Monday, September 28, 2009

Time to get hammered

We are cribless. The girls spent their first night in their big beds and we heard nary a peep from their room. 
We are a house without tiny plastic potties, daytime diapers, bottles, daytime pacifiers, baby toys and Baby Einstein.
We're taking the house back, dammit, one milestone at a time.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

A love story

For months and into a year I've had to put up with crap stacked on the futon. Stuff crammed into the closets. Shit, really, in every tiny corner of the basement.
Then the girls (finally) got a bit older, and, therefore, didn't need the mounds of baby toys, clothes and whatever else, enough to supply the population of India.
Then we had a garage sale.
Then water leaked into our basement, molding the old carpet.
So I had to pack up the basement. But this was an opportunity, not a sentence, even if it felt like it sometimes.
Weeks more of waiting, but Friday, the new carpet was installed.
And I organized and unpacked and sorted.
And we have a new basement, with a (sorta) toy room and an over-organized, clutter-free life. At least underground.
My type-A, anal itch for putting things in their place is finally, blissfully scratched and twitterpated.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Make up session

We almost broke up.
I was pissed. I had worked my mind up for a tempo run (not an easy task at 6:45 a.m., at least not for me), was dressed and ready to go and stepped outside. It had been a while for a tempo run, and I was practically excited for it.
I expected the bite on my skin, raising my goose bumps, but I was still ready. It's OK, dear, I thought, I can take that. I've taken that many times from you in the past. I know you're a little fickle. 
But as I was strapping Andie and Allie in their seats, just two minutes away from the start of my run, I heard a splatter, then a spatter, then a hard splat. Oh, no. You wouldn't dare, would you, dear?
My frown turned into a growl. Rain. At 6:50 a.m. It was cold and wet. Warm and wet is lovely. I had that last week, during a two-hour run in the rain, as summer gave me one last kiss. Cold and wet, quite frankly, sucks.
Wow. Summer never even got to say good-bye. You just couldn't wait, could you dear? And what a start.
I was not talking to her as I drove to the gym and parked my car. No way. I scowled as the rain soaked my arms and made my shirt stick to my skin. Fine. I'll lift. You won't stop me from working out.
Ugh. I was really pissed.
The rain came down even harder. Unapologetically, actually, as if she didn't care just how poorly she was ruining my day. I got in the car, sniffling from the rain that ran down my cheeks and the cold that frosted them. Grrr.
I decided to make her jealous. At least I'll have a hot shower when I get home. Maybe it's better to just stay inside for the season, I said.
Maybe it worked. The sun broke through the muck that afternoon, and this morning was gray and a little dark and a little nippy. But clear and cool and crisp. Crisp. Ah. You always seem to know what I like, baby.
I had to wear an extra layer but no gloves and shorts. I never overheated. I never sweated too much, just enough to let me know I was working. I breathed in and breathed out. The cool air teased me, then embraced me. She saved the wind for later, after I was done.
I had goose bumps at the beginning and the end.
Dear, dear Fall. Welcome back. I've missed you.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Fretting (and not on the guitar)

I'm not really a worrier. I used to stare into the sky before climbs, but I always go to bed with the knowledge that I can't control the weather, so worrying about it takes away energy that I'll surely need on the peak.
I still need that energy - my kids are still around, along with a wife just getting over the swine flu - but I find myself worrying more than ever.
Maybe it's because I work in the newspaper business, not exactly a reassuring career, but I continue to have a hard time believing this recession/depression is getting better anytime soon. I don't WANT to think this way, just like I want to honestly believe there is no such thing as climate change and that our health care will be reformed in a smart way and that we'll find a way to deal with our crippling national budget deficit. But more and more, I can't. 
Our city of 100,000, Greeley, is cutting $10 million from its budget this year. One of largest car dealership closed. My favorite downtown restaurant closed. 
Worst of all, I fear my fantasy football team might be mediocre, squeezing what little joy the NFL brings me these days (I am, after all, a Chiefs fan).
Sometimes I honestly think if my children will have a future at all, which is terrible to think and a little worthless, since 20 years ago, it was 1988, and times have changed since then (it was a time when you WEREN'T sick of "Pour Some Sugar On Me," for instance, in fact you begged to hear that song, and don't deny it, you know you did).
Anyway, these days I fret, a little too much, in fact. Funny. At one point all I worried about was the repealing of the poker law. Now I'm not sure I care. We've got bigger problems.
So I've booked my trip to Vegas. I'll be there for blogger weekend, starting Thursday. I'll try to soothe my fears with mediocre poker, Steel Panther and maybe a drink or two.
It may not work, but at least I can say I was there one more time before all that glamor comes crumbling to the ground.

Monday, September 07, 2009

Anatomy of a race

Breaking down the Labor Day Park-to-Park 10-miler in Denver.

4:49 a.m. - Coldplay's "Viva a Vida" wakes me up. I didn't pick the song, but I like it. I throw the sheets back in the hotel and flip off the air conditioner. I try to poop. No go. Uh oh. Pooping is the most important thing you can do before a race. Besides dressing.
5:15 a.m. - Time to caravan the cars. This course ends 20 minutes from the start at the Denver Zoo. I'm tired. I've had a busy few weeks and they are catching up to me. But I crank Metallica's latest, and I feel the first jolt of excitement about the race halfway through "That Was Just Your Life." I was beginning to wonder. I wish I had more control over how I felt before a race, but a little person inside me determines that.
6:35 a.m. - The race is close to starting, and we walk up to the starting line. I'm relieved to see a generous helping of port-a-potties. I do the deed. Thank God.
6:59 a.m. - Nerves blast through my body as the Star Spangled Banner rings out. I'm getting into the mindset you need to have to ignore pain, exhaustion and discomfort for as long as I can. The music helps.
7:01 a.m. - Stratrovarious speeds through my ears. And we're off.
7:03 a.m. - Dammit. I can already tell this race may not be my best. My body feels tight. I run into a 7:45 pace, which is what I'm hoping for, but it feels like I'm dragging my body with it, rather than floating along. Not a good sign.
Mile 3 - This is a pretty race. Lots of parks. I try to notice. I'm maintaining a good pace, around 7:40 or so, but my body still feels like it's made of iron, not paper mache.
Mile 3.2 - Hills. Shit.
Mile 4 - Oh man. This hill's a killer. The whole mile is uphill, and I've got a cramp in my side. I try to ignore it, and surprisingly, I do a pretty good job. My attitude remains good, but not even speed metal can drive it away. I'm maintaining a pretty good pace up the hills, but I've just got to get over the top. Ouch. The cramp really hurts.
Mile 4.3 - I consider walking it off, but I'll lose a lot of time. I'll run through this, but if it gets any worse, I'll have to walk.
Mile 5.5 - Whew. OK. I'm starting to feel better. I dig through a pocket in my shorts and find some Sport Beans. I try to eat a couple. I stick them in my cheek, and they sit there, like a patch of tobacco. Eating something is tough when you're breathing hard, and I don't really need it, but if I start to feel tired, it's too late and I've blown my race.
Mile 6 - So far, so good, still on pace, I just ran a sub-48-minute 10K. Or close to it.
Mile 7 - Ugh. The troll is starting to creep in my head. I've done a good job of keeping him out, but I can only block my thoughts for so long. This is something I'll have to work on this fall during my half marathons. The troll doesn't tell me to walk, but it does whisper in my ear that it sure would be nice to stop.
Mile 8 - I'm tired, and these constant rolling hills aren't helping. It seems like as soon as I finish one I've got another to tackle. The hills aren't steep but they are consistent, and that's almost worse. I can't really find a groove. I start to fall off pace. What's worse is I stop caring.
Mile 8.5 - Well, my plan to finish strong is gone. I'm really tired, my body's tired and my legs are heavy. I'm really looking forward to the finish. I try to find a pace and stick with it, and I fear that that pace is 8:45. Sigh. I don't have it anymore today.
Mile 9.5 - I'm dying here. I feel like I've got a sack of sand tied to my ass. What a disappointment. It's small consolation that I am able to run hard at the end.
Mile 10 - I'm done. 1:20:22. 8:01 pace. Still good, but disappointing given my good start.
Walking to a blueberry muffin is difficult. I've got to get something in my body.
Why did I finish so poorly? I ponder this as I wait for my friends to finish. I have three thoughts. One is I'm tired. Those peaks were difficult, and we ran the mile Wednesday (6:05 was my time), and your body can break down occasionally. I didn't give myself a chance to peak.
Second is I wonder if I have the mental strength for something like this. I should have just stuck with it, even if I was feeling bad. Sometimes I don't suck it up enough.
Third is I didn't eat enough and it caught up to me, and not only that, but all the hills caught up to me. This course was harder than I thought it would be.
The rest of the day I walked around the zoo with the kids, and now I'm on the couch. I'm really exhausted. I should feel better about the day than I do. That, too, is part of getting better.