Compliments

I know a lot of people often say that actions speak louder than words, but you know what, words are often pretty powerful too.  Never underestimate the power of a gentle action OR the power of a simple compliment.

This past weekend, Rob and I attended a wedding for our good friends (one of the couples in our little Patchogue boy circle).  Rob was a groomsman, so I paired with another solo wife for most of the festivities.  But prior to the day, I realized that my tan lines (from my Hunger Games addiction) made my outfit look trashy, so I set out to find a spaghetti-strapped dress to disguise my sunbathing problems.  Luckily, at my first stop, I splurged on a dress and new purse.  Then, at my next stop, I quickly found a new pair of silver shoes, which I had needed anyway.  I was happy to have found everything so quickly and easily and was glad to feel skinny and cute in my new outfit, especially since I am still grieving the loss of my hair (lol).

My hot date, spaghetti-strapped dress, and "buttery" dress

During cocktail hour, the groomsmen were released from their picture duties and came out to the pretty balcony to find us.  I had hoped my husband would come right over to me and throw out a compliment of how nice I looked.  Instead, he joked at how I already started eating without him, left to get a plate, and sat across the table.  Before he had to leave again for the bridal party entrance, he touched my dress and said I was "buttery"; I took that as my dress was silk and, therefore, slippery aka buttery. I couldn't help but express my distaste for the lack of compliments from my husband.  He is not a wordy guy, but c'mon! Buttery does not mean beautiful.

My Non-Verbally Expressive Hubby <3

I am always amused at weddings how girls know they have to tell the bride she looks amazing.  Of course she looks amazing; it's her wedding day.  And even if she looks sub par, which she probably doesn't, no one is going to say otherwise.  Greeting the bride is almost a learned behavior.  The bride expects the compliment, and the people expect give it.  Likewise, it was also the first thing that I said to the bride. Also, as usual, her maid of honor complimented the bride's appearance in her speech, but I couldn't help smirk because the MOH was using cards (I HATEEE "heartfelt" speeches with cards!!) and must have written "You look" on one card and "amazing" on the second because there was a long pause and a look down during her compliment time.  What I thought more amusing is that the speech was written before the day even happened, already predicting the bride's beauty.  Don't get me wrong.  The bride was beautiful.  I just think our social training and idea of genuineness is funny.  

The beautiful bride

Speaking of training, before the wedding, I started my first summer speed workout with the Divas. Four of us met at the Bayport-Bluepoint High School track at 8:30 a.m. for 4x800s and 2x1000s.  All of us did great, especially since speed is a little scary after you get used to running mileage day after day.  As for me specifically, I felt pretty good, feeling a burn on #3 and recovering from it quickly.  (Splits: 2:43, 2:39, 2:42, 2:56, 2:41, 2:49).  I liked that I got up out of bed and pushed myself harder than I would on my own.  Plus, I had friends (Ashley, Jenn, Pita, Coach Oliva) to talk to as I recovered from each interval, which is always nice.  As for compliments though, Coach Oliva threw out two better-than-buttery compliments during the workout.  After the second repeat, he cheered as I floated through the first lap, "Wow, all of those years of hard work have really paid off."  I translate this into the idea that I looked pretty effortless on the track, which is a good thing.  By the third repeat, since my splits were so consistent, he called me a metronome, the musical device that clicks out a specific beat to pace the music. I take these wonderful words to heart. Also, they remind me of how important these little phrases are during a workout when I coach.

The only coaching I have been doing lately is at spin class, and here, too, I have learned the power of a kind word.  As a student in the class, I do spin harder when the instructor says, spin harder. As a teacher, I remember to throw out these directions and watch the class move a little more.  As a student, I also liked a "good job" or "you look great," so naturally, I use these terms when I sit in the front of the class too.  And there's nothing nicer when the cyclers leave the class and tell me it was a great class.  I especially like a music compliment, because I spend way too much time deciding on my tunes. 

I think the time I naturally go into compliment mode is when I am with Lily, Ashley's amazingly smart and beautiful baby girl.  (She says toddler, but I will always call her a baby - until she yells at me for insulting her when she is a "big girl," which will happen way too soon). Every little thing she does amazes me and I can't help but commend her for mastering small things, like saying my name or getting into the set position for a race (she holds her arms back as if she was pushing out of a ski start - I think).  I also can't help but over compliment her mom and dad for doing such a good job, even if their child gets a little moody and full of terrible two's "no's" sometimes.  In fact, at our summer series race, she watched Ashley and me stretch and started "exercising" with us.  My heart melted and I must have said "good job" thousands of time.

Lily Girl!

And in terms of babies and compliments, Rob and I were watching Teen Mom on Tuesday.  I think it's awesome that it's the one show that I really enjoy that he doesn't mind watching.  He can mimic all of their voices too, which makes the show much more amusing. (We will be in a store and he will start doing his "JANELLE" mom voice - I am laughing just hearing it). In the most recent episode, Kyle and Maci started fighting because he jokingly called her an "idiot" (because she was being an idiot). She freaked out and kicked him out. But his actions always show how much he loves her.  He takes care of her son (not his) better than anyone, and he always lets the annoying things she says and does slide.  The one idiot comment had her furious at him for days, and he came back to their place and made her stop being mad.  Her actions were way worse than his one insulting word.  His actions speak loudly.

So I guess the moral of this story (these stories) is throw out the compliments you wish people would say to you, and if they don't say it back to you, let it slide.  Sometimes you might be too blinded to see that they are showing you a "good job" instead of saying it, and sometimes, they just might be jerks who aren't worth your time anyway!

Summer Strategy

Pardon my absence, I have been enjoying every single moment of my summer vacation.  So let's give you a quick run down.  I am going to keep today brief since I have craft projects, cleaning, running, and some relaxing to do :)  


Overall some of my favorite parts of summer consist of (I love lists, so here goes):

1. Coffee and/or breakfast on nice plates in my pretty living room  

I just love the idea of having enough time to wake up, break out my pretty plates, and cook up some eggs for breakfast.  While I cook, I down a cup of water (trying to keep my water intake good since I am known for being a camel and avoiding it all day).  This year I have been doing a much better job at drinking water, and I don't want to ruin my streak.  


After my eggs and coffee are ready, I head over to the living room/dining room (old fashion term: parlor). No matter how hard I try to call it the parlor, I just call it the living or dining room - I can't be THAT old fashioned.  


Last semester during the school year, I tried to wake up a few minutes early just to squeeze in some sit-down breakfast time. I did get the chance most of the time, but there is nothing like eating breakfast and then getting to hang around all day.  

2. My Cat

Some days, hanging around all day means hanging out with my Oliver.  He really is the cutest little thing (seven years old and he will always be my little baby).  He follow me around everywhere.  If I go outside, he usually hangs by the window to watch (or goes and takes a nap).  If I am sitting in the office doing some work, he will lay on the rug beside my feet and take a nap in the sun.  If I go to fold laundry in our guest room, he grabs a spot on the bed.  If I read on the couch, he naps on the couch.  Yes, he naps a lot. 


If he is not napping, he drags all of his toys to me and cries as he brings each of them until I acknowledge him.  I love him.  Now, he is curled up in my lap as I type (since I acknowledged his shower of toys).  He loves me too.


Rob asks me often who I would choose: Rob or Oliver.  I avoid answering. lol.  

2. Books

I just finished reading the Hunger Games Trilogy, and I am a fan.  I relate to Katniss, as I am sure most girls do.  Who doesn't want to be the beautiful stubborn Victor?  I am sure you will be seeing lots of HG references throughout the blogs, especially when it gets closer to game time.  


I just like the idea that I have time to curl up and finish a book without worrying or feeling guilty about what else I need to squeeze in.  In fact, I have really awful tan lines right now because I was outside reading in our new wicker loungers and didn't realize how long I sat out there as I was engrossed in the world of Panem.  

3. Side jobs

Although I am off, I am not really "off."  I am happy to admit that I am still raking in a pretty decent amount of bill money this summer (especially since I thought I was going to solely be savings-dipping).  Between teaching spin class, private tutoring (Rob just picked up another job for me - a 9:20 two-miler.  I have really good ways of relating the SAT strategy to race strategy, so I'll be perfect for the job lol.  Plus, what don't I relate to race strategy.), and tutoring at a college, I still have a pretty busy "work" schedule.  


Spin class does not count as "work."  I get to listen to music, make random playlists, and dictate a course of action.  I guess I am a natural coach, although the one downer to spin class is that sometimes I just like to be the student and not the person in charge.  But good thing, because now I can go to a spin class whenever I want, free of charge!  I am already starting to see a change in my quads, an extra bulge on the outside if I flex and a couple of deeper striations on the top and side.  Woohoo!  


I try to spin three days a week, but it really does zap my legs for running.  I am still trying to balance the two (expect a blog on this balancing act soon).  

4. Arts and crafts

Some of of my friends call me mini-Martha.  I just love creating things, especially for gifts.  I think they mean a little more when the gift receiver knows there is some sweat poured into the gift.  Yesterday, I dropped off a personalized hanger for my friend's wedding dress (I wired her new last name in the enter of the hanger, perfect for a wedding dress shot).  Thanks to Pinterest, sometimes I don't even have to come up with these ideas anymore; I plagiarize.  Now, I have the time to waste on the computer browsing ideas and the extra time to make more special things for people!  Working on a bouquet preservation tonight!  

5. Running

Because spin has tired me out, I haven't started a weightlifting program yet, which will begin starting this week.  I figure between spinning, swimming, and lifting, I can accessorize my running.  Since I spin on the Real Ryder bikes, my arms, not just legs, get a nice workout too.  Once the Patchogue pool opens in late June, I will get another full body workout swimming laps.  I want to learn how to flip this summer!  Then, lifting I can do in my beautiful home gym.  I figure, spin 2-3 days a week. Swim 2 days a week. Lift two days a week.  Run, six days.  Of course, I don't want to overdue anything.  Because I plan to do so much, I will definitely take one full day of rest, just like God.  


Because I have a flexible schedule for now, I get my running in whenever I want.  Lately, it has been late evening, which has been really nice.  Usually, I prefer a beautiful early morning run, but I give myself the month of May to sleep in until 8 or 9, since I don't get to sleep in that often during the school year.  Add in breakfast and house chores while digesting, and it's already 10 by the time I could run; I don't usually have great runs around 10-12, since I am used to lunch around 11:30.  I think Doomsday (my hungry alter ego) tries to ruin my run if I don't feed him.  Otherwise, I have been doing a spin class in the morning, so I need plenty of time to rest my legs before running (otherwise a different sort of Doomsday comes to ruin my run).


Plus, the weather has been so awful lately.  I wake up to rain and gloom, so I prefer to work on some inside house projects (adding more mason jars to my pantry, cleaning the fridge, donating clothes).  Then, the weather has gotten better in the evening, and if it's not better, I head out anyway. The other day I ran a 12-mile run to Bellport around 7 p.m.  It was the most beautiful run of the summer so far! On the weekend, I have been meeting up with Smitty, a Post athlete I have mentioned before, for a nice long run at about 8-minute mile pace.  It feels great to run and chat at a pretty decent pace with some company.  Add those runs to some of the most enjoyable ones of the summer too.  


Plus, my short pony tail (just donated my hair) makes my long runs mixed with the humidity quite enjoyable.  I think I probably commended myself for about four miles at what a good decision it was to chop the hair for some summer running.  

6. House projects

Like I said before, in between all of this, I have lots of house projects to do. Since I live in a Victorian house and with a perfectionist (my husband), there is always something to be done.  Right now I am scraping and sanding all of the paint off the outside trim and going to re-stain.  Rob's dad says I do a better job than a painter, which is probably one of the nicest compliments Mr. Bill Morris can give.  


I put "sand" on my to-do list everyday, just like I do for running.  This way, like my running routine, I will spend about 1-2 hours working on my sanding project.  Also, similar to running, I get quicker the more I work on the project and get more completed each day.  This way, the little work each day, adds up to great results.


And all of these little lovely summer items add up to a really great life.  I just can feel a change in my sprit and love every minute of my craziness.

Park Bench 5K Mania

Just-in-Time Racing Job Offer

Last Saturday, my brother called me to ask if I wanted to help his timing company during a road race.  I am an excellent data entry person and can type probably faster than I can speak in some cases.  So as day-of-registration folks pile in with last minute paperwork, I get to enter hundreds of people into the race database in about an hour.  I actually really like doing it.


The part that is the most amusing that makes me respect, perhaps idolize, my brother is the crazy people at the races.  The antics of these people are laughable on a once-in-a-while basis.  If I had to do this timing as often as my brother, I am not sure I could ever go to a road race again in my life.  My brother and I laugh about how much the Nutcracker tortures him during the winter season at his theater job, but now we can also laugh about how these road races torture us too.

The Confrontational Phone Lady: No, I am not Siri

I arrived at the Park Bench in Stony Brook at 7:30 a.m. and helped my brother and the rest of Just In Time Racing set up.  Before I was sent inside to start my frantic typing, a woman around age 50 walked up to the table around 8 a.m. and asked us what time the race actually started.  When we informed her the race was at 9:30, the time that was listed on the registration form that she just filled out, she had a slight meltdown, explaining that her husband just dropped her off and how she didn't want to wait around.  She explained if the race was at 8:45, she would stick around, but since it was 9:30, she wanted her husband to pick her up.  She then turned to me and said that she wanted to use my phone.  When I told her I didn't have one (I leave EVERYTHING in my car at these races), she stared me down skeptically. "You mean YOU don't have a phone," she questioned, as if I was a teenager who can't live without texts.  Ask my husband, I never have it on me lol and why am I defending myself?


Later after the race (since she stayed for it even though she didn't like the 9:30 start time and wanted to create her own start time), she came back to the table to return her chip (which should have already been turned in) and asked us to scan it for her to get her time.  Genius, the chip "scans" as you cross over the mats, hence, THE REALLY LOUD BEEP as you cross.  After her 53-minute 5K, she was more pleasant than before at least.

Bathroom Sneak

After I went inside to start typing, the employees of the bar asked me to make sure people didn't enter the bar to use the bathroom and remind them the port-a-pottys were around the corner, specially ordered for the 733 runners in the race.  At first, I just locked the door; this way people attempted to open the door and continued on when the door wouldn't open.  After a while, the computers needed juice, so they ran extension cords from the bar to the finish line, preventing the door from completely closing.  So as I typed, I calmly explained to people who entered in hopes of a clean bathroom that they had to use the less-than-loved port-a-pottys.  As a runner, I am fully aware of the hunt for a bathroom, and a clean one, so I was sympathetic to their mission.  Most people just happily went on their way to search for their relief, but one man walked in just after my brother came in to drop off more registration packets.  My brother was aware of the instructions and explained, "Sir, the bar isn't open yet and they have provided bathrooms around the corner."  The man explained to us that he wasn't looking for a bathroom, he just wanted to check out the bar design.  He proceeded to awkwardly stand in the corner and glance up at the ceiling for about two minutes.  Then, he asked, where did you say the bathrooms were?  I wanted to die.  He clearly came in for a bathroom break and felt like he got "caught" and had to create some odd diversion, which obviously didn't work well for him.  Off he went.

Nosey, Seductive Result Looker

My brother has to deal with so many morons, and I really don't know how he does it!  Like I said before, since I know my brother as a little temper tantrum terror, I think his inner peace at these races is amusing.


As he is trying to do a million things with results, timing chips, computer print outs, wheelchair registrations, one man stands behind him to look at the computer screens.  Now, I do understand watching my brother is incredible.  He has a million electronics out and is calmly managing all of them.  But this man was not admiring my brother's work, he wanted to see his own result.  He stood right behind my brother and leaned his face almost next to my brothers; it looked as if he was whispering in my brothers ear. My poor brother could obviously see this near seduction from the reflection of his computer and didn't bat an eye.  Later, I got to recreate the scenario for my family, and we all got a good laugh over Mothers' Day lunch.

Average Guy

Another man came over to my brother while he was in the computer seat and stared down at the computer, which, of course, is a common occurrence. But his question was a first.  Again, remember my brother is clicking away on several computers like a mad man, and this man stops my brother to ask him what the average time of the entire race was.  First, the race had not finished, so no average would be possible, but also, why would you bother calculating an average of people finishing from a range of 16 MINUTES to 1 HOUR and 30 MINUTES.  Obviously, this mean would be a fairly useless number. 

Detail-Orientated 1:15 Finisher 

It never ceases to amaze me the criticism that some "runners" have over race results. When the winners and top runners finish, they wait, check their results, and often times don't even wait for their medals (and most likely would never wear their medals either).  I would never think to question the race timers while people are still finishing, or ever for that matter.  In this race, the winner ran about 16:30.  The female winner ran 19:37, never to be seen again.  BUT the man who ran 1:15 ran faster to the computer table after his race than he did during the actual 5K just to tell my brother that his name was not on the results.  No shit. The results were printed out almost 30 minutes before you finished because no one, especially the person who finished three miles almost an HOUR before you, deserves to have to wait for his time because you couldn't hurry your tush up.  My brother then has to show him that the slow poke is actually on the results but not the printed version. I'm just surprised the guy made it from the finish line, to the posted results, and to the computer table in record time.


I would be too embarrassed to highlight to anyone that I ran 1:15.  Also, I would hope, if I were that runner, I wouldn't be as critical of other people and quick to complain, as I am sure I could be easily judged as I slogged through the course.  Why throw stones?

Fraigle but friendly old man

On the other hand, one of the slow finishers, a 76-year old who ran almost 1:20 who posed the same question, got a much more pleasant response (although even the critical large slow man got service with an Imperiale smile too). First off, holy crap, you are old and still running - I am always impressed at the true endurance athletes, the ones who have endured time more than any young runner could ever understand.  Also, he was really sweet and nice about asking; therefore, we were really extra nice and sweet about answering and even printed him an updated copy of the results with his name (and Mr. 1:15 Slow Poke) on it.  Thank you nice old guy.

Middle of the Finish Line Campers

But despite the crazy runners, the worst part of any race are the obnoxious, oblivious spectators.  I've been to hundreds of races.  My husband was knocked off the track in an 800 race by a person who attempted to cross the final stretch of the track as he barreled in to the finish.  Rob, who was probably 114 pounds at the time, was knocked onto the grass, unable to breath, and still got up to finish with a 1:57 (yes, I've heard this story many times <3).  This is a perfect example of a stupid spectator. 

At our Post race, we have had spectators who have refused to budge at the HERD of 500 runners coming straight for them.  At that point, I let them stay in hopes of watching them get stampeded (think Mufasa). 


At this race, there were several people that I asked multiple times to move out of the final stretch. In fact, to give you a better visual, the finish line took up the shoulder and one side of the 1/2 closed road (think: yellow line to white line).  Some of the cheerleaders stood between the curb and the white line, which was fine and out of the way.  Others, especially an Asian man, a Camera Lady, and a Little Zoned Out Boy who probably either played way too many video games or already has smoked too much pot, had to stand literally in the direct center of the finish line, about five strides from the finish.  Clearly, they wanted a good glimpse of their beloved runners who they were cheering on, but they could care less about all of the other runners (and there were many of them) who were finishing before their runners.


I calmly went over and explained that all the runners worked hard today and deserve to see their finish line from around the bend and asked the people to move back.  They moved for a second.  I walked away to the computer table (no more than 5 yards away) and the people moved back.  Again, I wandered over and asked them to about-face to see that they were literally blocking the finish line.  They looked, realized, moved away, and then moved back to their finish line real estate.  One lady with a camera gave me a dirty look as she moved back into her offensive position.  I stopped trying, because, well, that's not the timing company job really.  I was trying to be courteous, but I was going to flip my switch after another finish line sweep.


My favorite (least favorite) was the little boy who stood for, no joke, over 45 minutes on stride from the finish line, directly in the center, right on the pavement.  He had a glazed look on his face and waited, unmoved by the people flying by him.  Sometimes pairs of people had to separate and rejoin at the finish line because he basically created two chutes.  At one point, he was even staring at his phone.  OMG MOVE!  

Multiple Mat Jumpers

And when in doubt, it's always a guarantee that even if there are no ridiculous runner/spectator stories, there will always be the mystified mat jumpers.  When I run knowing there is a chip on my shoe or in my bib, I stay away from the finish line mats, even when I know they aren't activated yet.  You see, when a race starts, the computer finish line guy activates the mats.  So during warmup time, they aren't even actually set yet.  But, out of respect, I avoid them, just in case I am the one to screw things up.


But most people don't understand that your chip could scan and ruin the results, potentially.  (Most computer people are aware of people's stupidity and know how to fix the glitch if this happens.)  They will run over the mats to hear the beeps, not once, but twice, three, four, five.  Laughing.  Guaranteed comment: "LOOK, NOW I WON! ::Insert dumb laugh::"  Clever. Never heard it before.


But this race was even better because people who finished apparently also liked hearing their beeps.  So instead of walking THROUGH the chute, which common sense would direct you to do.  They walked over the mats again in the reverse manner, then BACK over to the chute, playing the beeping game, and screwing up their race time. DUH.  At least these people were running a 5K in over an hour and probably didn't care what their mile pace was at all.

Crazy Runner World

But all in all, it was a pretty fun day - Frank, my family, and I had a lot of good laughs.  I also found a new talent: reenacting the scenarios.  Plus, I think my brother really likes that someone understands what he is going through - and perhaps why he will never ever understand runners (or - that he understands them too well lol).

A Modest Proposal

My Run
Today, as I headed out for my 10-mile run (this week=all easy long runs before I head into summer training), I knew I had a lot on my mind and would enjoy a good dose of sweat and sun.


The first thing, though, that interrupted my original thought process was that my shorts were way too short.  This morning, one of my summer "to-do" list items (oh yes, by the way, I am officially on summer break!!!!) is to clean out some of my drawers and reorganize.  Usually, this task ends up feeling like shopping because I find such awesome clothes tucked away, hidden under my regular wear.  Today, I perused through my running shorts and found these ones that I probably have only worn once or twice, and most definitely have not worn on a run yet.  Virgin shorts, hooray.


But I did not feel so virgin in these shorts.  As I took a few steps on the sidewalk, I felt the spandex rise and knew these shorts had turned into butthuggers (racing briefs that look like bikini bottoms).  Since I was already at least five strides from my house, there was no turning back.  I was running on the brink of inappropriateness in my cute little neighborhood.

My Running Gear
Now a lot of my friends often joke about my choice of shorts.  As a runner, I am used to seeing women race in pretty skimpy clothing, and although I participate with the tightness and short shorts, I would still be seen as more of a moderate dresser amongst the running community.  You will never see me running in a sports bra unless I am at the beach, and no, this is not to disguise an embarrassing stomach.  I am pretty proud of my torso :).  I just don't see a difference with a few inches of sports bra material to keep me a little less sexual and a little more modest.  But, if completely understand if you have shield-like abs like the women at the Boston Marathon, they want to show off their hard work.  I just will never be one of them, even if I have a gladiator stomach.


But, the extra inches of shorts on the legs makes a difference to me - go figure!  One of my running pals, Lj, usually laughs that I take off one pair of shorts shorts and another even shorter pair are there for me to race.  (It's true.  I take off my "baggy" pair to reveal my tight pair for racing, which I usually do most my workouts and runs in as well).  If butthuggers weren't so inappropriate at road races, I would be rocking those.  In fact, I actually just ordered a pair of black Nike ones, just in case I feel a little ballsy and beastly fast in elite races.


But back to my run, needless to say, people who were on the streets of Patchogue, Bluepoint, and Bayport (yes, 10 miles puts me in a few towns) got a little show I'm sure.

My Anger
But on my run, I was thinking about another skin show, not my own, that was really bothering me.  A while back, my husband, who is in a friend's bridal party, had gone to dinner with the groomsmen to plan the soon-to-be groom's bachelor party.  When he returned home, we chatted about the plans and I clearly scanned the verbal itinerary for strip clubs, none to be found.  Just a few days ago, conveniently only a few days before the whole gig, my husband mentions that after dinner, they will be going to a "club," leaving out the ever-so-important adjective "strip."  To me, club means bar with strobe lights and a bigger dance floor, probably more Guido and hip hop music too.  Obviously, my husband was uncomfortable to mention the "strip" part because he knows that I will castrate him for stepping foot in the place.

Now, why do I have such a violent reaction to these places? Because they are wrong.  Currently, I am reading the Hunger Games, keeping up on my pop culture, and anyone who reads this book is like, "Holy crap, this is effed up."  Well, yes, and most people should think about the inappropriateness of married men going to bars and getting naked women to rub up on them, never mind using money (that could buy the wicker patio loungers that I want) for this "accepted" form of cheating.  I am not for it and have violently attacked Rob after going to a few.  In fact, our two worst fights involved strip clubs (one with a video of a dancing vagina on his phone which he swears he didn't take. Hold on, need to take a few deep breaths....).


Our second worst fight involved a strip club and our wedding.  In fact, I think this is partially one of my deep-rooted marital problems that I should probably see a therapist about.  Instead, I just run it out, as I did on my run today, thinking about how angry/awful/hurt I feel recapping it. It has caused depressing doubt and distrust in the way I view him, a view that I never had about him until the weekend before our wedding.


After talks before both of our bachelor/bachelorette parties, both of us told each other that strippers were gross and "not my thing."  Rob also explained that the last bachelor party he went to for his brother did not involved any naked women, because they just aren't "into it."  Therefore, I assumed, my loving, committed soon-to-be husband who had told me he wanted to devote the rest of his life to me from the moment he went down on one knee wanted to do just that, love, honor and respect me.  Instead, I had a rude awakening, after finding out through the wives of the guys on the trip that my husband went with his buddies to a strip club in Myrtle Beach.  I can only imagine how filthy they are in Myrtle Beach.  And my husband was filthy as well, and honestly, I will always hold a little hate in my heart for him and everyone who was there.  Sad.

 Alyssa Milano Performing a Lap Dance in Charmed, an Old TV Series.  See. INAPPROPRIATE!

ALSO UNACCEPTABLE! (This is a woman getting a taste of what so many dumb men want)

My Philosophy
See, I am a bridge burner.  When I feel ultimately betrayed, I light my match and enjoy the bonfire.  Then, I walk away from the ashes and never turn back.  I have two theories.  1. It doesn't matter if I burn the bridges behind me because I never retreat.  I make a decision that this person did not consider me and, therefore, never deserves my consideration again.  And I have stuck by this motto many a time, despite some people warning me I might need those bridges and friendships again.  2. But, my second theory is that you can always rebuild a bridge if you really have to, perhaps even better than before.  I have rebuilt a bridge with my college roommate.  After living together, we erupted on each other and our bridge went up in smoke.  One year later, we rekindled (pun intended) our friendship.  If you are shaking your head reading this, get over it, it's how I work and it's not changing.


Of course, I am more careful with my pyromania when it comes to boyfriends, just as I was in this case.  I have allowed others to betray me several times without burning the bridge (and running far, far away, as I should have!).  My college sweetheart (not so sweet) contacted me a little while before Rob and I got married to give me the old speech that he was sorry for the way he treated me and hope he didn't ruin who I was.  I explained to him that I was exactly the same person I was when I was with him, except a little stronger and more confident than before - aka not going to take shit anymore.

My Anger, Again
And "shit" to me is strip clubs.  I think it's so funny that a lot of my friends who are more liberal and feminist-ish laugh at me and my conservative viewpoint that I would give up my right to vote to go back to the way where women stayed home to raise their children and weren't expected work (and cook, clean, have babies, pick up husbands' socks that somehow always never make the hamper!).  These same people also say that you can't be "that girl" who puts her foot down and doesn't allow her husband to go to strip clubs.  So we can tell the government who we want to be President of the country, but we can't tell our husbands, our "equals," not to stare at naked women because it makes us feel awful.

Tom Welling ::sigh::

No wonder women are fucked up in the head.  No wonder they have eating disorders or are obsessed with dieting.  Men, this is your fault.  My husband and his friends are no Tom Welling.  They are not the most gorgeous men in the world; they should be happy they luckily have devoted, beautiful wives/girlfriends and not go to strippers (aka prostitutes, in my opinion) for some last hurrah, not to mention that all of the married men in the group are MARRIED and have already gotten their last hurrah, and their friends' last hurrahs, and their cousins' last hurrahs.  It's out of control.  How many last hurrahs do you get? No wonder 50% of marriages end up in a divorce; look at how most of them start, with one foot in the gutter!






My Runner Mentality
Ah, I am angry and ranting.  Let's tie this back to my running theme.  I think a lot of the thoughts I have as a runner in races (the reason why I am a good runner) are often angry, aggressive, and cruel, which is why I am come off this way when I am trying to "win."  I think my husband understands this is how I work and partially one of the reasons he loves and understands (possibly fears?) me, and has ultimately assured me he will never betray me again. 

I think he also understands how hard I work for what I want (including a good body); he knows I always find a final gear to make one last push for the finish.  Likewise, I won't run out of steam on this one. I have endurance.  If it haunts me (like my stupid 1-second-from-third-place finish at the 1/2 marathon and like his bachelor party), I am not giving up until I find my redemption, especially when I am this hell-bent on something. 


So although I know my distance runner boobs probably cannot compare to a stripper's fake ones up in my husband's face, he will just have to deal with the fact that the only woman he should be near is thirty-years old but looks 18 and is 118 pounds, poor guy!  And although I did probably give the neighborhood a little show with my nice runner butt, I have too much respect for myself to ever be compared to a stripper... ever... again.  But, to compare just this once, I believe, just as most of my neighbors would agree after today, my distance-runner butt is way better than a pole-dancer's anyway.

1/2 A Runner

Today, I ran the Long Island Half Marathon during the Long Island Festival of Races, and I ran well!  I am actually so excited about how reassured I am about my level of fitness that I wasn't quite sure was there since I have been doing less workouts, taking more days off, and ripping my muscles apart with Graston.


My plan for the 1/2 was to run it to test the waters, no pressure, just feel out a good distance run.  On Thursday, after doing a mini uptempo (2 miles in 12:45) and feeling pretty crappy during it, I was a little nervous that I wasn't really in shape to perform solidly.


Later, this Friday, I went to the Expo to pick up my number and saw the great Long Island Road Race announcer Terry Bisgno, who told me to check the newspaper for my name since he stated in an interview that I was one of the race favorites, with my 1:24:44 from the Diva.  I was a little excited and a little bummed: excited that I have been recognized, bummed that I realistically know I am not in 1:24 shape to reaffirm that acknowledgement.  But after he told me about the other possible top female harriers, I knew that even on a sub-par day, I might be able to finish toward the front of the pack.  Last year, my first half, I went in without any expectations or competitive push and finished ninth overall.  This year was bound to be better.


And better it was!


The Trek
First, Rob and I got up at 5:15 and headed out by 5:45 (yes, a.m.). (No matter how many times I do these crazy races, as I set my alarm the night before, I always question my sanity.) We hit no traffic (you never know on Long Island) and parked in our special Hempstead Turnpike parking lot.  I headed for a bathroom and then for the starting line.  After a slight detour in the park, and a small, almost meltdown on my husband for going the wrong direction (slowly), we made it to the starting line by 7:10, where I even had a chance to take one last pee break without a line at the port-a-potty. (About 10 minutes later, the lines were out of control. We even saw a line of men facing tall grass along the public road to relieve themselves.  Wonder if Newsday will put that picture online.)

The Warmup
At 7:15, I started my warmup, heading on the course for about 5 minutes with the plan to loop back for an overall 10-minute warmup before some stretches and drills (since I already walked probably over a mile from our car/park detour).  On the start of my run, I passed Terry, who shouted, "Good luck, Christa" to me.  Other people I passed laughed, making the annoying comment, "Why would you run before the run?"  One boy jumped in front of me obnoxiously shouting, "Yeahhhhh running!!!!!!!!!" Nevertheless, I completed my warmup unscathed and went back for some drills where my husband was stationed.  Then, I headed for the start, where this year, I learned to creep up much closer than my 14-second net/gun discrepancy last year.

The Start and Mile 1
After some strides, the national anthem, and some fireworks, we were off.  Honestly, the only thought in my head for mile 1 is, "Keep calm, keep it slow, easy does it, slow, slow."  I figured I would probably hit mile 1 in about 6:30, but again, my "slow" idea turned to be a 6:15.  I shrugged, oh well, I felt good.

Mile 2, 3, 4, 5
Around mile 2.5, a tiny girl (who I later learned is 27) ran up next to me and we ran side-by-side until about mile 5, where she pulled away, and unfortunately beat me overall.  (5K split: 19:45 ish) From mile 2-5, we had to battle some 10K runners who were already walking by their first mile (the 1/2 marathon starts behind the 10K, so the fast marathoners catch up to the slow 10k'ers pretty quickly).  I also somehow managed to throw almost an entire cup of Gatorade in a high school volunteer's face.  At the mile 5 water stop, a girl handed me a cup of Gatorade.  A few of the other kids were not paying attention, and as I finished my sip (I only take sips) and chucked the rest, one of the kids who was not paying attention stepped right into it and started screaming.  How many times can you say you threw a cup of anything in someone's face and could actually get away with it!

Mile 6, 7, 8
At the 10K, I hit 40something, which was better than my 42 last year, and kept trucking down Route 25.  By mile 8, I had a nice boost after passing the MacArthur (my old team) water stop and hearing them scream Imperiale pretty loudly. It was nice to hear the surge of excitement and know I have not been forgotten.

Mile 9, 10, 11, 12
At mile 11, Erin Grey jumped in with me to keep my pace on point, which was great because this mile is usually my slowest, and instead, it ended up being consistent with most of my miles.  At one point, I saw a cup of water and veered toward it; Erin questioned if I wanted water or wanted to catch the girl (Bellmore Strider Noni) in front of me. I chose water, a decision I regret a little since I lost to her only by one second.  Back on course, Erin stayed with me to a little after mile 12, where the East Meadow team was pretty excited to see a Citius jersey, since they had recently had a presentation with Vince and ReddyCare.

Home Stretch
As I made the final turn toward the 1/2 mile final stretch, I heard Smitty's mom, Cathy, cheering that I could get the girl in front of me (Noni, still).  I remember that I normally tell Smitty that sometimes people appear much farther from you in a race when you are actually in the race and seeing only the "behind" perspective.  I also tell Smitty, that's what a coach is for, to remind you that your perspective is a little off and that the distance isn't actually as far as you think.  At that point, I dedicated myself to catching Noni.  I passed the mile 13 mark and refused to hit my split button on my watch, knowing I would need every precious tenth of a second at the very end.  I was running out of space, but I heard Tom, Pita, and my husband cheer, and that was it, my final move.  I drove my knees and felt my powerful sprinter stride.  The 800-meter runner in me was back.

Finish Line
I made up the deficit pretty fast, but Terry, the announcer, pointed out (VERY LOUDLY) to the crowd that there was a fight for third.  Noni took this as a warning and picked up the last few steps, and I ran out of room to catch her.  Her back foot passed the line as my front foot crossed it. GRRR. Shouldn't have taken that water! haha.  On an unsportsmanship-like note, Noni didn't even turn around to say good job, a common gesture by the top (or any) runners.  I really don't like the rudeness of the Bellmore Striders (and no, the fact that I didn't beat her doesn't sway that idea). Not one of the female striders have ever participated in the common procedure of athletic sportsmanship with me. (My favorite was the girl, Tara, who I beat at Bethpage in the final stretch, right the finish line.  All she could say was, F********CK, pretty loudly. Classy.)

Cool Down
After rounding up my cheering squad and locating Erin, a Post XC alumni who completed her first 1/2 ever in 1:41, I (Erin, too) cooled down for a bit.  Then, I washed off all of the salt off my face and was so excited to find crackers and peanut butter in my finisher's sack, handed out at the finish line.  My next task at hand was to see my friend, Jenn, finish her first marathon.

The Marathon
For the next few hours, we stood watching the rest of the half marathoners and the marathoners finish, waiting for Jenn, who was estimated to finish around 5 hours.  Her husband found us, and we all laughed and joked for a while, commenting on how Jenn has only been running for two years (starting with running less than three miles a week to running 26.2 in one day) and how she views life (her life motto is from the country song "Live Like You Were Dying").  Some of the people I was with were getting a little antsy waiting, but I was not going to budge until I saw my friend proudly complete her task at hand.  When the clock hit 5 hours, we allowed some extra leeway in case she started minutes behind the actual start (net vs. gun time).  When the clock started ticking a bit more, we got a little nervous.  After a little while, Gary, her husband, walked back down the final stretch a bit, hoping to see her and run a little in with her.  He came back to us with clear worry on his face.  I decided to jog the course backwards to see if I could find her, in case something was wrong, since I was the fastest-moving option.  A little less than a mile into my backwards trek, there were Jenn AND Gary (he took a shortcut).  Relieved, Gary returned to the final stretch, and I ran along next to her, while she assured me she was okay and was talking fine, just a little dazed (and how could you not expect that, after FIVE hours of running).  When we got to 26, I was so proud of her and made sure to point out the finish line flags so she could see her finish, and at 26.1, I sent her on her last .1 journey down the final stretch alone to her victory.  

Runner?
I guess this experience of the half and full marathon leads me back to my previous debate about the definition of a runner.  Like I said before, I am such a hypocrite with this topic and switch sides often, depending on circumstances and friendships.  Take Jenn, for instance.  Most people will question why in God's name she would want to run for five hours, painfully plodding her way through the 26.2 miles.  But since I have heard about her plans, her goals, her work, her 20-mile Sunday runs, her rolling at night, her pace chart, her carboloading, I can't help but consider her a runner.  


And after my experience today, I think I have solidified my parameters of "runner."  I think if you do all the things you should as a runner: warm up, drink water, train on a somewhat daily basis, thoughtfully consider your race (pre and post), get good sleep, live a runner lifestyle, you are a runner.  If you do not do these things and just run random 5k's or, worse, 1/2's, you are not a runner.  If you laugh at a person warming up (aka a REAL runner) and ask why she is running more before she has to already run, you are not a runner.  If you drink beer before you run, you are not a runner.  If you smoke a cigarette before the race (which people witnessed today), you are not a runner.  If you carry hand sanitizer for the port-a-potty's that you will stop in on your run, you are not a runner.  (I have yet to decide officially if I think iPod wearers are runners.  I am currently leaning to "no.") If you think the people who are doing runner-like things (aka warmup, drills, stretches, strides) are "weird" or insane, you are not a runner.  


Let us be, especially when you are butting into OUR world. But no matter what, I think if you bust your butt and do all the things magazines like Runners' World tell you to do, well, then by all means, no matter how slow you are, you have earned the Christa Morris seal of approval.  You, then, are warmly welcomed into MY world.  


Results: 1:27:01, 4th Woman Overall
(Pictures and Splits to come.....)

Graston

After the Cherry Blossom, driven by redemption, I took off on Monday and returned to the track to jump in with the PXC's girls' workout.  Bad idea. My reoccurring hamstring cramp flared up again on the second in-out 200, just as it had done a few weeks ago.  I was annoyed because I thought my leg had felt fine and frustrated because I probably should have been smarter and just done a regular run, not a workout, that day.  I proceeded to do a 2-mile cooldown with the girls and called it a light day.

When I get hurt, I often like to convince myself that I am not, or that I can get "over it," by forcing my body through even more than I would normally do.  On Wednesday, I squeezed in an 8-mile run at Westbury, characterized by rolling paved hills, swimming during Common Hour with the girls, and a painful 5 miles on the Alter-G at ReddyCare at 60% of my body weight.  By this point, my hamstring was in a tight pinch, and my right calf was pissed at me for allowing it to take the brunt of my force during all of these runs for the day.

I gave in, and asked ReddyCare for some help: Physical Therapy. 

The next day I went in for some PT; they assigned me to Yoshei, the Columbia graduate and semi-pro golfer, certified in Active-Release Therapy (ART) and the Graston technique.  After some biomechanical tests, Yoshei whipped out some metal tools and went to town on my leg, warning me I might have some bruising. 

Since Rob and I had carpooled out to Nassau (he had to do a recruit signing at Post), I figured I could walk to find food and stall for time post-therapy.  A four-miles walk later, I ended up in Marshall's and found myself a Dunkin' Donuts (got pretty pillows for our bedroom and an egg n' cheese on a croissant).  3.5 HOURS later, Rob picked me up.  When I returned home, I saw some bruises.

So for the past month, I have been getting Graston on my leg once a week. I felt immediate improvements and only had to "take it easy" on days that I get the treatment because Yoshei beats me up with his tools.  The bruises on my leg are scary.  They run from my butt to my knee and are wide along the entire width of the muscle.  Because the bruises seem to be lasting over a week, Yoshei now puts K-tape on them to increase the blood circulation and heal a little faster, just so we can do more Graston quicker haha. 

I'm a fan, except for day one of therapy.  I feel like I got beat up and am somewhat exhausted from being over sensitive.  I have to be careful how I sit, including using the bathroom (sorry for the visual), because the backside of my legs are in bad shape.  But, after a day, things feel great, and I am sure that in the long run this is going to stop a lot of my reoccurring issues that I never took care of years ago.

Just yesterday I asked Yoshei more about the technique.  Since I have a pretty good understanding of biomechanics and the way PT works, I can hold my own during the conversation.  Basically, Graston aggravates the soft tissue and the fascia of the muscle, inducing inflammation and increased blood circulation in the area, which promotes healing.  The tools he uses serve as basically stethoscopes, to enhance his understanding of what is happening under the skin.  He can find the worst spots as he drags the metal over the muscle and he (and I) feel a speed-bump affect (similar to the feeling/sound when you drive over the side bumps on major highways to make sure you know you are off the road).  I am a trooper, but I don't look so trooper-ish getting in and out of the high-up jeeps in my family. 

In the end, I am a fan of all possibilities to help me improve.  All of ReddyCare's therapists comment on what good shape I am in, how balanced my muscles are, and how strong/big my muscles are, so it's nice to know.  I also like that I feel better and ready to race again.  The bruises make me more intimidating anyway!

Amy Yoder Begley's (10K Olympian) Bruises after Graston on her Calf

She moves like sea breeze.

Moving to Patchogue was a difficult transition running-wise.  Growing up, most of my runs happened in trails.  I lived a mile from Southhaven (where I would run all alone and never be scared, which was really, really dumb of me) and would run from my house to the fenced in park, hop the fence, run across the dam over the river, and through the woods I went.


Also, my mom would bring me to run perimeters at the high school after Cindy Quinn, a Pat-Med coach, ironically, one of Rob's coaches, was raped and murdered within my school district lines.  My mom would sit in the car and watch as I ran along the edge of the high school grounds; then, she would drive to the other side of the parking lot as I ran along the other side of the high school.  What a good mom.


Of course, us Longwood gals also had the blessing of having so many parks right by our high school, so when we had company, we could cruise through the trails of Cathedral or Prosser Pines.  I can still run most of those trails with my eyes closed.  I am a bad guide through those trails because I turn on auto-pilot and just start randomly turning without any warning since they are such second nature to me.


Now, I run the roads, which I have never done on a regular basis.  Even in college I stuck to miles of trails.  But I do have to admit, once I mapped out some routes, sometimes the road does truly rise to meet me.


My favorite and most regular loop is my 7.5 mile-course (ran it Wednesday in 48:33).  Basically, I mapped it craving waterviews.  I start out at my house, run along South Ocean to the water (about 1/2 mile), and loop through Shorefront Park around the bandshell and next to the softball fields. Around this point, just before I reach my first mile mark, I always take a moment (no stopping) to relish the view of the Great South Bay and Fire Island in the distance.  I always feel very lucky to live so close to this spot.


My mile marker is also a pretty special spot. Lombardi's on the Bay, my wedding venue.  Even though the wedding excitement has come and gone, I always try to take a peek to see if there's another bride enjoying her special day.  Likewise, just after the mile marker is where Rob proposed on the dock.

Patchogue View

I do a quick loop on the "L-dock," which is still under construction after Hurricane Irene reeked havoc on our town in late August, ending our summer fun too early.  From there, I charge over to Sandspit, another tiny beach where the Fire Island ferries are stationed.   After I run along the water for a little while, I meander through the town on my way to Corey Beach, my new favorite summer spot to go with girlfriends.  Des and I actually went on the day her baby was born.  She thought her uncomfortable feelings were because she was feeling too hot, but in actually, she was in labor.


Corey Beach marks mile 5, and then I loop back on home to make 7.5.  After a while this loop becomes routine, but I try to keep the precious views in mind and appreciate the beauty I get to see on a regular basis.

My finish line: Home sweet home... I plan to spend a lot of
my summer time enjoying our backyard!

Today, after running this loop, I couldn't help but think that this is my real last weekend of "work." I am done May 9th with all of my schools.  Post, which gives me the brunt of my work, is done May 2.  HALLELUJAH. I am so ready for no work and all summer.


So here are some of my running summer goals (in no order in particular):
1. Win the Summer Series trip again
2. Wake up early and get an a.m. workout in
3. Swim on a regular basis at Patchogue pool
4. Learn to do the flip while swimming
5. Lift more/Do more core
6. Eat an awesome breakfast on pretty plates after the a.m. workout
7. Drink a protein shake after major long runs
8. Hydrate
9. Find a seeded 1/2 marathon for the fall
10. Start researching a marathon....
11. Stretch and roll
12. Keep up on my running log
13. Get up to 75 miles per week
14. Keep my weight in the teens (118 ish) - but throw that idea away if weightlifting makes me a little heavier but fit
15. Get slightly unattractive, scary abs like the ladies in the marathon...just for a little while :)
16. Arrange a Diva workout day
17. Arrange some workouts with Rob's old high school coach
18. Remember to blog about my craziness :)

Ten days :)

                                          Tyrone Wells' Sea Breeze, one of my favorite peaceful summer running songs

If you're a bird, I'm a bird.

My husband decided that the Post XC team should start back up the end-of-year dinner that we used to have when we were on Post XC/TF.  Assistant Coach Tom and Rob decided to set the date and book the venue ("lucky" for us, it was right on campus in the "Top of the Commons." Although it sounds fancy, the "Top of the Commons" is pretty run down).  Since these plans were somewhat last minute, we had slim pickings.  Plus, Rob wanted to book a date that would work for our former coach Andy Young, which also limited us, and he never ended up even coming anyway!


As the date (April 21) approached, I asked Rob what his plans were for the party and was appalled when he explained there was no theme.  A party? with no theme? Not if I could do anything about it.  I gathered up a list of ideas, confirmed some possibilities on Pinterest, researched sale items at Michael's and A.C. Moore, and made a shopping plan of attack.  I could hit at least four Home Goods/Marshall's on my way home from work to pick up supplies on my very limited budget.  


I decided that since "birds" happen to be everywhere for party themes, I could easily incorporate a bird/feather gimmick. (Anyone who knows me knows about my feathers.)  Bird cage centerpieces, bird seed favors, feathers everywhere!  I even found "love bird" stationary to make programs and researched plenty of perfect bird-like quotes to match the decor.


At home, I spent hours making birdseed ornaments (some of which ended up pretty moldy because I wrapped them too soon), printing programs and table numbers, framing awards, writing place cards, and finding old pictures for a slideshow.  Why? I'm actually not too sure.  For my husband? for the team? for the senior? for the parents? for myself? 


The dinner ended up being nice despite a few ridiculous problems.  1. No table clothes on gross tables. 2. No drinks, as in WATER or SODA, which was supposed to come with a buffet order (had to fight a worker to get them) 3. Only 1/2 of the food we ordered showed up.  4. Some of the kids disregarded the speech for another person to obnoxiously/selfishly comment on a picture of them on the slideshow.


On the plus side, my good friend, Toria, and her fiance and a few other alumni came, and the parents seemed pretty grateful.  Also, my husband is an amazing speaker and makes me really proud to be married to such an intelligent man.  He spent a long time giving each athlete a chance to shine as he told the audience about the runner's accomplishments.  And after all was over, Speicher (our men's captain and one of my high school-turned-college athletes) gave a really wonderful and mature speech, thanking Rob and me for who he has turned into.  


I am still misanthropically torn on whether I will ever coach again, despite how pleasant the dinner was.  I tend to let the negative outweigh the positive, because, well, unfortunately, it has weighed me down over the past seven years of coaching.  Nothing ever really goes smoothly. The team as a whole never seems to care as much as I would like them to, as many members of the team have disregarded recruit signings for social affairs, publicly posted how much they hate days that involve running, and made lives of the dedicated athletes fairly miserable. Even as a runner, not a coach, I am usually a loner because of these same typical forms of drama involving other people.


On the other hand, there are several athletes that do show up when there are recruits, post how much they love to run, and remain dedicated despite the bullying.  


And then there is my husband, the real reason I stay. I think sticking with the program means sticking to our own foundations.  Building it gives us a new common goal, although I sure would like to build our own family these days instead, something coaching and our home improvements get in the way of.  Rob glows when he talks about a good workout or a great race.  Leaving would mean leaving his creation, which I am not sure I could do just yet, especially since coaching fills Rob's void from not running.  And we have even worked out a compromise for this year.  I get to work solely behind the scenes, aka paperwork and travel plans, and jump in a workout without coaching concerns whenever I would like.  I'll actually probably spend more time "coaching" in this new role, and although I am sure I will be frustrated, my frustrations will be focused probably on our budget numbers rather than the runners. 


So even though the whole birds of a feather flock together theme worked for the dinner and for the team, I think it more appropriately fits my marriage.  And perhaps, down the road when he is ready, we will fly the coop together.

    (The Notebook's Noah and Allie... One of my favorite parts... And although I can totally be the weirdo making bird noises at the beach, we are not nearly as romantic as these two, but who is anyway?)

Boston Pilgrimage

My Fellow Travelers

We have all probably learned (well, people my age, that is, probably not younger people since they don't even teach grammar OR SCRIPT in schools anymore) about New England's Pilgrims, Puritans, and even Paul Revere. Luckily, I am one of about 20,000 people who know the other side of Boston: Marathon Monday. Last year, after our first visit to the Boston Marathon, Rob and I vowed to return each year, no matter how hectic life became.  Unfortunately, the way Rob's spring break fell this year, Marathon Monday was his first day back to school after a week off; taking off is "frowned upon," and although I am sad he broke his vow, at least it wasn't the more important July 16 vow.  Instead, I gathered up Caitlin and Angela, two Post XC gals, who were just as excited as I was to watch 15,000 runners brave 26.2 miles in 88 degree weather (oh yeah, and take a day off from work/school).


As a track geek and regular nerd, I can't help but throw in one of the most interesting things I learned in school when studying American literature.  As we were headed up to Boston, we passed signs for Salem. Did you know that Salem was named by the Mayflower kin who sailed here to escape religious persecution?  They were in search of their religious motherland, Jerusalem, and cleverly named their settling ground "Salem," yup, minus the "jeru."

Marathon Monday Street Signs

And Caitlin, Angela, and I were in our motherland.  Boston is so incredible because the whole town turns into a running community.  All the stores adopt running themes.  The restaurants and shops give discounts to people who show their bib numbers.  The street signs change meaning, and acceptable attire in fancy restaurants becomes a whole lot more spandex-y. 


Before we set out on our trip, I sent the girls a tentative itinerary (I am the master of to-do lists).  Our (my) goals: meet Alberto Salazar at the Boston Library, find Tom (fellow CWPXC runner) at the Expo, introduce the girls to Pete Hawkins (the elite wheelchair racer I mentioned a while back), run along the Charles River, and grab a nice dinner in probably sweaty clothes.  We did all but one. Sorry, Alberto!


The weekend seemed to fall together perfectly.  We took the ferry over to New London, got into Boston smoothly, and were welcomed by the sight of the Charles River, which was exciting since I wasn't sure how to find the river.  Instead, it seemed to find me.  After driving around for parking near the "Boston Library" (the GPS was actually not taking us to the right spot, which we later discovered was at the easy-to-find finish line of the marathon), we gave up and found an all-day parking garage and planned to walk everywhere.

Tom at the Expo

Two miles of walking later, we met up with Pete and Tom at the Expo! Perfect.  Tom was glowing with excitement; Pete was radiating experience.  One of my favorite moments was when Tom's family disappeared for a minute, after we were having a Gu/Energy Gel discussion, and returned with a handful of Energy Gel treasures.  They were going to do anything to make Tom's race the best it could be.  Another favorite moment was when one of the "slow" wheelchair women kept trying to get Pete's attention, and he wanted to avoid her completely.  He turned to Angela and begged her to pretend they were in deep conversation.  Angela failed miserably and laughed, while Pete humorously hid from the women.


Later we went to lunch with Pete. We had about a 45-minute wait, so we sat outside by the water and chatted about racing and pre-race rituals.  Once our table was ready, we headed inside to a pretty happenin' sports bar.  Pete slid in first and reached under the table to push out the chairs.  We were all impressed with his gentlemanly actions (he ended up refusing to allow us to pay too).  During dinner, Pete answered a lot of our wheelchair racing questions.  He explained that because he has a T6 injury, he only has feeling from chest up, no core, while other racers in the competition do (not an excuse, he will say).  Although I already understood this difference, I learned more.  The lack of core affects the race more than just muscular brute strength. Pete doesn't eat breakfast the morning before a race (a 26.2 MILE race) because he doesn't have the stomach muscles to guard his stomach as he presses on it in his chair.  Likewise, his lung capacity is affected too, since he puts his weight on his lungs and doesn't have the reaction to engage those muscles to not smush them either.  Crazy.


Since Pete knew we walked to the water and were about two miles away from our car, he offered us a ride back to the heart of Boston.  We accepted and got to watch him get into the van.  He uses a strap to belt himself into his chair, and then he reaches into the opening of the van's side doors and pulls himself (and his chair) up into the van.  I like to compare it to what the Olympic gymnasts look like on the rings.  I couldn't help but gasp, "That's impressive."  After lunch and our van ride, the girls were in awe.  As we waved goodbye to our friend, we headed out for more things to do, but commented that we felt bad for leaving our elite friend alone.


Pete dropped us off around Boylston (the last stretch of the marathon) after showing us some of the tactical spots of the course, and we wandered the street and shops, purchasing a cool black jacket for Tom (most people were wearing an ugly orange one) at the marathon shop. Later, we walked to Newberry Street to find the Nike Store.  After a bit of walking and digesting, we headed back to the garage (hard to get in and out of for walkers) and got ready for our run along the Charles.  I packed my credit card and phone, in case we got lost or wanted to go straight to dinner, which we ended up doing.

Caitlin celebrating her 53-min run

We started our run around dusk, so the lights along the river were starting to pop up, about 30 minutes into our run, we had a romantic night run together haha.  We saw the lights of Fenway and ended up running back to Boylston.  I'm pretty proud of Smitty; she completed her longest run (53 minutes) in weeks, still dealing with pains from her new orthodics.


From our run, we walked right into Max Brenner's in our sweaty outfits and feasted on (small) chocolate dinners.  A little while later, we realize that Pete was not alone; he was on a date! at the same place we were.  Of all the places in Boston, we ended up all at the same place again, too funny.


Around 10 p.m., we headed back to the car, walking past graveyards of famous people: Ben Franklin's parents, John Hancock, Paul Revere.  And even though I was there to honor the Mebs, Karas, and Desis of the world, I couldn't help but feel the history nerd come out and think it was the coolest thing in the world that we were passing the resting spots of all of these people who have formed our country. Next trip might have to be a history one.

Elite Wheelchair Racers - Incredible!

By 12, we were at the hotel, showered, and passed out.  The next day, we woke up, got on our bright Big Tom shirts (homemade by Smitty), and headed for our free breakfast, only to realize that the wheelchair race went off earlier than we thought.  We booked it out of breakfast and rushed to mile 4 in Ashland, MA.  We were fully prepared with our Big Toms on a stick and big voices in little bodies.  We arrived at "our spot" exactly as some of the first racers came by; at first we thought we missed Pete and were so disappointed.  They come by so fast, it's hard to spot specific people.  But then, Pete in his blue Under Armor came on by and even took a split second break from pushing to give us a wave.


Later, as we waited for the runners, a few Boston official vehicles drove by.  As I quietly clapped for each of them, I looked up and saw a familiar-looking Kenyan in my sights.  Slowly, it dawned on me that I was looking at Meb, the USA Olympic Marathon Trials winner.  Out of my mouth, I slowly started to cheer, "Meb? Meb! MEB! MEB, MEB! I LOVE YOUUU!!"  I think I was the only person in the area who had any idea who he was, so I looked like a crazy Justin Beiber fan screaming for a hero.  He looked down from the car and laughed and directly waved at me! OH BOY - I don't think I am going to be able to survive Eugene this year!

ABS

Still at mile 4, we watched the elite women runners come by (holy crap, I need to do abs).  And the men, and then Tom.  As the people began to come in hoards, it was hard to search the crowd for our beloved Big Tom, but Smitty spotted him and pulled a Meb cheer.  "Big Tom? Big Tom! BIGTOMBIGTOMBIGTOM!"  Then, we all joined her, screaming for our Beiber-Brouillard.  Because he was in the middle of the road, he made an almost-fatal attempt to cross the crowd to our side.  He settled for a wave and continued, missing the ice cold water that Angela had just gotten him at the gas station.  Later we learned that Tom was with his friend who said that we were screaming so loud that it was a little frightening and informed Tom, "They have your face on their shirts."  The girls and I all admitted that we felt light headed from screaming HA, as we dashed back to the car to head to the finish line.

Angela, Smitty, Me + Big Toms on a Stick

After some traffic, we found a parking spot at a shady parking place.  I threw them my car, paid them, and didn't think twice about what a potential bad idea it was to park there (it ended up being fine, but could have been disastrous).  We hurried along the closed down streets, looking at buses of runners' bags and signs for family waiting areas.  Finally, we shoved ourselves into a hole by the fence to wait for our friends.  Big Tom came a little later than he wanted to, but with 88-90 degree temperature, even the elite men were about 10 minutes off their regular times.  Once Tom ran by, we did our crazy-person cheer. Angela almost jumped over a woman.  And then, we headed toward the family meeting area.


Seeing Tom at the end area would probably make most people rethink doing a marathon.  He threw up a few times and acted almost drunk.  It was a little scary, but there were about ten people who were watching his every move.  Once we got him to lunch and he had some food (including ice cream) in his system, he looked and acted awesome.  We are so proud.  The experience made me realize all of those times I was so down on myself, so many people are still beaming.  I know Tom wasn't too happy with his time, but there was really nothing he could do.  He did awesome, and we all know it!

PROUD!!!!!!!!

So after a weekend in Boston hanging out with awesome runners, I just don't even know how I can handle the excitement of going to Eugene, Oregon for the Olympic Trials in June.  Nine days of all my favorite runners.  Another trip where I will refuse to pack anything but running clothes AND another reason to buy more!  WOOOOOOOOOOO!