Rachael

I almost just got a tattoo. But then I got an oil change instead.

This grown-up stuff? Meh. Weighing priorities and all that can be DULL. (But I suppose I made up for it by yarn shopping this morning. My friend Lynn sent me six hanks as a house-warming present, lovely, gorgeous stuff, and I wanted a couplethree more so I can play around with a sweater. I think I’m going to base it on the Retro-Prep, my favorite standby, but run some cables through the stripes. Throw convention to the winds. I’ve never used Manos, and when I knitted a swatch (on glorious fat 5(US) needles, hooray!), it was stunning, almost heady.) I’m glad I remembered that last parenthesis.

Speaking of tattoos, I still want the yarn one, the sheepy one, but I want a smaller simpler one first. I found a nice-looking store just around the corner from my house, and the guy inside was super sweet just a few minutes ago. I asked him what the hours were, and he said, “Eleven till eight. Every day. Except sometimes we come in later. And then sometimes we have band practice, so we close, but we’ll totally stay open late for you if you want.” I’m SO getting my tat done there. I also want to incorporate somehow the number 262, to commemorate the 26 point damn 2 miles I ran last week, you know? Yup. Any ideas?

But I needed an oil change more than a tattoo. Dern it. Maybe after Christmas.

Weekends, all at home, are good, GOOD things. Really. I didn’t have to run, we slept in, and I had a little knit-night at my house. [Disclaimer: If you live in the area and I should have invited you, please know that it was only because I forgot. I was sending evites up until the very day, thinking of people that should go on the list. If you should have been on it, if I’ve met you in person (my only prereq to get the house-invite), shoot me an email. I’m sure accidental oversights occurred.]

And you know who was at my knit-night?

Can you imagine? Who’d a thunk? Here’s our very own Carrieoke, snuggling her new schmoo, Lala’s Harriet:

And I have to say right here, right now, Carrie really is all that. You know how you worry a little bit? Sure, I love her voice and her blog and the way she is OnLine, but what about in person? Will she really be that awesome? Who could? Carrie could, that’s who. Her personality is as gorgeous as her pictures are, AND she’s got a fantastic mind and heart (and voice, duh). I totally heart Carrie. (And her schmoo voice? When she’s talking to dogs? Cutest thing I’ve ever heard.)

Who else was there? Let me think. Joanna (who brought persimmon pudding, a HUGE hit, and a Herron fave). Becca (did you mean to leave the eggnog and nutmeg? ‘Cause I’m still enjoying it…. And thanks for the wonderful book and wine-opener!). Kira (artfibers) and Rachel (always ready with the brownies — YUM). Elizabeth (making the cutest tea cozy ever). Nathania (always so sweet — rainbow tea lights! For my windows!). Yvonne (no blog, but should have one, creative puss; she’s making a rubber stamp in the foreground here while Kira and Carrie discuss string theory behind her):

Also, Janine (no blog yet, but hopefully soon):

Yep, that’s our Janine of Ryan’s comments, a Feral Knitter if there ever was one. She knitted that. AND DESIGNED IT. I was kinda stunned when I asked her how long she’d been knitting. See, I’ve been knitting for twenty-seven years. She’s been knitting for SEVEN. I have to hang up my circulars and bow to her. Really. And she’s hysterical and sweet, to boot.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten people. Oh, like Lala, but she’s expected and dern cute. (Can I just mention how THRILLED I am that I have a girlfriend who not only comes over early to hang house numbers on my porch, but will also learn to make short-roe toes during the party? Almost too good to be true, that one.)

A couple more. Joanna and Carrie:

Elizabeth and the two schmoos:

I felt like the meanest mama in the whole wide world, because I put Digit and Adah in their carriers and put them in the bedroom closet (both cats wriggle out the doors like water, and would have been let out accidentally in the midst of all the comings and goings), but they slept like lambs and didn’t seem to mind at all. Thank god. This morning, however, Digit spilled his breakfast from the counter to the floor, and while I was mopping it up, he ate our uncooked scrambled eggs, raw. So he might be little miffed.

I’ve been to one holiday party already tonight, and I might have another one or two to hit yet, so I’m waiting to hear. I think I’ll knit and watch TV in my fancy duds and cashmere socks. I got my socks in the little sock swap that’s been flying around and is finishing up this week! They’re from Alison, and I LOVE them — they’re just what these little marathon-y feet need:

Oh, the softness, and just the right size! I’m off to knit in them. And to all, a good night.

Someone mentioned the flu-mist earlier, and my initial reaction was, oh, no, I can’t get that. It might give me the flu, and I don’t want that before the marathon!

1. I know the flu-mist doesn’t give you the flu, nor does the flu-shot, but it doesn’t help that I got the worst flu of my life last year, just after getting my shot. Unreasonable, sure. I know it had nothing to do with the shot — you’re just not protected for about 2 weeks after you get it. But there you go.

2. I ran the marathon. It’s over. That’s SUCH a good feeling.

You know what the best part is? Sunday mornings. I haven’t even had one yet, but I can’t wait for it. A Sunday morning lie-in? With coffee and sunshine and nowhere to go, and nothing to do? Bring it.

Thanks for your comments, wonderful, dearest readers. Funny thing is that you kinda made me realize something. Driving home yesterday morning, thinking about what y’all had said about things like determination and achievement, I was stunned to notice that maybe I’m not as lazy as I think I am. Don’t laugh. I mean it. In the image I hold of myself in my head, I’m a slacker. Never getting things done. Not mopping the floor. Forgetting to buy milk. Not finishing writing the novel. Never sending Christmas cards. Not getting the tires rotated.

But the marathon has really made me think I might be something of an achiever after all. This, in turn, has helped to re-light the ol’ pilot on the writing stove. I love it.

You know what else is a good thing? Walking in Honolulu, missing m’girl, and seeing this:

Oh, yeah.

I DID IT!

This is going to be a LONG entry, I warn you. Lots about the marathon, nothing about knitting, or really, anything else for that matter. I started it in Hawaii, and I’m finishing it in bed, this sunny Wednesday afternoon (sorry, got in from the flight too late last night to post). I’m hungry, and want coffee, but will post this first.

Hawaiian Post:

As I type this (but not as I post it, since I can’t get into typepad for some reason), I’m sitting at the edge of the ocean. It’s Monday night, probably about 7pm, and I’m at the Sheraton Waikiki, listening to the surf and the Hawaiian singers and the loud drunk people. People start drinking early here, boy howdy. Me, I’m only on my first mai tai of the evening. Behind the tiki torches in front of me, over the water, is Diamond Head. I can’t see it right now, but I’ve stared at it off and on all day while floating in the water. I’ve gone for four swims today (and you know by “swimming” I mean “floating in the water like a pool toy”). And I’ve had a massage. It’s been a rough, rough day, I can tell you.

I’m pretty much doing the opposite of what I did yesterday, which was run my ass off. I’m so PROUD of Marama and myself. We are finishers. We are marathoners. We DID it. With your help, and with your incredible well wishes,  we made it. I swear to god, there were times that I could FEEL you thinking of us. I would flag, I would lose my breath and almost my balance, I would think “what the fuck makes a person do this?” and I would get that second (fourteenth) wind, knowing I was supported and thought of.

Oh, it was amazing. How do I tell you about it? I don’t even know where to start.

First of all, getting here was miserable. Marama had worked twelve hours, and even though I had only worked eight, we had both been up all night. We got off at 5am, took BART to the airport, and then waited around, dead on our feet. Crammed onto the plane, we only cat-napped uncomfortably for the six-hour ride. Oh, we were grumpy. There isn’t anything like a plane full of really excited, happy, clean, well-rested, good-smelling people to irritate two rumpled, exhausted dispatchers who’ve just spent the previous night dealing with other people’s problems. We are probably at this very moment getting extra time recorded in purgatory for how much we hated everyone but each other.
But that wore off, and fast, as soon as we got on the bus from the airport to the hotel. Oh, we were home! Marama was born here, and I spent my formative teen years in the islands. It just felt so good, and so right.

And even better when we checked into our ocean-front room at the Sheraton. Dude! Ocean-front! This is a charity gig; we expected a “mountain” view. But we were on the tenth floor, a balcony looking right onto the sand, water, and pool. Taken from the balcony:

Oh, oh, oh. We just wandered on Thursday, happy to see and smell the sights. And we’re talking Coach and Prada and Hermes, fancy shops that are more plentiful in Waikiki than are palm trees.

On Friday we rented a car and drove around the island. It was Marama’s idea, and she is BRILLIANT.

We got right away from the crowds and visited the beaches where she played as a child, and we went thrift-store shopping and bought Hawaiian fabric and followed two gay boys (Kevin and Tim) all over Oahu. Everywhere we stopped, they were already there. I think they started to get scared of us after a while.
We ended up in the tiny town of Haleiwa on the North Shore after the sun went down. Starving, we chose a little restaurant near the marina and then watched the local Christmas parade go by while we ate dinner. The navy boys just arriving home went by on their humvees, followed by large doves of peace. There was a float topped with Rudolph leading the nativity scene. It was awesome.

Saturday was pretty shot getting ready for the marathon. We went to the Expo and signed in, receiving our marathon chips and bibs. (You tie the chip to your shoe, and it tracks your progress all through the marathon, and the bib is your number writ large (6900!) for all the cameras to track. It’s how they plan to get you to buy the photo they take of you as you cross the finish line. Oh, I’ll buy it, all right. Never fear. Don’t care if there’s snot and tears all over my face, I’ll buy it.) Then we carbo-loaded until we were sick, and attempted to go to sleep by about 7:30pm. It didn’t work – we were both up for HOURS, but we tried.

MARATHON DAY

We woke at 2:45am. Yep. It was bad, really bad. We didn’t talk much, we were just focused on getting our gear on in the right order. Out of the hotel by 3am, off to pick up my teammates (seen here the day before)

at the Hyatt, about a half-mile down the road. Left there at 3:30am, in order to catch the shuttle that we were told to ride between the hours of 2 and 4. But no, there were NO shuttles. They were full and gone, and we had to WALK the two miles to the start line. Oh, insult to injury.(Even more insults came from the jeers we received from the people just leaving the clubs which don’t close in Hawaii until 4am. They took great pleasure in telling us how fucking nuts we were. We appreciated it.)

We followed thousands and thousands of people down the roads to the start, all of us wearing our running clothes and a slight nervous green tinge around the gills.
With over 25,000 runners, the start was incredible. There were fireworks over the water, and then we were OFF! The fast people were in the front; the rest of us left in a shuffle that was so exciting it translated as real speed. It was one of those pinch-me moments. My running mates and I kept asking each other, “Are we really doing this? Really? We’re really running a marathon! In Hawaii! We’re here!” And then we would shuffle a few more feet. That many people is a LOT of people.

We were running that day at a faster pace than we had run the practice marathon, for some ungodly reason. I hadn’t been too happy about it when it was proposed, but I was in the minority, so I shut up and sucked it up, knowing that I could drop back if necessary. For the last six months, it had been drilled into us that we never, ever leave our pace group partners, but that rule didn’t apply for the marathon. We had to do whatever we had to do to cross the finish line. We hoped we would make it together, but we couldn’t be sure of anything.
But the pace felt good, and we ran. And we ran. And we ran.

A little less than two hours in, we were at mile 8 (yep, we have a pretty slow pace, even speeded up), and we saw the most amazing thing. It was even more amazing than the sunrise we had just seen, blazing over Diamond Head, breaking through the low clouds in brilliant scored rays.
We saw the first runners coming IN. Think about it. Those Kenyans, man. The fastest runner ran the whole damn marathon in 2:11:12. Two hours and eleven minutes! When we were at mile eight, he was passing mile 25, just about to bring it home. His legs were as high as my shoulders. Thousands of runners were screaming for him as he flashed by, and he never spared us a glance. He couldn’t. He was followed by police motorcycles, flying code three, and they could barely keep up. He was a miracle in motion, and I’m not overstating this. And then the first woman raced by. We almost tripped in our own running, we screamed and cheered so loudly. They kept coming. Even though they couldn’t win, the fast runners kept on coming, their legs looking like cartoon blurs. Insane. Truly insane, what these people were doing. And we still had five hours to go. We kept on trotting.

The daylight was just peeling back as we climbed Diamond Head. Now, I have to tell you. Diamond Head is a mountain, and while we knew we didn’t have to run right over the very top, we knew we had to climb its foothills to get around it, and we were scared. Everyone we talked to said it was horrible. Hard. Killing. We got there and it was nothing. Come on. We trained in San Francisco, going up the Cliff House to Sutro Heights. We literally went up the side of Diamond Head and then looked for the hill we had to climb. It was only when we started descending that we realized we were done with it. It was fabulous, one of our best moments.

Then it was flat and progressively hotter, but we were having a ball. Really. We were having a blast, laughing, talking, looking at the waves and the palms, cheering on our fellow AIDS Marathon runners (there were about 1100 of them in the race).

***Break here, now I’m back in bed, at home. Adah’s purring next to me, and I’m thinking of making some coffee, but I’ll finish this post, which I totally owe you.

The best things in life were the sponges. They were soaked in ice water, and handed to you as you ran by. I took mine every time and wrung it out over my head. Running in heat is totally bearable if you’re soaked to the skin. Another helpful hint: A bra full of ice cubes helps. Seriously. They make the best clinking noises when you run, too.

So we ran and ran and ran. Every hour I’d eat a package of Gu (chocolate is the best – tastes like a great big warm melted chocolate kiss), and at about mile fifteen I added a salt packet to my water bottle. You know you’re sweating when salty water tastes great.
Oh! I was spotted by Monica! She cheered me on as I ran by! My running mates were very impressed that I was recognized, and I was thrilled to be recognized by the insanely awesome LA coach.

Okay, being back home, tucked up in bed, it’s hard to remember how it all went. It was perfectly great until about mile twenty, and then it got hard. But we stuck to our pace religiously, something we weren’t sure that we were going to be able to do. Teammate Kathleen hit a wall, not sure if it was The Wall or not, but she managed to keep going, despite her failing IT bands. Vanessa was hurting. Lauren and I were hurting, too, but we kept it going.
It’s strange to be that incredibly, unbearable tired and in that much pain, and still be able to pick up your legs and run.

After mile 20, it gets blurry in my memory. The people cheering on the sides of the road helped the most. The trick is to write your name on your singlet. And oh, did it work. At the beginning of the race, when the fireworks are exploding and people are cheering, you think they’re totally cheering just for you. At the end of the race, they really, really are. Hundreds and hundreds of times, I heard, “Go, Rachael! Rachael, you can do it! You’re almost there! You’ve got it! Keep it up, Rachael!”
The first time I heard that, I cried.

We ran back up Diamond Head, and this time it was HARD. But once up, we got to run all the way down to the finish line. Another teary moment was when we heard someone yell, “It’s all downhill from here!” Marama said later she had felt the same way. We kept expected more Up. To find there’s only Down is the best feeling ever.

Now we’re close to the end. A friend of my teammate’s finds us and runs along the sidewalk, cheering us. She says that at that turn right there, we’ll be able to see the finish line. We turn. We CAN see the finish line. It’s far away, but it’s there. Our smiles are so huge they don’t fit on our faces. We’re laughing and running harder. People are yelling for us, pushing us faster. There is no pain at all, none. Van and Lauren sprint ahead; I stay with Kat just a few feet back, and we’re over the line. We did it.
We did it!

And then I’m not really sure where I should stop running so I go a little farther until people are laughing and telling me it’s okay to stop. I hug random strangers. I cry a little. I take this shot of myself.

And this was taken by the marathon—I’ll order it larger when it’s available on-line.

7:12:33.

Not bad for a first-timer. Okay, it’s pretty slow. But it was consistent. My first half was almost exactly as long as my second half. Out of 25,671 runners, I was number 18,809. Right at the front of the fourth quarter.
I am so PROUD of my medal and my finisher shirt and all the other marathon swag I bought. But I’ve never been prouder than when I watched Marama run over the finish line, too.
Oh, oh, oh.

This is a really long entry, huh? Sorry.
So. We collected our things, our medals and tees. We sat on the grass at the AIDS Marathon booth and ate peanut butter. We called people and told them we did it.

(Best conversation: Marama’s five-year old daughter Kalea had asked her earlier in the week, “Mom, can you win?” Marama said, “I’ll try.” When she came over the finish line, she won. She totally won. So she called Kalea and said, “Guess what, baby girl? I won!” I could hear from where I was sitting Kalea’s “Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!”)

Then we had to walk back to the hotel. Ouch. Probably almost a mile from the finish line, that was painful. We changed into swimsuits, went downstairs into the water and went for a swim. It was gorgeous, looking up at Diamond Head and knowing we’d DONE it.
Then we went up to the pool bar and ordered our mai tais.

We had Monday to play on the beach and watch half of Honolulu limp (that really was funny, actually. I’ve never seen so many people limping and hobbling all in one place). Marama got the marathon punes (as Mariko calls them) and spent a lot of time lying down, but I managed to sit on the beach and watch the people go by:

and I got to drink a little that night, after a spectacular sunset:

Remember this: A Tropical Itch at the Royal Hawaiian Mai Tai Bar comes with its very own back scratcher. Good to know.

I’m still in bed, about to post this. It still hurts to walk, and to stand up, or sit down, or go up or down any steps, but it was so worth it. So worth it. I think I’m going to rest right here until I have to go back to work tonight. I might wear my medal. Hell, I think I will.

MWAH.

Can you BELIEVE that? It’s almost here!

THE AIDS MARATHON!

To which you all, in your infinite generosity and grace and love, are sending Team 911 (along with that HUGE donation from Rosenblum Cellars — go buy some wine. Way worth it, I’m telling you. Makes me run faster, anyway).

I can’t believe we raised the money. I can’t believe we’ve done the training. I can’t believe I go to work tonight and then leave from there to go right to the airport. I have SO much to remember — haven’t packed a thing yet.

Okay. I’m nervous. Way nervous. What if I don’t make it? What if I don’t? Huh? Huh? I’ve done the distance before, yes, in the practice marathon last month. But this is in the HEAT! I hate heat. And the humidity. Oh, erg. I’m scared. Jitters. But excited. This is it.

This is IT.

I’m taking my computer, on the off chance I get to blog. I won’t count on being able to, but I’ll hope. And dude, you can go to the Honolulu Marathon and keep track of where I am on Sunday in real time (that’ll keep me honest, eh?) by typing in either my name or my runner number: 6900. And I’ll thank you to keep your smart remarks about my number to yourself. Yep. And watch our girl Marama, too! She’s number 7167. Keep her strong in your minds, also….

I just have to tell you what my sister Christy and  Celia did this weekend. They put their wonderful heads together, and with huge hearts and helping hands and a garage sale, they got together an envelope for Marama and me. When I opened it, I found ninety dollars. I gotta tell you — Marama just bought a house, too, and we are house POOR. We’re actually both house broker-than-broke. We were dreaming of mai-tais on the beach after the run (hell, during the run would be all right, too….), but kind of knew we were going to be buying a lot of free sand and free water instead. So they gave us mai-tai money. It’s not for the AIDS Foundation, it’s not for any good cause at all, it’s just for us to have dinner, or drinks, or pedicures, whatever. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you ever heard? Made me cry. Really. Thank you, to the both of youse. You’ve made us so happy.

And the rest of you? You made this trip possible, and more than that, much much much more than that, think about this: You raised over $7000 to fight AIDS. We’re running for you. Running because of you. Bless all your hearts.

All love, and think of us on Sunday! Whooo hooooooo!

Yeehaw!

Lala’s home! She’s got a Buddha bug, though, so she’s a mite under the weather. I believe this calls for fudge.

I’m really, really glad she’s home.

Really glad.

Okay.

And in more prosaic news, I painted this weekend! I just did the bathroom, and technically I only did half the bathroom. I had this whole idea that I would put up a white chair rail under the yellow and leave the bottom half white (because I could NEVER move that tub), but now I’m thinking of doing a decorative border because there are a couple of curves along the walls. I went to the hardware store and looked at wallpaper borders, and while I was extremely tempted by all the baseball/rocket/flower-explosion types, I just couldn’t make up my mind. What a wealth. I think I’ll paint a little vine instead. I keep thinking to myself, "What if I screw it up?" Then I think, "Eh. Who cares? It’s MINE!"

Have I told you lately how GREAT that feels?

And I only stepped off the chair INTO the paint tray once. But when they say soap and water, they mean it. Thank god.

Also, I finished the gansey.

A little closer:

And from the back (note the new paint!):

Harriet remained unimpressed:

Specs:
Yarn: Handspun wool from unremembered vendor at Maryland Sheep and Wool, worsted weight.
Pattern: Silver Creek Classics, S-806
Gauge: 5st/inch, on 2(US)

I freaking LOVE this sweater. Love it. Toyed with giving it away — I can’t. I’m not a big enough person. I’m just not. I must keep this and wear it all the time. Wearing it right now, as a matter of fact. Wore it to dinner (sushi) last night with Lala. Might wear it to my birthday party (in July) and might wear it to yours, too.

Hooray! It’s a good day.