartilage under my kneecap. It wasn't anything I'd done wrong, just one of those things. He gave me a "return to running" program that had me run-walking slowly, gradually building speed and distance, until I felt better. He also told me to add weight training to strengthen my quads and hamstrings.
Even better, the doctor repeatedly referred to me as an athlete. He said that I had strong muscles and bones and would be back in the swing of things in no time. It was a huge confidence booster.
Lessons Learned: Weight training can help prevent injuries. A gradual approach is a good way to get back on track without injuring yourself worse. And I might not be winning any races, but I am an athlete and should be proud of how strong my body is.

I hope that my experiences can help some of my fellow BRFs. And because it wouldn't be Take It and Run Thursday without my bursting into song...

You got to know when to ice 'em, know when to RICE em,
Know when to take a break, know when to run.
You never run your fastest when your legs are hurtin'.
There'll be time enough for racin' when the healing's done.

What's in Your Cart?

Okay, Internet, fess up - who else does this?

When I'm at the grocery store, I love, love, love to look in other people's grocery carts. Based on what a person is buying, I then try to figure stuff out about their lives. And really, it's easy.

Gallon of milk, juice boxes, individually wrapped bags of chips, lunch meat, white bread, giant pack of hamburger, fun fruits, and two different kinds of soda? Mom with kids.

Lean Cuisines, yogurt, diet Coke, Ben & Jerry's, and wine? Single woman.

Beer, chips, bologna, and bread? Single guy.

Cat food, wine, cookie dough? Someone about to have the world's most depressing Saturday night.

Diapers, wipes, Cheerios, and a giant container of coffee? Someone with a baby.

Bag of salad, spaghetti sauce, pasta sauce, garlic bread, and cereal? Someone who can't cook.

Then, I think about what my own groceries say about me. Like, there are times when my cart contains eggs, butter, flour, sugar, and powdered sugar, and it could not be more obvious that I am making cookies.

Often in my cart, you'll find a gallon of milk, fresh fruit and vegetables, including a huge bunch of bananas, powdered Gatorade, pasta, fruit snacks, string cheese, Kraft singles, almonds, cookies, and trail mix. That pretty well sums up my family.

What's in your cart?

Eight is Enough

I ran eight miles on Saturday.

It was fine. The weather was chilly, but not unreasonable, and I was dressed just right. I ran through some new neighborhoods and had good stuff on the iPod. My pace averaged 10:10 per mile, which is decent - in fact, on the speedier side for a long run for me.

The whole thing was just kind of meh.

I wasn't exhausted, nor did I have that "I just rocked that thing out, baby!" feeling. The more I thought about it, the more I figured it was the distance. Eight miles, I thought as I ran along, is just nothing to really write home about. It's not a challenging speed workout, and it's not an impressive distance. It's just kind of a middle of the road placeholder.

Then I thought about it some more.

You know how many other people I saw out running? None. Zero. Not a one. While the rest of the world sat inside and watched TV, I was out running and breathing in the fresh air. And before I started training for my first marathon last year, you know what the farthest distance I'd run was? Seven miles. And now, I can knock out eight without even thinking about it.

Could an eight mile run be more exciting than just a middle of the road placeholder?




All signs point to yes.

Thank You, Easter Bunny!

Jack is old enough that he is firmly entrenched in kid-dom and can actually understand holidays. Last Easter, that wasn't really the case. He saw the Easter Bunny, and he found the eggs that we hid - and by hid, I mean placed in plain sight in the living room. But I don't think he connected one with the other, nor did he consider either thing as part of a larger event.

But this time, he gets it.

He was excited to meet the Easter Bunny and spent a lot of time talking to him about plastic eggs with jelly beans in them. It was important to Jack that the eggs contain candy because "last year, I got stickers instead." Well, yeah - that's because last year I figured I could get away with not giving you a whole heap of sugar, so I enjoyed it while I could. Who would have guessed that, a year later, you'd remember that? Of course, I didn't say that, but that instead, the Easter Bunny must know that Jack is now a big boy, and therefore ready for candy and not just stickers. And that probably Santa talked to him about it and filled him in on Jack's changed status. All of this made perfect sense to Jack.

The Cub was also excited about finding the eggs. We talked a lot about where the eggs might be hidden. Jack loved hearing about where Steve and I found eggs when we were kids. (Steve: behind pillows on the couch, Me: in my shoes) He also repeatedly stressed that if there were Easter eggs hidden under the kitchen table, he would be able to break from our usual policy and crawl under to get them.

We dyed Easter eggs for the very first time this year. It was a fun and messy affair, especially since Jack wanted to make most of his eggs blue - the most finger staining dye is also his favorite color.

Jack also had a great time at the Easter egg hunt that we went to. I remember very well his first Easter, in which we went to the egg hunt in South Riding, held our four month old baby, and just watched the big kids. And that at the time, a two year old seemed ancient and huge. This year, Jack quickly and eagerly filled his basket. It's not like it was difficult; the word "hunt" is a misnomer. There is no hunting involved when the eggs are all spread across a football field and all you have to do is pick them up. But I'm not complaining, because there were Tootsie Rolls in there. Mmm, Tootsie Rolls!

Easter morning was even more fun. The eggs were, in fact, hidden. Jack was excited that the Easter Bunny was using his old hiding places of behind the pillows and in the shoes. And he was, indeed authorized to go under the table. Jack was especially excited to find his Easter basket. His favorite gift was a DVD of Enchanted. He pulled it out of the basket, gasped, and said, "I cannot believe I got this today!"

The other reason having a kid is fun? No way is he going to be able to eat all of those jelly beans himself.

The Loneliness of a Long Distance Runner

This week's Take It and Run Thursday is all about Running Communities. I don't know what it is about me and TIART, but once again, I find myself bursting into song. So, with apologies to George Thorogood and the Destroyers...

The other day I went running
Wanted to get back to the basics
So I grabbed up my pal Garmin
And her partner, the Asics

And we ran alone, yeah
With nobody else
Yeah, you know when I run alone
I prefer to be by myself

One of the things I love best about running is that I can do it by myself. Yes, in general, I like the other humans who populate this planet, and I think runners are awesome. But I like having my own schedule. I like that if I linger a few minutes too long drinking coffee before heading out for a long run that it doesn't affect anyone else. I like not having to worry if I am going too fast or too slow.

I like not being responsible for anybody else but me.

In my regular life, both as a mom and at work, I have to organize other people all the time. Much of the time, it falls on me to make sure everything gets done and gets done right. It's a relief not to have to do it when it comes to running.

And yet...

While I don't long for a group to go running with, I do wish that I could get together with some other runners after I go running. We'd eat a big pile of carbs and have super nerdy running related conversations that non-runners could not even begin to feign interest in.

Well, thank Yoda for the internet. It might not be my dream pasta binge with friends, but I can talk to my BRF's any time about the excitement of a new pair of shoes, how I rocked out last night's track workout (which I totally did, by the way, and I think I might be secretly Kenyan), and how upset I was when my knee was bothering me. And I get just as excited about the races my BRF's are running as if I were there.

Thanks to BRFs, I get the solitude and independence that I want when I hit the road with my friends the Garmin and the Asics, but I still have other runners to geek out with. It's the best of both worlds

Mean People Suck

Last night, the boys and I went to the mall so that Jack could get his picture taken with the Easter Bunny. It has to be said, in his khakis, oxford, and argyle sweater vest, he was pretty much the cutest thing ever, especially when he was casually standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting to talk to the Easter Bunny about jelly beans.

After the pictures were taken and Jack had his chat with his bunniness, we went to the play area. Jack was excited to sit in a little car, as he was pretending to drive to Disney World. He got out of the car to run around, and in the time he was gone, a boy and girl sat in the car.

Jack was mad, because he wanted to get back in. Steve and I gave him the speech about how the car is not his, is there for everybody to play with, we have to take turns, blah, blah, blah. I swear, sometimes I bore myself with the parent speeches.

Jack was not happy. He tried, half-heartedly, to play with something else, but even after I pointed out that the rocket ship was red and that he could play Little Einsteins, all he could think about was the car.

First, he just kept a careful eye on the car, hoping that the other kids would tire of it and he'd have another turn. No such luck. Then, he tried to get them to play with him. I saw him approach the other kids with a, "Hey, guys," and an animated discussion of driving to see Mickey Mouse. They ignored him. Then, Jack noticed that the kids had a stash of books in the car at their feet. He brought them more books. The kids responded by wacking each other in the head with the books.

As all of this went on, Steve and I slipped from our primary objective, which was to make sure that our kid behaved appropriately, to watching the way the other kids were behaving. The kids knew very well that Jack wanted to play with the car, so they baracaded themselves in. If the little boy got out of the car, his sister stretched herself out across the front seat so that there was no room for Jack to get in if he wanted to. They ignored his friendly overtures, choosing instead to divide their attentions between fighting with each other and aggressively ignoring him.

To put it simply, they were jerks.

Finally, Steve and I called Jack over to us. Steve explained very gently to Jack that those other kids were not nice. They were fighting, and they refused to share. It's no fun to play with kids who are not nice, so it was time for us to leave and to go get that ice cream we'd talked about.

Ice cream, happily, proved to be just the distraction we needed, so Jack forgot all about the car, the drive to Disney World, and the mean kids.

As my little guy grows up, I am watching him navigate more and more social interactions. He is learning all the time. It makes me sad to realize that one of the lessons that he is learning is that there are people out there who are just jerks. Even if you try to be nice, try to share, and try to be friendly, they'll shut you out and be mean.

Luckily, sometimes ice cream helps.

Super Mommy Powers

I was hanging out downstairs the other day when Jack stood at the top of the stairs and yelled, "MOMMY! WILL YOU PLEASE MAKE ROARY'S TAIL TINY?" The next thing I heard was the familiar thump of a little stuffed tiger being chucked down the stairs. I fixed Roary's tail, then threw him back up the stairs to Jack.

I thought it was funny - and a bit encouraging - that Jack found a solution to this problem that did not just involve him wailing to me until I came and fixed the tail. So, I shared this story with my mom and Steve.

Both of their faces lit up. "What does he mean when he says that," they both wanted to know. Jack, apparently, has asked both of them to make Roary's tail "tiny." My mom changed the subject; Steve said that he didn't know what that meant and that he just wanted to drink his coffee. In both cases, Jack gave up, presumably waiting until I could solve this problem.

Jack rubs Roary's tail when he needs a little extra comfort or love. There are times when Jack will otherwise seem to be in a good mood, but I'll see him sneak in a quick tail rub. And Jack likes Roary's tail best when all of the stuffing is smooshed out of his tail and into his body. Stuffing will occasionally sneak back into his tail, at which point Jack asks for help making it "tiny" again. Everytime a Roary gets out of the washing machine, I always re-tiny his tail before giving him to Jack.

I told Mom and Steve how to make the tail tiny and almost immediately regretted it. Here I had a specialized skill - I shouldn't have shared it with anyone else, as that knowledge gave me power and importance.

I needn't have worried. Apparently, nobody makes Roary's tail tiny as well as Mommy does.

In the Mood

When it came time yesterday morning for me to do my 7 mile run, I was not in the mood.

I wasn't hurt or sick. I wasn't in a bad mood. I just wasn't feeling it. There are days when I cannot get my running shoes on fast enough, I'm so excited to go out and hit the streets. This was not one of those days. I really would have preferred to just lounge around the house.

An unexpected benefit of being busy is that sometimes, you just don't have the luxury of not being in the mood. That seven miler needed to get done yesterday, one way or the other, if I was going to keep on track with my trisko training plan.

And the time to do it, like it or not, was 9:00 yesterday morning. I needed to make sure I had enough time to run, go home, shower, and dry my hair before going with Jack to a friend's birthday party. And if I'd waited until after the party, then who knows if I'd have gotten done or not. I still had to make dinner, give Jack a bath, get gas, buy Easter basket stuff for Jack - oh, and an outfit, fold and put away some laundry, go over weekly schedules with Steve, and hopefully go to the garden show.

If I had waited until I felt like it, I might not have been able to go at all. And when I miss a run - or am even not sure when I'll get a chance to go - it makes me cranky.

So, even though I wasn't in the mood, I went. I was utterly bored for the first mile or so. But then, like always, I turned a corner.

This wasn't a run for the ages. My time was completely average, and I didn't see or do anything exciting. But I did get to experience that virtuous feeling of being the only person out exercising at that moment. And I felt great once it was over, especially knowing I could dive into that birthday cake, guilt free.

Not being in the mood is just not an excuse for me. If I get out there and run, my mood inevitably will change.

Going the Distance in Your Mind

The topic of this week's Take it and Run Thursday is the long run. If you're not Paula Radcliffe, Meb Keflezighi, or Marathon Dude Bill, who can knock out a 20 miler on their lunch breaks, those long runs will take you a loooooong time to finish. I'm reminded of the song "Going the Distance" by Cake (which totally deserves a spot on your iPod if it's not there already).

As they speed thru the finish the flags go down.
The fans get up, and get out of town.
The arena is empty except for one man,
Still driving and striving as fast as he can

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the cup,
But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns,
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

He's going the distance.
He's going for speed.

On a long run, you're out there all alone, with no trophy to run towards, no fans cheering you on. How do you keep going? The key is in your head. Here are my tips for going the distance in your mind.

1. Break it up. If you step out the door thinking, "Okay, only 20 miles to go," you will lose your mind and want to quit. My friend Sandy was advised to think of her 20 mile run not as a 20 mile run, but rather as four 5 mile runs. I like to break up my run into several different loops. I'll run four out and back, stop at home and get some water, do another four out and back, stop at home again, and then do two out and back. That allows me to focus just on the miles I'm running in that loop, not the total.

2. Mix it up. Those loops that I run are not all the same. If I did 20 miles worth of passing the same scenery over and over again, I'd get bored. So, the first loop might take me through a neighborhood, the next by the river, and the final a tried and true quick loop.

3. Listen. My iPod is an excellent companion on long runs. I usually buy a couple of new songs before a long run, sort of as a pre-reward. And I still love listening to "This American Life" - and thanks to all of you who told me where to get the podcasts for free. I get so caught up on those stories that an hour has passed before I know it.

4. Distract yourself. As much as I love the iPod, sometimes it helps to think about something else. Last fall, I performed the wedding ceremony for my good friends Dan and Liana. During long runs, I'd go through the ceremony and what I wanted to say. I probably wrote 95% of it in my head while running. I also like to think about upcoming vacations, books and movies, what I want to make for dinner - fun stuff like that.

5. Use your imagination. When I take gel, water, gummy bears, or whatever, I like to pretend that I am "powering up" like a character in a video game. I picture the power running through me, filling me with light and making me stronger.

6. Break it up. Yeah, I know - I said this one already. But when the going gets tough, you need to really break it up. Get yourself from one tree to the next. Push yourself to the next parked car. Keep going, step by step, until you're done.

7. Plan a reward. Running a long run is not easy, and it helps a lot to have something to look forward to when you're done. I buy myself little presents (running outfits, of course, or new music), or plan the all-important food reward. I finished my 18 mile run last year dreaming of a Snickers bar for pretty much the entire last 5 miles. And laws, did that thing taste good.

By the time you get to the point in your training that you're supposed to run a long distance, your body is ready. Get your mind ready, and before long, you'll be going the distance.

The Well-Timed Tantrum

Things were going well between Jack and me last night. After work, he and I went running together. That is, the first part of the run was done in the jogging stroller. Then, on the way back, we stopped at the park and he ran around the baseball diamonds yelling "You can't catch me!" like a maniac. This is probably a good time to note that he was wearing his Superman costume at the time, delighting in the way the cape billowed behind him. Afterwards, we had dinner together while watching Beauty and the Beast: Enchanted Christmas, which we got from the library as a special treat. My boy loves princesses.

When the movie was over, it was time to go to bed. I quickly discovered that it was really time to go to bed, because Jack hit the wall. He bonked. Or, if you're thinking of him as a little kid, and not a runner, he had a tantrum.

The tantrum began because he didn't want to go to bed, he wanted to eat ice cream. I said no to the ice cream because he hadn't eaten enough of his sandwich, but gave him an opportunity to eat more sandwich, thereby earning ice cream.

But the tantrum quickly spiraled out of control so that pretty much everything was setting him off. He wanted ice cream and he didn't like his sandwich but he did want his sandwich and I shouldn't throw it away and he was upset because his nose was running and because I couldn't get him a tissue fast enough and because he wanted to pick out his own pajamas and no he didn't he wanted his favorite Spidey ones...

And, infinity.

Eventually, he got fed up and asked me to leave him alone. I honestly thought that was a good idea, and not just because I wanted to ditch his crazy ass. I told him to come get me when he was feeling calmer, and that I'd be in the study. I was checking my email and listening to the crying in the next room when the phone rang. Steve!

Steve was in a great mood, due in part because he was a little drunk. We chatted, and I told him briefly what was going on. Then, I asked if he would talk to Jack. Not to solve things, but to possibly interrupt the cycle of freaking out.

I put Jack on the phone, and he alternated between telling Daddy about the things that were upsetting him (including "I wanted ice cream" and "I did not listen to Mommy") and telling him about his day ("Mommy and I went running and our shoes got dirty" and "Grandma and I made pizza"). All of it was covered in a thick layer of tears and snot, so Steve only understood "ice cream" and "wah."

So, no pattern interrupt. I forged ahead, and got a toothbrush into his cry-hole. Minutes later, the phone rang again. I figured it was Steve, so I had Jack answer the phone.

Jack asked, "Daddy, is that you?" several times in a teary, pitiful little voice. Finally, he said, "It's not Daddy" and handed the phone to me.

"Hello, may I speak to Mrs. Elizabeth Way-sur?" asked a heavily accented voice.

Yes, my name is Elizabeth, but nobody ever calls me that. And my last name is not Way-sur, rhymes with laser, but Wasser, rhymes with, um, tosser. There's only one kind of person who would call me Mrs. Elizabeth Way-sur:

A telemarketer.

I told the guy that this was not a good time (a fact that should have been incredibly obvious) and hung up the phone. It was pretty much the most awesome way to get rid of a telemarketer ever.

I hung up the phone and explained to Jack in terms a three-year-old can understand what a telemarketer is and why they are annoying ("No! I don't want any aluminium siding!") and how he saved Mommy from having to talk to the guy.

This cheered him up considerably, so after a couple of high fives and a bedtime story in which Remy from Ratatouille meets Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, Jack, and Roary on his way to buy cheese, then gets rid of a telemarketer, he was fast asleep.

Eye of the Tiger

Behold, the training montage from my very favorite Rocky movie of all, the delightfully cheesy Rocky IV. Rocky boxes against Russian Ivan Drago, to avenge his friend Apollo Creed and, of course, for America. The training montage - a staple of all Rocky films - contrasts the high-tech experience of Ivan Drago with the honest hard work of Rocky.

I have to admit, I often pretend that I am in this training montage myself. Usually, I am Rocky. I'm the honest, hard working athlete. No need for fancy technology for me - I'm out there running in the snow, chopping blocks of wood, dragging Pauly on a sled behind me.

But when I'm forced to exercise indoors on the hated treadmill, it makes the time go a little more pleasantly if I pretend that I am the Russian. Scientists from across the country have banded together to create the optimal training experience for me. Computers measure the length of my stride, my footfalls, my speed, all to make me the ultimate athlete. I am practically a machine, I am so strong. She is not a woman, she is like a piece of iron! I must break you.

Flying Solo

Steve is in Texas for the week, leaving me and Captain Crazy Cubbypants to fend for ourselves.

Obviously, I am perfectly capable of taking care of the little man on my own. But having two adults around definitely makes life easier. One can entertain him while the other makes dinner, for example. Also, the possibility of my going to the bathroom alone is considerably greater.

At the moment, Jack and I are working well together. He has watched just half an hour of TV since Steve has been gone. We've eaten nothing but healthy snacks (plus one cookie each). I have made arrangements so that I don't have to miss any workouts. Last night, we even took a trip to the library, where we read a zillion books and were pretty much a model of mommy-son educational adorableness.

Tonight, I'm planning on our baking banana bread together, then maybe doing some paint with water. I am also making an effort to take good care of myself - getting enough sleep, treaing myself to healthy foods and a daily latte from 'bucks. I even have a big bouquet of cheerful orange flowers on my desk.

Why do I have the nagging feeling that soon, all of this is going to fall apart?

By the time Steve gets back, Jack and I will be camped out in front of the TV, watching all six Star Wars movies on an endless loop, eating nothing but goldfish crackers and macaroni and cheese directly from the pan?

Batgirl to the Rescue

So, the other night, I walk into Jack's room and see this in progress.

Steve: Come on, buddy. You can't wear your Batman costume out to dinner. Let's put on a nice sweater and a pair of pants.*

Jack: WAAAAHH! IWANTTOBEBATMANANDDADDYWON'TLETMEBEBATMANANDIDOWANTTOBEBATMAN!

Steve: Jack, if you act like this, we're not going to be able to go out for pizza at all. Remember, nice guys get nice things.

Jack: I'MNOTJACKI'MBATMANANDIWANTTOBEBATMANANDIWANTTOGETPIZZAWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Me: Steve, tag me in and go take a break.

Steve: If he's going to be like this...

Me: I know, but let me try.

Jack: IWANTTOBEBATMANANDIWANTTOBEASUPERHEROANDDADDYSAYSNOANDI

Me: Jack, see this t-shirt? It's a Batman shirt, just like the one in your costume.

Jack: But I want to wear my costume!

Me: What you could do, Batman, is wear this shirt under the sweater that Daddy picked out.

Jack: I want to be Batman!

Me: Batman, think about it. What if the Joker is out at the restaurant eating pizza. If you show up in your full-on Batman costume, he'll know it's you right away and he'll run off. This way, you can go in disguise and can catch him or any other bad guys who might be in the mood for pizza tonight.

Jack: Okay, Mommy.

Me: I'm Batgirl.




*for the record, I probably would have just let him wear the costume to dinner, becuase who cares? But it's more important to present a unified front if we want Jack to respect parental authority/if I don't want to sleep in the guest room

More on the Magic Shoes

Oh, Internet! I love that my fellow running geeks are almost as excited about my new shoes as I am. Here are the details:

They are the Asics Gel-3000, which is a stability shoe. They are shiny:



My last, like, five pairs of running shoes have been Asics. I am not completely married to the brand, but you know what? They work for me. I got them at my local running store, Running Wild. It's a great place - the guys who work there are incredibly helpful, and it makes me feel good to support a local business, and not, like, Dick's.

And you know what, babies? These suckers work.

I was nervous about last night's workout, which was 6 x 400 at 8:00 pace. I have not done quarters since the ancient days of high school, but I still remember very, very well that it was always a tough workout. I remember once doing a whopping 20 quarters, an experience that made me figure, "Eh, I did 20 quarters once, so childbirth should be all right."

I figured I'd do as many of the repeats at 8:00 pace as I could, and would not beat myself up if I couldn't do all of them that fast. That I have time to improve, and I'll be able to do better in my next speedwork.

But guess what? I rocked that thing OUT!

All six of them were on pace, and if I'd needed to, I could have done more - or done the last couple faster. And when I was done, I felt absolutely exhilarated.

See, I told you: new shoes are magic.

Magic

The subject of this week's Take It and Run Thursday is Gear, Gadgets, and Equipment. I toyed with the idea of doing a photo blog of all of my beloved running gear - and I totally reserve the right to do that for a future post. But this week, my thoughts turned to one subject.

When I was a kid, I loved going to the shoe store for new sneakers. I’d look at everything, learn my new shoe size, and try on several different styles so I could be confident I’d found the very best pair. And like any kid worth her salt, I always wore my new shoes out of the store. With the excitement and magic of a new pair of shoes within my grasp, how could I possibly put my old shoes back on?
As a kid, I was a firm believer in the magic of new shoes. With these new shoes, I could play longer, jump higher, and run faster. New shoes positively hummed with potential.

And now? I feel very much the same.

On last Sunday’s six mile run, I felt a bit of an ache in my shins and in my feet, an ache that could mean only one thing: time for new shoes. The very next day on my lunch break, I packed up my old shoes and a pair of running socks and headed to my local running store.

Just like when I was a kid, I gazed happily at the wall of running shoes wondering which pair would be the magical ones for me. I tried on a couple pair, jumped up and down on them, paced around the store, and finally chose the ones that are right for me.

I had to go back to work, so unfortunately, I couldn’t wear my new shoes out of the store. But I set the box next to me in the car and snuck glances at the new shoes every chance I had.

Once again, I felt the potential, the magic, of the new shoes. These shoes will take me through months of workouts and will be on my feet when I run my very first half marathon. These shoes will help me play longer, jump higher, and run faster.
New shoes are magic.

Come On Already

Winter has officially overstayed its welcome.

At first, it was lovely. Sparkly, fluffy white snow blanketed Stately Wasser Manor. I'd snuggle inside with the boys and bake things. Jack and I built a Snowmommy and a Snowkid.



I even discovered the peace of running outside while snow lightly covered my eyelashes.

But you know what? It's March, and I want spring, damnit.

We had a break in the cold on Sunday. It was glorious - I went running outside, in short sleeves. There were rivers of melted snow everywhere, soaking my feet as I went along. I was even bold enough to do something I don't usually do - I bought spring clothes, even though I knew it might be a while until I could wear them. Swirly full linen skirts, the most delicate cardigan in a soft blue, tiny floral prints. I hate buying things only to have to leave them in my closet for weeks, but I just couldn't resist. I was ready to leave behind my sweaters, heavy coats, and boots in favor of lightweight slips of things. And sandals, even if it means having to find time to keep my toenails polished.

The warm weather was a great big tease. It got cold again overnight. And all of those rivers of melted snow have catlicking frozen, which made last night's run into an obstacle course.

The forecasts for the rest of the week are no better. Cold temperatures, chances of snow.

But stil, I am determined to feel hope. Tomorrow, I am going to buy a bouquet of daffodils for my desk. Their sunny color will remind me that the sky will not be grey forever. Spring will come.

All Dressed Up...

Being Jack's mom is never boring. Sometimes, I'll walk into the living room and encounter this:



As Tim Gunn would say, "That's a lot of look."

You've got the shiny white space suit, so why not accent that with a great big pirate belt? And if that doesn't make enough of a statement, you'll want to throw in the skull necklace. And headband with attached Johnny Depp dreads. Plus, no need to worry about other kids making fun of you, 'cause you've got your trusty sword and a map to get out of there.

Last week, he went through a phase that lasted two days in which he wore an orange fishing vest over his regular clothes and insisted that he was Diego. I met him and Steve out for dinner and we had this conversation.

Jack: MOMMY!
Me: Hi, Cub. Hi, Roary.
Jack (in Roary voice): No, Dora. I'm still Baby Jaguar.
Me: Oh, of course you are.

Jack also told me on Friday that one of his friends at school insisted that he was Diego. The nerve! I asked Jack if maybe they could both be Diego. Jack gave me a look that was so weary, that so clearly conveyed, "Lady, if you think that, then I don't even know where to start with you." It was a look, in short, that I didn't expect to see for at least 9 years. Jack told me that he told his friend, basically, "Dude, I have the vest, so obviously you have no argument." He told the other kid that he could be Tico (since I was already Dora and Roary was already Baby Jaguar). He's nothing if not reasonable.

Tonight, I came home to this:


Jack is wearing the Batman shirt that my mom made for my brother when he was about four years old. She couldn't find the cape and hood that went with it, so she made him a new one - and then upped the ante of coolness by throwing in a cape for Roary so he can be Battiger.



Bad guys beware!

My Special Purpose

"My dear family, guess what. Today I found out what my special purpose is for. Gosh what a great time I had. I wish my whole family could have been here with me. Maybe some other time as I intend to do this a lot. Every chance I get."

--Navin R. Johnson (aka Steve Martin in The Jerk)

In these past few weeks of running, I feel like I have re-discovered My Special Purpose. The trisko* training is underway, and I have a direction and a focus that my running hasn't had in months. It feels like I'm going somewhere, even if I am just running on the damned treadmill.

Here's my new routine:
Monday: Weight training at the gym, yoga in the evening.
Tuesday: Short recovery run (3-5 miles)
Wednesday: Speed workouts! I will alternate quarters (aka 400 meter repeats) and tempo runs.
Thursday: Weight training and a 3 mile run
Firday: Rest
Saturday: Short runs of 3-5 miles, some at race pace, some slow.
Sunday: Long run

All of this will lead to my very first trisko on Mother's Day. And shortly after that? Time to ramp up training for my second marathon, at which I intend to PR. I intend to do this a lot. Maybe every chance I get.

*Half marathon to those of you not in the know.

Ooh La La

It's time for another Take it and Run Thursday. The theme is "If I Knew Then What I Know Now" and it totally makes me want to fire up my Rushmore soundtrack and listen to the song "Ooh La La" by The Faces.

I wish that I knew what I know now
When I was younger.
I wish that I knew what I know now
When I was stronger.

I'm happy to say that I haven't done anything too horribly foolish in my running. I mean, yeah, I would have finished the Des Moines marathon faster if I'd done more hill training. I was under the mistaken impression that there were maybe two hills in the first 7 miles of the course, while in fact there were probably only two little stretches that were flat. But my goal was to make it across the finish line, and I did that.

But the one mistake that I made when running was way back in 1989, and it still resonates with me so many years later.

The mistake?

I forgot to bring a sports bra with me to cross country practice, so I just wore my regular bra. I thought it'd be fine, and that it would keep the girls more or less in check. That it did - they really weren't going anywhere.

But, Internet? Oh, the chafing. The spot on my chest right between the girls was pretty well completely worn off, and I cannot tell you how much that hurt. It hurt anytime any article of clothing touched it, and any time I sweated, it would sting like crazy.

Suffice it to say, that is a mistake I will never, ever make again. I would rather run barefoot than without a sports bra.

(this post was totally sexy)

Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane

Jack (through his bedroom door): MARY JAAAANE! MARY JAAANE!
Me: What?
Jack: Mary Jane! Guess what? Green Goblin is in my room.
Me: Jack...
Jack: Don't forget, call me Spidey.
Me: Spidey, it's time to go to sleep, sweetie.
Jack: But Mary Jane, Green Goblin -
Me: Spidey, do you have your webs?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Is your spider-sense working?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Then I think you can handle this yourself. Web him up and go to sleep.
Jack: Okay, Mommy.
Me: That's Mary Jane.

I'd Rather Be Running

The theme for this week's Take It and Run Thursday is Strength and Flexibility.

And, um...

Sometimes, I tell Jack that he needs to eat some chicken nuggets before he eats more french fries. Jack likes chicken nuggets, sure. They're (relatively) good for him, yeah. But sometimes, they're just something to get through so he can get to the stuff he really wants, namely the fries.

For me, strength and flexibility are to chicken nuggets as french fries are to running. I acknoweldge that they're good for me and will make me a stronger runner, but the truth is, I pretty much just do them because I have to in order to excel at the running that I really care about.

Let's start with the strength training. My New Year's resolution this year was to take my running to the next level. Last year when my running renaissance began, I was happy just to be putting in the miles. This year, I am adding strength training back in to make me stronger - and to hopefully keep my knee injury from cropping up again. I'll lift 1-2 times a week on easy running days. Much like taking my vitamins every day, I'll do it, and I won't complain about it, but I'm not going to get excited about it, either.

Flexibility?

Bwahahahaha!

My body? Does not bend.

I do stretch after every run. It's another example of taking my vitamins. I know it's good for me, and I know it will help prevent injuries. And I figure since I've already put in, at minimum, half an hour running, I might as well spend another five or ten minutes stretching. But Internet, it is not a pretty sight.

Remember when we had to do the Presidential Physical Fitness tests in school? I always did a respectable number of sit-ups. Managed to hang well for the flexed arm hang. Completely rocked out the running tests.

But then, there was the sit and reach test. You'd sit on your butt with your legs straight out in front of you and reach as far as you could.

Every single time, the tester would say, "Okay, go ahead and start," only to discover that I had already started, and was, in fact, struggling.

Also, I cannot touch my toes. Not even close.

I'm following Hal Higdon's Intermediate program for my Trisko training, and he designates Mondays as a Stretch & Strengthen day. I'll pretty much do whatever Hal tells me to do at this point, so I have designated Monday as Yoga Day. I even have a yoga DVD called - I kid you not - Yoga for Inflexible People.

I had my first Yoga Day this week, and it was pretty much the most pathetic thing you ever saw. For one thing, as I mentioned, I do not bend, so it really didn't look like much.

Even more amusingly, the DVD, of course, was a model of tranquility. Gentle music, lots of talk about breathing, blah, blah, blah. I was about the least tranquil thing you ever saw. Put aside the fact that I was red-faced and straining. Instead, consider the fact that I had to pause the catlicking thing three times to put Jack back to bed. I was not a model of peace and calm; I was a model of, "Sweetheart, if you don't go the hell to sleep, I don't know what I am going to do."

Still, you can't just eat french fries all the time. Sometimes, you need to eat some chicken nuggets in order to keep balance in your life.

Of course, it is possible that I have stretched this metaphor far more than I can stretch my body.

Ice, Ice Baby

Internet? I am officially sick and tired of winter. Enough already. The snow, it is pretty. But I could realy do without the ice that covers every surface, effectively screwing up my plans for most things.

I officially started my trisko training this week. I don't mind running in the cold, and I don't care if there's snow on the ground. But ice is a problem. By the time I get out to run, it's dark, and if I can't see the ground, it's just too risky that I'll slip and fall.

So, yesterday, i did something that I really didn't want to do: I ran indoors on a treadmill.

Sweet Yoda, it was boring.

I only ran 3 miles, which under normal circumstances is easy-breezy. Done in no time. On the treadmill, even at my usual pace, it took for-freaking-ever. Not even the combination between my iPod and a trashy MTV show on TV could distract me from the pointless boringness of what I was doing. And there is no sign of any thaw any time soon, so I am going to be stuck doing this for the foreseeable future. BLECH.

In general, I am out of sorts. I'm over the flu, but my cough lingers, so I often find myself wheezing or hacking up a lung. And now Jack is sick, which has not diminished his energy level, but has increased his whininess and neediness. He also cannot manage to stay asleep all night, so he'll come dragging into MommyDaddy room to tell me that he wants a drink of water - from the glass that he walked past in order to find me and give me this news. Or, even more pathetically, "Mommy, will you sleep with me?" Apparently, just having me on the floor next to his bed was comforting enough for him to go back to sleep, the poor little guy.

Really, this entire post is about me complaining.

Making the Miles Fly

This week for .Take It and Run Thursday, the topic is music and podcasts. I generally listen to music while I'm running and have been known to completely rock out to my Power Song, which is "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers. I am not ashamed to admit that when I was training for my first marathon last year, I had a vivid mental image of myself racing to the finish line with cheering crowds on either side of me that synched up perfectly with that song.

But for long runs, the absolute best bang for my buck is downloads of This American Life from iTunes.

Each episode is about an hour long and costs 99 cents. That is a freaking bargain. And the stories are funny. Or sad. Or poignant. And the next thing you know, an hour has passed and it's time to listen to another one.

I know there are places where you can download a playlist with songs of a certain number of beats per minute designed to optimize your stride and make you run faster. But, um, I am not fast enough for that to matter. The dulcent tones of Ira Glass are enough to keep me going.

Wonders Never Cease

First of all, Internet, thank you for all your kind get well wishes. Whoever said you were good for nothing but porn? Not me.

Yesterday was full of miraculous happenings at Stately Wasser Manor. Jack and I went to the card store to get valentines for Steve. While we were there, Jack said, "Mommy, do they have a potty here?" I told him that they did not, and he loudly announced that he needed to "go poopy," instantly making me think of Vickie Iovine's promise that if your kids don't embarass you on a regular basis, you are not getting your money's worht out of parenthood.

I told him that we'd need to go home (only two minutes away), and asked him to PLEASE wait until we got there. Believe it or not, it worked. He actually held it, just like a grown human. I rewarded him with a giant pile of Junior Mints.

I've been hesitant to say it, afraid to jinx myself, but I think the kid has pretty well figured out this potty training thing. He cannot yet be trusted to remember on his own to go to the bathroom, but with prompting, the accidents are extremely rare. Like, two in a month rare. And 3-4 mornings a week, he wakes up dry. Crazy!

And here's an even bigger shock. Last night, we were eating dinner, and Jack said, "I yike salad." And then he allowed me to put a lettuce leaf on his plate. And then he picked up the lettuce leaf. And then he ATE the lettuce leaf. Steve and I nearly died of shock. Jack told me that his teacher, Miss Julie, convinced him to try salad. The next time I see her, I am giving that woman a big hug.

Death's Door

Internet, I have been sick.

Really, really sick, with the flu. I can't remember the last time I have been so sick. If I watched TV for more than an hour, the effort of holding my body upright was such that I had to take a nap. At night, I couldn't sleep, between coughing and having weird fever dreams. When I went to the doctor, the nurse offered to give me my B-12 shot, and I declined, the prospect of putting all my weight on one foot for 20 seconds while she gave me the shot too exhausting.

Today, I am kind of back with the living. I'm going to work for a partial day. Today marks the first time I have left the house since my doctor's appointment on Friday. The first day since Thursday I have worn pants other than sweatpants and have put on a pair of shoes.

Steve's main way of helping me feel better has been to take over with Jack completely so that he didn't bug me and so that I wouldn't feel compelled to help him. It was the perfect thing to do.

As for Jack, he has called to check on me from Grandma's house. And yesterday before he left, he brought me about 12 different stuffed animals, some to keep me company, others to keep each other company. He has also been extremely understanding of the fact that I have yet to take him to see the Princess Giselle movie as promised.

I am completely bored with being sick and am hoping to be back to normal soon.

Half Some Respect

The topic for this week's Take It and Run Thursday is the half marathon. This is a subject that is near and dear to my heart because in about a week, I am going to start officially training for my first half marathon, the Quad Cities Distance Classic.

A half marathon is the only standard distance that I have never raced. I'm excited about it, because I think it'll be a fun distance to race. 13.1 miles is a long way to go, so it will be challenging, but it's a lot more manageable than a full marathon. I am going to train hard for it, but because the mileage is less, I just won't have to put in as much time.

There's just one problem with the half marathon: the name.

There is no other race that is defined by it's relationship to some other race. A 5K isn't a Half 10K, for crying out loud. Calling the distance a half marathon makes it seem like something less important, less challenging than it is.

I have several friends who've run half marathons. Here are some of the reactions they've gotten:

• Oh, so you didn't want to run a whole marathon?



• Just a half?



• So, when are you going to run the other half of your marathon?

Granted these people are not runners, but rather the same people who say things like "I never run unless someone's chasing me" and expect you to laugh like they are the first person ever to come up with that little gem. Runners respect the half, and the unique challenges it poses.

Still...

In the movie Spirit of the Marathon, one of the runners jokingly says that he runs marathons for the t-shirt. There is some truth to that, honestly. We don't wear our race t-shirts just to cover our bodies. We wear them so that people will look at them and say, "Wow, she's a runner. That's bad-ass." A half marathon runner, someone who hauls themselves 13.1 miles, deserves that same kind of respect and awe.

So, what can we call a half marathon that will make non-runners give halfers the respect they deserve? Triskaidekaphobia is the fear of the number thireen. How about we rename the half the Trisko? Now that's a race to be feared - and respected.

Pop-Up Blocker

Here at Stately Wasser Manor, we have been having huge problems with pop-ups. No, not the annoying kind you find on the internet. Worse. These pop-ups occur when we tuck Jack into bed, only to have him pop up eighty bazillion times over the course of two hours.

It is maddening. For one thing, by the time I put that wee maniac to bed, chances are, I'm ready for a break. Or, I've got stuff that I need to do that is hampered by having to return him to bed over and over again. And the kid needs his sleep, so spending two hours fighting it is not helping things.

I've tried the "stick" approach to discipline - taking away stuff he likes if he gets out of bed. But even the threat (carried out) of taking away his Buzz Lightyear costume for a day could not keep him in bed. He explained, "I just want to talk to Mommy." Thanks, but no thanks.

Then, I decided to see if he was old enough to be motivated by the old standby, the sticker chart. Jack and I worked together to draw a chart, using his current favorite color of blue. For each night that he stays in his bed, he gets a sticker - princess stickers, since that's what I had handy. After he gets five stickers, he gets a treat. The treat he chose was to go to the movies to see Enchanted with me.

I cannot believe how well it worked. Every morning, he'll come find me, proudly asking for his sticker, and we'll put it up together. He immediately went five days in a row with no pop-ups whatsoever. We're making plans for a Saturday Princess Giselle outing, and have already made his new chart. This time, Jack will earn his very own copy of The Wizard of Oz.

Best of all, he feels a real sense of accomplishment. He is truly proud of doing so well.

Mail Slot Details

I had a feeling my adventures in the mail slot would garner some interest. According to my mom, the dimensions of the mail slot are 14 x 11.5 inches.



It is also probably about a four foot drop from the mail slot to the floor, so I'm happy I didn't have to take that face first.

Update: Here's me and the mail slot.

Saving the Family

It was a weekend of adventures at Stately Wasser Manor.

Saturday morning, I took off to get my hair cut and colored while the boys planned a fun daddy-son morning. I had my phone turned off, so I was not aware of the fact that Steve had locked the two of them out of the house. Once Steve realized that I was not going to answer my phone, he started hunting around for solutions.

He got the ladder out of the garage, climbed it, and removed the screen from a window in the dining room. He gave Jack some instructions, carried him up the ladder, and slowly lowered him into the house. Jack realized the gravity of his assignment and therefore did not take advatanage of this as an opportunity to watch TV and eat cookies, but rather raced over to the back door and let Steve in the house. Steve told Jack that he "saved the family."

And on a plus note, my hair looks great.

That night, I went over to my mom and Doug's house to take care of the cats, mail, and empty some bucket that has to do with water runoff from the furnace. Important stuff. Unfortunately, their lock is tricky, and no matter what I tried with the catlicking key, I could not make it even budge. Meanwhile, Fannie May, one of the cats, was looking at me through the window and crying.

It was time, once again, to save the family. But how could I get into the house?

Nancy and Doug have a large mail slot - bigger than a letter, I assure you. I discovered that if I took off my coat (to reduce bulk) and put my hands over my shoulders to make them narrower, I could probably fit. Nevertheless, I had my cell phone in my hand in case I got stuck like Pooh. I shoved myself into the house and even figured out a way to contort my body so I didn't have to take the four foot drop face first. The cats were fed, the bucket was empty, and the family was saved!

Plus I have bruises on my abdomen as a badge of honor.

Sunday, I decided to run over to their house to feed the cats, then run home to combine tasks. It was lightly snowing when I left - it was lovely. By the time I started back home it was snowing, um, cats and dogs. The snow was blowing into my face from both directions, and there was so much of it that I couldn't see far in front of me.

Still, I got in five miles without Paula beeping at me to speed up. And this is what I looked like when I got back:



How many toughness points do I earn for that one?

Sailing the Seven Seas to the Dairy Aisle

Because, again, if you have a Captain Jack Sparrow costume, why wouldn't you wear it to the grocery store?