Cape 10 Miler Race Report and Maine Masters' Swim Meet Report

Cape Mid-Winter 10 Mile Classic

I love this race because it's in my hometown in Maine. This year a whole troupe of my runner/tri friends were running it. I know I always say it, but this group of friends is a good one. I love coming home to them.
This is the beginning of the race. We were all clustered together and it was impossible to really run. It took at least a minute to get out of it and run free.

I am in the center in the blue jacket. Behind me in blue is Tim, a tri friend, and to his left is Mike, another good tri friend. Both are doing IMLP this year. Just behind Mike is a tall man in red; that's Ange's husband, Mark. Ange is right beside me, but it doesn't look like her in this picture. In the colorful jacket and hat just behind Mark is a friend from high school and a fellow triathlete and swimmer, Steve. Missing in this picture, but close by, are Stacy, another good tri friend, and Jeff, Ange's little brother. Every single one of us finished within two mintues of each other. Neat, huh?

The first half of the race is very hilly, especially mile 2. Still, this part is fast because the downhills are as steep as the uphills. Despite being in that clusterfuck of people in the beginning, I managed to take it out in 7:02. The first mile is largely downhill, so I wasn't too alarmed, even though I was aiming for a 7:15 pace. My big goal was to stay ahead of the men--all named above--until the very end. I knew I wouldn't beat Ange, so I let her go in the first mile.

Here is Mike (in the red) just after the first mile. Doesn't he look fast?? And, yes, importantly, I am ahead of him. Ba haha.

When I was just about at mile 2 I looked at my watch and realized that I had pressed stop instead of lap. Damn! So mile 2 pace was a mystery. I turned back on the watch. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I knew I was keeping a fast pace (for me)--between 7:10 and 7:20 per mile. I worried a bit that I would crash. I haven't done any tempo or speed work, and so therefore didn't feel it would be right if I could hold 7:15s, which was my goal. But I figured if I crashed, I'd crash. Better to be aggressive and try to hold on, than to hold back and not be able to make up for lost time.

Miles 7-9 of this race are just torture in my opinion. They gradually go uphill and it's just unrelenting. Plus you're out on a main strip, and there are no twists or turns to look forward to. I was still holding just under 7:15s, though, so I began to have faith that I could finish up this baby with strength and style. None of the men had passed me. I was all good.

At mile 8 I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Mark, Ange's husband. Rats! Could I hold him off? I managed to stay just ahead of him until about 9.5, which is when he made his move. Double Rats! Not only that, Jeff, Ange's brother was with him. Triple Rats! Beat by two of them! Argh! Mark shouted at me to stay with them--but they were sprinting and I was just toast. Don't you hate it when people tell you to come with them? I was like--well, yeah, I WOULD come with you if I COULD. What-you think I WANT you to beat me??? (kidding. I still love you, Mark... :)

I picked it up as best I was able, and hoped to God the others weren't close behind. They were....

Ange finished up first, of course. Here she is, all in black, storming into the finish. Next was Jeff, her brother, and then Mark.

Here's Jeff, in the shades, finishing up in just over 1:12.
Mark was only a few seconds behind. He's in the red and blue. Next I came in, flipping exhausted, but totally excited that I had held off the other men. I crossed the line, hugged Ange, and then turned to see that Mike and Tim were just behind me! The six of us all finished within one minute of each other. Crazy. Mike is in the red, and Tim was just barely behind him in the blue. Also pictured are Stacy (smiling!), Steve, and my new friend Erin in the red.

After the race Ange and I showered in the locker room of our old high school, and then came out to discover that we had placed 2nd and 3rd respectively in our AG! Yeah! This race is notoriously competitive, and neither of us has placed in the past, even with faster times than we ran this year, so this was a pleasant surprise.

After that, Ange and I got lunch. That was the best part of the day of all. Thanks, Ange.
____________________________________
This last weekend I went to a Maine Masters Swim Meet. What a trip! What I have to say about the meet is this: wow. swim sprints hurt. I had forgotten what it's like to go into anaerobic debt like that! My longest event took just under three minutes, but each event, no matter how short, flipping hurt like hell!

Once again a whole bunch of my Maine tri/runner friends were there: Ange, Jeff (Ange's little bro), Steve--and this time Alina, too and my new friend Ted. Mark (Ange's husband) and Mike were there too with kids in tow, to cheer us on. Mike is a God with the camera, and he took a billion pictures, so this post will be rich with photo!

First off, you should know that I wore the most ballsy blue, sparkly suit. Swimmers aren't a showy lot, that's for sure, so I stuck out completely. My thinking? If not now, WHEN. It's all apart of the mid-life crisis. I'm almost 40. How many more years will I be able to wear a shiny blue suit with pink straps? Not many, my friends. Not many.

Here I am, shiny and proud:
Right after the meet I shot a rock video.

I warmed up for about 800 yards. I felt pretty groggy. The day before Ange and I had taken a bike class with our tri friends (Tim, Mike, Stacy, a bunch of others we knew) and rode for 2.5 hours on Peak's trainers. Then we ran 3 miles. Later that day, Alina and I went out to eat and had an amazing feast at Street & Co in Portland--we're talking apps, dinner, dessert, several glasses of wine, coffee... the works. It was awesome. (Thanks, Bean.) Anyway, after our feast I went home to my parents' house, where I was staying for the weekend, and went straight to bed. It was like 8:30 p.m. (You must remember I had no KIDS with me. Time to catch up on sleep, baby!) I slept until 7:15 the next morning--so we're talking close to 11 hours.

In short, I wasn't feeling too perky.

Add to my lack of perk a big dose of paralyzing fear.

I was not scared of the pain, or of swimming, or any of the events. I was scared of diving off the blocks. I haven't been in a swim meet since I was seventeen years old. That would be -- ummm -- 21 years ago. Diving off the blocks isn't something you do unless you're in a meet, so that's right, it had been 21 years since I had stood on a block and attempted that kind of a dive. Those suckers are really high up. Am I getting wimpy in my old age? BLAHH!

I dove off the blocks a few times in warm-up. The first time I went so deep I could have licked the bottom of the deep end, and I didn't come up for like a half hour. Not pretty. By the third or fourth dive I was doing slightly better. Then I found out that for the backstroke competitors are no longer allowed to put their feet in the gutter to push off on the start. DOUBLE BLAHHH! I tried a few back starts, and frankly, I know I looked positively demented. I did a back flop each time. So not smooth.

Okay! The meet! I've blathered on for so long now, I think I will just say this:
I did seven events. That was way too many. I was really tired. duh.
I loved watching my friends swim. Ange swam a billion events and did things like swim the 100 fly in 1:12 and the 50 fly in 30. My friend Alina did a 1:07 in the 100 fly and she broke 30 in the 50 fly. My friend Steve did a 53 in the 100 free and a 24 in the 50 free. Jeff, Ange's little brother, did a 52 in the 100 free and a 23 in the 50 free. Do you HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FAST THOSE TIMES ARE?

Wicked, wicked fast.

My times were not so fast. Still, I pretty much think I am a swim goddess worthy of worship.

Here are my times:
200 IM-- 2:50
100 free -- 1:10
100 back --1:19
100 IM --1:21 (that's kinda lame)
50 fly --36
50 back --37
50 free --32

None of those times compare to what I did in high school. But whatever. They're fast for a 38 year old mom of three! Plus, I was wearing a shiny blue suit with pink straps. Nothing could keep my mood down.

After the meet we all went out to lunch at some super yummy organic sandwich place in Portland that Steve suggested. I love Portland. I love Maine. I love swimming. I love my Maine buddies. I am lucky to have these things--even if I can't live in Maine, my true home.

Here are a bunch of cool photos from the meet. Thanks, Mike!

Boston Prep 16 Miler Race Report

That's the actual course, btw. It's a keeper.

The short version of the RR:
Man, I just love racing.

The long version of the RR:

The Boston Prep 16 Miler in Derry, NH is legendary around here. Anybody who's anybody has done it, talks about, compares notes about it. I love races like that. Nothing better than bonding over the stupidity of running 16 hill-laden miles in snowy NH in January with single digit temps.

It is a tough course; there's no arguing that. Miles 9-11 are a bear. But there are a lot of downhills, too, of course, so truthfully I think there are courses that are harder than Derry--like say running straight up a mountain or something like that. I also believe that Stu's 30K is harder. Locals will know the debate I refer to.

The day began when I met a bunch of my GNRC compadres so we could carpool to the race. This is one of the benefits to being in a club, I think. Every race is a social event. I like that. Our poor teammate Tom got stuck driving the girls--Rose, Maria and me. Poor guy. We chit-chatted all the way to NH, every once in awhile allowing Tom to pipe in. And then we were there.

One thing I've noted about long distance winter racing in the north: only the really dedicated, psycho, crazily fit and fast runners do it. Everyone was this race was a runner. Everyone was small. Everyone looked ready to rumble. Still, runners are a laid back crowd. They looked fast and mean, but everyone was warm and friendly when you talked to them. I love runners.

A few minutes after we arrived Claire came bounding up to me, seemingly out of nowhere, and wrapped me in a bear hug. It was evident she was really hyped up. Then she admitted it: a cup of Joe from Starbucks was the culprit. Her little Claire body just couldn't take the caffeine hit. From an experienced coffee drinker's perspective, it was little pitiful. (kidding, Claire). Anyway, she was either going to race like a jack rabbit or crash hard. I also got to re-meet Claire's friend Anne, who had traveled up with Claire. She was a little concerned about going 16 given that she'd never run that far before. Turns out this wasn't a problem at all. She and Claire (who ran the Goofy Challenge down in Tampa just two weeks before) both finished up with ease.

It was cold--maybe 10 degrees at the start.
But you know, it's been so freaking butt cold here this winter that it actually seemed okay. I had had on my really warm, really ugly Elmer Fudd hat, gigantic mittens, and then just regular tights, jersey and a jacket, and I was positively warm! Of course, it helped that the first few miles are a steady, hard uphill. I was out of breath within 30 seconds of the race starting.

I ran that whole damn race with people-- but alone. It was great. I love running with people but not actually talking with them. Kind of like how I love to make friends on FaceBook, but I don't actually talk to people on FB that frequently. Anyway, during the race I just watched people, watched my pace, watched a few excellent male runner asses in their little black running tights. It was very pleasant.

Unfortunately, about six miles into the races, I felt that familiar I need a bathroom break feeling. Now, let's be clear. I have no beef with dropping trow in a race. I've done so at virtually every marathon I've ever run. However, in all of those situations (okay, except for Chicago) there was a least a little leaf coverage--AND, importantly, I only needed to pee. Alas, not the case this time. Fields of white snow and occasionally a bare tree dotted the farming, Derry landscape. The snow on the side of the road was several feet deep. In order to take a crap I'd have to stop, sink deep into the snow with my little, still-dry shoes, dig a hole, drop trow in front of a gazillion peaceful runners and well. You get the picture.

And I had 10 miles to go.
10 miles of steep, steep HILLS to go.
Party on.

The picture says it all: Please God, get me a fucking porta-potty right now! I focused hard. I focused on the runners, the next water stop, the beginnings of the achy feeling in my feet and quads. I focused on how I only had ____ more miles. It was, to say the very least, a bummer.

But it turned out okay. I really wasn't supposed to race this race--and well, I guess I really wasn't going to! I did still work as hard as I could without incurring any dire consequences-- like say, shitting myself.

The race ended rather unceremoniously. I had seen not one person I knew while I was racing, and there were quite a few people out there I knew! The last mile was downhill, and I was grateful to just let my body move as best as it was able to under the circumstances. I was thrilled to see that finish line. Bathroom, here I come!!

Final time: 1:09:33. 8:06 pace.

I saw many of my friends at the end--who had finished ahead of me, of course! Rose had absolutely crushed the course and ran a 7:43 pace. Really, that's amazing. The course has some serious ascents, and keeping the pace is extraordinary. Plus, her splits were really even. Impressive.

Okay. I'm sick of writing this report. Maybe I'll finish her up tomorrow.

Frostbite 15k Race Report

The race that wasn't.

Eight of us piled into one big truck and headed down to race on Sunday morning. Sure, it had been snowing, sure we could barely drive the snowy roads, sure they weren't expecting the snow to end any time soon.

But we are New England runners--hard core and determined. (and also maybe stupid?) We were sure that any race set for mid-January would go off no matter what. Why else hold a race in January, after all? Of course there might be a little chill in the air, a little snow on the ground, a little ice here and there! But what's 10 inches of driving snow among friends?

Apparently the Rayhnam police did not concur. They shut the race down. We were deflated.

Fuck them. We decided to run the race anyway. We found a few runners from other clubs and set out. The footing was, well, not very good. We were determined, however. We may be running 9 minutes per mile, but we were going to run, damn it!

It was actually very beautiful outside. The snow was the heavy, wet type, and it covered the tree branches in thick clumps. I tried to appreciate it, and the company of other, like-minded crazy people who think it's normal to run 10 + miles in a snowstorm. The snow had really accumulated by the time we had run about 7 miles. It became increasingly difficult to getting footing, and most of us stupidly didn't have yaktraks on (or whatever those things are called). We slipped all over the place, tried not to curse, and finally made it back to the race start.

It was a disappointment not to race. I was feeling the need to suck wind violently and really hurt. However, even had the race gone off I wouldn't have been able to really race it. sad, sad, sad.

I've never wanted to move to the south more than I have wanted to this winter. I'm a Mainer, born and bred, and a little wintertime weather doesn't usually affect me that much. But it's been a bitterly cold and snowy winter so far in New England. And it's only mid-January. We have a long way to go.

Next up: Boston Prep 16 Miler. I haven't run more than 11 at one time since--- ummmmmm. Since a long, long time. This race should be interesting! I'm hoping to finish with my chin up. That would be good.

Oh, it's so hard to be good....

I've been chastising myself quite a bit lately. I swore after Worlds I would just chill for awhile and not worry about progress. I convinced myself that progress would be made if I just gave myself a break, both physically and mentally.

The problem is, it's been a real struggle to get back to the mental state that allows me to focus completely on my goals in triathlon. Of course there is daily fare that doesn't allow me to focus completely. I work, I have three demanding (but lovable, OF COURSE) little cherubs and also a spouse (cherub 4), and I do have a house, though I would be lying if I said I keep it tidy. But outside of those things I have been very good in the past 3 years of just devoting everything else to my athletic pursuits.

Right now, though, I am struggling. I still do the workouts, but my mind is in outer space. I'm distracted. I'm distracting myself. It's almost as as if my brain is refusing to hunker down and focus exclusively on one thing. It's gotten a taste of the rest of life, and suddenly it wants to do other things-read, write, plant, stare at the wall and think.

This week I was quite good. I ate relatively well, I completed nearly all of the workouts I was supposed to. But relatively well is not going to bring me the season I want. I know that. Each morning I wake with the idea that THIS will be the day I fully commit. But then by noon I've had a handful of chocolate chips, a slab of coffee cake, too much coffee, and I contemplate going out to dinner with xxx friend instead of getting in that second workout.

It's not too late. And I'm pretty good about forgiving myself and moving on. But I've got to get my act together, because one's base DOES count. Late January to Late July is not that long a stretch of time. I need to get it done.

I need some MOJO. If you have any--please send it my way.

My Dog Does This Thing....

I think my dog is a perverted old man.
In dog years he between 91-98 years old if you use the old seven years = one human year thing.
So he's old.
He smells.
He has rotten teeth.
He hobbles around pathetically. He has trouble getting up and down stairs. It takes him a half hour to sit down.
He sleeps all day.
He's deaf.

So you'd think his, um, sex drive would be turned off, right? Done? Finito?

Catch this. Every time I start riding the trainer he gets a hard on. He's fixed! He has no scrotum! And yet there it is.
Yep. The hum of the trainer does it every time. He gets up on all four and starts humping the air. He moves closer to the trainer and tries to thrust into it like it's a young virgin pup. He humps across the room, crashing into his sister, and lifting her legs to check out her smell.
It. is. repulsive.
It is also hysterical.

What is up with THAT?

____________________

What else do I have to say?
I need to become perfect.
I need my life to become only about the following things:
1. family.
2. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
3. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
4. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
5. no more junk food. no more drinking.
6. no more staying up late.
7. no more sleeping in.
8. no more messing around.

Game on.

It would be lovely to have a Friday night glass of wine and some pizza, though.
haha

Wrentham Lions' 5k Race Report Etc

I did not wet myself or barf, so that's good.
I did suck some serious wind, though, and running in the horrible conditions of New Year's Day triggered a sinus infection.

But I won the race for women, and that's what counts, right?

This was a really small, low-key neighborhood type race. I'd estimate maybe 100 came out to run it. The timing was done by stop watch, and the course was closer to 3 miles than a 5K. Still, of course I had fun. I love to race. I love to race especially when there's a chance I might win.

A bunch of my teammates from GNRC came out to run the race. I warmed up for 20 minutes with my friend Maria. It was both good and bad that we got out there before the start. It was good in that I knew what was coming. It was bad in that I knew what was coming. It was about 5 degrees. It was windy. It was bitter. There was snow thickly covering the roads, and literally no traction was possible. It was, ummm, not a great day to race. Or maybe it was. I suppose it depends on how one views it....
In my mind it was a great day to race. Every day is a great day to race.

The start was extremely informal. We lined up, the director said, GO! and we were off. I went out fast. I knew there was traction for the first mile or so, and I figured I should take advantage of it while I had the chance. For about 10 seconds I even led the race. This was a first for me. I had a moment of panic realizing if I led, I'd have to know where to go. Then some guy passed me. Worry gone! voila!

The first mile I was quite fast, but I don't know how fast because there were no mile markers. There may have been markers at some point, but they were either buried in snow or blown away. I didn't have my Garmin on because I had stupidly left it in Maine the week before. I did receive it via UPS on Friday--. oh well. Anyway, I bet my first mile was under 6:30 pace. Then things got ugly. The last mile and a half of the race was pure torture. We hit the snow--deep enough so that you couldn't get your footing--and trudged on. I bet my pace slowed to nine minutes miles, if that. I simply couldn't run fast! It was like running on the beach--only with 5 degrees temps. By this point at least ten guys had passed me, including my teammates Tom and Michael, but a woman had yet to track me down. It occurred to me. I could win it.

I tried to push. I turned a corner and peered back to see if I could spot any female competitors. I saw Maria's tell-tale yellow jacket. How far was she behind me? fifteen seconds? twenty?

I did my best to hammer the last 1/4 mile. Basically I just violently sucked wind and spun my wheels. And then it was done. I was the first female! Yeah! Maria came zipping in behind me, only about 15 seconds behind. A little while later my friend Melissa came in. Our club took the top three spots for females! I placed 14th overall.

My time was only a 22:20--and I know it wasn't even a 5k. The winning time was only a 20:20, though, so I didn't feel too terrible about the pace. Later my friend Tom told me that the man who won it had gone under 19 the week before in a 5k. So our times were off by at least 1:30. A 22:20 is slow, but a sub 21 I'd take for sure.

We hung around in Tom's Tavern after the race eating the pub breakfast and waiting for awards. It was fun.
Good to start the year with a win.
Good to start the year feeling strong.
Good to start the year knowing that I can take it. I can take the cold, I can take the heat, I can take what life hurls at me, or what I hurl at life. I can and I will.
________________________________

I followed up the race by doing a tough bike workout the next day with squats and lunges and jumps interspersed. It was a Jen special. I had no idea how much I'd pay.
I cannot walk.
I have never had such a sore ass in my life. really.

My next race is a 15k in a few weeks. I'm not ready in terms of mileage, but I'm ready in my heart.
Life is short.
I'm not young. But I'm not too old yet.

I want to run hard.

It Needs to Be Fun

It's no secret, since I constantly blab about it, that this year I have been sort of in a mid-life crisis. These last few weeks the crisis has been rather acute. I feel like a teenager--and, well--I've sort have been acting like one. But one good thing about the teenage years is that the desire to live life to the fullest and have fun is sort of a constant. I want to tap into that more. I know it's the reason I train and do triathlon. Triathlon is a game. It's play. It's a social outlet. It's a release. It provides me with a goal and a purpose.

However, triathlon can become, like everything else if you let it, a chore.

For me it becomes most chore-like when it's all about the training and the end result of one big race. It's generally fun to get caught up in the how-to's of training and the big race. We work on nutrition, on mindset, on the key workouts, on racing at the right time, for the right reason, at the right intensity-- all in service to the mother fucker of all goals that particular season--the A Race.

And that's fun.
Until it's not.
I believe I am a great athlete with a huge appetite for hard work and an ability to excel. (Well, I believe that usually. or maybe sometimes. okay, in theory I believe it.) I believe that if I execute my season as I should I will come out on top--whatever that may mean for me.

But I won't/can't/don't want to totally sacrifice the fun for the ultimate goal. I love to race, and NO, I'm not going to give that up because I may be a 1/2 hour faster at IM if I do. I also love food and drink (like cake, and pizza, and beer, and a nice stiff drink every once in awhile), and I also love to just take the day off sometimes and sit on my ass, and I also love to chit chat in the pool sometimes instead of moving on immediately to the next set, and sometimes I'd rather just run with my buddies at an average pace then do the workout as prescribed.

But here's the rub.

I need to have fun. I deserve to have fun.
I can't be a total and complete slave to a goal that doesn't allow me to suck joy out of every part of life--the training buddies, the racing, the food and drink, the party, sitting on my ass watching movies with my kids...

Working hard and committing to a killer goal like doing IM and doing it well is a form of sucking joy from life. But if you let it, I believe it can also suck the joy from you and leave you empty.

This is what my mid-life crisis has taught me so far.
Among other things.

2009 Racing Schedule: Approved Version or.... Yeah, Baby!

I have consulted with Jen, and I have a pretty solid race schedule set up for 2009. It includes plenty of winter road racing, plenty of room to become a zombie without racing during high training before Lake Placid, and a few end of the season races. I'm. wicked. psyched.

First I want to say that this season I'm running with/ for two teams--the Greater Norwood Running Club and Team Nor-Easter. GNRC includes some of the best running companions anyone could ever find, and Team Nor'Easter (a tri team associated with Peak Peformance In Portland, ME) lets me connect with all of my new, awesome Maine triathlon friends. It's going to be a great season. I know it.

And now....

2009 Racing Schedule

Jan. 1: Norfolk 5K
Goal: To not barf or wet my pants. To get my HR max for Jen. To not allow my heart to explode. To not hate myself for how slow I will be.

Jan. 18: Frostbite 15K
Goal: To win the top spot in our club. Two of my teammates who have outraced me here in the past cannot race that day... so maybe I have a chance. You never know. Right Mel? Right Maureen?

Jan. 25 Boston Prep 16 Miler in Derry, NH
Goal: To not allow myself to give into my extreme need to race and just allow myself to do this as a training run. I've never been able to achieve this, but I will really try, because the week after that I want to really kick butt.

Feb. 1 Cape Classic 10 Miler, Cape Elizabeth, ME
Goal: To PR. This is ambitious, but it's my goal. To outwit, outpace, and plain outrun people who think they have a chance at beating me, but who are downright kidding themselves.

Feb. 8: Back to Maine to compete in a Cape Masters Swim Meet
Goal: to enter every event, and to PR in every event. This is possible since I haven't done a swim meet since I was 17 years old.
Me versus 17 year-old-me. The lowdown-
She was a wimp. I am not.
She was heavy and lazy. I am not.
She was young. I am not.
She was nubile, fresh, alive and held hope for a perfect life. I am over that.

I think the current me has a good shot to smoke the past me.

Feb. 15: Foxborough Flat 10 Miler, Foxborough, MA.
Yes, I know you are realizing that I'm racing every weekend. Exactly. Perfect.
Goal: to PR at the 10 mile distance. I think this is possible given the only other 10 milers I've done are the Cape Classic 10 miler and the Apple Harvest 10 miler. Both are really hilly, and this course, as stated in its title, is flat.

March 15: New Bedford 1/2 Marathon, New Bedford, MA
Goal: Okay, I really dislike this course. My goal here is to make up with it. Last time I was there I swore I'd never return. However, it's a Grand Prix event, and I plan to be a contender this year in the Grand Prix, so it's a must.

June 6: Lancaster Half Iron or the the New Revolution 1/2 Iron in CT. Not sure which yet. Certain friends want to know, though, right Mel? So I better decide.

Maybe a Sprint or an Oly between June 6 and July 26. Not sure yet. It depends on how much of an energy hole I am in given my training for L.P. I've been told I won't be able to/want to do much. I've been told I will be miserable, exhausted and dead. Am I twisted in that I can't wait for this?

June 25-28 Lake Placid Training Camp with Team Nor'easter--and with Ange! not a race, I know, but I'm really excited about it.

July 26. IM Lake Placid
Goal 1: to finish.
Goal 2: to finish running as opposed to crawling
Goal 3: to finish up with a strong marathon--under 4 hours.
Goal 4: to go under 12 hours
Goal 5: to go under 11:30
Goal 6: to go under 11 and qualify for Kona

Goal 6 is more than a little bit of a stretch, but it's the off season, and I'm dreaming big.

Sept. 12 Pumpkinman Half Iron
or
Sept. 20 Lobsterman Olympic
No goals here at this point-

Oct 25 Marine Corp Marathon, Washington D.C.
Goal: Sub 3:20.

I still have to flesh out the fall schedule. You never know--big things could happen (like Kona??? haha--you know you have to dream...)

I want to know who's joining me at each of these races. Hmmm?
Can you hear me best, dearest, local running buddies?

Yesterday I finally pulled out the weights and the bosu ball.
My upper body is so sore today I can barely lift my arms. Makes me think that -- yes, it's true -- I am super duper out of shape.

I have a long way to go before I become the buff, superstar Mary that I plan to be -- someday. It's that someday that keeps us (well, okay, me--and maybe you-- I don't know.) going.
Thank God for it.

Forgive Me

Blogger friends. I have been absent for a long time. I had a little blog vacation. But I'm back, better than ever, ready to blog my little tush off and respond to all of your posts asap.
I've been busy dealing with you know--stuff. Stuff happens and you have to deal with it. I dealt. Actually, I'm still dealing, but I miss you all, so I came back before all messiness has been ironed out. And actually, the messiness will never get completely ironed out, right? enough said.

Let's talk racing.
I am ready to race.
I know I will suck, but I am ready to race.
I. miss. it.

So what's on the docket?
A quick New Year's 5K at which I will likely suck wind so violently and die so completely that I will wet myself, or throw up or both. Bring it on.

A little 15k in mid-January. I will still likely suck at that point, but hopefully it will not be as ugly as the 5K.

Then, if coach approves, I plan to travel with my club to Derry, NH in mid-January to do the legendary Boston Prep 16 Miler. I've done it before, and it is truly an ass-kicking adventure. I love, love that race.

Next--a Feb. 1st 10 miler up in my hometown that is lovely and cold and hilly. I haven't missed running this race in years. I even ran it once when pregnant (well, barely pregnant, but still) and I ran it three months after giving birth to my second baby.

The following weekend I am off to Maine again for a swim meet at the Cape Elizabeth High School pool! Wahoo! I'm a little nervous about the diving off the blocks, I must admit. But I'm still so excited. A swim meet!

Finally, again if coach approves, I will run Stu's 30K in early March. This is also an ass-kicking adventure--probably even hillier and tougher than Derry, which as I mentioned earlier, is legendary for its hills.

I don't plan to go all out for all of these races (Derry/Stu's not all out; Frostbite & Cape 10 miler, definitely all out.)

I don't know after that. As I get close to IMLP I know I will have to really hunker down and just focus on my workouts. I'm prepared for that. But early on? I want to play--just a little.

I am completely unprepared for Christmas. I have been squirrelling away a few gifts for the kids, but other than buying scooters for my youngest two and a Simon for my oldest, I haven't been very focused in my shopping. I am really excited about that Simon, though. Did you have one as a kid? I loved that toy! I know I will steal it from her and get obsessed with playing it.

I just ordered two awesome Splish suits for myself for Christmas.

Alas I don't have the boobs to fill them out. Nevertheless, I'm so excited. They are both fun, and right now I am feeling I need a little fun.
Okay, okay, I always feel like I need fun.

The fun helps to smooth the messiness that never goes away.

blah blah blah

So this was supposed to be my first week back at REAL training. But I'm still sort of in lala land. Jen gave me a few good swim workouts, and it's been fun to be in the pool, see all of my swim friends, and try to swim a pace that is not too upsettingly slow compared to where I was a mere three weeks ago.

Man, fitness goes fast. I was a rockstar just three weeks ago! Now I am wondering if I will ever be fast again....
Of course I will be.
It's good to be slow right now. It's good to be slow right now. It's good to be slow right now.
BLAH BLAH BLAH

This is why I dislike taking time off from training. It's not that I dislike the time off. I've been living it right up in my time off! Who can argue with sleep, wine, and good food? No, it's that after time off you have to kick your own ass BACK into shape, which is an extremely trying and somewhat disheartening project.

But it's a project. And the thing is, I adore new projects.

Although my racing schedule hasn't been completely developed (or approved) yet, I have it in my head that I will get in a few good road races this winter. I also have certain little rivalries (most of which are in my head) which are getting me fired up to kick some ass this winter.

I've just put the followers tool on my blog and I am so psyched about it. I love finding out who actually reads my drivel! I know I've been very lame about posting, and also that my posts of late have been less than inspiring, but if you read me, add your blog to my followers list. Please. It makes me feel good.

I've Got To Begin Again...

But I don't know where to start.... Yes I've got to begin again.... and it's hard. It's harrrrrrrrrrrdddddddddddd. I'll give you a dollar if you know who sings that tune. Hint. The song is old. And he sang it when he was young. I actually do know where to start, of course. I just have mixed feelings about doing so. These last few weeks have been a brief visit to the world that once was--the world before training. Sure, I've been competing in road races since I was a young tot in my early twenties, but I didn't start training until 2005 after my youngest was born, and I really didn't start seriously, seriously training until I signed up for a 1/2 Ironman in the winter of 2006. Before training I used to read a lot. Okay, I still read a lot. But I used to not feel guilty about reading a lot. It was what I did. For awhile I was even a reviewer for The Horn Book Guide, (which I know means nothing to any of you reading this, but if this were a lit. blog, it would) and so it was actually my job to read. Well, I guess technically it's still my job to read since I'm a librarian. But I digress... These last three weeks I began to revert to my old reading ways. And it's been really nice. And it's about to end, because training is about to take the front seat again in terms of priority. I only have so many hours a day which I am able to devote to me, me, me and my triathlon obsession. Kids, the hub, work, house. These things take the majority of my time--and then training fills in every remaining gap, nook, hole--and even encroaches, of course, on the kids, the hub, work, house... Once I take the plunge into the training abyss it will be a long while before I can come up for air again. This week I ran every day except for Thanksgiving. I would have also run on Thanksgiving except I was blessed with a stomach bug that pretty much took me out of all running/eating activities for the day. Running every day isn't training, of course. It's indulging in my love for running--especially my love of running at any easy pace for not too long. Tomorrow I will get up early, early, early and hit the pool. And that begins the training. One good thing about emerging from the training fog for the last three weeks is that I've developed more clarity on what I want to do--you know--like in life. This is somewhat of relief to me since for awhile there I completely lost my direction. I read about a billion books on aging and mid-life crisis, and though I doubt reading any of them helped more than a smidgen, the collective result is that I am ready to press on, where no me has gone before! Well, sort of anyway. I have a vision now. It will take awhile to implement the vision, but the important thing is I have one. It's November, and it's cold, and it's raining, which makes me think of that song by Guns n' Roses. Axl has made a comeback, even if he's receiving some bad press about his less than intelligent album title. And now it's time for my comeback. (I know comeback is a bit hyperbolic a term given I've only been on break for three weeks. Humor me.) Humor me -- because I am now starting my journey toward IRONMAN. Bring it on.

I feel fat.
and gross.
and lazy.
and indulgent.
and very, very grumpy.
and also very boring.

It is time to start moving again.

As a farewell to my final days in slothdom, I had a weekend away with my college girlfriends. My friend Steph is biting the bullet and getting married, and we needed to celebrate. It was fabulous. We slept late, got massages, went shopping for jeans, rented a limo and had an awesome and expensive dinner at which we drank too much and laughed loudly. Here we are in the limo:

But, sighhhhhh, now I am home.

I have been thinking about my race calendar for 2009. Obviously the most central event will be Lake Placid, but I'm trying to figure out what B and C races will round out the year. When you're not training it's easy to get overly ambitious. I have to watch that. The hub. is doing a 140 mile ride in mid-June, so hopefully we will get in a few centuries together in prep. for that and for my race at L.P.

Maybe when I begin training again my become posts will become a little more zesty.

Speaking of zest, I need to bring an appetizer to Thanksgiving dinner. Any suggestions?

A Nice, Cold, RUN

The air has been biting for the last few days. It's the kind of cold you can taste. I love the way it feels to breath in the coldness when I'm running. Even though winter gets old very fast here in New England, I still couldn't live anywhere else. I'd miss that bite. I'd also miss the crunch of the snow beneath my feet. It's a very specific type of crunch. I remember going to Florida when I was in sixth grade--for only a week--and returning to Maine. Leaving the airport to get to the car after we'd returned I crunched over the snow, and I remember thinking, "ahh.... I missed that."

I was supposed to wait two weeks before resuming training. But I had a free hour today after work, and I just couldn't let it go. So I went out. The first 20 minutes felt fresh. The last 10 minutes I felt tired and wondered why I had hankered so much to get out there. It was weird for me to think that the last time I had run was on my race run at Worlds.

Not running for 12 days is a record of sorts for me. I haven't gone that long without a run since my youngest daughter was born--so basically 3.5 years. After she was born I told myself I'd never go longer than a few days without a run ever again. I ran through all of my pregnancies, but it gets hard toward the end, and you always end up with a few months of no real aerobic exercise.

World Championship 70.3 Race Report

Black Beauty did her job well. __________________________________ One of my goals in my triathlon career was to go under 5 hours in the 70.3. I knew it was possible, but I didn't think it was in my near future. Still, Jen had me believing that if I could put my fear aside and just go for it, I could have the race of my life at Clearwater. Throughout the race I remembered Jen's words--even when things got really tough on the second loop of the run and I could no longer hold the pace I was gunning for. I just kept repeating to myself, "This is the race of your life. You are HAVING the race of your life." And it was. _________________ It almost wasn't, though. On Thursday after a half day of work we left MA, kids and dogs in tow, to drive to Maine. The plan was to drop the dogs with my in-laws, the kids with my mom, drive to Peak Performance in Portland to pick up the race wheels I was renting, and then head to the Portland airport. When we arrived at the airport everything was oddly dark. In fact, it looked rather like--THERE WAS NO POWER. A flight attendant stood with a mike at check in. "I'm sorry to report there has been a large traffic accident close by which has taken out power to the entire airport." pause. "We have no computers and no way of checking you in." pause. grumbling from patrons. "We have been told power will not be restored for at least six hours. We have canceled all flights until tomorrow morning." Oh .Sweet. Jesus. My heart began racing and I felt weak. Leaving Portland, Maine on Friday morning would not get me to Clearwater in time to check in before 2 pm, the cutoff. Andy took out his Blackberry and began checking flights from Boston. Could we make it there by 6 pm and fly to Tampa from there? Nope. Already four, and the trip takes 2.5 hours. All over. All that hard work and I would likely not get there in time. And then, without ceremony, the lights came back on. I almost wet myself in relief. I'm not lying. Everyone began milling around, smiling. A line immediately formed at check in. After getting our boarding passes we went to our gate and I sat in numb relief. The flight was still delayed, though, so we decided to get food and a beer (not a good pre-race strategy, I know) and tried to stay cool, hoping we would catch our connecting flight out of JFK. We did make the connection, and the rest of the trip was long, but uneventful. We arrived in Tampa at 12:30 a.m. We were in our hotel room at the Hilton by 2 a.m. This is what I want to know. What the hell was I thinking when I booked this flight? 2 a.m.? The possibility of things going awry and missing the race entirely? Am I insane? A 1/2 day of work on Thursday was not worth the 2 a.m. arrival. Live and learn. We woke rather late on Friday morning, and headed down to get a nice hotel, buffet breakfast. It was here that reality totally hit. Everyone, everywhere was decked in Ironman attire. Finishing t-shirts from various 140.6 events, tiny bike shorts revealing muscular, shaved legs, wetsuits half donned over ripped bodies, M-Dot tattoos, sickly sexy bikes being pushed through the lobby, voices using foreign languages I couldn't recognize. I began to feel sick. Ange and Mark met us after breakfast. They had arrived the afternoon before and Ange had already completed her pre-race, Friday workout. I, on the other hand, had not signed in, gone to the meeting, found my bike, put my race wheels on, organized my bags and I had not BEGUN to think about the quick swim, bike and run I had hoped to get in. And it was already almost 11 a.m. Let us just say I was on the tense side. Andy, in an exasperated voice, kept reminding me to breathe. I checked in and got my blue band, and then began the long process toward being ready to go race morning. By five I was done. UEUEU! Bags organized and turned in, bike racked complete with race wheels, workouts done, fluids and pre-race breakfast prepared and put in the fridge, chat with Jen complete, clothing laid out. I had even checked in on the home front. I was able to chat with Alina (the bestest friend any person could have) and my mom, who were sharing responsibility for our kids. The kids were in heaven, of course. All was fine. I flopped on the hotel bed. I had made it. I was here. It was going to happen. The four of us (Ange, Mark, Andy and I) had dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Ange and I tried to keep calm, tried to reassure eachother, tried not to let our overwhelming anxiety ruin the meal. Over dinner I continually looked at Ange and felt like I should pinch myself. We were here! We were doing this! And more than anything I kept thinking, I'm so glad Ange and I are sharing this. We've been on this triathlon journey together since the beginning. We've shared every big race since the start and we will continue to share them in the future, including Lake Placid, our first Ironman. I love that girl! Okay. enough sentiment. onward. I slept well considering I was shitting myself. I was up at 4:30 a.m. to eat and get ready, and by 5:05, Ange and I were getting body marked. The body markers used stamps. How cool is that? As we walked into transition to check on our bikes everything became sort of surreal. The lights were blazing and the bikes looked otherworldly--shiny and carbon and so hot--every. single. one. Perfect bodies milled about. Athletes were stoned-faced--pumping tires, filling aero-bottles, lubing up with Body Glide--just like any other triathlon, except that the pavement was clean of all transition garb and it was clear, there were no newbies here. These people meant business. "Ange,"I said, "we're not in Kansas anymore..." We did see a few people we knew in transition. I saw a QT2 uniform, and introduced myself to the guy wearing it who is one of Jesse's athletes from D.C. His name is Matt Powell, and he ended up getting a 4:12 or something sick like that. I also met Katie, a fellow blogger, and Gina, who used to be a teammate and who I had met at Timberman. It was especially fun to see Gina who is so fun and bubbly and made me feel more relaxed. Transition closed at 6:30 and we made our way to the beach where we found Andy and Mark. At this point, I was a wreck. The sun was rising and the beach was gorgeous but I couldn't focus on it. The air was electric with nerves and thunderous music and the announcer, who every minute reminded us we were one minute closer to the pros going off. A helicopter descended just before the beginning of the race, and that added intensity too. Andy captured a little of it on film. Finally Ange and I left the husbands and headed down to the wave bins. There was a huge screen set up that magnified the swim, so that when the  canon went off we could see the pros close up. Andy Potts was alien he was so fast. It just was bizarre. I swear he only took like six or seven strokes between each buoy, and those buoys were far, far apart! We heard he was the first out of the water. Julie Dibens was the first woman, which was no surprise to me. I DVR'd Ironman St. Croix 70.3 and I watch it when I work out on the trainer, so I have seen Julie Dibens crush her competitors in the water more than once. (She broke the swim record there but some crazy amount...) I was really excited when I heard the announcer yell that Elizabeth Fedofsky was finishing the swim. Elizabeth and Bree are the two pros I route for and follow most closely. They are both women of incredible strength, determination and character. Finally the female 35-39ers were called to the front bin. I felt a calm come over me. Soon I would be in the race and I could stop stressing about it, and just DO IT. I hugged Ange, walked to the line, and then turned myself inward, ready to get wet and start suffering.  I didn't start as fast as I had planned. I was expect a frenzy, but it didn't come, and I just couldn't get my body to MOVE. I began to search for a person to draft, but I was alone. Was I one course? Sight. Yep. On course. Then I smashed arms a few times with a woman, so I knew I was okay. I stepped up my pace, but the lead pack was gone. Stay calm. Push harder. I pulled ahead of the girls around me and then I found one: a girl just ahead of me. I set my sights on getting on her ankles. I spent the WHOLE swim trying to catch her! I was too far to get a good draft. It was frustrating. I was able to push pretty hard the whole swim, but of the whole race, the swim is where I really feel like I could've given more. Still, it was solid. Here you can see that Ange finished, wisely and with great speed, with the lead pack. I was a few minutes behind, ALL ALONE and clearly very focused! I was in 18th position out of 67 in my AG out of the water with a time of 30:38.  Transition was slow because of the whole get the bag and go to the tent thing, but I still kind of liked it. It was clean. I was out of there in 3:30. Onto the bike. As soon I was got on the course I felt fast. The course was just so light! so fast! the pavement was so clean and free of debris! The only problem was that I was all alone. What? Where was everyone? I spent the first 30 minutes only seeing a few people. But I was still flying. I was averaging 21.5 mph. I couldn't believe it! Was this me? I felt so smooth! When I crossed the first timing mat all I could think was, "Andy will catch that on his Blackberry! He'll know I'm kicking ass!" and it spurred me on. At this point I had finally found people. Most were trying to race clean races, it was clear. I played cat and mouse with a guy whose bib read Jason for at least 10 miles, but we both tried hard to pull forward and drop back in the required, legal way. My first pack of riders plowed past me at about an hour into the ride. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. These people were riding in A PACK!! How dare they! I've never seen anything like it! It was all I could do to refrain from screaming, "Cheaters!" at the top of my lungs. Jen had warned me it would be like this, but it was still startling how brazen it was. Where were the officials? I forced myself to refocus on my own race. They would have to live with themselves; they would know that their respective bike times weren't real. I was passed by probably six or seven packs by the end of the ride. All of them had about 15 riders, most of them men. Cheaters. Losers! Anyway. Despite that I tried not to draft at all, of course I benefited from the gajillion riders out there. A draft is created no matter what when riders are close by, but the pack thing is just blatant, disgusting, disheartening, and wrong. Enough diatribe. Despite my annoyance with the packs, I was having fun. I was pushing hard, going fast, and I felt like I could go on like this all day. Whenever the idea that I had to run next crept into my head I pushed it aside. Deal with the run when you run. Ride without fear. Just do it. I finished the ride in 2:34:50. That's an average of 21.8 mph. I still can't get over that bike split. I worked the bike hard at Timberman and finished 20 minutes more slowly. Comparing Timberman to Clearwater is like comparing oranges and apples, of course. They are totally different things. Timberman just knocks one out with its hills, and at Clearwater there are no hilly surprises, just miles of flat pavement. Very fun! You'll note in the picture I am alone. Surprisingly, I spent a lot of the ride solo. It was a treat to have the volunteers take my bike. I tried to run to get my run bag with my bike shoes still on, and then realized it would be much faster to take them off right then. I stopped in the middle of the path, of course, and a competitor almost ran me over. Oops! Sorry! I yelled as he ran off. I raced to the bag, then the tent, and got out faster than I had for T1. The run hurt immediately. I hadn't felt the heat on the bike, but now on the run I knew it must be at least 80 degrees and there was no cloud cover. Maybe for Floridians this weather was fine, but for we Northerners it was pretty hot! We had a balmy fall, but that means temps were in the 50s, not the 80s! My body was definitely a little shocked. I didn't wear my Garmin. I had for Timberman, and I think I didn't push as hard as a result. With the Garmin you can look at your average pace, and if it's staying sort of the same, you feel confident you're okay. With just your Timex on you run in fear. That's what I wanted. I didn't know how fast I was taking out the run. I just knew it didn't matter that it hurt. I was going to kill this run. Turns out my first mile was a 7:02. Oops. I wanted to go out strong, but that was too strong. I dialed it back a little, but not much. I knew I probably couldn't' keep this pace, but my goal was to race without fear, and that meant going as hard as I could manage RIGHT NOW without regard to the last miles of the race. One thing I will say is that although the run wasn't hilly, it was NOT flat. We had to go up and over that damn bridge four times, and it was tough. There was no breeze going over the bridge, and the pavement was white/bright/burning. There was a breeze through the neighborhoods, which was odd, I thought. I knew that with each mile my pace was slowing, but I kept putting out as much as I could despite my fading. My first loop I averaged about 7:45 pace, and that was good. On the second lap I really was suffering, but I just kept forcing negative thoughts out of my head. Do what you can do THIS mile. Keep strong. You hurt, but you've hurt like this before. Just keep at it. My pace dropped to 8:09 or so for the second loop. In retrospect this is disappointing in that I dug really deep, and that's what I pulled out. Still, it was good enough for a 1:44 run. A hell of a lot better than my run at Timberman! The shoot was LONGGGG, and I just lived it up, even though I was so hurting I thought I might boot. I was really going to go sub-five. I had done it! Ange was right at the finish, and after I crossed I just hugged her so tight. My time was a 4:55:58. Ange did a 4:42. We were so, so excited. Here she is at the end of her run: And here we are at the end! _______________________________ Post Race. Ange placed top five in our age group and I was number 25 our of 67. Not too shabby for the World Championships! I was 18th out of the water, in 34th position after the bike, and then 25th after the run. Even though I had the ride of my life, my bike is still the weakest leg compared my competitors. Luckily, I made some of that up on the run. One good thing I noted was that the two women who beat me out for Clearwater spots at Timberman both finished 7 minutes behind me in this race! Because Ange was top five in AG she got an award. The award's ceremony was wild. That stage was huge! It was thrilling to see Ange's name up on the big screen when she got her trophy. After the ceremony we went out to party! Here we going crazy, dancing. Woot! The next morning we left, more than a little hungover. Flying when hungover is NO FUN. The sad thing is, course, that it took very little to create this hangover! I can't handle drinking these days.... When we got off the plane in Portland, there was Alina with two of her kids waiting for us with a big sign and flowers. As if taking care of our kids wasn't enough! Love you, Alina! Thank you!

Clearwater

4:55:59

What a Day! I had so much fun--especially at the post race awards ceremony where I got to see Ange walk up on that big ass stage to get her top 5 AG award!


30:38 swim, 2:34:50 bike , 1:44:24 run
25/67 in age group

More after I get some sleep!

Tonight's Conversation

My two youngest, Noah and Lara, ages 5 and 3, were taking a bath tonight.

Noah: Who are you voting for?
Lara: I'm voting for Jesus.
Noah: No. Jesus isn't here. You can't vote for him because he is in the air. You have to vote for Arak Obama or for John ACain. (note the cain reference.)
Lara: Oh. I want Arak Obama.
Noah: I wanted John ACain, but Arak Obama will be the first American to be president, so now I want him.

I have a case of the borings

So I am going to just write a disjointed post of things that come to mind.

Halloween. Noah was so cute in that costume I could barely stand it. Lara was a princess, but she refused to wear her crown. Jordan was, obviously, a butterfly. We went through fourteen bags of candy, and I only allow kids to take one piece. Suburbia. Gotta love it.

My mind.
It's programmed at this point to think only of this coming Saturday. I'm not going to talk about that, though.

Today I ran outside in tights for the first time this winter. I also had to wear gloves. It's over. Shorts are over. It's a sad day. I held out for a VERY long time. November 2 might be a new late-season record.
My run today was fresh and cold, though. I like fresh and cold. I will always take fresh and cold over still and hot.

I have been reading super cheesy chick lit lately. This week's read is Can You Keep A Secret by Sophie Kinsella. It's mindless and soothing. This is, perhaps, adding to my boringness.

The chick lit does make me wonder why I care so little about fashion, beauty, manicures etc. I like to be manicured, but it is not necessary to me. I spend most of my life with slightly too hairy eyebrows, unshaved legs and hangnails. To work I wear my self-imposed uniform of khakis and a black top with clogs, and on the weekends I wear old running t-shirts and ripped jeans. Why? Why don't I try harder? That is the question. My mother tries hard. Why didn't I inherit that from her?

I am really sick of my playlists, so I have stolen a few of the hub's. He has lots of Police, U2 and Dire Straits on his workout lists. Dire Straits is mostly too slow to work out to (in my opinion) but I discovered renewed love for Romeo and Juliet. What a GREAT song. Today on my run I had fun jamming to So Lonely by The Police. It was a great few minutes. Cars driving by likely thought I was insane as I danced/ran and mouthed the words with accompanying appropriate facial expressions.

Also on this playlist: Ground Control to Major Tom by David Bowie. This song makes me feel very sad.

I did fourteen loads of laundry since last Friday. I've been noticing that I average two loads a day. How is this possible? I spend a large portion of my life folding and putting laundry away. I wonder if I spend more time working out each week, or folding and putting away laundry?

I think I would like to be a freelance writer and write articles for magazines like Triathlete or Runner's World. How does one go about doing that?

On Friday afternoon I took Jordan (my oldest) to a local nursing home to go trick-or-treating. She is a part of a group called Do Something at her school that set up the trip. Jordan was so brave and cool, talking with everyone in such a friendly, relaxed way. She made me so proud. She's only seven, but she gets it. She gets why it was important that she was there. I think about aging every day of my life. Why does the knowledge of aging haunt me? These women and men were just like me--living, stressing, raising their children, working. Now they are talked to as if they are children and must live in these small rooms, often shared, without their independence-- until they die. Will I outlive my loved ones? Will I be alone in a nursing home? Will my children see me as a burden? I vow never to view my own parents or my in-laws as burdens. I vow never to talk to them as if they are children.

Could I make a difference there? That is another thought for career. I have worked my whole life with the young. Should I now confront the other bookend of life?

Clearwater is in six days. I am going to eat that course up. I am going to make all of my hard work worth it. I am not going to lie to myself that it doesn't matter. It matters to me. Embracing that is scary. Tough, Mary. Embrace it.