Archives for November 2004

I did it. I really did it! I’m so unbearably proud of both myself and Marama for going the whole distance.

Okay, so they were calling this a “practice” run, the Galloway method of training for a marathon. I think the premise is that after running 26 miles, your body will remember it later, the next time you run a “real” marathon, and not think you’re going to die. No, it only thinks you might die the FIRST time you do it. Like, yesterday.
It was a fantastic day to run. Cool and breezy and still sunny the whole day, my pace group started out with seven people. We ran up the Cliff House mountain from the windmill and then through Sutro Park. I hadn’t done any of my training runs during the week in hopes of keeping my shin splints from flaring up, and it had really, really helped.

Coming down the hill, I was feeling great.
I kept feeling pretty darn good up until about mile ten, when we were approaching Lake Merced. I helped myself to a handful of gummy bears, because apparently they’re something you eat while running. Know what? When you’re running 26 miles, don’t eat ANYTHING you haven’t practiced running and eating already. Oh, the belly cramps. I hate running with my hands way up in the air, but it was the only way I could get air to my innards. They went away eventually, but I felt pretty durn sick for about four miles or so.

Apparently I’m a long-distance runner. The three and four milers are all right, I like ‘em just fine, but I hit my stride right about fourteen miles in. From fourteen to about nineteen, I’m happy. I’m feeling good. I realize that I’m going to make it. That I’m actually going to run twenty-six miles, something I’m not sure if I ever really believed I would do. I had hoped, yes, but I wasn’t sure. (Kind of like living in my own home, or falling in real love. I’ve had a REALLY busy few months, haven’t I?)

The group:

At mile eleven, Vanessa peeled off from the group and went home to take care of her poor knees. At mile twenty, Kat called it good, going way farther than she had hoped she would. Miles 20-23 were really hard, but we did ‘em. At 23, Lauren decided she had had enough and that her hips were all done for the day. Laura, Dan, Lynn, and I kept running.

I thought maybe the last three miles would be like 20-23. Okay? They’re not. Everyone says a marathon is in two halves: The first half is twenty miles, the second half is six. They’re right. Mile 24 was hard.

Miles 25 and 26 were almost impossible. I remember just putting my head down and staring at the ground that was going by sooo slowly. I hated every car that passed me. I really hated the bicyclists that whizzed by me on the sidewalk. When you’re that tired, you really have a limited amount of motion accessible to you. I couldn’t move right or left, I just had to hope the bikes would get around me somehow (when I stopped to retie my shoes, I could barely work the laces—the only thing my body could do by then was run). I even hated the two girls on their skateboards. I wanted to mug them and ride a board to the finish line, but I don’t know how to skate and yesterday probably wasn’t the best time to learn. So I kept running.

I think I had assumed the last mile would be easy. It wasn’t. It only became easy when we came around the corner and saw the balloon arches and heard the music and suddenly realized there were dozens of people screaming as we came running. We took hands and held them over our heads, and we broke the tape they held out for us, and I cried a little bit as they hung my medal around my neck. Just like I am now, just thinking about it.

It was so fucking worth it. I did it. Sure, it took me six hours and fifty-two minutes, but I did it, damn it. Marama was a little ways behind me, with her reconfigured group, so I got to cry and yell all over again as she came in. I can’t tell you how beautiful she looked, breaking that race tape, arms up, so happy to be where she was, to have MADE it. And our coordinator gave me Marama’s medal, so I could put it around her neck, and I’ve never been prouder. Really.

Then we got in the car and drove straight to Barney’s, where we ordered:

A beer

A coke

A milkshake

Fried zucchini

Burgers

Fries

I told the Emmylou Harris look-alike sitting next to us that we had just run 26 miles. She nodded and smiled. Then she saw our medals, which we are planning on wearing until we die, and said, “Oh, my god, you’re serious!” Yeah, lady. We were.

No, we didn’t even come close to eating it all, but it sure felt good to sit there with her, grinning our heads off for running a MARATHON, dammit, no matter what they were calling it. That wasn’t no practice, man, nosiree. That was the real deal.
I’m so happy. And so proud. And YOU were with me every step of the way. Really. Thank you.
One month to Hawaii! Whoo hoooo!

Grrrr. I’m grumpy.

Grump. Grump, grump, grump. No good reason for it, either. Ain’t like I’m depressed, or even unhappy. Just grumpy with the world. I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that I’ve spent the last two hours in the car making four stops on ALL sides of Oakland. Seriously, I’ve been around this whole city, up 13, over on 80 to 980 to 880, into Alameda, up High Street, over on 580 to San Leandro and back. On two hours sleep. In traffic.

And when I got to Gray Wolf, my favorite bookstore in the whole world, to sell my five bags of really excellent grown-up type books, the lady looked at me coming in with my bags and said, "We’re closing soon."
"It’s 5o’clock. I thought you closed at six."
"We do. And we’re not buying books."
"You always buy books!"
"Only good ones."
"Well, these are good ones."
"No, we don’t have time before we close."
"Are you serious?" I was thinking about the forty minutes I had just spent in the car trying to get to the shop.
"You have any classics?"
"Some."
"Sort them out and I’ll look at them."
"I’ll go to Moe’s, instead, thanks." I don’t usually play the competitor card, but I was just annoyed. Such a little, silly thing. But I grumbled all the way back home.

Luckily, I get to see the La in half-an-hour. We might attempt to introduce our animals. Don’t worry, we’re going to go slowly. We had the dogs in my new place a LOT for the first week, before the kits came home. They’re used to smelling the dogs on me, too. We’re going to first just show them to each other, keeping the pups on leashes in the doorway. Maybe next time we’ll make it a little longer. Slowly, slowly. It’s the only way this might work. And still I think Digit is going to be PISSED. Literally, probably.

All right. The grumps are lifting. This helps:

Little freckle-nosed Adah. How I love thee, and how freaking annoying you are in the morning when you stand on my head.

Have a great weekend, y’all. I’ll tell you about the 26 on Monday! Mwah!

It’s 11-11! That’s so frikken cool! You know this is one of the best days of the year, right? You should. It’s just so pretty. Two prime numbers, all parallel and lucky. Happy day.  This morning at work I was in the middle of a sentence when I looked up and saw that it was 1:11:11. I froze, and stopped talking. I scared both people to whom I was speaking. But it was just too perfect.

Did I mention I saw The Incredibles? Day-um. I haven’t liked an animation feature that much in years. Seriously: So much fun. And to add fun on top of fun (and who isn’t in favor of that? Raise your hand, and you’re not coming to my pool party. If I ever have a pool. Okay, I’m sidetracked), it was filmed on location in Oakland! My city!

Okay, maybe not filmed. Maybe it was more like the animators used this area as the backdrop for their artwork, but whatever: local street names like Adeline and San Pablo, and dude! The Lake! Lake Merritt! My lake! Where I run!  We watched it at the Grand Lake Theatre, a two minute walk from the lake, and I swear only about six people seemed to get excited about it or recognize it. Me, though? I was jumping up and down in my seat. Ask Lala. Or don’t, since she might still be swearing. She does that in kids’ movies, you know.

Is this Thursday? Why does it feel like it’s been such a long week? I can’t wait for the weekend. No, wait. Hang on.  I can wait. This Saturday, we run 26 miles. That’s what they call a "practice" marathon. That’s what I call CRAZY, but I haven’t been accused of any serious sanity fora while now. Have I already written about this run? I can’t remember, and I’m honestly just too lazy to go back and check. So ignore me if you’ve seen this already: We run 26 miles on Saturday, then three eight-milers on the next three Sundays, and then the marathon. The real one. (And I have simply GOT to stop typing marathong.)

I’m terrified thinking about Saturday. I know what’ll happen is I’ll just go out and do it, without much thought, and power through till the end, but it’s daunting, for sure. We have the option of stopping at mile 20 or 23, also, and I figger it’ll be a hard, hard thing to pass the stopping party point and keep running those extra miles. But I really want to do it. I really, really do. I think the heat and humidity of the real deal in Hawaii are gonna be hard on me, and I’d like to at least know I can physically do it. A confidence booster, that’s all Saturday really is.

Lord. Remember when seven miles was a lot?

And this is fabulous: Eleven Things  a Straight Girl Learned in her Eight Months on Team Dyke

The little mama is already on her way home today. She just came up for one night, bless her heart, just to see my new place and the three lil kittens that Christy is fostering. I got some time in the car with her, but then I had to work. I got off a 5am, and I didn’t want her to get up, but she woke when I got home, and we rotated the bed like Bethany and I used to do. Where were those railroad hotels? Where the beds were always warm, with the engineers sleeping days and nights, just swapping off? It’s not a bad method. Especially when your sister Christy gives you high thread count sheets that you forget about until you move and can flip them on the bed because you haven’t actually washed your reg’lar sheets in two weeks. Not that I would neglect laundry that long. No. Of course not. Not me.

Mom came in to work last night for a moment because I wanted her to meet Marama, and I had this really weird moment where I said, "This is Jan, my mother." After she left, Marama said, slowly, "Her name is Jan?" She had never really thought of my mother having any name but Little Mama.

Today’s sleep: Not bad. Not long enough, but when is it? I’m up and I’ve got Things To Do. A ton of things to do. And know what? I’m having a hard time thinking about unpacking crap because I’m thinking about knitting. This is the first time in a LONG time that I don’t have a large project on the needles. I’ve finished two little sweaters recently, the one for ArtFibers, and the Rowan Denim People one (that still needs a zipper), pictures to follow of both when I get around to it. Cromarty is done, and I have NO idea what I’m going to make next. That’s a weird, good feeling. I’m making some fingerless mitts for a friend that I’d like to get off the needles before I start the next thing, but it’s fun to imagine what I’ll take off the shelves. The reclaimed cashmere perhaps? I’m thinkin’….  Colorwork, however, seems to be calling me, having had none lately, all cables, all the time. Colorwork, however, might require a purchase, and god knows I don’t need to buy yarn right now. Nope. I don’t.

I don’t! Stop that.

Do I?

https://rachaelherron.com/the_little_mama/

Jiggety jig.

Lookee! A little Mama in the house! In my house!  That’s completely thrilling. I got to open the door for her and invite her in. Oh, the fun of it. Really.

And the cats, they seem to be settling in just fine. Adah doesn’t even seem to have really noticed she’s in a new home — she just thinks I’ve rearranged the furniture. Digit, or Mr. Scaredy Pants, is being a Very Brave Polydactyl and faking it well. He’s on my stomach right now, kneading me. If he buries his head in my shirt far enough, maybe all of this will go away.

All right. No time to blog today. Drove home this afternoon with Ma and the kits, and I still have to go to work tonight. It’ll be a three-cup night, I think.

(I never, ever thought how much pleasure inviting my mother into my home would give me. I’m about to bust with house pride. Really. Oh, this is good.)

The only thing that makes it okay that this:

is parked in my backyard is this:

on my coffee table. That is Manos (yum) from Maeve, heavenly color, and soap all the way from Brazil (and I know she carried it back herself) from Jennifer, and a home Madonna from the amazing MaryB (it’s not too Catholic, dear—I put it on the shelf with my pope-in-a-snow-globe. Tell hubby).

The post could not have come at a better time, darlings.

I was a fool this morning. I had some dead stalks in my flower vase, but the rest of the them were still beautiful. I thought, Hey! I have a garbage disposal! Won’t that be fun? I shoved ‘em down and spun ‘em through. Then I watched the green sludgy water foam back up at me for, sticking out its tongue.

Damn it. Having never owned a disposal, how was I supposed to know you’re only supposed to put boiled rice and chicken broth (strained) through it? I called the Dude, who is my psuedo-husband (all the chores and none of the perks; not sure why he sticks around, but I aDORE him). He walked me through taking the disposal apart, which I am very proud to say, I did. I flex my muscles in your general direction. But the disposal was clear. That was alarming. And might I add, while it’s not too bad taking a disposal apart, it’s hell on wheels to get that fucker back together. And me in my new jeans. Only a small blood sacrifice, and it wasn’t too painful, either. But I did it.

And the sink was still backed up, gurgling up and mocking me with evil spongy floaters. Grrr.

So I went to the hardware store, where my new best friend Joe told me all about plumbing. I love Joe. I really, really do. I bought a drill from Joe, just because I wanted to keep talking to him. Laurel Hardware on MacArthur, people. Joe rocks. He sold me a snake and told me how to use it (not like that. Dirty minds). I took it home, opened the plumbing back up and snaked it out.
This is what I ended up with.

Ew. Ew ew ew ew. Still backed up. I did a number on that one, I tell you. I actually think I made it worse, because after I snaked it, NOTHING would go down, and before I had a slow drain, at least.

Opened the yellow pages, hoped that I wouldn’t get burglarized again, and called the ones who advertised they’d be here in forty-five minutes. They were, they’re just finishing up now, and apparently not only did I clog it, but they found that the pipe is broken about twenty feet out. At least that’s not my problem – that’ll be for my homeowner’s insurance to fix. Thank god. But not today.

Today, as soon as they leave, I’m getting on the road to go pick up two cats and a little mama. She’s coming up for a short day visit to see the new place, and I can’t WAIT to show it to her.

Okay. I have to go pay them. Sheesh. It’s like a test. Own a home! Break some things! Pay out the nose!
(But one of them just asked me for paper towels so he could clean up under the sink. That’s totally cool.)