If not now, when?

Archive for March, 2012

I Tend To Disappear.

I am not a people person.

My #xa sponsor in another program pointed this out.  That when there’s conflict, I tend to disappear.  Except you wouldn’t think that if you know me.  You would say, “Man, you really say what’s on your mind, don’t you?”  Well, yeah.  I do.  And, it’s usually the wrong thing.

In the 90s, I left the teaching profession because I simply could not STAND the people in education.  I’m not talking about the healthy ones.  I’m talking about the “back of the hand to the forehead I’m so important” posed ones.  The secretaries who try to make you feel small because you forgot to bubble in one item on a set of tests.  The ones who roll their eyes at you and criticize and then bring donuts to the staff room with a big smile on their faces.  Yeah.  Those, and the teachers who work tirelessly until 10 at night and come and complain about it in the staff room, then raise their eyebrows at you because you went to the movies with your husband.  All this unnecessary drama and belittling.  I always spoke my mind, and they didn’t like it, and I got in trouble for pointing these things out.  I shoulda just kept my mouth shut.  Because this did not bode well for my career.  I hate liars and work drama queens, and I simply cannot NOT say something when they put someone on the spot to answer some stupid educational question, one they should know, and say something like, “Well, did you read your materials?  I sent them to your inbox last week.”  I’m ridiculous.  I have no interlocketer.  Like Tony Soprano’s mother.  What comes in my brain, comes out my mouth.  Have left jobs because of it…grateful…but yeah, there I am again at the next job with the same situation, and yo.  It’s me.  When I came back to the teaching profession in 2002, guess what?  Those emotionally sick dishonest people?  They were still there.  Add the word “standards” to the description.  That’s the only thing that really changed.

You would think I am mouthy and get my way in relationships.  You could look at my two marriages and think, “Wow, that is one forceful woman…she wears the pants in that family.”  I spoke my mind, and thought I was being honest, but actually, I was being controlling and pushy, and did not consider what the other felt.  This is not forceful.  I was not telling the truth about how I felt about the hurts they imposed.  My second marriage was so full of this, that we simply could not get ahead of the last fight before the next one came along.  I was watching Mad Men the other night, where Roger says to his wife, “Shut up!”, and it felt like taking a bullet.  So familiar.

Stay with me here.  The title of this post isn’t really fleshing out just yet.

So, I start noticing this pattern of late.  Someone gets mad at me, or says something insulting, or crosses my boundaries and I let them, and I just…go mute.  And here’s the reason.  For so long I just agree with you, and let you say what you want and not challenge what you’ve said about me…that I simply cannot.  No.  Will not speak.  Because it’s somehow scary to my psyche.  This is completely opposite of my old reaction.

Recently a friend said some pretty mean things to me.  I told her she was being mean.  And what ended up happening was that I simply had not told her the truth about what I believed, and I allowed her insanity to run unchallenged, and she ran her spiritual truck right into the mud.  Me.  The truth teller, did not tell her that no, that “the way to get over a man is to get under another one” is not a healthy credo.  That line made me so sick, yet I went…mute.  Finally, I was able to speak my truth.  But, it took a while.

So, when she spoke her truth about me, my dormant opinion came boiling over.  Right out.  A similar incident happened when I was recently directed to tell a woman the truth…that I simply could not go on with what we were doing in the program.  By the time I did that, I was so freaked out and texting back and forth.  I looked mute, but actually…I simply did not tell her the truth in the beginning…when I should have.  I end up saying sorry, because you cannot text your feelings…and then the whole issue becomes your texting behavior… but it’s not the issue…  Clear as mud?  I offended someone with my blatant honesty recently, and she wasn’t even a friend, but a new acquaintance.  And now…well, I just stepped in a pile of shit with that one.

Sidenote:  I love the women who love me.  Who get me.  Who know I disappear.  The ones I’ve blurted out stuff to…that they nod and appreciate me and wait for me to stop my ramblings.  I love the ones who’ve forgiven my judgy attitude, and have been good friends.  A long time.  And, you know who you are.  I love you.

Mute:  You wouldn’t think this of me.  But it’s true.  I just disappear.  In order not to ruffle feathers, I simply do not weigh in.  But I stockpile the truth deep inside of me…and it comes out all at once…and inappropriate…I’ve pissed off more than my share of women’s groups, friends, etc.  Because my muteness.  It’s dishonest as hell.

I’ve just recently become awake to this.  You may be aware of that, because this post seems neurotic.  I’m working on it.  Please be patient with me.

Oh, and I’m starting taper next week.  Just in case this makes no sense to you.  You should see it on the inside of my head.

Category:

friends, life

“When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge.

Would I miss the way a breeze dimples
the butter-colored curtains on Sunday mornings,
or nights gnashed by cicadas and thunderstorms? . . . 
This week has been a journey.
51 miles on the roads.  My last 16 miler.
3 normal runs, an LSD of 16, a perfect tempo & strength workout
Reminding myself that I’m running on tired legs, which is why.
I’m tired.
and I run and I buy more Clif Shots and drink chocolate milk
and rest and run and run some more.
My feet are just a little sore, but my knees:  they are starting to rumble.
As of this morning, I have lost 20 pounds from the Fall.
Because I like to eat.  A lot.  And I think if I run,
well.  I can just eat whatever I want.
So, I counted calories.  And I won.
My car needed a tuneup.
When it was all done, the Tire Store in town called.
and offered to get my car for me to fix my tires.
and we had a big discussion on Monster drinks
and running.  Everyone has a running story.
The owner says i run 5 miles every saturday.and that’s enough for me.
I smile, as I have just run a 7 miler.
Right into his business.
There was some styrofoam that blew onto my driveway.
From my neighbor’s yard.
I was a bad neighbor.  But I was just sick of this.
So I kicked it over to their yard.  Which was stupid.
I could have easily thrown it away.
But.  I was tired.  And, it was a crappy move on my part.
So last night.  The styrofoam was back on my yard.
and i threw it away.
but now we have a lil issue.
And today.  More styrofoam.
And I keep throwing it away.
*sigh*
An old friend came back to the fold of 5 gal pals.  And now, 6.
She came back, and revived me.  And made me remember
whey we were all together.  and she supported me
and now her eyeball all the time. so very sweet.
My sweet Princess, the thousand dollar rescue dog
the dog who outsmarts electric fences, restraints of any type and the police
she was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer this week
and she lays by my bed.  quiet. subdued.
the plastic collar on her head so she cannot tear her stitches.
She’s old, but not too old.
She is tired from the cancer growing in her rectum, along her pelvis.
An orange sized tumor that never showed itself and now.
is taking her away from us.
Maybe a month, maybe more.  But I am broken hearted.
She wants to go out.  and she goes in the back yard.
As if to survey the place.  Make sure the birds stay away.
She stands there.  Looks around.  And comes back in.
And they say I will know.  But how will I know?
She will have to tell me.  Because this.  This is foreign.
The journey is long.
We have lots of snacks. Pillows.
I feed her out of my palm, and she wags her tail.
And this.  This was my week.

Category:

life

Happy Birthday To Gymnotes

Gymnotes is 5 years old.

5 year olds are cheerful, energetic, enthusiastic.

They like best friends, but haven’t completely mastered social skills.

Since the inception of this blog.

1 divorce

falling in love with 1 harley guy

4 marathons

10 half marathons

5 10Ks

13 5Ks

A Science teacher, then PE, then

High School English Teacher

My boys were in 4th and 2nd grade,

learning how to navigate a divorce,

when only 8% of the town is divorced.

I stumbled about blogs that I still read today:

Quadrathon & Viper & Tavia & Glenn.

I joined and unjoined Twitter.

I contacted the Governor on these pages

and became a champion of older runners.

I met women near and far that have become so dear to me.

Shannon, Ali, Yasmine, Sheila, Row

Shiloh, Penny, Maddy, Lauren, Cyndi, Zu

Gymnotes is 5, and I’m running my 5th marathon.

I used to write about everything, then just running,

now everything again.

I am blessed.

Birthday Cake all around!

Welcome Spring.

Category:

blogs

Week 14 Thoughts.

I volunteered at the Modesto Marathon on Sunday.  I love volunteering.  Except when it gets in the way of my training.  I know.  That’s not politically correct.  However, I had a 9 mile tempo run, and by the time I got home, I was so sore from standing since 5:30am.

I didn’t run that day.  Monday, I ran a compromise of 7 tempo miles at MP.  Today I ran 8 miles at 11:34.  I feel amazing and strong.  At this point of Hanson marathon training, your quads are steel cylinders.  Seriously.  The best feeling in the world.

But, that’s it.  No more.  Nothing until marathon morning.  No more jacking the schedule, no matter what.  I have a few long runs scheduled during a week of testing, which means I will be up at 4am, or running at 10pm.  Neither of those sound good, except when you’re at Mile 18 going… “Shit!  I shouldn’t have dropped that run!!”  So.  There will be no more missed runs.

I am in the middle of week 14.  A week past from the dreaded, ugly 16 miler, with one more of those to go.  I ran 50 miles last week, and felt pretty damned good about myself.  The only target now is San Luis Obispo.

33 days and about 250 more miles to go.

Category:

San Luis Obispo Marathon

50.

Jon Bon Jovi, Tom Cruise & Jodie Foster are all 50

People like to celebrate other people’s 50th birthday

Oh.  And I ran 50 miles this week.

  • 9 on Sunday.  A beautiful, perfect tempo run, 5 seconds faster than my time.
  • 6 on Monday. 
  • 6 on Tuesday.
  • 16 hellish, horrible miles of LSD on Wednesday
  • 7 miles of resistance on Thursday
  • 2×3 milers at strength pace, MP -:10 today.  11:50 & 11:51. 
After two days of foam rolling, old school (grandma’s wooden rolling pin), my legs finally felt alive and workable today.  Tomorrow, I rest…and 5 weeks left until SLO.  **breathing**

Category:

50 years old, running, San Luis Obispo Marathon

shaken.

I remember when I was a new runner.  I blogged about every. single. run.  The 3 milers, the 5 milers, all of them.  It’s been a long time since I did that, and hardly ever in this training cycle.

Today though.  Today simply must be acknowledged.  I had a 16 miler on the plan, and I had been doing some pretty decent runs since I recovered from the upper respiratory illness.  In fact, I’m still on antibiotics.  However, I am so not a fan of the long run.  I don’t care that they are important.  I dread them.

I carb loaded last night.  Like, a lot.  Not overkill, but I really wanted to nail this run.  My first step out the door should have been a huge sign to me.  I was slow.  Tired.  But.  Since this is a LSD run, I had no fear.  It’s supposed to be long.  Slow.

At mile 1, I stopped at the gym, where a long time friend…the friend who helped me see the truth in 2007…she was there and said “Oh My God…we need to catch up…LOTS going on…right?”  And honestly.  I’m happy.  It’s fine.  However, it’s not the way I wanted to start this run.

Mile 2 & 3 took me over the green bridge.  I was on my way to Modesto, and had planned to run 8 out and back.  At mile 4, at the end of the trail, there was a LOT of mud.  Or a huge puddle.  I chose to turn around and come back.

I was okay at mile 5 and had a restroom stop and was not in the mood to keep running.  I realized I was at that moment that you know you have a helluva long way to go to NOT be in the mood.  I ran through Spring Creek, and longed for the Garmin (hereby known as Nuke LaLoosh) to tell me I was in the single digits, but no.  On and on this went.  I weaved in and out of neighborhoods.

Did I mention it was raining and windy?  Like, the whole run?  At mile 7, it stopped, but started again at mile 7.5.  Wind, rain, bad music on the iPod.  More wind and cold.  My shirt was heavy with water.  My hat was dripping.  My gloves and arm sleeves were heavy.  It was ugly, people.

I got to Mistlin Park, and was just at halfway, and depressed.  My legs were lead already.  How did this happen?  This training cycle has been KICKASS and I have never felt better.  I took my second Clif Shot and was running on bricks, and it was here I stopped and stretched.  My legs were wooden boards, and I was hurting.  Plus.  Did I mention the rain?

I got to the truck stop, very slowly.  I smiled at one of those homeless dudes with a cardboard sign.  It was really my only contact with human life the whole run.  I got into town, resigned to 5+ more miles.  Trying to suck it up.  At the corner, I crossed with the light, just as a dude texting in his lap rolled into the intersection.  He nearly hit me.  I stopped, and raised my arms in disgust.  He slowly drove by me and flipped me off.  I stopped in the intersection as he burned out.  In the rain.  Total tool.

On and on this went.  Running.  Walking.  Drinking water.  on and on and on.  I got to the golf course, and started to cry when Dolly Parton’s, “I Will Always Love You.” came on the iPod.  This was the song that was playing the last time I saw my Granny.  Right before she died, I was looking into her eyes, and it was playing in the hospital, and I started crying and she held my hand and said “I love you Linny.”  So, I start crying right on the trail.  Wailing. I miss her.  And, in most marathons at about mile 20, I imagine she says to all her brothers, “Ok, get up and stop playing cards.  Linny needs us.”  And I imagine her with her broom and blowing me on my way.  Sorta like the wind.   It helps.

At one point, I thought about why I’m running.  I thought about my Grandpa.  How much I loved him.  I thought of all the people who are dealing with cancer…and you know what?  It didn’t help.  I was knee deep in self pity.

2.5 more miles to go and I want to cry.  Third Clif Shot.  This is misery.  My feet were numb and wet, and I was remembering the LA Marathon, and how the hell did I do that?  I  finally turn down my street.  I had been at a 13:25 pace for a little while, what with all the walking.  But.  With every training run in this cycle, I do two things.  I never walk hills, and I always sprint the last .2, just for that last push in a marathon.  You know.  When you see mile 26, there is still so much further (farther?) to go.

I nearly threw my Nuke LaLoosh in the garbage.  I could barely walk.  I pounded down a cup of chocolate milk, and made a Nuun.  A bowl of spaghetti later, a nice conversation and texts from friends…but the best of all…a text from Harley Guy.

Me:  <3

Him: <3 Back

Me:   Even though I’m a shit runner?

Him:  Baby, you are not a shit runner, but I would love you if you were.

I feel terribly shaken.  The only thing worse is knowing that I have to do 7 more miles tomorrow.  And the day after and the day after…I’m hoping my mood…and my legs improve.

Category:

marathon, running, San Luis Obispo Marathon

when i wish i was running a marathon.

when the la marathon comes this weekend

i won’t be running it.

in 2009, i volunteered for the first time at mile 20.

in 2010, i passed out at mile 18 and made it in 7 hours

in 2011, i was hanson trained.  ready.

and it monsooned.  even as glenn ran with me in beverly hills,

and harley guy gave me an orange at mile 20

and shiloh ran with me to the end.

it poured. and i didn’t much care.  i just wanted redemption.

this year, i needed to finish the tnt season

and i’m running san luis obispo in april.

i also thought, well you’re 53.  how many more of these do you have?

so how many spring marathons can you do?

won’t doing LA again be boring?

and the answer is so…no.

this sunday i’ll be volunteering at the modesto marathon

because i can’t run and jack up my schedule.

i’m so close.

but.  i guarantee this.

i will be missing the LA MARATHON.

dodger stadium

the oranges the community the people

and

that feeling that i am home.

los angeles.  my town.

and i am coming back to her arms

2013.

see you then.

Image

Category:

Uncategorized

random weekend thoughts.

  • Practice sprinting the last .2 in training.  You’ll need it.
  • Driving to the Amtrak is harder when you are saying goodbye.
  • Donald Trump’s son’s hair is weird.  Donald’s Trump’s hair is weird. 
  • If you pay me only $17 an hour, please don’t expect me to work as if you are paying me $50 an hour.  The Peter Principle.  Enough said.
  • I saw Jessica Simpson in the naked pregnancy picture.  Didn’t Demi do that, like 20 years ago?
  • There is no shame in relieving yourself on the side of the road.
  • Perception is reality.
  • Rest days are not for eating the fun food.  The day BEFORE rest days are for that.
  • GBT:  Guilty, stupid pleasure.
  • Is it Debbie Gibson?  I thought it was Deborah Gibson.  Discuss.
  • 42 days until San Luis Obispo Marathon.

Category:

random

grandpa eddy


The story of a little girl.

Coming home with her new album.

Simon & Garfunkle’s

Bridge Over Troubled Water.

I race in and can’t wait to put in on the turntable.

My Grandpa is on the couch. Sick.

So. Very. Sick.

It’s 1970. He has Multiple Myeloma.

Not much longer to live.

But. What do I know?

I’m just excited about this record.

I put it on the player, and the familiar piano chords come out.

My mother, not knowing what this is.

Because we just got out of the 60s.

She comes racing in to tell me not to play it.

It’s too loud!

Grandpa is sick.

He says, “Dee Dee, let her play it.”

And this is the part when I start weeping.

Every time I tell the story.

Because Sail On Silver Girl.

I can see him now. Closed eyes.

Listening to this beautiful music.

It was the last summer he was alive.

And because of his diagnosis, he didn’t see me

graduate high school, college,

He wasn’t at my wedding,

and he never saw my sons.

When I accidentally signed up with TNT the

Summer of 2009, I had no idea

how important this cause would become to me.

I needed a plan. A training plan. I already had a bib.

So, I raised money. I trained.

And. The morning of my first NIKE marathon

The loudspeaker says “Multiple Myeloma”

and my mother looks at me and says,

“That’s what Grandpa had”

His name. Written on my arm.

And now, 4 marathons later,

I run in SLO with his name again.

I am so close. The total at top

does not reflect what I really need.

What I really need.

Is for every little silver girl

To have her Grandpa.

As long as she can and maybe for a lifetime.

If you want to donate to the cause, click here

(This is a post on my fundraising page.  To date, I have raised $2069.80,

and have to raise $2375.  Only $305 to go, if in case you want to help.)

Category:

family, team in training

determination, dedication, self-discipline, effort

There comes a point in every marathon training where my head kicks in and says, “What are you thinking?”  It’s somewhere in the middle, when I have lots of days behind me, and lots of runs in front of me.  My head starts barking at me with old noise.  The chatter that says, you should have taken this road or you shouldn’t have done that.   You’re old, and you’re never going to bq at this rate…blah blah blah…

Except.  Not this time.  This time, I’m clear about what I have to do, how much I’ve done, and how much more there is to do.  I’m incredibly confident.  I am imagining a PR in San Luis Obispo.   And, it’s not some wish.  I am working, and it shows.  15 pounds gone, 330 miles run since January.  I am doing the work.

So…on Tuesday, when I was feeling these aches, I should have simply gone to the doctor.  Because, I knew.  I knew that above the neck, you can run…below the neck, not so much.  You can read about running sick here.  I knew this.  However, my symptoms were up above AND in my chest.

I finally went to the doctor today, when I should have gone on Wednesday.  The doctor said I have an upper respiratory infection, and I need 10 days of antibiotics.  I am not to run until 48 hours have passed with medicine.

On the one hand, I’m irritated that now I will have lost 40 miles on the training.  On the other hand, there’s something about a doctor saying YES you can run, or NO don’t run, that sort of legitimizes the condition.  It’s having a medical note that says, “she’s not faking this!  I’m a real doctor, and I diagnosed this.”

It’s gorgeous here in NORCAL.  So yeah.  I’m not thrilled about not running.  But.  Tuesday.  48 hours from now.  I will lace up and get out there.  I’ve lost a week, but gained some wisdom.  I can’t wait to run, and I’ve not felt this for awhile.  I still can nail my goals.  I have 3 16 milers left in this cycle, and I will be fine.

I don’t have to live out my history.  My imagination is on fire, and my goals are very much in reach.

Category:

injuries, marathon

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