Rachael

I can NOT get over that. The first two miles were horrible, as they usually are, and then the next six were a breeze. I mean it. We’re doing a 3:1 pace right now in my group (run three minutes, walk one), and it just felt right. I didn’t mind running when the walk breaks were over (nor did I mind the walk breaks, heavens, no).

It was dark in San Francisco yesterday morning – that deep heavy fog that drips like rain. But at least it was cool. It’s been too warm here in Oakland recently, and it can’t have even hit eighty. I’m such a heat light-weight. (And I want to run a marathon in Hawaii?) And Bethany was a water volunteer, so twice I got to see her smiling proud face, which the run even easier.

The shin splints were uncomfortable, but they’re feeling better already today, always a good sign. It’s going to be an aqua-jog week, unfortunately.

Eight miles. Wheee! And yet, only about a third of how far I’m gonna have to go. Holy crap.

Bethany’s knocking about the apartment, talking and singing, so I’m laughing at her rather than thinking of coherent, clever sentences. (I can’t believe she hijacked my blog! And the perm was bad, yeah. But thank god she didn’t mention the bifocals I was wearing at age six. Oh. Whoops.) And Kira and Rachel just arrived on my doorstep and we’re headed out for Ethiopian, so I’ll just blow you a kees. Mwah!

Super Stealth Mode

Bwah hah hah! Little sister Bethany here, gleefully taking advantage of the fact that Rachael has left me alone in her house with her computer, while she’s off seeing her Girls. So I’m hijacking her blog for the night.

Which still leaves me with the sad fact that I have nothing to write… hmmm. Secrets from childhood? In highschool, she had a really, really bad perm. That’s it, that’s all I have. Guess I’m a pretty pathetic hacker. Johnny Lee Miller I ain’t.

Claudia is my sock twin.

It’s Friday. Even when Friday doesn’t actually mean very much to a person whose schedule is kinda crazy, the word “Friday” just has that feel-good feeling. Doesn’t it?

I’m a little confused, though, timing-wise. I took tonight off (nights off have to be arranged two to three months in advance, so you gotta be a planner) and I’m going to a concert. I’d tell you what the concert is, but you’d either be jealous of me or think I’m an idiot. Okay, quit it. I’ll tell you. I’m going to see the Indigo Girls again. Ahem. What can I say? I lurve them. And I *have* to see them with my sister Christy. She and I have had mad IG love forever, and it’s just not the same seeing them without her.

And I usually have weekend nights off, but I’m working both Saturday and Sunday nights this weekend. We’re so sorely understaffed right now that the only way to take time off is to have friends work for you. I don’t mind working for anyone, really, but there are some people that I actually enjoy working for — they’re the type that not only work for me but do it with a smile. Luckily, though, I’ll be off by one a.m. on Sunday morning, which leaves me enough time for a good little (five hour) sleep before our long run (eight miles this week).

Wait a minute, that was parenthetical, but I have to write more on it. Eight miles! That’s just silly. Dang, I just mapped the distance from my house to work and it’s 7.6 miles. I am at once impressed by that and at the same time completely underwhelmed. Eight miles! Wow! Oh, just eight miles.

I’ve decided, by the way, that Monday is for me. For ME. I’m not doing anything except sitting on my couch and watching all my TiVo’d TV that’s waiting for me, right now, as I type. I actually had to go to work last night with ten minutes left of last week’s Six Feet Under. Isn’t that awful? I love that show *so* much. But I haven’t had much time to sleep lately, and that wins over TV every time. Duh.

All right. See you Monday. Have a happy gazelleish weekend!

I forgot to tell you that I did my long run while in San Diego. See, in training we have to do two three-mile runs during the week on our own, and then the long group run on the weekend, which I do in San Francisco on Sundays.

I talked my friends into running with me, to make up the run I was missing. They’re athletic. They didn’t mind. They’re still in shock that I’m moving my body in ANY way besides small upper body motions (knitting, typing), so this was new and novel for them. They kept glancing behind them while we ran, just to make sure I was really still there.

San Diego was hot. Not super-duper hundred degree hot, but just uncomfortable enough to make me really sweat and feel icky. I didn’t eat before we ran, and I hadn’t been running for the previous ten days in an attempt to let my shin splints heal.

You know what? Neither of those two things worked for me. T took us through Balboa Park, up and down dirt hills, through gullies and ravines. At first I thought it was novel and picturesque. But then I decided it was about four inches from hell.

In order to get our seven miles in, we did one large loop which led back to T’s house, and then we were going to do it again. Oh, no. I collapsed on her lawn and proclaimed to passersby that if I were to ever get up again it would only be to go in search of ice cream and a massage. Then J looked over at me and said the words every wimp hates to hear: “Okay, I’m going to finish the run, I’ll see you later.”

Damn it.

I heaved myself up, cursing and swearing, saying things about camels and various people’s mothers (but not mine, of course), and we started running again. I did put my aching foot down, though, and said that I would not go back into the ravines. I am not hill trained yet, nor do I really wanna be. So we ran around the park, where it was cooler and flatter. They encouraged me by running ahead and then doubling back. Always an esteem builder.

And the splints were killing me (you like how I’m shortening the name now? From posterior tibial tendonitis to splints. We’re pals like that). Ten days off did nothin’ for me, so I’ve decided to throw that whole rest thing right out the window. I’ve got orthotics, insanely good shoes, I’m icing, I’m arnica-gelling, I’m ibuprofening, I’m elevating, I’m compressing, I’m stretching, I’m exercising the muscles that are so gosh-darn weak. I’m not going to be stupid, I promise, but I’m just going to keep running.

I ran yesterday around the lake, and I tell you, it felt awesome to be on home turf. Pounding around the water, I felt so good. The pain wasn’t very bad at all (it usually kicks in later), and it felt great to be moving. Yesterday wasn’t a rhino day. It was all gazelle. A gazelle with a slight limp afterwards, but gazelleish nonetheless. Bring it.

WASHINGTON – The Senate scuttled a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage on Wednesday, handing a defeat to President Bush yet assuring the issue renewed prominence in the fall campaign for the White House and control of Congress.

Forty-eight senators voted to advance the measure — 12 short of the 60 needed — and 50 voted to block it. Defeat came at the hands of dozens of Democrats joined by six Republicans.

More HERE.

Way too close, though, huh? Sigh.

All right, I kind of hate recapping. Don’t you? It’s fine and dandy to blog about the day, what just happened, or what you think might happen tomorrow, but filling in the blanks (Saturday we did ex, and then Sunday we did why, Monday was zee) is plain ole boring.

So I’ll be quick. The Indigo Girls rocked the house, in a big way. Amy’s voice has always been strong, but raw. That was part of her allure. But her voice is insanely great now, and their harmonies are something else. Oh, I get so happy listening to them, especially outside, on the water, under swaying palm trees and a shooting star or two.

I’ve never lived in San Diego, but sometimes I feel as if I have. I was sitting with my friend T and her wife, and in the row directly behind us were L and her wife. I read in T and L’s wedding seven years ago. I’ll give you a second to work that out. Okay. Uh-huh. And now, everyone is either friends or at least cordial (I made the whole trip with an ex of mine), so it was the typical everyone knows/has dated everyone else kind of night in southern California (and I live in the north).

It was a relaxing weekend. T and E live in my dream home. Really. I wonder sometimes if E doesn’t mind my co-opting her house so much. It’s what I’ve used for my main character’s home in my novel, and I can nap on her couch in the front window and dream my character’s dreams. It’s nestled in Hillcrest, an old craftsman, and it’s painted the best shade of orange. They’re involved right now in redoing the guest bathroom – placing the tub up in an arched window and laying tiles in art deco patterns on the floors and walls. There are little nooks all over the house, clean and organized and lovely. I wander around when I’m there, just dreaming. Kind of annoying, I’m sure.

We napped a lot. We ate a lot (oh, San Diegan Mexican food). Then we boarded a plane (hopped an earlier flight – it was the first time I’ve ever walked into an airport and right onto a departing airplane), and I sat next to a young guy whose fear rolled off his body in palpable waves. He held a tiny prayer card in his hand, crossed himself repeatedly, and whispered the prayer for the first twenty minutes of the flight. I relaxed. He was doing all the work for me.

I’m usually really good about keeping myself to myself on flights—I hate that whole polite chitchat thing—but at one of his more elongated gasps, I had to ask, “So are you a little nervous?” We had a lovely talk. He’s 23, in total complete love with his girlfriend of four years (he wrote her a love letter in between prayers), is buying a house (good for you, kid), and was all smiles once we started talking. We talked all the way down, and he barely noticed the landing. I actually really hate to fly, and it’s only alleviated by someone being MORE scared than I am. If I have to (or choose to) calm someone else, I’m fine. I remember all the statistics (you’re more likely to die by being kicked to death by a donkey than in an airplane crash) and I don’t mind the bumps.

But I’m glad to be home. Bethany’s on the couch watching really crap TV (From Justin to Kelly or something just as awful) and I’m doing laundry. Back to work tonight. I love having a job that pays the bills and allows me to write, but that I don’t have to take home or prepare for. I just show up. Man, I never even give work a second thought when I’m not there. I just realized how lucky I am to have that….

Back to knitting Cromarty. I’m a happy gal.