7.45 Miles in a Flash

Some people see a series of 6's and think "evil"; at the "Flash" races yesterday, what mattered more to me was the color (red), signifying I was a 12K runner (6K runners had black numbers).

When I started blogging weekly, I focused on the topic that was prominent in my head (and my weekends) at the time:  running a 5K in less than 30 minutes.  Along the way to that goal (which I still am working toward), I have wandered into a critique of convenience store bathroom decor (and gained a couple of friends out of it), swept up auto glass off of a major highway (and felt better for it), and confronted the reality of parenting a teenager head-on (or maybe it was keyboard to keyboard).  This week brings me back to running.

When I ran the "Flash" 6K last February, I was about two months into my return to running.  It was great to have an unusual distance -- 6K (3.73 miles) -- to run on a weekend when my training program had me progressing to a 4 mile distance anyway.  Although last year's event was the 21st annual, it was my first time participating, and I quickly grew to understand why this somewhat low key race with its unique quirks lures people back year after year.  One "draw" of the race is that it is run in memory of  Tim Simpkins.  Having been around in Tallahassee in the mid 80's when it was not unusual to see "Superman" (aka Tim) flying down Tennessee Street in front of Jerry's Restaurant, it is nice to keep the memories alive of someone who always made running interesting (while doing it very, very well). 

When 2010 came around, I found myself in a different place running-wise compared to 2009.  I may not be running my 5K's in a sub-30 time yet, but I have gotten faster (34:27) thanks to my nighttime Hawk's Landing runs in all kinds of weather, the speed-inducing influence of Gulf Winds' Tuesday night "tortuvals" sessions, the slow and steady weight loss that has come with consistent running, and increasing my weekend run mileage.  I have read that there is a positive relationship between running longer than the distance at which you are trying to excel and running that distance faster, which is why it took about ten seconds to say "yes" when my sister-in-law Laurie asked me to run the Cooper River Bridge Run in Charleston, SC, on March 27 to celebrate her 40th birthday with her.  I figure training for a longer race will positively influence my 5K goal, so longer runs on the weekends it is. 

Which gets me back to the Flash 12K/6K.  I could have run the 6K again this year, but my training plan called for me to run 6 miles.  If I had run 6K, I would have had to tack on a few more miles after the race.  If I ran the 12K, I was risking returning to the absolute tail end of the pack of runners, where I have not been in a while, as well as the old "last banana status" (although in the case of the Flash the post-race snack is black beans and rice (yum!). 

I went out on President's Day and ran the 12K course, to get some idea of how long it would take.  I pored over previous years' results to see what the longest time had been each year.  I sent the director one too many emails asking if I could switch to the 6K distance on race day if I lost my nerve. 

With my slow but "completed" President's Day run checked off the list, I proceeded to run the 12K, and I am so glad I did.  Thanks to the cold, race day adrenaline, and the sight of venerable Robert Morris a minute ahead of me throughout most of the last half of the race, I finished in 1:32:00, which is about 11 minutes faster than my practice run.  This will break no records (except on my own PR list), but the sense of completion and accomplishment I took home with me were reward enough. 

The other thing that strikes me about the Flash race and makes it one of my favorites is how its "out and back" design, and the fact that the 12K'ers interface with the 6K'ers at the middle of the race, facilitates the encouraging words that are shared between all different paces of runners.  When this picture was posted last year, I thought it was hysterical that Tony Guillen (2010's Gulf Winds Track Club Male Runer of the Year) was "behind" me.  He was actually almost done with the 12K while I was still working on my 6K. 

This year, like last year, I was reminded how one key to overcoming my horrible memory of faces and names is working directly with people, getting to know them, and sharing experiences.  So many people who have made this past year of running such a great experience, both from a running perspective and from a "life lessons" perspective, passed me on the trail yesterday (or helped manage the race).  It sounds so minor, but not having to say, "what is your name again" less and less often is as energizing to me as a good run (well, almost!).

The opportunity to share a beautiful day honoring Tallahassee's running "super hero" while participating in a sport we all love so much made 7.45 miles go by in a "flash."

I'll "run" into everyone next week.

Molten Mom Moments

When Tenley was in kindergarten, her school held a "Christmas store" where items were sold at prices very friendly to children.  The kids created lists of who they wanted to buy for and when they went to the store, they could cover several family members with $10 (including gift wrapping).  When I picked Tenley up from after school the day of her "shopping" trip, she couldn't wait to share the gift she had bought me.  (When my husband is anywhere around, we get lectures about how gift opening should be saved for the actual holiday, yada yada yada.)  He's the only family member who feels that way.  Even he would have been won over by her enthusiasm that day.  She was so proud to introduce the bluebird of happiness into my life, and was anxious to know whether or not I loved it (I did and I do).  He lit on my desk and has been there for nine years: 

I rarely write directly about my teenager, because I think she would equate being written about with the feeling she had when I was at the Springtime Tallahassee post-race party a few years ago and started doing the electric slide in public.  Ugh.  That incident was a few years ago but I guess it was just a little taste of what was to come. 

When I was trying to decide what graphic to use when I blogged about the mother/teenager dynamic, the bluebird came to mind.  The comparisons are obvious (to me):  I see it and her every day, both are beautiful and unique; I have sentimental feelings for the bird and the kid; the bluebird doesn't talk and the teenager doesn't talk much (to me -- peers are a different story!).  I am rapidly becoming accustomed to one-word answers (when I get them at all), and I am sad.  It is as if the bluebird of happiness has been jailed: 

Things came to a head this week when she "unfriended" me on Facebook.  For some reason, I started thinking, gee I haven't seen any status updates from Tenley for a while, so I typed her name into the search bar and got Tenley Studio, a hair salon in Tenleytown (Washington DC) that I am a "fan" of just because I like their name.  I wasn't thinking hair that day, though, I was thinking flesh and blood --- MINE. 

So instead of playing my cards close to my vest and letting things play out (which would have given me more options) I immedately sent a friend request with a sarcastic comment along the lines of "thanks for unfriending me."  And I proceeded to mope.  It felt like a breakup.  I felt sad, betrayed, and powerless.  Over the next few hours I was thinking "ultimatum," as in "make me your 'friend' again or lose your computer and phone."  I had told my husband about this but asked him to not bring it up to her when he saw her at pickup.  When she got home that night I proceeded to give her the silent treatment (very mature behavior for a 45 year old!) and while she was chattering away about the good things in her life I was doing the cold shoulder routine.  When she finally asked what was wrong, I told her, and she said, "remember I told you Facebook was acting funny?"  I said, "Oh so you didn't unfriend me?" and she said, "Yeah, actually I did.  It was weird having my mom as my friend." 

When Tenley and I attended the mother daughter luncheon at my mother in law's church today, Barb mentioned what a nice valentine one of my older nieces had sent her.  I remember about six years ago, when that same niece arrived at the mother daughter luncheon with a distinct "attitude" vibe.  I couldn't believe the change that had come over this young woman.  I smugly thought, "that'll never happen to me."  At the time, my standing in my daughter's life was still decent.  It's my turn now to be surprised by a girl who looks the same but acts teenager-y.  Here's a picture from this year's luncheon:

Right now, the bluebird is holding the paperwork down in my in basket. 

I am a first-time parent of a teenager grieving the loss of years of easy communication that brought me great joy and helped me let go of some old baggage from my childhood.  Through her actions (and my reactions), I am being reminded that Tenley has her own work to do now, work that I can't see her through. 

When I researched "the bluebird of happiness," I discovered a vendor that specializes in them, Terra Studios.  In describing the manufacturing process, Terra Studios describes the pure white Northwestern Arkansas sand that is used to make the glass for each bird, and how the blue color comes from adding black copper oxide to the molten glass.

The mother/daughter situation feels pretty "molten" lately.  I guess the process of raising another human being is going to be fraught with "fiery" moments.  I imagine once the craftsman finishes adding the copper oxide, the bird has to be left alone to take shape. 

Hopefully the takeaway for me is to know that all of this "heat" leads to a beautiful product in the long run.

In the meantime, it looks like there's a "friend" spot open on Facebook!

I'll "run" into you next week, readers. 

Hooked on Hookless

My friend Rhett Devane said in a recent Facebook post that she "could write two pages about a trip to the mailbox."  When I sat down to write today's blog, I did not think I could expand on my Facebook conversation yesterday about hookless shower curtains enough to fill a typical-length blog, so I was prepared to do a blog with three "mini topics."  Once I got started on the shower curtain thing, I discovered it's not so mini (or maybe I'm not so concise). 

With credit to Rich Rasmussen for this week's title, I will explain my discovery (eureka!) yesterday of "hookless" shower curtains.  Five years ago, when we moved into this house, I put the coolest shower curtain hooks in the children's bathroom, which is also the main bathroom in the house.  They were so neat looking -- my favorite combination of matte and shiny metal (just like my silverware, maybe there's a pattern here):

The problem is that these hooks are a lot more attractive than they are functional.  Because they do not close, they rely on gravity and a gentle touch with the shower curtain open/close process.  I have a boy child --- gentle and boy child are not two characteristics that generally share time in this particular bathroom.  So I have endured five years of hearing the shower curtain come crashing down, putting it back up, and general annoyance.

When I went to buy a new shower curtain, I already had the box of "the usual" shower curtain rings in my hand and was trying to pick out a new shower curtain when magic words came into my line of vision:  installs in a minute!  no need for rings!  flexes right onto the shower rod!  I am usually pretty skeptical of this type of claim on a consumer product, but I kept envisioning all those teeny tiny little plastic dots that end up all over the floor when installing a traditional shower curtain, and how the end always gets ripped making the whole curtain droop until another one was purchased, and I decided to give it a shot.

I am happy to report that, amazingly enough, all three claims are true!  I think it took longer to get the shower curtain out of all the packaging than it did to install it.  I didn't need any rings, and it did flex right onto the shower curtain rod without me having to take the rod down.  I think it's highly likely these were invented by a mom (although my little bit of research traces back to hotels that need easy on/easy off shower curtains in their bathrooms). 

Once I became so enthralled with my new discovery, the decision was "to Facebook status or not to Facebook status."  Figuring that those who aren't interested can ignore, delete, remove, or unfriend (although I hope it would take more than a trivial post to drive people away), I went for it.

This post generated five "likes" and comments from an additional four people.  Besides the "thumbs ups," several of us shared resources for where to find this product affordably, and how silly it is that some internet vendors charge SO MUCH for them.  A group of diverse people who don't really know each other and aren't all that likely to meet in person shared some useful information that may make their lives easier in some small way. 

And if by sharing a bit of information I can remove a little hassle factor from a friend's life AND have a pleasant back-and-forth, I'm hooked.

I'll "run" into you next week!!

More Than Enough (for Jimmy)

___  Check here if you need a partner. 

When I signed up for the "Couples Caper" race in 2003, the registration form described the race as a 4K, with one member of the "couple" running 2K and the other member completing the last 2K of the race.  It also stated that if you did not have a partner, attempts would be made to find you one.  I checked the box, knowing that as partners go, I was not that much of a "catch."  Since the race results were based on the combined time of both partners, whoever got partnered with me would have a whole lot of fast running to do in order to make up for my slowness.

Fred and Margarete Deckert coordinated this race, and must have figured out that I was participating in the Springtime 10K training group and would know Jimmy Kalfas, who was a volunteer helping with the  group.  At some point before the race, I was told, "your partner will probably be Jimmy Kalfas."  The day of the race I learned that was the case.  Lucky me. 

When I started the Springtime 10K training group in January 2003, I had a whole lot of ground to cover (literally and figuratively).  As I coped with the dark and cold nights, more often than not I discovered that I had company in the person of Jimmy Kalfas.  We didn't talk about anything earth shattering.  I mainly recall hearing about his athletic endeavors, his family, and his struggles with injury.  I mainly remember talking about my kids (surprise).  There was one night when I felt disheartened because I had not run at all in the week between training sessions, and we were running four miles that night.  We runners all help each other out during times of motivational drought, but the way Jimmy handled that was perfect.  It was empathetic but there was still a little hint of butt-kick in his response, which essentially was, "you just have to put what you have not done in the past and get back to it." 

Jimmy and I fell out of touch after 2003.  I fell out of running, and I think he pursued some different directions.  I sure was happy to see him pop up on Facebook a few months ago.  We exchanged a few "catching up" messages, and life kept speeding along in that accelerated way it seems to have taken on.

I was shocked to hear of his death last week at the age of 59, when Mike Weyant posted a comment about it on Facebook and the offical confirmation followed in the form of newspaper articles and an obituary.  I can't make sense of his death at such a young age, in such unclear circumstances.  I can only imagine the depths of despair that his companion, Connie, and family members must feel. 

Of all the various lyrics I have stockpiled over the years to speak to various situations, nothing in my arsenal really was fitting for a tribute to Jimmy.  As far as tributes go, I suspect he'd rather have a beautiful, breezy day on the golf course for his pals, or a perfect transition for his triathlete friends, or a personal record run by someone he has supported. 

The closest I have come is a song I heard for the first time last week, "One Life to Love" by 33 Miles. 

Click Here for a Performance of "One Life to Love" by 33 Miles

When I listened to an interview with 33 Miles, the group that performs "One Life to Love," they talked about how they want to convey with this song the urgency in "being intentional with the time we've been given."

The song tells a couple of stories, one about an older man who realizes on his deathbed that he spent too much time at work and not enough time sharing himself with the people in his life.  The other was about a young mother who thought "the sun had set on her big plans to feel young again" and walked away from a set of "little hands that held on tight the day she left." 

When I look back on the part Jimmy played in my life, and what I know about the role he played in others' lives, I am not at all worried about him being unintentional with his life or failing to treat time with the people in his life as something of equivalent importance to material possessions.

The song "One Life to Love" ends with these lyrics:

One day when it's all said and done
I hope you see that it was enough, this
One ride
One try
One life ....to love.

Thank you, Jimmy, for making so much out of your "one life."  In doing so you gave us all an experience that was more than "enough."

Author's Note -- Fred Deckert appropriately reminded me that the run was 4K for each partner.  The results were compiled by the total time and the added-together ages of the two runners.  Thank you Fred for the correction. 

Drive Time

I got home very late this evening, from a fun day of being an extra on an FSU film, and considered not posting, but some habits are hard to break.  Hopefully there's still a little coherence left before I truly conk out for the night.

Let's get that last New Year's resolution out of the way:

Number three is "kids' main driver."  Even at the time I wrote that as one of my top three goals, the period of my life when I was paying college students (and whoever I could rustle up with a clean background check, a compatible schedule, and decent rapport with my children) to shuttle them from school to gymnastics, dance, and various other extracurriculars was largely in the past.  Tenley wasn't at the gym three days a week any longer.  Wayne Kevin was between "extracurriculars." 

When thinking about why "kids' main driver" is still in the top three, I get around to the fact that I just want more time with them, period, and frequently the way to get time with them is to be at the wheel of a car taking them somewhere.

I know plenty of working parents disagree with me, but I know that for me, it is not possible to get "quality time" without accruing "quantity time."  Tenley and I drove to Orlando a couple of weekends ago for a shopping trip (her Christmas gift), and after four solid hours in the car to Orlando, lots of driving around Orlando, and four solid hours back, the one substantial conversation we had occurred literally five minutes from home as we were on the exit ramp. 

I will admit that I am downright envious of the moms (and a few dads) I know who can pick their kids up from school (or even meet them getting off the bus) and not leave their children at school until 6 p.m. (a point at which, I promise, everyone is pretty tired).  And although those times that I carved out a way to be the one taking Tenley and Wayne to gymnastics mainly consisted of brother/sister yelling matches with me trying to mediate (while thinking why on earth can't everyone just get along), it still meant something to me that I was with them, that I would be the first to know who had a good day, who had a bummer of a day, and who liked what on the radio. 

We had great drivers, many of whom I have stayed in touch with. 

But they weren't me. 

I am not in a position to drop commitments left and right in order to achieve goal number three right now.  But keeping it on the list reaffirms my desire to be "at the wheel" while my children are the passengers in my parental "vehicle." 

The mom taxi doesn't collect a cash fare, but the good news is the meter will run until all those exit ramps for the important conversations are in the taillights. 

WIHAM --- WHY?

Since I have written about my #1 and #2 2010 goals in the last two weeks, it would be logical to write about goal #3 tonight.  But something else is niggling at me, so goal #3 is going to have to take a back seat for a week.

If I get custody of the remote at our house, it's likely that I'll turn on the Style Network.  I love "Whose Wedding is it Anyway?" and "How Do I Look"?  I'm still disappointed that the pictures Tenley sent in, me in my hot pink crocs in combo with some past-their-prime clothing, didn't make the "What Not to Wear" cut.  I also love "Clean House."  It's just a shame they don't "do" homes outside of the Los Angeles area. 

Style Network has a new show, "What I Hate About Me."  When this show was on in the background recently, I thought it was another take on something like, "What Not to Wear" but then I realized the host was teaching the "subject" (Ambar) how to write thank-you notes.  It turns out that one of the ten things Ambar "hates" about herself is not knowing what to say on thank you notes.

The show's website describes the show in one line:  Real women admit their imperfections—and Style's A-list experts share practical tips for fixing every foible.  After watching that initial show, and most of another one this weekend (there have only been three shows so far), I am struck by the difference between "admitting imperfections" and "whining about imperfections."  I am simultaneously intrigued and repelled.  Here's Ambar "before":

One of the BIG, top-10 moments for Ambar, for instance, was when she disclosed that she has always covered up her arms because they are unsightly -- what she describes as "chicken bump arms" that a dermatologist reassures her can be minimized with treatment.  After using something called a "Clarasonic brush," Ambar gets all weepy and says, "I've never had clear arms before."  I am really happy that this issue was resolved for her, and I totally "get" how something like that can eat at you for years and undermine your confidence quietly and chronically.  (My choice to get orthodontics at the age of 40 probably is in that same category.)  But, having just read several books about soldiers killed or wounded in Iraq, losing appendages, losing all ability to lead the lives they had known previously, and losing forever the carefree approach to life many of them held, I wanted to jump through the screen and yell, "GET A GRIP!!!!"

I guess a show called "What I Love About Me" would draw anemic ratings but it sure would be less irritating.  For a mental exercise, I composed my own list today to see what ten "hated" things I would list if pressed to do so.  So it's self disclosure time!!

1) My teeth (although that's now been checked off the list)
2) Not saying what I really mean
3) The fact that I am 45 years old and have never used my passport
4) The fact that I don't speak better Spanish
5) My clothes
6) My poor housekeeping habits
7) My neglected yard
8) Not being assertive enough
9) Getting drowsy every time I sit still (especially in meetings)
10) Being addicted to Altoids and Diet Coke

Each of the three "subjects" so far has had some type of physical issue in her top ten.  Ambar had issues with her body (too tall, too slouchy); featured woman #2, Brandi, had issues with her body (too curvy); featured woman #3, Amanda, had issues dressing her athletic body in a feminine way.  I will not complain about my body; it gave me two children so it gets an exemption from any "hate" list.  I'll keep working on it but I refuse to hate it.

I was looking around for some quotes to more adequately address the "get a grip" thing I was feeling when watching chicken bump arms Ambar, something I would say to her if we were having coffee.  I came across a blog for newcomers to meditation.  One of the concepts the blog introduces is the essence of meditation, witnessing, as in "witnessing our thoughts."  In the blog (found at http://www.onlinemeditations.blogspot.com/), the author says, "Witnessing is done by the soul.  Right now mind has created a cloud of dust in our inner space and that's why we are not able to experience our inner nature.  But as we become more stable in witnessing then slowly the mind starts settling down and inner sky becomes more clear and we start having glimpses of our real self."

My concern is that spending an hour (and all the days of production time that must have gone into the creation of these episodes) focusing on what these women hate about themselves keeps them (and us) thinking about the hated traits.  The show puts some window dressing on these ten things, brings in experts, and always wraps up with the woman looking made over, more confident, and gushing about the changes she has made.  Here's Ambar's "after": 

My concern is that the cloud of dust may be still whirling around in their inner space.  Calming that cloud takes much more than hate; it takes love. 

So Ambar, Brandi, and Amanda, I hope your sequel, even if it never airs on the Style Network, has a different acronym:  WILAM (What I Love About Me).

I'll "run" into you next week.

It's Big ...... It's Green ......

It's a Pen.......The Big Green Pen.

Last week, I talked about the first of the three primary goals that I have written down on a sheet of paper in my wallet (so I always have them "close"):

Last week, I talked about my desire to go to Guatemala, use my Spanish, and meet our family's sponsored child, Silvia.  I often think that goal #2 (Big Green Pen) will have something to do with getting me there.

Ever since Healthy Kids started, way back in the early 90's, our logo was Kelly Green, and we had green felt tip pens that matched .... they looked good when a signature matched the letterhead.  To this day, you don't have to look far in our office to find a Paper Mate green felt tip pen. 

Several staff have been the dispute coordinators under my supervision, and one of my jobs was proofing/editing their response letters to families who had filed complaints.  Let's just say a lot of green ink flowed ....... and I started having ginormous "souvenir" pens given to me as gifts ..... and learned that my nickname was "The Big Green Pen." 

I was rarely happier professionally than when I was proofreading for Ballantine Books from 1990-92.  I mean, I was getting PAID to read.  Could there be a better fate?  When I look at a piece of text, I "see" the potential "fixes" that can be made in the same way that I imagine someone who can sight read music "gets" what to do.  Mingled with all of that is my writing.  They're all different facets of the same "skill gemstone." 

I have spent fifteen years working with call center stats, have passed major certification tests, and know my way around a basic contact center report.  But in some ways (including the fact that a recent office restructure resulted in me being out of the work force management day-to-day), I know that another fifteen years won't make that analytical, strategic work come any more naturally to me.  Enter the proofing, editing, and writing. 

I am dabbling in many proofing/editing/writing things right now.  This blog is working the writing muscle.  I am about to edit a local author's second book, and various projects keep popping up that all test my writing mettle 500 words at a time.  I want to give these projects a home, and I want to tell people who are interested in reading my work or actually compensating me to proof/edit/write someplace to get a feel for who I am and what I can do.  I have been fortunate to strike up a barter arrangement with Noel Wiggins, a professional graphic designer.  I fix his writing, and he is helping me design a "home" for the Big Green Pen.  Here's prototype number 1:

One thing that has been helpful about working with Noel (besides the fun I have editing his press stuff) is the kinds of questions he has asked, questions that are helping me figure out what I want "The Big Green Pen" to do.  In his most recent email, he asked, "what call to action do you want?"  And I have spent the days since I received that email searching for an answer.  Do I want people to ask for estimates?  Do I want them to have more awareness of what I do so they can share information about me with potential customers?  The truth is I don't know, beyond the fact that my work needs a home, and I need to share it. 

The truth is that proofing, editing, and writing make me happy.  And I am increasingly finding that doing what makes me happy, even if I have to forego some sleep or compress my other commitments into even tighter compartments, creates a kind of cool energy that staves off exhaustion.

The Big Green Pen.  I'll use it to write a better 2010.

I'll "run" into you next week!