I'll bet you dollars to donuts that if you're reading this site, your New Year's Resolutions have something to do with running or fitness, or maybe travel. In my writing, I tend to focus on the spiritual, psychological and even cultural insights I get from running, but that isn't because I don't get amazing physical benefits. I mean, I'm stronger and more fit than I've ever been in my life because of these last few years of marathoning around the globe. Still, I feel like there's a lot I could do to move in a healthier direction. I'm sort of notorious for eating comfort food (think a big plate of steak fries with mayo and ketchup) for dinner, and cheese (of all kinds - even processed) is like a staple in my diet instead of a condiment as it is for most people. And while I know I'll never eat perfectly or exercise perfectly (or sleep, or drink or communicate perfectly), there's always room for improvement, right? But how?
My friend and fellow runner has some help for me and for families who want to make a commitment to improve their fitness and nutrition this year. Author, teacher and health professional Carol Frazey has a one-year plan for us. In her e-new book, The Fit School Plan - 1 Year to a Nutritionally and Physically Fit Life, she'll guide you and me and our families toward better health.
What do you say? Will you join me in making improvements to our health this year? You don't have to run a MARATHON to get healthier, for goodness sake (though, I certainly wouldn't discourage you if want to train for one this year!!!). You just have to find a reasonable plan that works for you and give it a go.
So check out Carol's book - a terrific, afordable and reliable resource! And let me know what your resolutions are this year. I'd like to follow along and be your cheerleader!
In March of 2010, I completed my seventh continental marathon distance. Follow me now as I keep running and try to finish a marathon in all 50 U.S. States before I turn 50.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Desert Classic
I just finished a little 5K put on by the Arizona Road Racers as part of the Desert Classic series.
We’ve done this race three years in a row, but usually I do the 30K race (which Bill is running at this very moment). Today as I stood at the starting line with all the other runners hopping and stretching in anticipation of the horn, I felt sorry for myself. Only two weeks off of my last marathon (which, as noted in an earlier entry, was VERY tough for me) , and having made the decision that I need to lay off the long races for a while to let my foot heal, I felt left out of the “real” runners’ club this morning. Boo hoo for me.
Then the horn sounded. I picked up what I thought would be a good pace for myself and heard my right foot scream at me. I told her not to worry, that this would only take a half hour. She quieted down a little after the first mile and we managed the rest of the race in relative peace.
About two and a half miles in, I ran past a young girl of around eleven. I’d seen her start the race with her dad, but he’d run ahead by this point and she was alone on the course, crying. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw her tears. How many times have I cried in the last miles of a race? Even as recently as two weeks ago I did so.
“Honey, it’s gonna be okay,” I said. “Just keep putting one foot in front of another and keep your eye on the person in front of you. You won’t get lost and you’ll make it over the finish line. I promise!”
She nodded at me but didn’t say anything (she’s probably been taught not to talk to strangers).
As I ran on, I found myself feeling mad at her dad for leaving her back there alone, and I resolved that if he didn’t turn around at the finish line and go back to her, I would go back. But when I crossed the finish line (at thirty-three minutes, according to the time clock), she was there right behind me. And her dad was waiting for her with his arms open.
Yes. Yes, I know that every runner’s race is her own and that “dad” probably did the right thing by letting her figure out her pace and work it out. She was safe, she was close to the end when he ran ahead, and he was there for her when it was over. I know all of this; I just keep forgetting. I keep forgetting that the struggle is INSIDE – that being “real” is about listening to your body and not about putting in as many miles as the other guy. It’s about being authentic and not about being tougher than your (husband, friend, rival, dad, etc.).
So, I’m back at my water running tomorrow. And I’m sending good thoughts to the little girl whose first 5K ended with a few tears and a big hug from her dad.
We’ve done this race three years in a row, but usually I do the 30K race (which Bill is running at this very moment). Today as I stood at the starting line with all the other runners hopping and stretching in anticipation of the horn, I felt sorry for myself. Only two weeks off of my last marathon (which, as noted in an earlier entry, was VERY tough for me) , and having made the decision that I need to lay off the long races for a while to let my foot heal, I felt left out of the “real” runners’ club this morning. Boo hoo for me.
Then the horn sounded. I picked up what I thought would be a good pace for myself and heard my right foot scream at me. I told her not to worry, that this would only take a half hour. She quieted down a little after the first mile and we managed the rest of the race in relative peace.
About two and a half miles in, I ran past a young girl of around eleven. I’d seen her start the race with her dad, but he’d run ahead by this point and she was alone on the course, crying. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw her tears. How many times have I cried in the last miles of a race? Even as recently as two weeks ago I did so.
“Honey, it’s gonna be okay,” I said. “Just keep putting one foot in front of another and keep your eye on the person in front of you. You won’t get lost and you’ll make it over the finish line. I promise!”
She nodded at me but didn’t say anything (she’s probably been taught not to talk to strangers).
As I ran on, I found myself feeling mad at her dad for leaving her back there alone, and I resolved that if he didn’t turn around at the finish line and go back to her, I would go back. But when I crossed the finish line (at thirty-three minutes, according to the time clock), she was there right behind me. And her dad was waiting for her with his arms open.
Yes. Yes, I know that every runner’s race is her own and that “dad” probably did the right thing by letting her figure out her pace and work it out. She was safe, she was close to the end when he ran ahead, and he was there for her when it was over. I know all of this; I just keep forgetting. I keep forgetting that the struggle is INSIDE – that being “real” is about listening to your body and not about putting in as many miles as the other guy. It’s about being authentic and not about being tougher than your (husband, friend, rival, dad, etc.).
So, I’m back at my water running tomorrow. And I’m sending good thoughts to the little girl whose first 5K ended with a few tears and a big hug from her dad.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Whew! Ow! And, what a day!
Well, the long awaited for and worried about (by me, at least) Las Vegas Rock n Roll Marathon has been completed. Julie and I arrived at our corral at about 6:30am and waited around for the gun. I think we finally started at 7:20-ish. And, naturally, we had two completely different experiences of the same day.
I asked Julie to write a blurb about her experience. Here's what she said: " I did it! My third marathon was accomplished with a few verbal whimpers and many whimpering thoughts. I finished in good time for me, but it was tough. This running thing gives you time to ponder many a thing. Today I was feeling surprised by the shapes, sizes and ages of the runners. I was passed by many people older and larger - people I thought I should beat. I'm also amazed at the different styles of running. It is amazing to me that we, as a people, are made up of the same number of chromosomes, and that they go together in such different ways.
"One of my running slogans is, 'Pain is temporary; pride is forever!' That thought is a valid one, but sometimes I still doubt my ability to do a marathon. Crazy, huh? Three done (I am proud of this), but it is sort of hard even now to believe I really do run marathons."I know two things: If I can run a marathon, anyone can (if they choose to), and I really am proud of my physical, mental and emotional toughness. I did it!"
It might be helpful to know that Julie used to carry a lot of extra weight and running has helped her lose it. She's still in awe of her ability to pull off the marathon distance. She's also a labor and delivery nurse, so she holds little bundles of chromosomes in her arms every day, wondering who they will turn out to be - and what their running stride will look like someday.
Today, for me, was not so full of wonderment about the uniqueness of every human being - not so philosophical, you might say. Here's how it went down for me: The first six miles were strong, but stressful. Julie and I ran hard because we had deadlines to meet in order to be allowed to continue in the race. Since I've been primarily water running and riding the stationary bike at Gold's Gym (instead of training on the cold, hard ground), my (very insufficient) "training," didn't really prepare me for today. By mile nine, my quads hurt like heck, my foot was aching and I was CRABBY.
Poor Julie, who is extremely cheerful and positive, as a rule, got the brunt of my poor attitude. At about mile 15, I had to asked her to stop saying, "We can do it. Only (fill in the blank) miles to go!" She swears I didn't hurt her feelings with my request, but we did mutually decide to finish separately within another mile.
I ran alone with my bad self for four more miles - fighting for every single step and feeling guilty for being bad company, not even enjoying the running Elvises and frowning at the sweet Jr. High Cheerleaders who yelled, "Keep on truckin' all the way," at me every few miles. All this distance, I vacillated between crying and silently reciting the Buddhist Lovingkindness Meditation to calm myself down (panicked as I was that I would have to hitch a ride to the finish line).
At mile 20, a fellow who had been tracking right beside me, dared to speak to me. George turned out to be exactly what I needed. Just my age, George is a high school English teacher in Las Vegas whose main goal was to beat his last marathon time (6:20). He asked me how I was doing and I confessed I wasn't doing well. George very authoritatively said, "Well, let's not talk about that. Let's just talk." And so I set my Gym Boss to one minute of walking and two minutes of running and we talked: about my running on the continents, about the kids in his classes, about my experience as an English teacher years ago, about his two children. And the time passed - not quickly, not easily and not without pain. But it passed.
And I finished. I think my time was 5:39 - the longest it has ever taken me to run a marathon.
I think the moral of the story is that I need to take some time to heal my foot and then to get (gently) back onto the trails and remember my love of breathing without a finish line to reach for.
But until then: Thanks to Julie for being so gracious with my crabby mood and to George for being the right companion at the right time. And thanks, once again, to the marathon for teaching me what I need to know about myself - even if it's that we need to take a break from one another for a little while.
Oh, and thanks to Bill and all of my friends for your encouragement and continued interest in my running pursuits.
I asked Julie to write a blurb about her experience. Here's what she said: " I did it! My third marathon was accomplished with a few verbal whimpers and many whimpering thoughts. I finished in good time for me, but it was tough. This running thing gives you time to ponder many a thing. Today I was feeling surprised by the shapes, sizes and ages of the runners. I was passed by many people older and larger - people I thought I should beat. I'm also amazed at the different styles of running. It is amazing to me that we, as a people, are made up of the same number of chromosomes, and that they go together in such different ways.
"One of my running slogans is, 'Pain is temporary; pride is forever!' That thought is a valid one, but sometimes I still doubt my ability to do a marathon. Crazy, huh? Three done (I am proud of this), but it is sort of hard even now to believe I really do run marathons."I know two things: If I can run a marathon, anyone can (if they choose to), and I really am proud of my physical, mental and emotional toughness. I did it!"
It might be helpful to know that Julie used to carry a lot of extra weight and running has helped her lose it. She's still in awe of her ability to pull off the marathon distance. She's also a labor and delivery nurse, so she holds little bundles of chromosomes in her arms every day, wondering who they will turn out to be - and what their running stride will look like someday.
Today, for me, was not so full of wonderment about the uniqueness of every human being - not so philosophical, you might say. Here's how it went down for me: The first six miles were strong, but stressful. Julie and I ran hard because we had deadlines to meet in order to be allowed to continue in the race. Since I've been primarily water running and riding the stationary bike at Gold's Gym (instead of training on the cold, hard ground), my (very insufficient) "training," didn't really prepare me for today. By mile nine, my quads hurt like heck, my foot was aching and I was CRABBY.
Poor Julie, who is extremely cheerful and positive, as a rule, got the brunt of my poor attitude. At about mile 15, I had to asked her to stop saying, "We can do it. Only (fill in the blank) miles to go!" She swears I didn't hurt her feelings with my request, but we did mutually decide to finish separately within another mile.
I ran alone with my bad self for four more miles - fighting for every single step and feeling guilty for being bad company, not even enjoying the running Elvises and frowning at the sweet Jr. High Cheerleaders who yelled, "Keep on truckin' all the way," at me every few miles. All this distance, I vacillated between crying and silently reciting the Buddhist Lovingkindness Meditation to calm myself down (panicked as I was that I would have to hitch a ride to the finish line).
At mile 20, a fellow who had been tracking right beside me, dared to speak to me. George turned out to be exactly what I needed. Just my age, George is a high school English teacher in Las Vegas whose main goal was to beat his last marathon time (6:20). He asked me how I was doing and I confessed I wasn't doing well. George very authoritatively said, "Well, let's not talk about that. Let's just talk." And so I set my Gym Boss to one minute of walking and two minutes of running and we talked: about my running on the continents, about the kids in his classes, about my experience as an English teacher years ago, about his two children. And the time passed - not quickly, not easily and not without pain. But it passed.
And I finished. I think my time was 5:39 - the longest it has ever taken me to run a marathon.
I think the moral of the story is that I need to take some time to heal my foot and then to get (gently) back onto the trails and remember my love of breathing without a finish line to reach for.
But until then: Thanks to Julie for being so gracious with my crabby mood and to George for being the right companion at the right time. And thanks, once again, to the marathon for teaching me what I need to know about myself - even if it's that we need to take a break from one another for a little while.
Oh, and thanks to Bill and all of my friends for your encouragement and continued interest in my running pursuits.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
In the Morning!
The starting gun is eleven hours from now. This afternoon Julie and I walked from the Luxor (where we’re staying) to the parking lot at Mandalay Bay (where the race starts) to get a sense of how much time we’ll need in the morning to get to corral 19. It takes fifteen minutes. That’s it. So we’ll get up, drink our coffee, get dressed and station ourselves at the starting line – all before our friends and families are out of bed.
We’ve had a lot of fun since we arrived on Wednesday evening. Thursday we walked the strip, stopping in to look at some of the more interesting casinos whenever we felt inclined. Friday, we spent a couple of hours at the race expo where, at 3:00, I finally got to meet Marie Bean. Readers might remember my e-pen friend, Marie. We “met” after the Rio de Janeiro race when she found my blog and reached out to me asking how I planned to get to Antarctica. She had planned on coming with Bill, Marina and me to Antarctica earlier this year, but had to change her plans in the end. What fun to finally meet her (and for more fun, check out her running business in Australia: Lazyrunner.com).
Today I crashed. For some reason I didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours on both Wednesday and Thursday nights. Last night (Friday), I took some sleeping aid and then felt like I wandered through today in a haze. So I spent most of today in the hotel room reading, catching up on Glee episodes and worrying about my foot (which I just wrapped according to Jason Gully’s specifications, hoping to give it some extra support tomorrow).
As I understand it, while the race starts at 7:00 am, each corral waits for a minute or two until it gets the go-ahead. Julie and I should actually start running anytime between 7:19 and 7:38. We’ve been told we have to make it to the 12.6-mile point by 10:15 in order to get the go-ahead to complete the full marathon (rather than be re-directed to do only the half). Even if we start at the latest possible time for our corral (7:38), this gives us 2 hours and 37 minutes to get to 12.6 (are you following?). We should be fine. The pain in my foot and the perpetual pain in Julie’s knee shouldn’t become acute until the second half of the race. The Las Vegas Marathon shuts down The Strip, so the race is only allowing 5.5 hours for participants to complete the full marathon, and I have to admit to a little concern about this. My last two races (Anchorage and Portland) have brought me in around 5:35. But Julie and I feel optimistic that we can pull it off with the help of the energy of the other twenty thousand runners and the bands stationed all along the route.
Watch our progress through the Rock n Roll website. I’m number 22435 and Julie is number 21240
We’ve had a lot of fun since we arrived on Wednesday evening. Thursday we walked the strip, stopping in to look at some of the more interesting casinos whenever we felt inclined. Friday, we spent a couple of hours at the race expo where, at 3:00, I finally got to meet Marie Bean. Readers might remember my e-pen friend, Marie. We “met” after the Rio de Janeiro race when she found my blog and reached out to me asking how I planned to get to Antarctica. She had planned on coming with Bill, Marina and me to Antarctica earlier this year, but had to change her plans in the end. What fun to finally meet her (and for more fun, check out her running business in Australia: Lazyrunner.com).
Today I crashed. For some reason I didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours on both Wednesday and Thursday nights. Last night (Friday), I took some sleeping aid and then felt like I wandered through today in a haze. So I spent most of today in the hotel room reading, catching up on Glee episodes and worrying about my foot (which I just wrapped according to Jason Gully’s specifications, hoping to give it some extra support tomorrow).
As I understand it, while the race starts at 7:00 am, each corral waits for a minute or two until it gets the go-ahead. Julie and I should actually start running anytime between 7:19 and 7:38. We’ve been told we have to make it to the 12.6-mile point by 10:15 in order to get the go-ahead to complete the full marathon (rather than be re-directed to do only the half). Even if we start at the latest possible time for our corral (7:38), this gives us 2 hours and 37 minutes to get to 12.6 (are you following?). We should be fine. The pain in my foot and the perpetual pain in Julie’s knee shouldn’t become acute until the second half of the race. The Las Vegas Marathon shuts down The Strip, so the race is only allowing 5.5 hours for participants to complete the full marathon, and I have to admit to a little concern about this. My last two races (Anchorage and Portland) have brought me in around 5:35. But Julie and I feel optimistic that we can pull it off with the help of the energy of the other twenty thousand runners and the bands stationed all along the route.
Watch our progress through the Rock n Roll website. I’m number 22435 and Julie is number 21240
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Vegas!
Well, my running partner, Julie, and I flew to Las Vegas on Wednesday evening and settled into the Luxor without a hitch. Today we walked "the strip" and plugged the occasional slot machine with a dollar (or five).
Vegas is kind of a special place to me, even as it fills my introvert's heart with over-stimulated exhaustion and makes me long for a good book and hot chocolate by a fire. I've been coming to Vegas in December for years. I used to come with my ex-husband to see his sister (who lived here) during the holidays. Then in recent years, Bill and I have flown in to Las Vegas, rented a car and driven to Phoenix many times over the last decade. It's always festive and full of energy and, most of all, hopeful.
But this is the first time I've been in Sin City for a marathon. Today as I walked down the strip, I was thinking about how it will feel to run along the boulevard on Sunday. The race starts right here - with all the lights and noise and chaos. And since this is a Rock n Roll Marathon, there will be music and entertainment along the way - at almost every mile.
Needless to say, I'm excited. I've still got some pain in my heel (which is discouraging), but I'm prepared to put mind over matter. The course is only open for five and a half hours, which means Julie and I have to run a smart race this time.
I"m number 22435. Watch for my results Sunday afternoon.
Vegas is kind of a special place to me, even as it fills my introvert's heart with over-stimulated exhaustion and makes me long for a good book and hot chocolate by a fire. I've been coming to Vegas in December for years. I used to come with my ex-husband to see his sister (who lived here) during the holidays. Then in recent years, Bill and I have flown in to Las Vegas, rented a car and driven to Phoenix many times over the last decade. It's always festive and full of energy and, most of all, hopeful.
But this is the first time I've been in Sin City for a marathon. Today as I walked down the strip, I was thinking about how it will feel to run along the boulevard on Sunday. The race starts right here - with all the lights and noise and chaos. And since this is a Rock n Roll Marathon, there will be music and entertainment along the way - at almost every mile.
Needless to say, I'm excited. I've still got some pain in my heel (which is discouraging), but I'm prepared to put mind over matter. The course is only open for five and a half hours, which means Julie and I have to run a smart race this time.
I"m number 22435. Watch for my results Sunday afternoon.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
My "Thankful" List. What are you thankful for?
If anyone has reason to be thankful, it is I. It’s true that now is my least favorite year (barren trees, freezing temperatures and snow as I write!), and it’s true that I’ve exchanged time on my beloved Bellingham trails for the stationary bike and water running while I let my foot heal, BUT still… what a life I have. I live in a great community with a loving man and two flat nosed little dogs who think I’m the cat’s meow. I have the most stellar set of friends any woman has ever had. And this year, I not only finished my quest to hit the ground running on every continent, but I lived out a dream to complete and publish a book!
So even as I lament having to exercise my body inside of buildings instead of outside in the elements (as unaccommodating as they have been this week), I have to put my thankfulness firmly out into the universe. Here is a list of what I’m thankful for today – from the basic to the minute:
* A warm home, enough food and a clean bed – not everyone has this, you know
* The luck to live in a country where I, as a woman, have rights and many, many choices in my life – not everyone has this, either
* Every person who has cheered me in a race, shown up at a reading or commented on my blog – I needed you and you were there – thank you
* Every glass of good red wine I have ever tasted, but especially those made in Washington State
* Sports bras
* Hair coloring
* Arizona in the winter
* Books – and publishers (especially Seal Press!)
* Cheese
* A healthy body, my current struggle notwithstanding
* My partner, Bill, who daily lives up to his promise to stay in the fray with me, even when it is less than pleasant.
What does your list look like? Have a great weekend as you think about it.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Holiday Gift Ideas
Well, the holidays are upon us, once again. Thursday is Thanksgiving! One of the things I love about being a runner is guilt-free eating. So, first of all, happy Turkey day, and may you find a multitude of things to be grateful about.
Admittedly, I’ve not been on the trails lately because of the plantar fasciitis I’ve been fighting and have, thus, been “water running” (which isn’t really running at all) and peddling on the stationary bike at the gym. Still, my runner’s heart is out there with all of you.
I’m making my holiday gift list just as you are, too.
So I’d like to offer my top 6 ideas for the runner in your life – particularly the back-of-the-pack runner who spends more than the average number of hours on the course.
1. Present a piece of Tarma running jewelry to her to show your support. Last year Bill have me a necklace with a pendant of a running girl inside of circle (looks like a peace sign), and I’ve gotten countless compliments on it.
2. Put a box of her favorite energy gel in her stocking. These nasty tasting, but absolutely essential running supplies are not expensive, but they can add up. There’s nothing worse than getting ready for a long run and discovering that you’re out of café latte or red raspberry gel. Get her a month’s supply. Remember, she needs approximately one gel packet for every hour of running.
3. For the compassionate minded runner in your life, take the “26.2 Challenge” by donating to the Hall Steps Foundation. With a $26.00 donation you can help Olympian marathoner, Ryan Hall, and his wife, Sara, bring clean water to the world. My husband, Bill, recently went to hear Ryan and Sara speak and this year, we’re donating.
4. Alternatively, if you’re inclined to give a donation in your runner’s name, consider contributing to Girls on the Run, an amazing international organization that promotes self-respect and healthy living for elementary school age girls. I volunteered to be a running buddy with the local group a few years ago, and now I’m sold on them. They do GREAT work!
5. Give an iTunes gift card to keep your favorite runner in hours of hoppin’, inspiring music. And if she doesn’t have an iPod Shuffle, why not spring for that, too?
6. Last (for now) but not least, don’t forget to give your favorite runner a copy of Second Wind: One Woman’s Midlife Quest to Run Seven Marathons on Seven Continents by yours truly. I’m a slow poke marathoner who has experienced the life-changing power of the marathon as a metaphor for all of life. She’ll appreciate being encouraged by my story and my admiration for all runners, no matter their pace.
So this is a start. Don’t be shy, add to my list and I’ll update it over the next month to give you more ideas. Have a great week.
Admittedly, I’ve not been on the trails lately because of the plantar fasciitis I’ve been fighting and have, thus, been “water running” (which isn’t really running at all) and peddling on the stationary bike at the gym. Still, my runner’s heart is out there with all of you.
I’m making my holiday gift list just as you are, too.
So I’d like to offer my top 6 ideas for the runner in your life – particularly the back-of-the-pack runner who spends more than the average number of hours on the course.
1. Present a piece of Tarma running jewelry to her to show your support. Last year Bill have me a necklace with a pendant of a running girl inside of circle (looks like a peace sign), and I’ve gotten countless compliments on it.
2. Put a box of her favorite energy gel in her stocking. These nasty tasting, but absolutely essential running supplies are not expensive, but they can add up. There’s nothing worse than getting ready for a long run and discovering that you’re out of café latte or red raspberry gel. Get her a month’s supply. Remember, she needs approximately one gel packet for every hour of running.
3. For the compassionate minded runner in your life, take the “26.2 Challenge” by donating to the Hall Steps Foundation. With a $26.00 donation you can help Olympian marathoner, Ryan Hall, and his wife, Sara, bring clean water to the world. My husband, Bill, recently went to hear Ryan and Sara speak and this year, we’re donating.
4. Alternatively, if you’re inclined to give a donation in your runner’s name, consider contributing to Girls on the Run, an amazing international organization that promotes self-respect and healthy living for elementary school age girls. I volunteered to be a running buddy with the local group a few years ago, and now I’m sold on them. They do GREAT work!
5. Give an iTunes gift card to keep your favorite runner in hours of hoppin’, inspiring music. And if she doesn’t have an iPod Shuffle, why not spring for that, too?
6. Last (for now) but not least, don’t forget to give your favorite runner a copy of Second Wind: One Woman’s Midlife Quest to Run Seven Marathons on Seven Continents by yours truly. I’m a slow poke marathoner who has experienced the life-changing power of the marathon as a metaphor for all of life. She’ll appreciate being encouraged by my story and my admiration for all runners, no matter their pace.
So this is a start. Don’t be shy, add to my list and I’ll update it over the next month to give you more ideas. Have a great week.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Three Cheers for the NYC Marathon Winners!
Yesterday I watched the televised (and delayed) coverage of the New York City Marathon. What I love about watching the NYC Marathon on TV is that you get to see ALL the action. A split screen keeps the viewer up to the minute on leaders in both the men’s and the women’s races, and then every so often the video cuts to the average runners, the folks like you and me. I was struck again this year at how the front runners look like they’re breezing along with hardly any effort (at under 5 minutes a mile), while the other bazillion participants look like their fighting hard for every step, especially near the finish.
I’m not a big fan of televised sports – never have been. I don’t even watch the Super Bowl for the half-time show; I go to the movies that day. But running is different, of course, because of I’m one of them. This year I actually found myself yelling at the TV. As you may remember, I met Meb Keflezighi, American marathoner, earlier this year after the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon. He autographed my race number and congratulated me on finishing my goal to run the marathon distance on all seven continents. Naturally, I was cheering for him as the leaders in the men’s race sped through the course. At a certain moment, though, long after the midpoint yesterday, Meb grimaced and there was a sudden change in his gait. He wasn’t limping, exactly, just not sailing anymore, and he dropped toward the back of the front – if that makes sense. He ended up coming in sixth at 2:11:38. The winner is a fellow from Ethiopia who was running his first marathon! Gebre Gebrmariam came in at 2:08:14. I can’t even drive to Seattle in that time on a busy Friday afternoon. Congrats to Gebre.
Also running her first marathon, was Shalane Flanagan from Boulder, Colorado. I found myself screaming at the television, “Come on Shalane! You can do it,” when she slipped back to third place late in the race. Edna Kiplagat from Kenya had pulled ahead and was clearly going to win the race but Shalane and Mary Keitany (Kenya) were battling it out for second. Nothing against Mary, mind you, but to be running her first marathon and coming so close to winning, Shalane just HAD to come in second, from my point of view. And she did. She pulled ahead of Mary and came in at 2:28:40, 20 seconds behind Edna and 21 seconds in front of Mary. Yay for Shalane!!!
The great runners I watched on TV yesterday are like gods and goddesses to me. They’re freaks of nature who add a whole hell of a lot of training to their already perfect physiques and make their bodies perform miracles. Far from discouraging me, watching their magic inspires me. I want to breathe the same air and run the same courses they run – and it doesn’t matter to me how far behind them I come in. I can see in their strides what human beings can do when all the circumstances and motivation align.
I’m not a big fan of televised sports – never have been. I don’t even watch the Super Bowl for the half-time show; I go to the movies that day. But running is different, of course, because of I’m one of them. This year I actually found myself yelling at the TV. As you may remember, I met Meb Keflezighi, American marathoner, earlier this year after the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon. He autographed my race number and congratulated me on finishing my goal to run the marathon distance on all seven continents. Naturally, I was cheering for him as the leaders in the men’s race sped through the course. At a certain moment, though, long after the midpoint yesterday, Meb grimaced and there was a sudden change in his gait. He wasn’t limping, exactly, just not sailing anymore, and he dropped toward the back of the front – if that makes sense. He ended up coming in sixth at 2:11:38. The winner is a fellow from Ethiopia who was running his first marathon! Gebre Gebrmariam came in at 2:08:14. I can’t even drive to Seattle in that time on a busy Friday afternoon. Congrats to Gebre.
Also running her first marathon, was Shalane Flanagan from Boulder, Colorado. I found myself screaming at the television, “Come on Shalane! You can do it,” when she slipped back to third place late in the race. Edna Kiplagat from Kenya had pulled ahead and was clearly going to win the race but Shalane and Mary Keitany (Kenya) were battling it out for second. Nothing against Mary, mind you, but to be running her first marathon and coming so close to winning, Shalane just HAD to come in second, from my point of view. And she did. She pulled ahead of Mary and came in at 2:28:40, 20 seconds behind Edna and 21 seconds in front of Mary. Yay for Shalane!!!
The great runners I watched on TV yesterday are like gods and goddesses to me. They’re freaks of nature who add a whole hell of a lot of training to their already perfect physiques and make their bodies perform miracles. Far from discouraging me, watching their magic inspires me. I want to breathe the same air and run the same courses they run – and it doesn’t matter to me how far behind them I come in. I can see in their strides what human beings can do when all the circumstances and motivation align.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
A History Lesson
From one dude delivering a message (and then dropping dead), to the current moment, when more women than men run the race worldwide and there are clubs in which the members (myself included) claim to be Maniacs, the marathon has grown up.
Take a look at this concise history of the 26.2 race some of us have become committed to (obsessed with, overwhelmed by - you name it):
2,500 Years After Pheidippides
Take a look at this concise history of the 26.2 race some of us have become committed to (obsessed with, overwhelmed by - you name it):
2,500 Years After Pheidippides
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Book Trailer
Hello readers,
Talented Bellingham videographer and really great person, Traci Hahn, has put together a book trailer for me. Take a look:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25bzAV4kgq4
Talented Bellingham videographer and really great person, Traci Hahn, has put together a book trailer for me. Take a look:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25bzAV4kgq4
Sunday, October 24, 2010
In the Deep Waters
In desperate need of getting my miles in, but still struggling with pain in my foot from planter fasciitis, I decided to try “deep water running” this week. Imagine this:
You get up earlier than you like, and you quietly sneak out of the house in your swimming suit. Your dog thinks she is going to grandma’s house because you have a bag of clothes sitting by the front door, and so she climbs into her crate in preparation for the car ride and you have to explain to her that she isn’t going anywhere and that mommy will be back in a couple of hours. Then you drive to the pool. You’ve never been there, but you’ve recruited your friend (let’s say her name is Julie) to join you and show you the ropes.
In the locker room, you shove your bag of clothes into a cramped locker, and Julie leads you over to the diving/deep water pool and instructs you to place a flotation device around your waist and pull it tight. Then she grabs a pair of barbells made of foam and shoves them into your hands. “Come on,” she says, “just jump in and get it over with.” She does so. Just jumps in. You, never a big swimming pool fan, step carefully down the ladder and let one portion of your body adjust to the temperature of the water before lowering the next part in. The water isn’t cold, thank goodness, because the only thing worse than worrying about drowning is being cold while worrying about drowning.
Julie, always a little too cheerful for early mornings, prods you on: “Come on, you can do it.” You know you can, you just aren’t sure you want to. But finally you’re in, treading water, looking around at the other women who’ve shown up for the deep water running class. No one is under 70. That’s good, you think, hoping that in their mature states, these women won’t judge you for your ineptitude.
Then the instructor shows up. She’s a twenty-something blond woman with a stopwatch. She turns on some rousing ‘50s music and starts shouting orders. “Run at 70 percent!” she demands.
“What does that mean?” you ask.
“It means run as hard as you can and then cut back to 70 percent of that. You’ll do it for 30 seconds.”
You say, “But I’ve never done this before. How do I know what 70 percent of my capacity is?”
She shrugs. Meanwhile, Julie has closed her eyes tightly and puckered up her face. She’s pumping her arms and legs for all she’s worth, bobbing her head to the left and right as she “runs” at 70 percent. You look around at the other women. They are chatting amongst themselves. You overhear one conversation about how “those fellows on the Fox Network are the only commentators you can trust these days,” and you decide to close your eyes and pucker your face like Julie and really go after it.
Thirty seconds pass.
“Cross country skiing,” the instructor commands. Then she looks at you, having already figured out that you’re going to need extra remediation, and demonstrates the motion she wants. It’s a back and forth motion with arms and legs straightened, going in opposite directions. You try it, but it doesn’t feel natural, so you go back to running at 70 percent.
After 40 minutes of various “running” motions (high knees, knees wide, the “frog,” jumping jacks), the class moves on to crunches, arm-strengthening activities and stretching. Finally, the hour is over. You climb out of the pool exhausted, wrinkled around the toes and fingers, and not at all sure you’ve had a workout. But at least your foot isn’t bothering you as much as usual.
If you can imagine the above, you’ve got the gist of my morning last Thursday. After washing the chlorine out of my hair, I went to see Jason (physical therapist and really great runner). As he massaged, applied ultra sound to and iced the bottom of my foot, he commended me for giving the deep water thing a try, but fortunately never suggested I give up running on solid ground in exchange for “running at 70 percent” in the community pool.
You get up earlier than you like, and you quietly sneak out of the house in your swimming suit. Your dog thinks she is going to grandma’s house because you have a bag of clothes sitting by the front door, and so she climbs into her crate in preparation for the car ride and you have to explain to her that she isn’t going anywhere and that mommy will be back in a couple of hours. Then you drive to the pool. You’ve never been there, but you’ve recruited your friend (let’s say her name is Julie) to join you and show you the ropes.
In the locker room, you shove your bag of clothes into a cramped locker, and Julie leads you over to the diving/deep water pool and instructs you to place a flotation device around your waist and pull it tight. Then she grabs a pair of barbells made of foam and shoves them into your hands. “Come on,” she says, “just jump in and get it over with.” She does so. Just jumps in. You, never a big swimming pool fan, step carefully down the ladder and let one portion of your body adjust to the temperature of the water before lowering the next part in. The water isn’t cold, thank goodness, because the only thing worse than worrying about drowning is being cold while worrying about drowning.
Julie, always a little too cheerful for early mornings, prods you on: “Come on, you can do it.” You know you can, you just aren’t sure you want to. But finally you’re in, treading water, looking around at the other women who’ve shown up for the deep water running class. No one is under 70. That’s good, you think, hoping that in their mature states, these women won’t judge you for your ineptitude.
Then the instructor shows up. She’s a twenty-something blond woman with a stopwatch. She turns on some rousing ‘50s music and starts shouting orders. “Run at 70 percent!” she demands.
“What does that mean?” you ask.
“It means run as hard as you can and then cut back to 70 percent of that. You’ll do it for 30 seconds.”
You say, “But I’ve never done this before. How do I know what 70 percent of my capacity is?”
She shrugs. Meanwhile, Julie has closed her eyes tightly and puckered up her face. She’s pumping her arms and legs for all she’s worth, bobbing her head to the left and right as she “runs” at 70 percent. You look around at the other women. They are chatting amongst themselves. You overhear one conversation about how “those fellows on the Fox Network are the only commentators you can trust these days,” and you decide to close your eyes and pucker your face like Julie and really go after it.
Thirty seconds pass.
“Cross country skiing,” the instructor commands. Then she looks at you, having already figured out that you’re going to need extra remediation, and demonstrates the motion she wants. It’s a back and forth motion with arms and legs straightened, going in opposite directions. You try it, but it doesn’t feel natural, so you go back to running at 70 percent.
After 40 minutes of various “running” motions (high knees, knees wide, the “frog,” jumping jacks), the class moves on to crunches, arm-strengthening activities and stretching. Finally, the hour is over. You climb out of the pool exhausted, wrinkled around the toes and fingers, and not at all sure you’ve had a workout. But at least your foot isn’t bothering you as much as usual.
If you can imagine the above, you’ve got the gist of my morning last Thursday. After washing the chlorine out of my hair, I went to see Jason (physical therapist and really great runner). As he massaged, applied ultra sound to and iced the bottom of my foot, he commended me for giving the deep water thing a try, but fortunately never suggested I give up running on solid ground in exchange for “running at 70 percent” in the community pool.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
What are your favorite trails to run?
Ah, fall is here again. I took a short run this morning through the crunchy leaves and lamented how, once again, I have missed the late summer trail running series that the Greater Bellingham Running Club (GBRC) sponsors. It seems that every year, just as the trail running series begins, I’m beginning some kind of commitment that happens on the same night. This year I’m taking classes on editing through the extended programs up at Western Washington University.
I’m enjoying my classes, but I’m sad to have missed out on running the trails with a group. Trail running is different than road running or track running in that it engages the brain differently – and the muscles. On the trails, you’ve got to watch where you’re going to avoid tripping over rocks, roots or even just variations in the turf. You’ve got to hop and dodge and bob. And then you have to hike up and pound down hills. It’s fun.
I learned to enjoy running on trails in Arizona. Every year, Bill and I visit his mom in Peoria, and nearly every day during our visits, we drive out to Thunderbird Park and take rambling runs on the trails through the desert. I love leaping over stones in the big gravel patches and avoiding Teddy Bear Cactus plants. Once I even enjoyed NOT stepping on a sleeping rattle snake. And while Arizona is where Bill introduced me to trail running, my favorite trail run ever was one we took this summer along the Baker Lake Trail. Soft and spongy, smelling of moss and evergreen trees, this trail curls along beside the lake with hardly any elevation gain. We ran for 12 miles (six miles in and six miles out), poking our way through the woods at a lazy, happy pace. It’s one of my favorite memories of this year.
What are your favorite trails to run? And what makes them so great? Share your knowledge so we can all have some fun before the weather turns the ground muddy?
I’m enjoying my classes, but I’m sad to have missed out on running the trails with a group. Trail running is different than road running or track running in that it engages the brain differently – and the muscles. On the trails, you’ve got to watch where you’re going to avoid tripping over rocks, roots or even just variations in the turf. You’ve got to hop and dodge and bob. And then you have to hike up and pound down hills. It’s fun.
I learned to enjoy running on trails in Arizona. Every year, Bill and I visit his mom in Peoria, and nearly every day during our visits, we drive out to Thunderbird Park and take rambling runs on the trails through the desert. I love leaping over stones in the big gravel patches and avoiding Teddy Bear Cactus plants. Once I even enjoyed NOT stepping on a sleeping rattle snake. And while Arizona is where Bill introduced me to trail running, my favorite trail run ever was one we took this summer along the Baker Lake Trail. Soft and spongy, smelling of moss and evergreen trees, this trail curls along beside the lake with hardly any elevation gain. We ran for 12 miles (six miles in and six miles out), poking our way through the woods at a lazy, happy pace. It’s one of my favorite memories of this year.
What are your favorite trails to run? And what makes them so great? Share your knowledge so we can all have some fun before the weather turns the ground muddy?
Friday, October 15, 2010
Upcoming Events
Upcoming Events
For Workshops and Groups - to sign up, call or email Cami - 206.890.8694/clostman@aol.com
Sunday, October 24, 1:00 to 4:00 PM at Butterfly Life on James St.
Writing for Healing. This is a women's only event. In a safe environment we will be discussing how to use writing exercises to alter self/body image. Together we will try out some of the exercises presented and give one another support in creating a self and body image which will help us create a full, free life. The focus will be on content and not on spelling or punctuation. $25 for general public/$20 for Butterfly Life members. Space is limited, call to save your spot.
Saturday, December 11, 9 AM to 4:30 PM at Chrysalis Inn and Spa
Catching Your Own Second Wind: Seven steps to re-inventing yourself during major life transitions. This is a one-day retreat developed to walk you (men and women welcome) through self-reflective and re-visioning excercises which will support you in reaching toward life-long dreams and goals. As we hit major transitions in our lives (getting married, having babies, children leaving home, divorce, midlife, retiremtent, etc.) we have the opportunity to re-evaluate what we have accomplished and whether or not we have reached toward our dreams. Catching Your Own Second Wind is designed to give you a re-set and point you toward dreams that may have been on hold for years. There are only 20 spaces available. Sign up early. $99 for the full day. Lunch is on your own. Payment can be made HERE.
Second Wind Readings and Slideshows
Monday, November 1/ 7:30 at Powells in Portland, Oregon.
Friday, November 5/ 5:30 at Fact and Fiction in Missoula, Montana.
Saturday, November 6/ 2:00 at Auntie's Books in Spokane, WA.
Friday, November 12/ 7:00 at Village Books in Bellingham, WA.
Friday, November 19/ 7:00 at Ravenna Third Place Books, Seattle.
Thursday, December 9/ 7:15 at Fairhaven Runners, Bellingham,
For Workshops and Groups - to sign up, call or email Cami - 206.890.8694/clostman@aol.com
Sunday, October 24, 1:00 to 4:00 PM at Butterfly Life on James St.
Writing for Healing. This is a women's only event. In a safe environment we will be discussing how to use writing exercises to alter self/body image. Together we will try out some of the exercises presented and give one another support in creating a self and body image which will help us create a full, free life. The focus will be on content and not on spelling or punctuation. $25 for general public/$20 for Butterfly Life members. Space is limited, call to save your spot.
Saturday, December 11, 9 AM to 4:30 PM at Chrysalis Inn and Spa
Catching Your Own Second Wind: Seven steps to re-inventing yourself during major life transitions. This is a one-day retreat developed to walk you (men and women welcome) through self-reflective and re-visioning excercises which will support you in reaching toward life-long dreams and goals. As we hit major transitions in our lives (getting married, having babies, children leaving home, divorce, midlife, retiremtent, etc.) we have the opportunity to re-evaluate what we have accomplished and whether or not we have reached toward our dreams. Catching Your Own Second Wind is designed to give you a re-set and point you toward dreams that may have been on hold for years. There are only 20 spaces available. Sign up early. $99 for the full day. Lunch is on your own. Payment can be made HERE.
Second Wind Readings and Slideshows
Monday, November 1/ 7:30 at Powells in Portland, Oregon.
Friday, November 5/ 5:30 at Fact and Fiction in Missoula, Montana.
Saturday, November 6/ 2:00 at Auntie's Books in Spokane, WA.
Friday, November 12/ 7:00 at Village Books in Bellingham, WA.
Friday, November 19/ 7:00 at Ravenna Third Place Books, Seattle.
Thursday, December 9/ 7:15 at Fairhaven Runners, Bellingham,
Monday, October 11, 2010
You Get What You Pay For
Ah, the best laid plans come crashing down, like an airplane falling from the sky. No – like the “other shoe.” Or, better yet, like a waterfall, dumped down to earth sent by the gods of the Great Northwest.
Friday night, Bill and I attended a wedding about 20 minutes outside of Portland. The Bride and Groom had provided their guests with a canvas tent under which we could observe their nuptial recitations, but it was unnecessary. The sun was shining. Speckled light filtered onto the green grass meadow through healthy, well manicured evergreen trees. We enjoyed the celebration until about 9:00pm, at which point, Bill and I made our way out to our car and commented, “Oh, it’s sprinkling. So glad they got a nice night before this began.”
In the morning, when we awoke and saw that the soft sprinkle of the evening before had turned into an earnest downpour, Bill said, “Well, let it empty itself out. It can’t rain like this for two straight days.”
Bill has lived in the Northwest for 30 years but his optimism over the weather has never waned, no matter how many times it has been proven ill-placed. When he made his comment on Saturday morning, I just shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I had a feeling – a bad feeling. The thing is, I didn’t have this bad feeling before we left Bellingham, so I didn’t come prepared for the pouring rain. It’s stupid, I know. I’ve lived here for 43 years, myself, and I should know better.
Because I didn’t come ready for hard rain, we scrambled on Saturday at the expo to find me some raingear for the following day and ended up with a wrinkly, paper-like, disposable rain jacket made by a company called Sheddable Shell. And Bill reluctantly loaned me his baseball cap to keep the rain out of my eyes (reluctantly, because he needed it himself if he planned to stand in the rain and cheer me on).
Sunday morning, I “tweeted” (yes, I tweeted!) that it was still pouring and that it was going to be a long, wet day. Bill got me to downtown Portland by about 6:30 am, and I stood in the rain for a half hour waiting for the start of the race and then another fifteen minutes waiting for my corral to get to the starting line. I (and everyone else, I’m not taking it too personally) was soaked by the time I hit the start button on my Garmin.
The race was well organized and well supported – one of the best I’ve participated in – but it was just a hard day.
My plan was to repeatedly run five minutes and walk for 45 seconds – a Galloway-like routine that was supposed to give me breaks and, therefore, make my pace more steady and a little faster overall. I followed this plan for the first half of the race and tracked with the five-hour pacer that whole distance, but by the time Bill met me at mile 20 (his third station on the course), I’d given it up. Actually, I gave it up at about mile 14, when I felt myself slipping further behind the pacer every time I walked. I SO wanted to finish close to five hours, but it just wasn’t to be.
A little more than halfway through the race, the rain made me feel unhappy, everything began chaffing. I started to develop a blister on my left, very wet foot. And the plantar fasciitis started RAGING in my right foot. This was the first time in a long time that I felt like crying during a race. But I didn’t do it! Not me. I cranked up Harry Potter on my iPod and pushed. I literally ignored how miserable I was.
Now, it’s not my policy to ignore my pain. I’m quite fond of complaining and adjusting my pace to accommodate discomfort, but the pain in both my feet was at the level that if I had given it even the time of day, I would have had to quit. And I couldn’t endure that option.
I finished the race in 5:34. Not my slowest, but almost. As soon as I crossed the finish line, the damn sun came out.
Slowly, painfully, I made my way toward the family reunion area to meet Bill. Shortly after finding him, I stripped naked in the bathroom of a pizza place near the where Bill had parked the car and changed out of my drenched clothing into something dry. Then I limped back to the car and took my shoes off to survey the damage.
Once we were on the highway on our way home, Bill said to me, “Wow, we paid $150 for you to run in the rain for five hours and then limp back to the car.”
“We should shop around,” I said. “I bet we could get all that for less.”
Still, the war wounds and crazy-awful discomfort (though I’m sure I could get all of that for half the price I paid in Portland) are worth every penny. Once again, I see I can do more, endure more, push through more than I would have thought a few years ago. Three cheers for the RAIN that makes us strong!
Friday night, Bill and I attended a wedding about 20 minutes outside of Portland. The Bride and Groom had provided their guests with a canvas tent under which we could observe their nuptial recitations, but it was unnecessary. The sun was shining. Speckled light filtered onto the green grass meadow through healthy, well manicured evergreen trees. We enjoyed the celebration until about 9:00pm, at which point, Bill and I made our way out to our car and commented, “Oh, it’s sprinkling. So glad they got a nice night before this began.”
In the morning, when we awoke and saw that the soft sprinkle of the evening before had turned into an earnest downpour, Bill said, “Well, let it empty itself out. It can’t rain like this for two straight days.”
Bill has lived in the Northwest for 30 years but his optimism over the weather has never waned, no matter how many times it has been proven ill-placed. When he made his comment on Saturday morning, I just shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I had a feeling – a bad feeling. The thing is, I didn’t have this bad feeling before we left Bellingham, so I didn’t come prepared for the pouring rain. It’s stupid, I know. I’ve lived here for 43 years, myself, and I should know better.
Because I didn’t come ready for hard rain, we scrambled on Saturday at the expo to find me some raingear for the following day and ended up with a wrinkly, paper-like, disposable rain jacket made by a company called Sheddable Shell. And Bill reluctantly loaned me his baseball cap to keep the rain out of my eyes (reluctantly, because he needed it himself if he planned to stand in the rain and cheer me on).
Sunday morning, I “tweeted” (yes, I tweeted!) that it was still pouring and that it was going to be a long, wet day. Bill got me to downtown Portland by about 6:30 am, and I stood in the rain for a half hour waiting for the start of the race and then another fifteen minutes waiting for my corral to get to the starting line. I (and everyone else, I’m not taking it too personally) was soaked by the time I hit the start button on my Garmin.
The race was well organized and well supported – one of the best I’ve participated in – but it was just a hard day.
My plan was to repeatedly run five minutes and walk for 45 seconds – a Galloway-like routine that was supposed to give me breaks and, therefore, make my pace more steady and a little faster overall. I followed this plan for the first half of the race and tracked with the five-hour pacer that whole distance, but by the time Bill met me at mile 20 (his third station on the course), I’d given it up. Actually, I gave it up at about mile 14, when I felt myself slipping further behind the pacer every time I walked. I SO wanted to finish close to five hours, but it just wasn’t to be.
A little more than halfway through the race, the rain made me feel unhappy, everything began chaffing. I started to develop a blister on my left, very wet foot. And the plantar fasciitis started RAGING in my right foot. This was the first time in a long time that I felt like crying during a race. But I didn’t do it! Not me. I cranked up Harry Potter on my iPod and pushed. I literally ignored how miserable I was.
Now, it’s not my policy to ignore my pain. I’m quite fond of complaining and adjusting my pace to accommodate discomfort, but the pain in both my feet was at the level that if I had given it even the time of day, I would have had to quit. And I couldn’t endure that option.
I finished the race in 5:34. Not my slowest, but almost. As soon as I crossed the finish line, the damn sun came out.
Slowly, painfully, I made my way toward the family reunion area to meet Bill. Shortly after finding him, I stripped naked in the bathroom of a pizza place near the where Bill had parked the car and changed out of my drenched clothing into something dry. Then I limped back to the car and took my shoes off to survey the damage.
Once we were on the highway on our way home, Bill said to me, “Wow, we paid $150 for you to run in the rain for five hours and then limp back to the car.”
“We should shop around,” I said. “I bet we could get all that for less.”
Still, the war wounds and crazy-awful discomfort (though I’m sure I could get all of that for half the price I paid in Portland) are worth every penny. Once again, I see I can do more, endure more, push through more than I would have thought a few years ago. Three cheers for the RAIN that makes us strong!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Portland, Here I Come.
Plantar fasciitis notwithstanding, I’m on my way to run the Portland Marathon this weekend. I know, I know, I should wait until my foot feels better before doing another race, but I scheduled and paid for this one before I came down with foot failure. Actually, I’m really excited about the race on Sunday. The main reason is that I’ll be trying something different. My plan is to do my own version of the Galloway Method.
Ever since I discovered that I could actually keep running for 26.2 miles, I’ve never been one to take walk breaks except at water stations. I’m not sure how I got into the habit of thinking that running every step of a course is more honorable or earns me more points in marathon heaven than a walk/run routine would do, but that’s been my mentality for the last few years. Bill has been encouraging me to try Galloway’s run/walk structure for some time; he thinks it will actually speed up my pace in the end (which I keep insisting is not important – but he IS the one who waits patiently for me to finish, so I suppose he has a stake in my pace, too). Since I couldn’t see how adding WALKING into the already long journey could plausibly make me finish faster, I have outright ignored Bill’s suggestions.
Then I met Jeff Galloway. Jeff and his wife were at the Humpy’s ‘thon in Anchorage. In fact, they were on the trail behind me at about mile five. Then they were on the trail in front of me for miles six and seven. Then they finished the race more than three quarters of an hour before I came over the line. And, here’s the kicker: They walked half the race! That’s right folks. They walked for 30 seconds and ran for 30 seconds for the entire 42k.
I was so impressed that when we got home, I ordered a little gadget like I saw Jeff’s wife wearing on her belt. It looks like the timers Starbucks uses to notify them when their coffee is done brewing (Can you guess where I am as I write this post?). Only mine is bright pink. I can set the buzzer to go off in intervals of any two lengths I want. When I got it in the mail, I set myself up to run for 6 minutes and walk for one. Then I went out for ten miles. Guess what???? I kept up an eleven minute and fifteen second pace. What? Me? So then the next day, with fasciitis screaming at me from below, I went for another ten mile run and kept up 11:45 – with a sore foot.
Now, don’t be snarky, you fast people (you know who you are). I’m well aware that 11:15 and 11:45 are still sloooowww miles. But the point here is that, by adding a one minute walk break every six minutes, I was faster for farther than I can typically run. So, I’m not promising anything this weekend, but I’m hopeful that this will be one of my faster marathons. I’ll eat my words (and a whole pile of French fries, too) if I’m wrong. Stay tuned.
Ever since I discovered that I could actually keep running for 26.2 miles, I’ve never been one to take walk breaks except at water stations. I’m not sure how I got into the habit of thinking that running every step of a course is more honorable or earns me more points in marathon heaven than a walk/run routine would do, but that’s been my mentality for the last few years. Bill has been encouraging me to try Galloway’s run/walk structure for some time; he thinks it will actually speed up my pace in the end (which I keep insisting is not important – but he IS the one who waits patiently for me to finish, so I suppose he has a stake in my pace, too). Since I couldn’t see how adding WALKING into the already long journey could plausibly make me finish faster, I have outright ignored Bill’s suggestions.
Then I met Jeff Galloway. Jeff and his wife were at the Humpy’s ‘thon in Anchorage. In fact, they were on the trail behind me at about mile five. Then they were on the trail in front of me for miles six and seven. Then they finished the race more than three quarters of an hour before I came over the line. And, here’s the kicker: They walked half the race! That’s right folks. They walked for 30 seconds and ran for 30 seconds for the entire 42k.
I was so impressed that when we got home, I ordered a little gadget like I saw Jeff’s wife wearing on her belt. It looks like the timers Starbucks uses to notify them when their coffee is done brewing (Can you guess where I am as I write this post?). Only mine is bright pink. I can set the buzzer to go off in intervals of any two lengths I want. When I got it in the mail, I set myself up to run for 6 minutes and walk for one. Then I went out for ten miles. Guess what???? I kept up an eleven minute and fifteen second pace. What? Me? So then the next day, with fasciitis screaming at me from below, I went for another ten mile run and kept up 11:45 – with a sore foot.
Now, don’t be snarky, you fast people (you know who you are). I’m well aware that 11:15 and 11:45 are still sloooowww miles. But the point here is that, by adding a one minute walk break every six minutes, I was faster for farther than I can typically run. So, I’m not promising anything this weekend, but I’m hopeful that this will be one of my faster marathons. I’ll eat my words (and a whole pile of French fries, too) if I’m wrong. Stay tuned.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Linkin' up with others....
Hi readers. I have a couple of announcements and one little tiny request. First of all, several people have received emails from Amazon.com saying that the "send" date for pre-ordered copies of my book has been moved up!!! It looks like they'll go out on Oct. 22 and should arrive later that week. Keep me posted when this starts to happen. It's very exciting.
Secondly, I'll soon be blogging on a new site in addition to my own! I've been invited by Nancy Mills, founder of Spirited Woman Website, to join the Spirited Woman blogger team. My beat will be travel! Keep your eyes open for weekly blogs (and even more often once the book has been out for a few months).
Finally, I'm compiling a list of blogs and websites to follow and would love your input. If you have favorite blogs or sites you read on a regular basis on the following topics. Pass them on to me with the links. Here are the topics I'm looking for:
Secondly, I'll soon be blogging on a new site in addition to my own! I've been invited by Nancy Mills, founder of Spirited Woman Website, to join the Spirited Woman blogger team. My beat will be travel! Keep your eyes open for weekly blogs (and even more often once the book has been out for a few months).
Finally, I'm compiling a list of blogs and websites to follow and would love your input. If you have favorite blogs or sites you read on a regular basis on the following topics. Pass them on to me with the links. Here are the topics I'm looking for:
- Running
- Fitness
- Personal growth
- Women's health/well being
Thanks, friends!
-Cami
Friday, October 1, 2010
Our Tateyama runners have come and gone. The Bellingham Bay Marathon was a great (rainy) success.
Three cheers for Toshio Kansaku (left)!
And to Yasuatsu Sait (above)!
And also to Julie MacPhee, Bill Pech (who hosted our Tateyama runners on race day), and our friend Colleen Wolfisberg (who completed her first marathon).
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tateyama Comes to Bellingham
As I mentioned last week, Tateyama runners will join us this weekend for the Bellingham Bay Marathon.
They've arrived!
Friday night, two runners, ages 27 and 59, flew into the Vancouver Airport. We had dinner with our very tired visitors at Boundary Bay Brewery that first night and then took Toshio and Yasu to the DeCann House, a beautiful bed and breakfast in town run by Barbara and Van Hudson, Tateyama enthusiasts.
Today we drove the marathon and half marathon courses, got together with several friends for a pasta potluck and then sent our guests to bed to get a good night's rest for the big day tomorrow.
For the past few weeks, I've been organizing, recruiting translators, sending out invitations and dreaming up fun Bellingham activities. But in the midst of all of my chart-making and emailing, I never forget what started my involvement in the Bellingham Sister Cities Association in the first place: The Marathon.
Tomorrow morning at 7am Bill and our one young runner, Yasu, will start that 26.2-mile journey, not knowing if the sky will pour on them or if they will turn an ankle or get a cramp half way through. They don't know if anyone will be stationed along the route to cheer for them (besides me) or if they will hit a psychological wall so hard to push through it makes them cry.
I never cease to have respect for The Marathon and for those who run it, either once or hundreds of times. Tomorrow I won't be running because I'm tapering in preparation for the Portland Marathon in a couple of weeks. This gives me the chance to plant myself somewhere on the course, clap for the runners until my hands are numb and watch their faces. Some will be elated, some anguished, others peaceful and Zen-like. I've been all of those things at some point in a race.
I'll be watching carefully for a few particular runners, this time. To Yasu and Bill in the full marathon and to Julie, Toshio and Ellen in the half marathon: GAMBATE! Do your best (in Japanese). I'll see you at the finish line, and we'll share a beer to celebrate your elation, your anguish, your Zen mind, or whatever came up during the race.
Ready, set. GO!
PS: If you're so inclined, take a look at the marathon course and come out to cheer the runners along!
They've arrived!
Friday night, two runners, ages 27 and 59, flew into the Vancouver Airport. We had dinner with our very tired visitors at Boundary Bay Brewery that first night and then took Toshio and Yasu to the DeCann House, a beautiful bed and breakfast in town run by Barbara and Van Hudson, Tateyama enthusiasts.
Today we drove the marathon and half marathon courses, got together with several friends for a pasta potluck and then sent our guests to bed to get a good night's rest for the big day tomorrow.
For the past few weeks, I've been organizing, recruiting translators, sending out invitations and dreaming up fun Bellingham activities. But in the midst of all of my chart-making and emailing, I never forget what started my involvement in the Bellingham Sister Cities Association in the first place: The Marathon.
Tomorrow morning at 7am Bill and our one young runner, Yasu, will start that 26.2-mile journey, not knowing if the sky will pour on them or if they will turn an ankle or get a cramp half way through. They don't know if anyone will be stationed along the route to cheer for them (besides me) or if they will hit a psychological wall so hard to push through it makes them cry.
I never cease to have respect for The Marathon and for those who run it, either once or hundreds of times. Tomorrow I won't be running because I'm tapering in preparation for the Portland Marathon in a couple of weeks. This gives me the chance to plant myself somewhere on the course, clap for the runners until my hands are numb and watch their faces. Some will be elated, some anguished, others peaceful and Zen-like. I've been all of those things at some point in a race.
I'll be watching carefully for a few particular runners, this time. To Yasu and Bill in the full marathon and to Julie, Toshio and Ellen in the half marathon: GAMBATE! Do your best (in Japanese). I'll see you at the finish line, and we'll share a beer to celebrate your elation, your anguish, your Zen mind, or whatever came up during the race.
Ready, set. GO!
PS: If you're so inclined, take a look at the marathon course and come out to cheer the runners along!
Monday, September 20, 2010
A Round of Inspiration
What a weekend I had. Today I took my run just to try and ground myself in my present life. Why, you ask? Because I spent Friday and Saturday evenings celebrating my 25th High School Reunion. (See the above for a pic of me playing a murder suspect in a school production.)
I’m really a big fan of reunions. Seeing people I grew up with is centering to me. I’m one of those (perhaps few) who felt that high school was the happiest, best place in my world as a teenager. So when I, a formerly chubby kid, hear my classmates telling me that my running has inspired them, I’m first shocked and then happily catapulted back to senior year and winning student of the month for being a good citizen or being named “friendliest” and “sunniest smile” by my cohort. Thanks friends!
To tell the truth, I was inspired by many of the 1985 Mountlake Terrace Hawks who showed up to our reunion. As I’m in the process of writing a workshop called “Catching your own Second Wind,” I’ve been in the mode of observing how people in my life have re-invented themselves, found meaning as they hit major life transitions (like an empty nest or a divorce) or re-affirmed commitments they’ve kept over the years. And I’ve found myself in awe of how my former classmates were catching their second or third winds nowadays, sometimes in the shadow of adversity or life’s hard knocks.
For example, two of our classmates recently re-found each other and got married. Cheers to Michelle and Mike! One classmate who has been driving truck for a living told me about how he’d finally taken bass guitar lessons and has been finding his identity and passion as a musician. More than I can count have been through divorces and have landed on their feet. Then there were those who were either beginning or continuing athletic pursuits as they hit their midlife stride. Kim, Carrie, Jeff and others are running, doing triathlons and practicing martial arts! I’m so proud of and inspired by all of you, too. What a love fest, eh?
Then, at the end of Friday evening’s festivities (that is to say before I left at 11pm – the bar was open till 2am, and I’m given to understand that some of us closed the place down), I bumped into an old friend who has gotten a little out of shape (it’s easy to do, no criticism here). My pal, who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are JE and who was my fellow winner of “friendliest” senior in 1985, showed me an APP he’d downloaded called “Couch to 5K.” He also told me he hadn’t started the program yet, but he hoped it would eventually be worth the $3.99 he paid for it.
So in the spirit of inspiration, I’m inspired to throw down a challenge to my old friend, JE, and to anyone else who is interested in joining in. How about you get ready and join me for the Seattle Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk? It happens on Dec. 12. You can start with running for one minute and walking for one minute until you get up to one mile. Start this week! If you do this for a couple of weeks, you’ll be ready to work up to 2 miles by the end of October. If you can’t run a whole minute, run for 30 seconds and walk for a minute. I’ll come down and do the race with you. I’ll have done a marathon the week before, so I’ll be at my slowest (and as my readers know, I’m never very fast).
JE – will you accept the challenge? I told you you would be sorry for showing me that APP. But actually, I think we could have a lot of fun together! Anyone else want to join us? What if we say that anyone who was on the track team has to stand on the sidelines and cheer us non-athletic kids on? Come on. Anyone? Anyone?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
This Week
Whew! It's been a crazy week for me.
Last Saturday I ran the Fairhaven 15 K with my friend Julie, and we had a blast. My plantar fasciitis was in check, the weather was gorgeous and it seemed the Universe was smiling on me. Then the week began, and I was in full-blown crazy mode planning the visit from the two runners coming to Bellingham from Tateyama, Japan, keeping up with emails from the planning committee for my 25th High School Reunion and taking care of personal tasks that seemed to be screaming at me they needed to be done NOW.
Today, I spent 2 hours getting my hair foiled and cut and afterwards, I finally said to myself, "You have to get out for a run if you want to collect your thoughts." It was warm and dry, so I suited up, clipped on my Shuffle and planned a 12-mile route on the trails.
What do you think happened just as I took my first steps? It started to rain. Do you remember (those of you who grew up on the Northwest) those days walking home from elementary school in the Fall when it was pouring but warm, and you couldn't help stomping in puddles and letting the trickles of water running down from your hair dribble into your mouth? Today was like that for me. For more that two hours I ran with my face pointed up toward the sky and just let the water hit me in the eyes. I was in my tank top and shorts; it was warm.
Days like today are rare. I'm glad I got out there. I was reminded of childhood and expectant of Fall and happy to be running. What did you do today near the end of the week to collect your thoughts?
Last Saturday I ran the Fairhaven 15 K with my friend Julie, and we had a blast. My plantar fasciitis was in check, the weather was gorgeous and it seemed the Universe was smiling on me. Then the week began, and I was in full-blown crazy mode planning the visit from the two runners coming to Bellingham from Tateyama, Japan, keeping up with emails from the planning committee for my 25th High School Reunion and taking care of personal tasks that seemed to be screaming at me they needed to be done NOW.
Today, I spent 2 hours getting my hair foiled and cut and afterwards, I finally said to myself, "You have to get out for a run if you want to collect your thoughts." It was warm and dry, so I suited up, clipped on my Shuffle and planned a 12-mile route on the trails.
What do you think happened just as I took my first steps? It started to rain. Do you remember (those of you who grew up on the Northwest) those days walking home from elementary school in the Fall when it was pouring but warm, and you couldn't help stomping in puddles and letting the trickles of water running down from your hair dribble into your mouth? Today was like that for me. For more that two hours I ran with my face pointed up toward the sky and just let the water hit me in the eyes. I was in my tank top and shorts; it was warm.
Days like today are rare. I'm glad I got out there. I was reminded of childhood and expectant of Fall and happy to be running. What did you do today near the end of the week to collect your thoughts?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Your Favorite Running Movies
Well the results are in. Among my friends (or at least those who read the blog and my Facebook postings) there are 12 movies and 4 documentaries which qualify as favorites. In at least one case “running” seems to be interpreted as “running from the law,” which could/should be its own category, perhaps. But I’ve put in everyone’s suggestions – good, bad and silly.
I haven’t seen every recommendation on the first list of movies, but my favorite of those I have seen is Saint Ralph. If you haven’t watched it, you really should. It’s a sweet, inspiring, feel-good movie, if totally fantastical.
On the documentary list, I love Spirit of the Marathon because it features a number of women and back-of-the-pack runners whom I find personally encouraging. I have to give a special thumbs up, though, to the Long Green Line because that documentary is about a high school track coach named Joe Newton who happens to (still) coach at Bill’s high school (York High School) back in Elmhurst, Illinois. He’s coached his team to 25 State Titles during the course of his tenure. Coach Newton even showed up to Bill’s high school reunion in 2009! Check out the film. Check them all out. I welcome additions to the list and/or reviews. Here are the lists….
Movies:
• Running Man (1987) with Arnold Schwartzenegger
• The Miracle of Kathy Miller (1981) with Helen Hunt
• Run Fatboy Run with Hank Azaria
• Gallopoli (1981) with Mel Gibson
• Saint Ralph (2004)
• The Terry Fox Story (1983)
• Jericho Mile (1979) with Peter Strauss
• Prefontaine (1997)
• Goldengirl (1979) with Susan Anton
• Run Lola Run (1999) German film
• Forest Gump (1994) with Tom Hanks
• Without Limits (1998)
Documentaries:
• Endurance (1999)
• Running Brave (1983)
• Spirit of the Marathon (2007)
• Long Green Line (2008)
I haven’t seen every recommendation on the first list of movies, but my favorite of those I have seen is Saint Ralph. If you haven’t watched it, you really should. It’s a sweet, inspiring, feel-good movie, if totally fantastical.
On the documentary list, I love Spirit of the Marathon because it features a number of women and back-of-the-pack runners whom I find personally encouraging. I have to give a special thumbs up, though, to the Long Green Line because that documentary is about a high school track coach named Joe Newton who happens to (still) coach at Bill’s high school (York High School) back in Elmhurst, Illinois. He’s coached his team to 25 State Titles during the course of his tenure. Coach Newton even showed up to Bill’s high school reunion in 2009! Check out the film. Check them all out. I welcome additions to the list and/or reviews. Here are the lists….
Movies:
• Running Man (1987) with Arnold Schwartzenegger
• The Miracle of Kathy Miller (1981) with Helen Hunt
• Run Fatboy Run with Hank Azaria
• Gallopoli (1981) with Mel Gibson
• Saint Ralph (2004)
• The Terry Fox Story (1983)
• Jericho Mile (1979) with Peter Strauss
• Prefontaine (1997)
• Goldengirl (1979) with Susan Anton
• Run Lola Run (1999) German film
• Forest Gump (1994) with Tom Hanks
• Without Limits (1998)
Documentaries:
• Endurance (1999)
• Running Brave (1983)
• Spirit of the Marathon (2007)
• Long Green Line (2008)
Friday, September 10, 2010
Top 11 Non-Running Movies
As promised, here are Ziegel and Grossberger's top pick's as non-running movies. Keep in mind their book was written in the 1970s, so I'm sure we could all come up with a few more recent films which, in no way, inspire running (if we really wanted to).
First the films, and then my commentary.
Z&G write: "The movies have long been a favorite of non-runners. From the earliest days of silent films, when quick-turning the handle on primitive cameras gave the illusion of running (with none of the anguish), non-runners have considered Hollywood a strong ally."
THE LIST:
1. Stalag 17 (1953)
2. Citizen Kane (1941)
3. Strangers on a Train (1951)
4. Twelve Angry Men (1957)
5. King Kong (1933)
6. Lifeboat (1944)
7. The Blob (1958)
8. L'avventura (1961)
9. Dracula's Tax Lawyer
10. The Road to Nowhere
11. Rocky Meets Godzilla
No real justification for their choice in non-running films is given. V and G seem to have made these picks for the simple reason that one must SIT to view any movie.
Now, I'll come clean and say I haven't watched all of these films, but I have seen some of them. Most definitely, Twelve Angry Men does NOT inspire running, unless it's away from the screen. (Do the words tedious and sexist mean anything to you? They do to me in reference to that movie. Not one of my faves.) But at least two of the movies on this list are absolutley running-promoting! Both King Kong and The Blob, if I remember correctly, feature running for it's original purpose: self preservation. And while I haven't seen Dracula's Tax Lawyer or Rocky Meets Godzilla, when there are monsters in a movie, there will usually be running.
Come on. We can do better than this. Let's make our own list of favorite running films. Chariots of Fire is off limits. Everyone knows that one. Just because you have to sit to watch a movie, doesn't mean it can't inspire movement. What are your favorite running films?? Send 'em to me and I'll compile a list.
First the films, and then my commentary.
Z&G write: "The movies have long been a favorite of non-runners. From the earliest days of silent films, when quick-turning the handle on primitive cameras gave the illusion of running (with none of the anguish), non-runners have considered Hollywood a strong ally."
THE LIST:
1. Stalag 17 (1953)
2. Citizen Kane (1941)
3. Strangers on a Train (1951)
4. Twelve Angry Men (1957)
5. King Kong (1933)
6. Lifeboat (1944)
7. The Blob (1958)
8. L'avventura (1961)
9. Dracula's Tax Lawyer
10. The Road to Nowhere
11. Rocky Meets Godzilla
No real justification for their choice in non-running films is given. V and G seem to have made these picks for the simple reason that one must SIT to view any movie.
Now, I'll come clean and say I haven't watched all of these films, but I have seen some of them. Most definitely, Twelve Angry Men does NOT inspire running, unless it's away from the screen. (Do the words tedious and sexist mean anything to you? They do to me in reference to that movie. Not one of my faves.) But at least two of the movies on this list are absolutley running-promoting! Both King Kong and The Blob, if I remember correctly, feature running for it's original purpose: self preservation. And while I haven't seen Dracula's Tax Lawyer or Rocky Meets Godzilla, when there are monsters in a movie, there will usually be running.
Come on. We can do better than this. Let's make our own list of favorite running films. Chariots of Fire is off limits. Everyone knows that one. Just because you have to sit to watch a movie, doesn't mean it can't inspire movement. What are your favorite running films?? Send 'em to me and I'll compile a list.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
To all those who do not run but read my blog anyhow...
Last week at a used book store in Cheney, Washington, I picked up an insightful little volume entitled The Non-Runner's Book: Advice and reassurance for the millions of American's who want to know "Is it all right if I don't run?".
So this book was published in 1978 by a pair of fellows who call themselves Vic Ziegel and Lewis Grossberger, apparently the pseudonyms of "a pair of rich and successful sneaker manufacturers who frankly are ashamed of the social and physical ills they have caused by conspiring to make running fashionable as a means of boosting world sneaker sales." They claim that "writing this book was their way of atoning for the damage they've done and of preventing further harm from coming to future generations."
Now is it even necessary for me to make a disclaimer before I go on to say that this book is HILARIOUS? I'll quote from it over the next week or so (It's out of print, so my copy is extremely valuable - it was a steal for $1.65!). But let me just give you the bullet points from the back cover so you can see what you're in for:
*How to avoid the Boston Marathon (even as a runner, I think I've got that one down)
*How to talk to a non-runner (I know, Deb, you hope I memorize this section)
*The Zen of sitting
*Non-running in the People's Republic
*How non-runner's cope (I can't imagine)
*Sex and the non-runner (now there's one that should remain taboo)
*Where celebrity non-runners non-run
And I'll bet you can't wait to find out what "the nine greatest non-running movies" are! Feel free to send in your faves! Stay tuned for the gripping details later this week.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Revisiting Tateyama
In January of 2009, Bill and I visited Tateyama, Japan for a marathon. We picked Tateyama because it is a sister city to Bellingham, and before we embarked on our trip, we contacted members of the Sister Cities association in Tateyama and told them we were coming. To this day, when people ask us what our favorite marathon was, we both agree that the Tateyama Marathon is our number one!
We were given a royal welcome in Japan, as if we were old friends returning from a long absence. In fact, we were old friends, though it was our first time in Tateyama. Bellingham and Tateyama have been sister cities for over fifty years and the relationship between the two cities was mirrored in the attention shown to us upon our arrival.
The marathon course in Tateyama was spectacular. We had a view of Mt. Fuji for several miles and perfect cool weather for the whole race, but the reason we loved this race more than any other is because of Tateyama’s citizens. For 26.2 miles, people lined the streets yelling encouragements, applauding, waving and offering refreshments. I’ve never smiled so much during a marathon.
Why am I reminiscing just now? It’s because I just found out that two Tateyama runners will be coming to Bellingham for the Bellingham Bay Marathon (BBM)! Now we’ll have the privilege of returning the hospitality and friendship that was offered to us! One runner will do the half-marathon on September 26 and the other will do the full marathon. The Bellingham Sister Cities Association sent out an invitation for them to come this year and the BBM has offered to take care of their entry fees.
It’s only one month away till our visitors arrive. If any of my readers are interested in hosting, meeting or hanging out with our old friends (who we’ll be meeting for the first time, too), just send me a shout out. The Bellingham Bay Marathon has also offered to provide two “companion” entry fees, so we need one full-marathoner and one half-marathoner to step up to the plate (or the starting line, as it were). It’s time to break out the sake!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I want to ride my bicycle...
As I ice my plantar fasciitis, I'm thinking about the hilarity that is me on a bike. I've got my Superfeet, and I've done as I've promised so far this week (granted, it's only Tuesday) and stayed off my feet. No running and very little walking. It's harder than I thought it would be. In order to get exercise, I broke out my bike on Sunday for a 1.5 hour ride. Today I rode for another hour.
Here's the thing about my bike-riding skills: They are severely lacking. I like to blame this on my brothers, though it may not be fair. The way I remember it, when I was a kid, every time I got a new bicycle, my younger brothers took it apart as soon I spent the night with a friend. As a result, I never really got over that wobbly stage that children go through when they first learn to ride.
Neither my husband, Bill, nor my dear friend, Jack, will ride with me without personally fitting my helmet for me. If you add this unsteadiness to my dismal sense of direction, you've got a disaster on wheels. Tonight I decided that I would ride to Fairhaven to meet Bill, and he could drive me home with my bike in the back of his truck. What should have been a 35 minute ride took me an hour of weaving between streets as I lost my way in a city I've lived in for 15 years and nearly fell over every time I had to stop at a light.
I finally made it to Fairhaven, grateful and tired. Can't wait to run again.
Here's the thing about my bike-riding skills: They are severely lacking. I like to blame this on my brothers, though it may not be fair. The way I remember it, when I was a kid, every time I got a new bicycle, my younger brothers took it apart as soon I spent the night with a friend. As a result, I never really got over that wobbly stage that children go through when they first learn to ride.
Neither my husband, Bill, nor my dear friend, Jack, will ride with me without personally fitting my helmet for me. If you add this unsteadiness to my dismal sense of direction, you've got a disaster on wheels. Tonight I decided that I would ride to Fairhaven to meet Bill, and he could drive me home with my bike in the back of his truck. What should have been a 35 minute ride took me an hour of weaving between streets as I lost my way in a city I've lived in for 15 years and nearly fell over every time I had to stop at a light.
I finally made it to Fairhaven, grateful and tired. Can't wait to run again.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Race Report – Humpy’s Marathon. Anchorage, Alaska
As I write this race report, I am sitting on the steps of the “Octagon House” in the Denali Mountain Morning Hostel. Bill and I couldn’t get a room here, so we’re staying in a tent tonight, which is not my thing… but it’s only one night. Wish me luck that I stay warm and don’t get too cranky.
As for the race: Sunday morning we awoke at 6:30 – only because the sun rises so early here in Alaska – and took our time readying ourselves for the race. By the time we left the hostel at 8:00, I was concerned to see that fog lay heavy all around the city and didn’t seem to be eager to lift.
We easily found a parking spot in downtown Anchorage and walked the few blocks to the starting line. The race promised to take us through the downtown area and then out on a beautiful portion of the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail along the Cook Inlet waterfront (where Captain Cook looked in vain for the Northwest Passage in the late 1700s). We wouldn’t get to see much of the water in the early hours of the race, I figured.
The first event of the day was a 2 kilometer non-timed run for kids. Bill and I hung around the starting area and watched as dozens of children and their parents crossed their finish line, which was a big inflated dinosaur. Bart Yasso was there to call out encouragement to the kids as they passed by.
Finally, we marathoners, along with all of the half marathoners, lined up to get ready for our races. As the gun went off, we made our way around the city and then into the thick mist near the bay. The route of Humpy’s had one out-and-back turn around nine-and-a-half miles on the Coastal Trail and then another one near the end of the course at a popular Anchorage park. When Bill and I both run a race, I like the out-and-back format because we get to pass each other. If we timed it right, we’d see one another twice during this race.
The course started by descending slightly on the main trail. My plantar fasciitis was quiet for the moment. I’d been resting my foot the best I could for the past several days. Now I was hoping I wouldn’t be slowed too much by pain in my arch and heel. I couldn’t see the Cook Inlet because of the weather, but my body felt good. For the first half of the race, as we ran through thick northern rainforest, I moved strong and happy. When Bill and I passed at about mile 8 (for me and mile 11 for Bill), we were both smiling – sometimes (not always) a bad omen at the beginning of a race.
As we intersected, Bill said to me, “Hey, you’re just a little bit behind Jeff Galloway!” Jeff (an Olympian at the 10K distance in 1972 and a marathon training guru) had been at the pre-race pasta dinner and had told attendees that he would be running with his wife in a 30/30 (30 seconds of running/30 seconds of walking) format. I knew he and his wife were just ahead of me; I’d said hello to them as they’d passed.
By the time I hit my first turn around, the fog was lifting and I was pleased to see that the sun and the water were making appearances. Cook Inlet was at low tide and so there were vast sandbars raised in the water and families with children poked around on shore looking in tide pools and overturning rocks to see what was underneath. At mile 13, my time was good. I hit the half-way mile-marker at 2:29 and, although I knew I would slow down in the second half, I still estimated my finish time around 5:15.
After mile 16, however, with ten miles left to go, I started to feel the pain in my heel. The course was right at sea level and fairly flat, the inclines were few, gradual and mild, so I’d hoped the pain I’d been fighting wouldn’t be stimulated by anything in particular on the course. But the hours took their toll.
Bill and I crossed paths again at mile 17 (for me). He was at mile 23 and near the end. Our passing occurred at an aid station so we both slowed to grab water and had a moment to exchange a few words. He was tired. But he’d also seen a moose and her calf at mile 19, so he was excited for me to meet up with her too. We were both soaked to the skin from the mist. I was chafing badly under my bra in the front and starting to feel the skin rub off with every limping step I took. With a final “good luck” we each carried on in our opposite directions.
The last nine miles of the course for me was painful. I watched my time continue to decrease, and I felt I could barely keep my body moving. There weren’t many spectators out on the course, though it was well-marked and well-supported by at least one high school cross country club, several volunteer groups at the aid stations and the Anchorage Police, who were not only efficient, but friendly and encouraging.
When I finally turned the bend that allowed me to see the finish line near Humpy’s Great Alaska Ale House, my stopwatch said I’d been running for 5 hours and 30 minutes. It took me two more minutes to run the few blocks to the finish line. Bart Yasso, true to his word the night before, was still there, announcing the name of every finisher and I heard him call me out: “Cami Ostman representing Bellingham, Washington.”
I slowed to a stop and allowed the volunteers to remove my timing chip. Bill was waiting for me and followed me beside the chute as I wound my way out of the recovery area. When he finally embraced me he said, “Do you want to cry?” I guess my face was screwed up into a pre-cry expression, and I did want to cry. But I was just too tired. Not my best race, but certainly not my worst, either.
A nice Alaska Stout would go a long way toward making me feel better….
As for the race: Sunday morning we awoke at 6:30 – only because the sun rises so early here in Alaska – and took our time readying ourselves for the race. By the time we left the hostel at 8:00, I was concerned to see that fog lay heavy all around the city and didn’t seem to be eager to lift.
We easily found a parking spot in downtown Anchorage and walked the few blocks to the starting line. The race promised to take us through the downtown area and then out on a beautiful portion of the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail along the Cook Inlet waterfront (where Captain Cook looked in vain for the Northwest Passage in the late 1700s). We wouldn’t get to see much of the water in the early hours of the race, I figured.
The first event of the day was a 2 kilometer non-timed run for kids. Bill and I hung around the starting area and watched as dozens of children and their parents crossed their finish line, which was a big inflated dinosaur. Bart Yasso was there to call out encouragement to the kids as they passed by.
Finally, we marathoners, along with all of the half marathoners, lined up to get ready for our races. As the gun went off, we made our way around the city and then into the thick mist near the bay. The route of Humpy’s had one out-and-back turn around nine-and-a-half miles on the Coastal Trail and then another one near the end of the course at a popular Anchorage park. When Bill and I both run a race, I like the out-and-back format because we get to pass each other. If we timed it right, we’d see one another twice during this race.
The course started by descending slightly on the main trail. My plantar fasciitis was quiet for the moment. I’d been resting my foot the best I could for the past several days. Now I was hoping I wouldn’t be slowed too much by pain in my arch and heel. I couldn’t see the Cook Inlet because of the weather, but my body felt good. For the first half of the race, as we ran through thick northern rainforest, I moved strong and happy. When Bill and I passed at about mile 8 (for me and mile 11 for Bill), we were both smiling – sometimes (not always) a bad omen at the beginning of a race.
As we intersected, Bill said to me, “Hey, you’re just a little bit behind Jeff Galloway!” Jeff (an Olympian at the 10K distance in 1972 and a marathon training guru) had been at the pre-race pasta dinner and had told attendees that he would be running with his wife in a 30/30 (30 seconds of running/30 seconds of walking) format. I knew he and his wife were just ahead of me; I’d said hello to them as they’d passed.
By the time I hit my first turn around, the fog was lifting and I was pleased to see that the sun and the water were making appearances. Cook Inlet was at low tide and so there were vast sandbars raised in the water and families with children poked around on shore looking in tide pools and overturning rocks to see what was underneath. At mile 13, my time was good. I hit the half-way mile-marker at 2:29 and, although I knew I would slow down in the second half, I still estimated my finish time around 5:15.
After mile 16, however, with ten miles left to go, I started to feel the pain in my heel. The course was right at sea level and fairly flat, the inclines were few, gradual and mild, so I’d hoped the pain I’d been fighting wouldn’t be stimulated by anything in particular on the course. But the hours took their toll.
Bill and I crossed paths again at mile 17 (for me). He was at mile 23 and near the end. Our passing occurred at an aid station so we both slowed to grab water and had a moment to exchange a few words. He was tired. But he’d also seen a moose and her calf at mile 19, so he was excited for me to meet up with her too. We were both soaked to the skin from the mist. I was chafing badly under my bra in the front and starting to feel the skin rub off with every limping step I took. With a final “good luck” we each carried on in our opposite directions.
The last nine miles of the course for me was painful. I watched my time continue to decrease, and I felt I could barely keep my body moving. There weren’t many spectators out on the course, though it was well-marked and well-supported by at least one high school cross country club, several volunteer groups at the aid stations and the Anchorage Police, who were not only efficient, but friendly and encouraging.
When I finally turned the bend that allowed me to see the finish line near Humpy’s Great Alaska Ale House, my stopwatch said I’d been running for 5 hours and 30 minutes. It took me two more minutes to run the few blocks to the finish line. Bart Yasso, true to his word the night before, was still there, announcing the name of every finisher and I heard him call me out: “Cami Ostman representing Bellingham, Washington.”
I slowed to a stop and allowed the volunteers to remove my timing chip. Bill was waiting for me and followed me beside the chute as I wound my way out of the recovery area. When he finally embraced me he said, “Do you want to cry?” I guess my face was screwed up into a pre-cry expression, and I did want to cry. But I was just too tired. Not my best race, but certainly not my worst, either.
A nice Alaska Stout would go a long way toward making me feel better….
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Yesterday and Tomorrow
Yesterday
Yesterday morning at 8:00am, Bill and I boarded a ship called Coastal Explorer and headed from Seward out of Resurrection Bay. The end point of our cruise was to be Holgate Glacier, but in order to get there, we had to pass through the Harding Gateway where we encountered a pod of Orcas. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that one of my very favorite things to do in this world is to watch Orca whales. As part of our wedding weekend we went whale-watching directly from Bellingham Bay. Then in Australia back in 2007 we took a cruise into Nelson Bay and watched as a single, gigantic Humpback Whale breeched for over an hour. I was in grateful awe to see him, but watching a group of Orcas remains my favorite thing. It’s like peeking in on your neighbor’s family dinner. Orcas are a matriarchical species. Each pod follows its matriarch through the waters looking for food and breeding in season with the males from other pods.
Hanging out with a family of Orcas is a very intimate experience. In the pod we saw yesterday, there were several calves poking above the water beside their mothers. The family stayed with our boat for at least forty-five minutes before we had to move on toward the glacier. Forty-five minutes of heaven!
An hour later, the glacier was as spectacular as the whales. The captain pulled the ship up close and we sat with the motor off, waiting for large chunks of ice to break free and crash into the water. We weren’t disappointed. Large pieces of the glacier wall plunged down hundreds of yards, echoing into the canyon like thunder on a rainy day. Although it is magnificent and beautiful to see the calving of the glacier, we were saddened to hear that the Holgate Glacier, in fact the whole Harding Icefield in Alaska and all of the glaciers it feeds into are receding so quickly that the ecosystem in the area is being affected in ways yet to be discovered.
After some time with the glacier, the boat headed back toward Resurrection Bay and stopped at the Chiswell Islands on the way to see the bird rookeries. I’ve been nervous around birds since I was a little girl, but over the past few years, I’ve learned to appreciate the diversity of the bird kingdom through my travels. At this rookery, we watched the very colorful Puffins nest in the rocks above while sea lions swam in the waters below.
Amazing day.
Tomorrow
Hanging out with a family of Orcas is a very intimate experience. In the pod we saw yesterday, there were several calves poking above the water beside their mothers. The family stayed with our boat for at least forty-five minutes before we had to move on toward the glacier. Forty-five minutes of heaven!
An hour later, the glacier was as spectacular as the whales. The captain pulled the ship up close and we sat with the motor off, waiting for large chunks of ice to break free and crash into the water. We weren’t disappointed. Large pieces of the glacier wall plunged down hundreds of yards, echoing into the canyon like thunder on a rainy day. Although it is magnificent and beautiful to see the calving of the glacier, we were saddened to hear that the Holgate Glacier, in fact the whole Harding Icefield in Alaska and all of the glaciers it feeds into are receding so quickly that the ecosystem in the area is being affected in ways yet to be discovered.
After some time with the glacier, the boat headed back toward Resurrection Bay and stopped at the Chiswell Islands on the way to see the bird rookeries. I’ve been nervous around birds since I was a little girl, but over the past few years, I’ve learned to appreciate the diversity of the bird kingdom through my travels. At this rookery, we watched the very colorful Puffins nest in the rocks above while sea lions swam in the waters below.
Amazing day.
Tomorrow
At the pasta feed this evening, I met Bart Yasso, whose book, My Life on the Run, is next on my reading list. He is a well-known runner and a Runner’s World contributor. But he’s also a really nice person. We chatted about South Africa (he recently ran the Comrades, a 55.9-mile race that starts in Durban), and a bit about writing to inspire others. Tomorrow, Bart will be announcing the names of runners as they come across the finish line and he promised to stay to end for the back of the packers! What a treat.
If I’m not too tired, I’ll post a race report tomorrow night. If I’m trashed, I’ll post it early next week. Peace to all.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Staring at the Glacier
We have three days until Humpy's Marathon in Anchorage, so we rented a car and drove down to Seward. Tomorrow morning we'll be taking a cruise through Kenai Fjords National Park. Apparently, we'll be seeing Holgate Glacier as it "calves" into the bay. But today we hiked to the edge of the other side of the ice field to get a peek of it Exit Glacier from land. The sky sprinkled rain on us the whole way (about 2 miles round trip), but the glacier was worth it.
For more information about Kenai Fjords National Park, click here.
For more information about Kenai Fjords National Park, click here.
Monday, August 9, 2010
High School Flashback
Every Sunday, Bill and I watch a CBS show called Sunday Morning. Yesterday the program had a segment about a theater camp for kids somewhere in rural New York. As I listened to interviews with the children, who claimed their lives were changed by participating in theater during their three-week stay at the camp, I was transported back to high school.
As a student at Mountlake Terrace High School, I elected to participate in our drama program. I was not an athlete, a chess player, or a singer. I didn’t play an instrument, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a cheerleading outfit. This left theater.
Our drama teacher at MLTHS was smart. Mrs. E, as we called her then, had a stutter growing up and understood deeply the experience of self-consciousness that most kids feel in their adolescence. As a result, she led her theater troop from a stance of mutual respect and inclusivity. Everyone who wanted to participate had a role. If we weren’t on stage, we could help with costumes or lighting. No one was excluded. She gave speaking parts to popular jocks and social pariahs alike – and insisted we treat each other kindly.
I’m not sure I was much of an actress, but she gave me significant on stage roles more than once and, like the kids in the Sunday Morning segment yesterday, it changed my life and gave me confidence. I learned that I could memorize long speeches, cover for other people’s mistakes, change costumes in less than two minutes and share in putting together a product that elicited applause and appreciation from an audience.
Yesterday, as I reflected back on my high school theater experience, I realized that I have the same feeling of confidence when I run. I wasn’t the greatest actress – and I’m not the greatest runner. But just as I felt a great sense of being a part of a collective troop back then, I feel a part of a running community now. I could have ended up in a competitive drama club (think Glee), but instead, I was taught to connect rather than compete, and that’s how I run now – to connect with myself and nature. I’m glad for this, since I wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning anything even if I felt inclined to compete. Just as I did under Mrs. E’s tutelage, I get to be content with trying my hardest.
Thanks Mrs. E. I bet you never thought I’d be thanking you for helping me be the best runner I can be!
As a student at Mountlake Terrace High School, I elected to participate in our drama program. I was not an athlete, a chess player, or a singer. I didn’t play an instrument, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a cheerleading outfit. This left theater.
Our drama teacher at MLTHS was smart. Mrs. E, as we called her then, had a stutter growing up and understood deeply the experience of self-consciousness that most kids feel in their adolescence. As a result, she led her theater troop from a stance of mutual respect and inclusivity. Everyone who wanted to participate had a role. If we weren’t on stage, we could help with costumes or lighting. No one was excluded. She gave speaking parts to popular jocks and social pariahs alike – and insisted we treat each other kindly.
I’m not sure I was much of an actress, but she gave me significant on stage roles more than once and, like the kids in the Sunday Morning segment yesterday, it changed my life and gave me confidence. I learned that I could memorize long speeches, cover for other people’s mistakes, change costumes in less than two minutes and share in putting together a product that elicited applause and appreciation from an audience.
Yesterday, as I reflected back on my high school theater experience, I realized that I have the same feeling of confidence when I run. I wasn’t the greatest actress – and I’m not the greatest runner. But just as I felt a great sense of being a part of a collective troop back then, I feel a part of a running community now. I could have ended up in a competitive drama club (think Glee), but instead, I was taught to connect rather than compete, and that’s how I run now – to connect with myself and nature. I’m glad for this, since I wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning anything even if I felt inclined to compete. Just as I did under Mrs. E’s tutelage, I get to be content with trying my hardest.
Thanks Mrs. E. I bet you never thought I’d be thanking you for helping me be the best runner I can be!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Know the Meaning of Your Pain
Well, having finished the book (Second Wind: click here for Amazon link) and having touched down on every continent of the world, I’ve been pondering my next goals. What/where will I run? What will I write? I’ve decided to keep up my blog for starters and to set the next goal of running a marathon in every U.S. State by the time I turn 50 (that’s seven years from now, just FYI). 50 in 50 by 50!
You might think it’s old news to me to run a marathon at this point, but that’s simply not the case. Every race means a regiment of training. Every race is a huge time commitment (because of my well-documented sluggish pace). And every race is an adventure in self-knowledge and world exploration – even when the course is just down the freeway from my house.
Right now, Bill and I are getting ready for a trip to head up to Alaska for the Anchorage's Humpy's Classic Marathon. Get this: We had so many frequent flyer miles left after last year that we’re both flying to Alaska for a total of $10! And as usual, we’re making use of local hostels for our lodgings. I’ve never been to Alaska, so I’m very excited (and open to suggestions of what we should do while in Anchorage).
My training for this race has been harder than usual. I’ve had some heel pain. Bill says I’ve got something called Plantar Fascitis, common among runners apparently. I’ve been lucky as a runner so far, suffering nothing but one nasty cramp in my left hamstring in all the years I’ve been running. But this Fascitis thing is disheartening. I ignored it during my 19-mile last week and really activated it. This week I’ve rested and iced my foot, and yesterday my little 4.5 mile run felt good. Very little pain! It was only after going salsa dancing last night that I had a twinge in the upper part of my heel. So, I’m back to icing and resting today.
This all goes to show that one of my key running principles (which I violated last week)holds true: LISTEN TO YOUR BODY. You’ve got to strike a balance between pushing yourself and listening to the clues your body gives that you need to rest, stretch, eat, sleep, switch to swimming for a couple of weeks or, sometimes, grind it out. Nothing substitutes for knowing your own limits and the meaning of different kind of pain. If I get the go-ahead from my foot, I’ll be back on the trails tomorrow. If not, look for me on my bicycle. I’m not very good on two wheels, so I’ll be the one wobbling along wearing running shoes.
You might think it’s old news to me to run a marathon at this point, but that’s simply not the case. Every race means a regiment of training. Every race is a huge time commitment (because of my well-documented sluggish pace). And every race is an adventure in self-knowledge and world exploration – even when the course is just down the freeway from my house.
Right now, Bill and I are getting ready for a trip to head up to Alaska for the Anchorage's Humpy's Classic Marathon. Get this: We had so many frequent flyer miles left after last year that we’re both flying to Alaska for a total of $10! And as usual, we’re making use of local hostels for our lodgings. I’ve never been to Alaska, so I’m very excited (and open to suggestions of what we should do while in Anchorage).
My training for this race has been harder than usual. I’ve had some heel pain. Bill says I’ve got something called Plantar Fascitis, common among runners apparently. I’ve been lucky as a runner so far, suffering nothing but one nasty cramp in my left hamstring in all the years I’ve been running. But this Fascitis thing is disheartening. I ignored it during my 19-mile last week and really activated it. This week I’ve rested and iced my foot, and yesterday my little 4.5 mile run felt good. Very little pain! It was only after going salsa dancing last night that I had a twinge in the upper part of my heel. So, I’m back to icing and resting today.
This all goes to show that one of my key running principles (which I violated last week)holds true: LISTEN TO YOUR BODY. You’ve got to strike a balance between pushing yourself and listening to the clues your body gives that you need to rest, stretch, eat, sleep, switch to swimming for a couple of weeks or, sometimes, grind it out. Nothing substitutes for knowing your own limits and the meaning of different kind of pain. If I get the go-ahead from my foot, I’ll be back on the trails tomorrow. If not, look for me on my bicycle. I’m not very good on two wheels, so I’ll be the one wobbling along wearing running shoes.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Grandmothers of Endurance
We all have people we aspire to be like as we grow older - folks who make the most of their lives at every age, who never say, "I'm too old for that."
Check out the video link below and meet two inspiring women runners, Vicky and Barb. I want to be like them when I grow up!
Check out the video link below and meet two inspiring women runners, Vicky and Barb. I want to be like them when I grow up!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Our Next Slideshow
Our next slideshow is coming up. Come see pictures of our 7 marathons on the 7 continents.
Location: Backcountry Essentials, downtown Bellingham
Date: Thursday, July 8
Time: 7pm
We'd love to see you there.
Location: Backcountry Essentials, downtown Bellingham
Date: Thursday, July 8
Time: 7pm
We'd love to see you there.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Rock and Roll!
Yesterday I ran in my first Rock and Roll event in Seattle. I chose to do the half marathon with my pal and running partner, Julie. Bill was signed up for the full.
To simplify our lives, we stayed at a motel a few blocks from the starting line down in Tukwila, Washington, so we could wander over in the morning at 6:30 rather than have to catch the bus at 4:30 in Seattle as most of the racers did.
I was shocked at the crowd just outside our motel. There were about 30 thousand participants signed up for the event (although apparently only about 22 thousand actually finished. This meant that we were organized into corrals based on our estimated finish times, and we would begin the race incrementally. Bill was in corral #6; I was in #26.
I have to confess that the chaos of being in the midst of so many runners didn't invigorate me as I had expected it would. I felt stressed about finding my corral and Julie, who was already waiting for me somewhere in the crowd. And once I found both, I was annoyed at having to wait for more than a half hour beyond the official start time (7:00) to reach the starting line.
Still, the race was incredibly well organized, and once we got going, I enjoyed the energy of the racers and the bands stationed along the route. A lot of runners pick a Rock and Roll Marathon for their first full or half marathon. First-timers are fun. They know they are pushing themselves beyond where they have gone before, and they don't know for a fact that they can pull it off. They suck in the encouragement of the fans like it's psychic energy gel. One young woman Julie and I tracked with until she split off for the full marathon course had a T-shirt on that said: Date, Distance, Birthday, 26! It was her 26th birthday happening on the 26th of June while she ran the marathon distance. When fans cheered for her, she would shout back, "Today's my birthday!" And then she was rewarded with additional cheers of congratulation.
Julie and I had a good race. We kept up a pace of 11 minutes and 10 seconds per mile on average. We had the energy to go harder, I think, but the runners never thinned out the entire course, so we were elbow to elbow with people the whole way and passing wasn't so easy.
The best part of the event for me was at the finish in the Quest Field parking lot when I had the opportunity to meet Mebrahtom (Meb) Keflezighi, the 2009 New York Marathon winner. Meb (also a 2004 Olympic silver medalist) was at the event representing Sony as they introduced a new product aimed at runners - a wireless MP3 player you stick in your ears (very cool, by the way). As I stood in line to meet him, I noticed he took a good five minutes or more with each fan. When it was my turn, I understood why. Meb is a person who is interested in others. My impression of a lot of famous athletes (admittedly, fueled by celeb mags, and therefore little more than a shallow prejudice) is that they are somewhat narcissistic as a group. Not Meb. He asked me about my race and congratulated me on running the seven continents and on writing a book. He told me he was writing a book right now and agreed with me that the writing process is harder than the marathon (his book is coming soon: Run to Overcome published by Tyndale). We laughed together that it took me longer to run the half marathon than it took him to run the full 26.2. And he told me he'd take a look at my blog (Hi Meb!).
I love to watch professional runners. There is something magical about them. Like ballet dancers, every step appears to be choreographed to perfection. But Meb agreed with me that the best reason to run is that it's good for the soul. So, to all who participated in the Seattle Rock and Roll race yesterday and to those training for a race in the near future, I say: "Rock on!" Keep on running.
To simplify our lives, we stayed at a motel a few blocks from the starting line down in Tukwila, Washington, so we could wander over in the morning at 6:30 rather than have to catch the bus at 4:30 in Seattle as most of the racers did.
I was shocked at the crowd just outside our motel. There were about 30 thousand participants signed up for the event (although apparently only about 22 thousand actually finished. This meant that we were organized into corrals based on our estimated finish times, and we would begin the race incrementally. Bill was in corral #6; I was in #26.
I have to confess that the chaos of being in the midst of so many runners didn't invigorate me as I had expected it would. I felt stressed about finding my corral and Julie, who was already waiting for me somewhere in the crowd. And once I found both, I was annoyed at having to wait for more than a half hour beyond the official start time (7:00) to reach the starting line.
Still, the race was incredibly well organized, and once we got going, I enjoyed the energy of the racers and the bands stationed along the route. A lot of runners pick a Rock and Roll Marathon for their first full or half marathon. First-timers are fun. They know they are pushing themselves beyond where they have gone before, and they don't know for a fact that they can pull it off. They suck in the encouragement of the fans like it's psychic energy gel. One young woman Julie and I tracked with until she split off for the full marathon course had a T-shirt on that said: Date, Distance, Birthday, 26! It was her 26th birthday happening on the 26th of June while she ran the marathon distance. When fans cheered for her, she would shout back, "Today's my birthday!" And then she was rewarded with additional cheers of congratulation.
Julie and I had a good race. We kept up a pace of 11 minutes and 10 seconds per mile on average. We had the energy to go harder, I think, but the runners never thinned out the entire course, so we were elbow to elbow with people the whole way and passing wasn't so easy.
The best part of the event for me was at the finish in the Quest Field parking lot when I had the opportunity to meet Mebrahtom (Meb) Keflezighi, the 2009 New York Marathon winner. Meb (also a 2004 Olympic silver medalist) was at the event representing Sony as they introduced a new product aimed at runners - a wireless MP3 player you stick in your ears (very cool, by the way). As I stood in line to meet him, I noticed he took a good five minutes or more with each fan. When it was my turn, I understood why. Meb is a person who is interested in others. My impression of a lot of famous athletes (admittedly, fueled by celeb mags, and therefore little more than a shallow prejudice) is that they are somewhat narcissistic as a group. Not Meb. He asked me about my race and congratulated me on running the seven continents and on writing a book. He told me he was writing a book right now and agreed with me that the writing process is harder than the marathon (his book is coming soon: Run to Overcome published by Tyndale). We laughed together that it took me longer to run the half marathon than it took him to run the full 26.2. And he told me he'd take a look at my blog (Hi Meb!).
I love to watch professional runners. There is something magical about them. Like ballet dancers, every step appears to be choreographed to perfection. But Meb agreed with me that the best reason to run is that it's good for the soul. So, to all who participated in the Seattle Rock and Roll race yesterday and to those training for a race in the near future, I say: "Rock on!" Keep on running.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
You're invited to a Blog Par-tay!!!
Some of you received an evite to my Blog Par-tay, but I know some people have followed my blog who have not been on my blog notification email list. You're invited too!
I want to say thanks to those of you who have followed me around the world (and, well, shamelessly encourage you to pre-order my book on amazon.com). So come join me and celebrate the completion of the 7-marathons-on-7-continents quest and the delivery of my book, Second Wind: Seven Marathons on Seven Continents, to the publisher (Seal Press).
Sushi and sparkling cider will be provided.
If you find you can't attend, feel free to check out my website (www.7marathons7continents.com) where you can locate a link for pre-purchasing the book! ;}
Where: Lake Padden Playground Shelter
4882 Samish Way - East entrance
Bellingham, WA US
When: Sunday, June 27, 4:30PM to 6:30PM
To RSVP email or call me.
Phone: 206.890.8694
Email: clostman@aol.com
I want to say thanks to those of you who have followed me around the world (and, well, shamelessly encourage you to pre-order my book on amazon.com). So come join me and celebrate the completion of the 7-marathons-on-7-continents quest and the delivery of my book, Second Wind: Seven Marathons on Seven Continents, to the publisher (Seal Press).
Sushi and sparkling cider will be provided.
If you find you can't attend, feel free to check out my website (www.7marathons7continents.com) where you can locate a link for pre-purchasing the book! ;}
Where: Lake Padden Playground Shelter
4882 Samish Way - East entrance
Bellingham, WA US
When: Sunday, June 27, 4:30PM to 6:30PM
To RSVP email or call me.
Phone: 206.890.8694
Email: clostman@aol.com
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Report: Antarctic Experience
Bill and I arrived home from our latest adventure last Sunday. Delta kept us on schedule this time (and even sent us an apology letter for screwing up our flight to Santiago on the 11th). We’ve been reflecting on this trip as we catch up on sleep and organize our pictures. What an extraordinary experience we’ve had.
The day after we arrived in Punta Arenas, we completed a 26.2 mile run around town. We’d promised our traveling companion, Marina (from California) that we would help her complete her South American marathon and, tired as we were from missing flights and being vertical for two days, we were determined to keep our word. Our local friends, Mackarena and Marcelo (teachers at Colegio Miguel de Cervantes) had arranged for the newspaper to show up and document our little race. Mackarena's father, Andres, and Marcelo joined us as starters, along with a homeless dog who traveled exactly one mile before abandoning us once he’d decided there wasn’t any food in the deal for him.
Our time in Punta Arenas, both before the trip to Antarctica and after was filled with meals with friends, visiting classes at Miguel de Cervantes to hang out with the children and penguin sightings (apparently rare) along the Strait of Magellan. I have to give a shout out to Moka Joe’s, a little Bellingham coffee-roasting business, for helping me with gifts for our Sister City friends. The folks in Punta Arenas were so hospitable and kind (Mackarena and her husband, Omar, even loaned us their house to stay in for almost two weeks) that we truly can’t begin to repay them, but a little taste of Bellingham left behind will hopefully remind them with every sip that we are grateful for their friendship.
On Wednesday evening (March 17) of our first week, Bill, Marina and I showed up at the DAP airline office for a meeting about the trip the following day to King George Island, Antarctica. As you know, we’d originally organized this expedition with the plan of running 26.2 miles on the island in order to complete the marathon distance on our seventh and final continent. As you also know, in the process of creating said plan, we were told that we could not “plan” or “organize” anything that resembled a “race,” an “activity,” an “event” or a “marathon.” So, alas, saddened and discouraged, I nevertheless agreed to continue on my scheduled flight to King George Island in hopes that I might be able to sneak out of view at some point and run around (even in circles) to meet my goal, while Bill said he wasn’t interested in going if he wouldn’t have a guaranteed chance to run once we touched down.
Wednesday evening, however, Bill had a little change of heart. We met with Carlos, a representative from DAP, in a tiny office enclosed on all sides by thick glass walls. There were five of us squeezed in there: Marina, Bill and I, Kara, a Minnesotan in her thirties who quit her job and is now roaming the world for the few months, and Alex, another American from Illinois who is heading off to med-school in the fall when he finishes several months of international travel and gallivanting. There was one other tourist on the list for the trip the following day who couldn’t be with us, a Russian fellow named Yury, who was flying in late that night. We wouldn’t get to meet him until the next day. After Carlos filled us in on all that we needed to know for the trip, I turned in my chair and looked at Bill. I could see his eyes sparkling, reflecting light from outside one of the big windows. He was biting the inside of his cheek and knitting his brows together. I know that look. He was changing his mind about coming along the next day.
As the five of us passengers had been chatting, I'd explained to Kara and Alex that Marina and I hoped to get out for a renegade run. The two were so supportive and enthusiastic about our idea that Bill began to think it might be worth his while to take a chance and come along. After the meeting, he got up and followed Carlos to his desk to find out if there was room on the plane. There was.
We arrived on KGI at about 1:30 the following day (March 18). Immediately, our guide Alejo, a wild-looking Chilean man in his mid-fifties with a graying beard and astute, clear eyes, whisked us into a Zodiac (after requiring us to change into puffy, flotation suits) and out onto the bay. “The weather is good now. We must hurry.” He said. My mind was so latched onto getting my miles in, come hell or high water (as they say), that I didn’t appreciate what Alejo was communicating. The weather changes so rapidly in this region that tourists can pay thousands of dollars to land on the island and never really have the opportunity to see its majesty. We had no wind and no rain or snow at the moment. We were going to get a rare chance to see the glacier.
Collins Glacier was accessible via the waterway one can see from the little scientific community on the island. I was glad for the wind and chill-resistance of the padded suit as we trolled out into the frigid water passed a blue iceberg, crossing paths with little bobbing penguins. In a half hour we were sitting beside a grand ice pack several stories high, listening to the monstrous glacier live its ancient life without regard to our presence.
I’ve never been that close to a glacier before. And once again, as at many other times on my travels these past few years, I was aware of how much I don’t know. In this case, how much I don’t know about glaciers, especially those in Antarctica. I did sink into the moment and appreciate it, however. I momentarily let my dream of running go by the wayside and said to Bill, “If for nothing else, seeing this is worth every penny.” He nodded in agreement.
It was at the penguin colony an hour later that I rounded up the courage to approach Alejo and talk to him about running. He listened to me express my desire to run while on the island and nodded sagely as I explained how important it was to me. But he was awfully quiet. He did say, “People on the island exercise, too, you know.” He also reiterated, “You cannot plan an event or activity in Antarctica.” Yes. I was clear on that. Very, very clear. But could I run?
By the time we got back to the Chilean barracks for a snack, it was 5:30. We had less than 15 hours left on the island. Our Garmin GPS systems (we had three of them with us) indicated that we had walked only two miles in the course of the day since the plane had landed. There was still a long way to go to reach 26.2. The winds were still calm at this point, but a light flurry of snow was beginning to fall. The sky was darkening. We six tourists sat around for about an hour while Alejo took care of some duties unrelated to us. When he came back, he explained what the evening would hold. He planned to take the group on a walk to the Russian Orthodox Church and to some locations for photo opportunities and then we would come back to the barracks for dinner and drinks.
He looked at Marina, Bill and me and said, “If you stay on the roads. It doesn’t matter how fast you get to the Russian Church. We will meet you there. And I’ll show you the other roads we will use.”
So at 6:30 pm, as the others finished their cups of cocoa and pulled on their warm down coats, we three hopeful runners suited up in our running gear, gathered our energy gels, donned our headlamps (it would be dark by 9:00) and ducked out the door. I wasn’t entirely sure Alejo understood we wanted to run for several hours, but I’d learned by this point that Alejo, himself is a world-class mountaineer and skier. He is well accomplished as an athlete in his own right and had confided to me that he never goes anywhere without his running shoes. I thought we understood each other.
We said goodbye to our new friends and headed out the door to run until one of three things happened. Either the darkening sky would dump on us and we would be forced back indoors; someone would intercept us and tell us we had to stop running; or we would meet our goal.
I hate to tell you this, but I’m not going to reveal what happened. I’ve already said that I’m happy with our trip, but you’ll have to read the book (Title: Second Wind - it’ll be released by Seal Press in October, 2010) to find out what made me so happy. I’m sorry to do it to you – sort of. If you know me well enough to have my phone number, I’ll probably tell you more (I’m cheap – a glass of wine will get you everywhere). For those of you who have been following along and cheering for me, I thank you.
Stay tuned for news of our trip to Torres del Paine, Patagonia’s great national park. Our trip there didn’t include a marathon, but there are some good stories and pics I want to share.
Peace to all.
The day after we arrived in Punta Arenas, we completed a 26.2 mile run around town. We’d promised our traveling companion, Marina (from California) that we would help her complete her South American marathon and, tired as we were from missing flights and being vertical for two days, we were determined to keep our word. Our local friends, Mackarena and Marcelo (teachers at Colegio Miguel de Cervantes) had arranged for the newspaper to show up and document our little race. Mackarena's father, Andres, and Marcelo joined us as starters, along with a homeless dog who traveled exactly one mile before abandoning us once he’d decided there wasn’t any food in the deal for him.
Our time in Punta Arenas, both before the trip to Antarctica and after was filled with meals with friends, visiting classes at Miguel de Cervantes to hang out with the children and penguin sightings (apparently rare) along the Strait of Magellan. I have to give a shout out to Moka Joe’s, a little Bellingham coffee-roasting business, for helping me with gifts for our Sister City friends. The folks in Punta Arenas were so hospitable and kind (Mackarena and her husband, Omar, even loaned us their house to stay in for almost two weeks) that we truly can’t begin to repay them, but a little taste of Bellingham left behind will hopefully remind them with every sip that we are grateful for their friendship.
On Wednesday evening (March 17) of our first week, Bill, Marina and I showed up at the DAP airline office for a meeting about the trip the following day to King George Island, Antarctica. As you know, we’d originally organized this expedition with the plan of running 26.2 miles on the island in order to complete the marathon distance on our seventh and final continent. As you also know, in the process of creating said plan, we were told that we could not “plan” or “organize” anything that resembled a “race,” an “activity,” an “event” or a “marathon.” So, alas, saddened and discouraged, I nevertheless agreed to continue on my scheduled flight to King George Island in hopes that I might be able to sneak out of view at some point and run around (even in circles) to meet my goal, while Bill said he wasn’t interested in going if he wouldn’t have a guaranteed chance to run once we touched down.
Wednesday evening, however, Bill had a little change of heart. We met with Carlos, a representative from DAP, in a tiny office enclosed on all sides by thick glass walls. There were five of us squeezed in there: Marina, Bill and I, Kara, a Minnesotan in her thirties who quit her job and is now roaming the world for the few months, and Alex, another American from Illinois who is heading off to med-school in the fall when he finishes several months of international travel and gallivanting. There was one other tourist on the list for the trip the following day who couldn’t be with us, a Russian fellow named Yury, who was flying in late that night. We wouldn’t get to meet him until the next day. After Carlos filled us in on all that we needed to know for the trip, I turned in my chair and looked at Bill. I could see his eyes sparkling, reflecting light from outside one of the big windows. He was biting the inside of his cheek and knitting his brows together. I know that look. He was changing his mind about coming along the next day.
As the five of us passengers had been chatting, I'd explained to Kara and Alex that Marina and I hoped to get out for a renegade run. The two were so supportive and enthusiastic about our idea that Bill began to think it might be worth his while to take a chance and come along. After the meeting, he got up and followed Carlos to his desk to find out if there was room on the plane. There was.
We arrived on KGI at about 1:30 the following day (March 18). Immediately, our guide Alejo, a wild-looking Chilean man in his mid-fifties with a graying beard and astute, clear eyes, whisked us into a Zodiac (after requiring us to change into puffy, flotation suits) and out onto the bay. “The weather is good now. We must hurry.” He said. My mind was so latched onto getting my miles in, come hell or high water (as they say), that I didn’t appreciate what Alejo was communicating. The weather changes so rapidly in this region that tourists can pay thousands of dollars to land on the island and never really have the opportunity to see its majesty. We had no wind and no rain or snow at the moment. We were going to get a rare chance to see the glacier.
Collins Glacier was accessible via the waterway one can see from the little scientific community on the island. I was glad for the wind and chill-resistance of the padded suit as we trolled out into the frigid water passed a blue iceberg, crossing paths with little bobbing penguins. In a half hour we were sitting beside a grand ice pack several stories high, listening to the monstrous glacier live its ancient life without regard to our presence.
I’ve never been that close to a glacier before. And once again, as at many other times on my travels these past few years, I was aware of how much I don’t know. In this case, how much I don’t know about glaciers, especially those in Antarctica. I did sink into the moment and appreciate it, however. I momentarily let my dream of running go by the wayside and said to Bill, “If for nothing else, seeing this is worth every penny.” He nodded in agreement.
It was at the penguin colony an hour later that I rounded up the courage to approach Alejo and talk to him about running. He listened to me express my desire to run while on the island and nodded sagely as I explained how important it was to me. But he was awfully quiet. He did say, “People on the island exercise, too, you know.” He also reiterated, “You cannot plan an event or activity in Antarctica.” Yes. I was clear on that. Very, very clear. But could I run?
By the time we got back to the Chilean barracks for a snack, it was 5:30. We had less than 15 hours left on the island. Our Garmin GPS systems (we had three of them with us) indicated that we had walked only two miles in the course of the day since the plane had landed. There was still a long way to go to reach 26.2. The winds were still calm at this point, but a light flurry of snow was beginning to fall. The sky was darkening. We six tourists sat around for about an hour while Alejo took care of some duties unrelated to us. When he came back, he explained what the evening would hold. He planned to take the group on a walk to the Russian Orthodox Church and to some locations for photo opportunities and then we would come back to the barracks for dinner and drinks.
He looked at Marina, Bill and me and said, “If you stay on the roads. It doesn’t matter how fast you get to the Russian Church. We will meet you there. And I’ll show you the other roads we will use.”
So at 6:30 pm, as the others finished their cups of cocoa and pulled on their warm down coats, we three hopeful runners suited up in our running gear, gathered our energy gels, donned our headlamps (it would be dark by 9:00) and ducked out the door. I wasn’t entirely sure Alejo understood we wanted to run for several hours, but I’d learned by this point that Alejo, himself is a world-class mountaineer and skier. He is well accomplished as an athlete in his own right and had confided to me that he never goes anywhere without his running shoes. I thought we understood each other.
We said goodbye to our new friends and headed out the door to run until one of three things happened. Either the darkening sky would dump on us and we would be forced back indoors; someone would intercept us and tell us we had to stop running; or we would meet our goal.
I hate to tell you this, but I’m not going to reveal what happened. I’ve already said that I’m happy with our trip, but you’ll have to read the book (Title: Second Wind - it’ll be released by Seal Press in October, 2010) to find out what made me so happy. I’m sorry to do it to you – sort of. If you know me well enough to have my phone number, I’ll probably tell you more (I’m cheap – a glass of wine will get you everywhere). For those of you who have been following along and cheering for me, I thank you.
Stay tuned for news of our trip to Torres del Paine, Patagonia’s great national park. Our trip there didn’t include a marathon, but there are some good stories and pics I want to share.
Peace to all.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
KGI, Antarctica
I am in a hostel in Puerto Natales at this moment. Bill and I are getting ready to visit Torres del Paine, a famous national park here in Chile. There are other residents of the hostel breathing down my neck waiting to use this computer, but they´ll have to wait because I need to tell everyone that we´re back from King George Island, Antarctica!
We arrived in Antarctica by plane at about 1.30pm and immediately climbed aboard a Zodiac (boat) which took us on a tour by water to a blue, glistening glacier that chinked and cracked as we sat in silence watching it. Then we visited a Gentoo Penguin colony of over 10,000 couples (these penguins mate for life). We watched them howl at one another, mourn over the bodies of dead partners and waddle to and fro circumventing the large fur seal that was scratching his back on the rocks at the beach.
While we were at the colony I had a chat with Alejo, our amazing guide, and told him we had a dream of taking a run on KGI. I´ll tell you what he said and all that transpired throughout the evening (including my friendship with two Russian fellows who debated the unfortunte lack of a perfect translation for the ¨F¨word in a particular American joke) when I get back. Suffice it to say for now that I did not come away from my experience in Antarctica disappointed.
Love to all. Stay tuned.
Cami
We arrived in Antarctica by plane at about 1.30pm and immediately climbed aboard a Zodiac (boat) which took us on a tour by water to a blue, glistening glacier that chinked and cracked as we sat in silence watching it. Then we visited a Gentoo Penguin colony of over 10,000 couples (these penguins mate for life). We watched them howl at one another, mourn over the bodies of dead partners and waddle to and fro circumventing the large fur seal that was scratching his back on the rocks at the beach.
While we were at the colony I had a chat with Alejo, our amazing guide, and told him we had a dream of taking a run on KGI. I´ll tell you what he said and all that transpired throughout the evening (including my friendship with two Russian fellows who debated the unfortunte lack of a perfect translation for the ¨F¨word in a particular American joke) when I get back. Suffice it to say for now that I did not come away from my experience in Antarctica disappointed.
Love to all. Stay tuned.
Cami
Monday, March 15, 2010
Punta Arenas Success
Well, after further delays, we made it to Punta Arenas. Our plane out of Atlanta had a leak in the hydraulic system, so we sat on the plane for two hours waiting for it to be repaired, all the while worrying that we would miss our connection in Santiago to Punta Arenas. But our connection was made (miracle!) and four hours later we found our way to our hostel and got some good sleep.
Quickly, after arriving, we phoned our PA friends, Mackarena, Marcelo and Maritza. Marcelo had our American friend Marina with him and she was fine. She´d taken some obscure airline from LA to El Salvador, Peru, Santiago and then to Punta Arenas and never missed a beat, so she´d been in town for a full 24 hours before we touched down.
In the morning yesterday (March 14), we all met at the park at 10am and 5 of us (6 if you include the homeless dog that accompanied us for one mile) commenced our Punta Arenas BYOGPS marathon. We ran through the city, along the Magellan Strait, out toward the country side and finally back into town. We saw penguins, pelting rain, gorgeous views of southern islands and even a funeral along the way. The completion time for us three finishers (Marina, Bill and I all ran together) was 5 hours and 51 minutes. Unfortunately, once we completed 26.2 miles, we still had one kilometer to go to get back to the park where Mackarena, her father, Marcelo and a Punta Arenas newspaper reporter were waiting for us. So we sort of ran an Ultra!
We haven´t seen today´s paper, but we understand there is an article in there about three Americans who came to run the marathon distance in Punta Arenas. I think the name of the paper is El Penguine or something like that. You can try to find it online - or just wait to see a copy when we get home.
Tonight we´ll have dinner at Mackarena´s home and probably stay there for a couple of days. On Wednesday, we have our meeting with DAP, the airline that is taking Marina and me to King George Island, Antarctica. I´ll try to post again once we´ve finished that leg of the journey.
Peace to all.
Quickly, after arriving, we phoned our PA friends, Mackarena, Marcelo and Maritza. Marcelo had our American friend Marina with him and she was fine. She´d taken some obscure airline from LA to El Salvador, Peru, Santiago and then to Punta Arenas and never missed a beat, so she´d been in town for a full 24 hours before we touched down.
In the morning yesterday (March 14), we all met at the park at 10am and 5 of us (6 if you include the homeless dog that accompanied us for one mile) commenced our Punta Arenas BYOGPS marathon. We ran through the city, along the Magellan Strait, out toward the country side and finally back into town. We saw penguins, pelting rain, gorgeous views of southern islands and even a funeral along the way. The completion time for us three finishers (Marina, Bill and I all ran together) was 5 hours and 51 minutes. Unfortunately, once we completed 26.2 miles, we still had one kilometer to go to get back to the park where Mackarena, her father, Marcelo and a Punta Arenas newspaper reporter were waiting for us. So we sort of ran an Ultra!
We haven´t seen today´s paper, but we understand there is an article in there about three Americans who came to run the marathon distance in Punta Arenas. I think the name of the paper is El Penguine or something like that. You can try to find it online - or just wait to see a copy when we get home.
Tonight we´ll have dinner at Mackarena´s home and probably stay there for a couple of days. On Wednesday, we have our meeting with DAP, the airline that is taking Marina and me to King George Island, Antarctica. I´ll try to post again once we´ve finished that leg of the journey.
Peace to all.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Delta Blues
It's raining in Atlanta. I know this because I spent the night at the Comfort Inn here, courtesy of Delta Air.
Our flight out of Seattle was delayed and our flight out of Atlanta to Santiago wasn't. Last night Bill and I stood at a window in the airport with 15 distraught Chileans and watched our plane leave without us. One woman was lecturing the Delta employee who had the misfortune to be serving us that leaving Chileans on the ground in the U.S. during this difficult time in Chile was a "moral problem" for the airline.
Bill and I were distraught as well, but we had mentally prepared for trouble. Nothing about this trip has gone smoothly. I'd told Bill before we left Bellingham that we had to expect EVERYTHING to have gliches and bumps. If anything went as planned we could chalk it up as a miracle, but organizing this journey has been a bumpy ride from the beginning. There's no reason to expect it to change now.
So as of this moment, the plan is to fly out of Atlanta tonight at 8:20 PM and arrive in Santiago at 8:00 AM in the morning (March 13). At that point we will catch a SKY AIR flight to Punta Arenas, arriving there at 2:40 PM.
The main problem with our new itinerary is that we've lost our friend Marina. Marina was the lone, remaining runner from the original group. She was flying out of LA (to El Salvador, then to Peru, and finally to Santiago). We were supposed to meet up with her in Santiago and fly down to Punta Arenas together. My guess is that she's worried about us, and I'm worried about her being worried. Cross your fingers for us that we connect with her quickly when we arrive in PA.
We're supposed to do our Punta Arenas run the day after we arrive (on March 14) and Marina and I are supposed to fly down to King George Island on the 18th. I'll blog more if I can.
Peace!
Our flight out of Seattle was delayed and our flight out of Atlanta to Santiago wasn't. Last night Bill and I stood at a window in the airport with 15 distraught Chileans and watched our plane leave without us. One woman was lecturing the Delta employee who had the misfortune to be serving us that leaving Chileans on the ground in the U.S. during this difficult time in Chile was a "moral problem" for the airline.
Bill and I were distraught as well, but we had mentally prepared for trouble. Nothing about this trip has gone smoothly. I'd told Bill before we left Bellingham that we had to expect EVERYTHING to have gliches and bumps. If anything went as planned we could chalk it up as a miracle, but organizing this journey has been a bumpy ride from the beginning. There's no reason to expect it to change now.
So as of this moment, the plan is to fly out of Atlanta tonight at 8:20 PM and arrive in Santiago at 8:00 AM in the morning (March 13). At that point we will catch a SKY AIR flight to Punta Arenas, arriving there at 2:40 PM.
The main problem with our new itinerary is that we've lost our friend Marina. Marina was the lone, remaining runner from the original group. She was flying out of LA (to El Salvador, then to Peru, and finally to Santiago). We were supposed to meet up with her in Santiago and fly down to Punta Arenas together. My guess is that she's worried about us, and I'm worried about her being worried. Cross your fingers for us that we connect with her quickly when we arrive in PA.
We're supposed to do our Punta Arenas run the day after we arrive (on March 14) and Marina and I are supposed to fly down to King George Island on the 18th. I'll blog more if I can.
Peace!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Chile's Earthquake
Twelve days before we are scheduled to leave on our trip to Punta Arenas, one of the worst earthquakes in history hit Chile. Bill and I have been sitting at home watching the news unfold, hoping the damage won’t be catastrophic and wondering what this means for our trip.
The first thing I did was contact our four connections in and around Punta Arenas: Mackarena, Maritza, Marcelo and Ben. I’ve heard back from everyone and all have reported that Punta Arenas didn’t feel a thing. Apparently, they didn’t experience so much as a shiver while their northern friends were holding on for dear life. Each reported that they had family in the affected area but that everybody they knew was accounted for.
The next thing I did was email Dimas’ family. My readers will remember Dimas and Ana Rosa as the lovely people with whom we stayed in Brazil last June. Their son lives in Sao Paulo and we’d heard that the quake had been felt there - all the way across the continent. We wanted to make sure they were okay. They’re fine. Again, they didn’t feel anything.
So, as we continue to watch and read about the dire situation in Santiago and surrounding areas, since I’ve ascertained confirmation that everyone we know is safe, we have come to the question of what this means for our trip. Many of you have asked me this question. So far, all I know is that the international airport in Santiago sustained some damage, but the runways all came through the quake(s) without much trouble. The airport was closed for a couple of days, but today it opened for international flights.
We are scheduled to leave on March 11 from Seattle and to reach the airport in Santiago on March 12 for a jumper flight down to Punta Arenas. At this point we have not changed our plans, but we’ll be in contact with our airline up to the minute we leave. Thank you to those of you who didn’t know whether or not we were already in Chile and worried about us. There are many people to worry about, but we are not among them.
I’ll keep you posted as we get closer to our departure date.
The first thing I did was contact our four connections in and around Punta Arenas: Mackarena, Maritza, Marcelo and Ben. I’ve heard back from everyone and all have reported that Punta Arenas didn’t feel a thing. Apparently, they didn’t experience so much as a shiver while their northern friends were holding on for dear life. Each reported that they had family in the affected area but that everybody they knew was accounted for.
The next thing I did was email Dimas’ family. My readers will remember Dimas and Ana Rosa as the lovely people with whom we stayed in Brazil last June. Their son lives in Sao Paulo and we’d heard that the quake had been felt there - all the way across the continent. We wanted to make sure they were okay. They’re fine. Again, they didn’t feel anything.
So, as we continue to watch and read about the dire situation in Santiago and surrounding areas, since I’ve ascertained confirmation that everyone we know is safe, we have come to the question of what this means for our trip. Many of you have asked me this question. So far, all I know is that the international airport in Santiago sustained some damage, but the runways all came through the quake(s) without much trouble. The airport was closed for a couple of days, but today it opened for international flights.
We are scheduled to leave on March 11 from Seattle and to reach the airport in Santiago on March 12 for a jumper flight down to Punta Arenas. At this point we have not changed our plans, but we’ll be in contact with our airline up to the minute we leave. Thank you to those of you who didn’t know whether or not we were already in Chile and worried about us. There are many people to worry about, but we are not among them.
I’ll keep you posted as we get closer to our departure date.
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