Hello, 2021 (please wipe your feet)

I thought it would be a good idea to bring in the new year by getting my digital life in order, or at least making a start at it. Now, an entire workday's time later, I'm taking a break from relentless unsubscribing.

Most years, there are two predictable sets of posts throughout the blogosphere to welcome the new calendar: the resolution posts, and the I-don't-make-resolutions posts. Both kinds are endearing in their own way, I suppose, but this year I would welcome them both as a harbinger of less-interesting times. Alas, our times remain interesting, and are likely to be so for some time to come.

I searched "goal" on free images, and got this. 1) They're not wrong; and 2) this is exactly the kind of metaphor I was looking for and didn't even know it. Photo by Julie Elliott-Abshire from FreeImages.

As for me, I am toying with a few goals for the year, but am in no hurry to get them set. (I'm waiting on results from a COVID test, anyway, so there's a chance I have some unexpected non-working days next week to think it over.) I'll probably land on doing monthly goals, which benefit from having a shorter time frame as a built-in anti-procrastination guard. I also like Gretchen Rubin's "21 for 21" idea, and have tossed that one into the hopper to see what comes out.

I've taken the odd moment over the last couple weeks to think over some things I used to do but don't now, and the reasons why I stopped. Two big life events seem to be the main culprits, and yet not the obvious one: when I went back to university in 2010, and when I dragged myself across 1000+ miles to start a new life in Cincinnati in 2016. Of course, 2020 itself bears some of the blame, since in the past few months it's been pretty easy to justify not doing anything extra. Some of the things I've lost along the way:

• Watching basketball games on TV. I used to love watching basketball. This one got lost when I went to UT.
• Watching NCIS and its many spinoffs. Ditto on losing this one to higher education.
• Training well for half marathons. This one would be easy to blame on going to UT, and that is part of the reason, but the bigger problem lies in me jumping into a marathon too soon and never being able to find the spark since. And that's been a loooooong time. Don't get me wrong, I've continued to run half marathons at least once a year from 2008 up until 2020 shut everything down, but I haven't put in that same level of effort and intention, which I used to enjoy, in about a decade. I'm not sure I know how to fix this one.
• Reading a lot. This one fizzled after I moved to Cincinnati, and the fizzling was compounded by 2020. Doomscrolling is way too convenient (and while the term is new, for me as for many, the practice is not).
• Writing a lot. Another Cincinnati casualty, for some reason.

Is this a starting point for 2021 goals? Perhaps. I'm unlikely to return to watching a lot of TV, my fondness for Timothy McGee notwithstanding, but I can watch one or two Pacers games a week, methinks. Or perhaps it's time to acknowledge that I accidentally had that personality change that I always joke about having not had.

Whatever your choice for 2021--lots of resolutions, one or two goals, just hanging on tight to see what comes next--I wish you all the best for a year that goes your way more often than not. Indeed, I think that's the best we can all hope for.

Slow Steps

I walked away from my first trip to Broadway a few years ago in a daze and a happy fog* that took me ages to come down from, but also with a nagging thought that (I've heard) plagues us all at times:

I suck.

My running shoes like it when I let them outside.

I reminded myself later that obviously I was going to feel this way when watching people at the top of their field, a field which is not my field, and perhaps my time would be better spent working on the things I can do rather than pining over the things I can't. And this is one of the many times that I reminded myself that running is a thing I can do and always get better at. It helps to start off so slow, so that I can only get better, but the steps to getting better can be so incremental it doesn't have to suck a lot. Which is great, because I've reached a point that my willingness to do things that suck a lot just for the sake of doing them is low. Small amounts of suck I can still deal with.

So! New week, new month, new goal race: the Queen Bee Half Marathon in October.

What's a thing you can do this week?

*Speaking of a theatrical fog: Jesus Christ Superstar live. If you missed it, wow, did you ever miss out. I've heard it's on Hulu.

Disruption

I'm not certain that there's anything in our 21st century that isn't a disruption, despite the tech industry's relentless quest to claim the word for their own. (Of all the things to pick as a buzzword... but as has been pointed out by many, it does sound slightly less aggressive than "breaking.")

 Because whose brain isn't filled to
overflowing? Source.

So when life gets disrupted, by a tough week at work or a school schedule or an unexpected basically anything, there are things that are quick to go. I don't know what yours is, although for many people, exercise is on that list. (Mine also includes reading, writing, and all my crafty things. Which makes me wonder what the heck I'm doing instead, since those are the only things I do.)

The problem I have, and maybe you do, too, is that letting exercise go first just disrupts things more. I need running to keep my emotions on an even keel, to sleep better at night, to sort through angst and troublesome thoughts, and generally to be more fun to be around. So to allow that outlet to be disrupted is, in fact, even more disruptive. Maybe your outlet is your favorite TV show, or writing in a journal, or playing a game of solitaire with real cards. Maybe you don't know what your outlet is.

Your mental health matters. Your self-care matters. And while things get disrupted and there's nothing that can be done about it, the "first to go" list may need some tweaking. Maybe things get rearranged. Maybe you have a friend you can call in a hurry. Maybe your outlet needs a couple backups that are portable and flexible enough to go along with you in the daily scramble.

I'll be headed out to run in a little while, because if I don't, my day is already disrupted.

Saying Good-bye

The sad posts weren't supposed to start this soon, but as always, the universe had other plans for me.

On Saturday night, I got the call that my healthiest uncle was in the ER in critical condition. I started getting ready to head to Indianapolis in the wee hours, and in the meantime, fired off a text to two very sensible friends: "I can't lose someone else in February. Can. Not." They talked me down off the ledge, and it turned out that yes, in fact, I can: about 15 hours later, he was gone and I'm still very much here.

I keep banishing February and it keeps coming round again. This is the fourth family member that we've lost in February in four years, and that's only counting the ones I'm actually related to, because my extended family's other families (on both sides) have suffered losses in (or near) February the past few years, too. Winter sucks.

I let one of the baby cousins play with my
phone on Christmas Eve. Thank goodness.

Anyway. Today we say good-bye to a kind and gentle soul who somehow managed to cope for 45 years with the so-very-not-those-things family he married into. His cheerful demeanor and voice of reason are lost to us forever. He filled a deep need in the extended family, and I don't know that anyone will ever step into that void that he has left behind. We are bereft, and no one more so (naturally) than my auntie who has had him at her side for so long.

I've been trying to think of stories to share and I settled on a few, but most of them are recent and not from when I was a kid and saw him all the time. Because, I think, he's always been more of a constant presence than someone with whom I have a series of happenings to write about later. Always there, always ready for a chat, always going to be around forever. Until he wasn't.

Uncle Buster (not his given name, but that's what we call him) worked for Indiana DOT for years. Sometime around the third or fourth grade, we were assigned to interview someone for a report. Apparently I was already a budding transportation enthusiast, because I decided to interview Uncle Buster about highway things. I don't remember what we talked about, except that I was keen to know what the control boxes near traffic lights were called. Looking back now that I've become an active transportation advocate and a technical writer, I'm high-fiving both of us for having such a great idea.

It's ridiculous that all of my pics
of my family are from 15 years
ago, but whatever. My sweet little
flower girl is now in her first
year of college and has gotten
slightly taller since then.

Skipping ahead a few decades, I think Uncle Buster was pretty excited about Denise and I coming home (her for a visit, me to stay-ish) two summers ago. I was doing something in the deep recesses of Grandma's house a couple days after we arrived when there was a knock on the door, and she said "hello" in the voice she uses for strangers, so I thought it was a Jehovah's Witness or something. Then a familiar voice said, "I'm looking for a couple of girls!" and I screamed, "I'm coming!!" from wherever I was in case Grandma decided to call the cops before she realized who was standing in front of her. (She knows all of my dad's family very well and figured it out pretty quickly; she just didn't recognize him right away.) We ended up on the back porch talking about my bicycle for an hour while Grandma tried to get him to eat something. Poor Grandma and Denise were bored out of their minds having to hear us talk bike things.

Last May, I ran the Indy Mini and so did my oldest cousin's husband. He finished something like an hour ahead of me, and I didn't even know they were there until I got home and checked Facebook. That afternoon I got a phone call from Uncle Buster to ask how the race went, and he asked if I'd seen my cousin (his daughter) & her husband there. I said no, that he'd finished about an hour ahead of me and I never even laid eyes on either of them. Uncle Buster, who up until then was apparently confused about how running works, said, "But he's older than you!" Once I stopped laughing, I explained that any advantages a few years' younger runner may have, especially at our age, are easily overcome by things like training, genetics, better diet, longer legs, and not being 30 pounds overweight. I think he was reassured by that answer. Or perhaps he spent the rest of his days convinced that I'm the faster runner and last May was just a fluke.

Another recent visit home, sometime last spring, he asked how I'd gotten here and I told him I took the bus. He reacted like he'd never heard of public transportation, and then asked why I'd never told him I needed a car, because he would have helped me find one. I told him I don't need a car, and he said, "You just said you don't have a car."
Me: "I don't."
Him: "But I can help you get one."
Me: "I don't need one."
Him: "You just said you don't have one."
Me: "I don't."
This went on for a few minutes, me keeping it up just to see how long he would keep going, until my auntie finally couldn't take it any longer and told one or both of us to can it. We started talking something else, and she finally commented on my patience for long conversations with a man who could talk for America. I told her, "I was married to one of these, too," and she said, "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that." I dearly hope Chadwick and Buster run into one another on the other side. In eternity, they may finally get through all the words they always intended to say. (Unlikely.)

And finally... Uncle Buster and I had a nice chat for an hour or so on Christmas Eve. At one point, he asked me if I was a member of the Christian Singles Network in Cincinnati. (I don't even know if that's a thing, btw.) I asked him if he was high.
Him: "I'm serious!"
Me: "So am I!"
Him: "Well, but don't you want--"
Me: "No no no no no. Whatever is at the other end of that sentence, I do not want it. No."
Him: "... Well. Okay."
And then we moved on to something else. Airplanes, I think.

Goodnight and joy be to you, Buster. We'll see you on the other side.

(This video really does work, even though it's grey in some browsers. Go ahead and click.)

Coping Skills

I work in a building full of counselors, which certainly has its upsides, but sometimes I forget that there are things I don't want to say in front of them. Like, when discussing emotional upheaval, I say, "That's what I have running for. I don't know what other people do." They don't react, because they've been carefully taught not to, but that doesn't mean that I don't hear their sudden silence. Mwah hah hah.

These are great tools, but sometimes they're not the tool
that's needed.

And while it's mostly true for me (I also have chocolate, books, and crayons), that doesn't mean I shouldn't get my own therapist sooner or later. I absolutely should, rather than relying on the good vibes of my coworkers to keep me even-keeled. (I'm guessing they've figured out by now that I go around absorbing their affect, like an emotional vacuum cleaner.) I just haven't yet. I mean, it's pretty good chocolate, and if I run until I'm ready to collapse from exhaustion then it's easier to fall asleep.

This is my long way round to say that one cutesy little expression runners love, "Running is cheaper than therapy," should remain cutesy and never, ever be treated as absolute truth. Running is not therapy, and miles spent pounding pavement, even in the company of the best running buddies ever, is no substitute for a trained professional human.

Let's not use our sport to browbeat others or make them feel less than. (Unless, you know, you're beating the pants off your running buddy at your next 5K. That can usually be solved by the winner buying the first round of drinks.) And let's never treat exercise as a replacement for other needs. Running has a huge place in my life and I'd be a lot worse off without it, but I never want to use my miles or my words to hurt someone. I'd rather use them to bring us all together.

How will you bring people together this week?

All the Steps

How do you start something when you don't really wanna?

This has been a thing for me for my entire running life. I'd almost always rather have run than not, and once I start running, I'm usually happy in the moment and willing to continue. I'm just challenged by getting started. The first step is the worst one.

So even at the best of times, I don't feel like starting, and a few hours after watching Roger Federer's Australian Open win at an unholy time of day is not my best of times. The only way I talked myself outside was by deciding to change up my route to include the city steps to add a bit of interest and pain, I guess.

This picture is not from my run. It's from my walk to church
yesterday morning. But it's outside, so here you go.
By the way, those aren't storm clouds. The fog was very
thick yesterday morning. I was trying to capture it,
without a lot of success.

It went like this: my legs complained about being stiff from running the day before, and I told them to give it a few blocks. Then other parts of me wanted to just give it up and head home, and I reminded myself that I was going this way to enjoy the city steps and to turn around before I reached them would defeat the purpose. Then it was, "I'll get all to the 1-mile mark and see how I feel." After that, I reminded myself that I was headed toward the downtown bus plaza, so I could always run along the riverfront and bus home instead of turning around and going back up the steps. I talked myself through three miles' worth of running until all that was left to do was decide whether I was really going to tackle the steps in my worn-out state. 

I did, because I was so close to home at that point it would have been silly to get on a bus instead of pushing through the final mile. Lo and behold, I pep-talked myself through four miles one tiny bit at a time, and my reward was the post-run feeling of accomplishment that I wish I could bottle for days when the first step feels like jumping over a building.

Some days, one tiny bit at a time is the best any of us can expect from ourselves. Whatever great things lie down the road, we'll never get there if we can't get through what's right in front of us. By telling ourselves that we just need to do this next thing and not thinking about the hundred things that follow. By giving ourselves permission to take a break when necessary. By knowing that we'll get there when we get there.

One step, then another, until it's done.

Final Third

Labor Day marks the end of summer for most of us (even though summer still has about three weeks to go), and these days, the beginning of the dreaded season of pumpkin spice in everything. I saw some pumpkin spice chocolate chip cookies in Kroger last week--why? Why??

Labor Day is also a nice breath for people in the academic to pause for a second after a few weeks back at the daily grind. While I'm very happy indeed that I'm no longer in that group, I've always appreciated friends who share how they take this time of year to refocus, set new goals, and otherwise gear up for the adventure ahead. And with the year two-thirds done, I agree it's a great time to think about what's left undone in 2017.

I had to go look to find out whether I'd even written down any goals for this year, if that tells you how much attention I've paid to them. But here are the two that pertain to running to focus on in this final third of the year:

1. Get my running in.
I looked at my log yesterday for grins to check out my history with running mileage. I have over 10 years of data in that log now. When I started keeping track in 2006 (which was before I started running, btw), I thought I'd probably fizzle out after a few months and it would just be another thing stuck in my files that I felt too guilty to look at again, ever.
Anyway, here's what it looks like:

• 2007: 321
• 2008: 625
• 2009: 775
• 2010: 407
• 2011: 122
• 2012: 269
• 2013: 181
• 2014: 257
• 2015: 230
• 2016: 355
• 2017 (so far): 233

So I guess I'm hitting pretty near average? Ai yi yi, no wonder I've never been that good at running. Some people run almost as much in a month as I do some years--but then again, this is not an area of my life that I need to compare with other people. Instead, now's a great time to stick to the plan for the rest of the year (418 more miles, if I do them all) and see what kind of magic happens.

Near the river is fine, as long as I stay on the Ohio side.
Over that bridge there be dragons, although there's also
a (slightly) lower sales tax rate.

2. Go outside every day.
I'm not terrible at this one, even though I do have days that I never even open my door. Although yesterday I opened my door and it ended with me being stuck in Kentucky for four hours, so maybe I'll rethink this one a bit.

Just kidding, I'll still do it, but I'm wary of crossing any more rivers just in case I can't get back. Either way, I can't get my running in if I don't go outside. And when I do get my running in, that means I can stop going outside for the rest of the day, if I want! Win-win.

Do you use this time of year as a reset? What are you resetting?

Meanwhile

Last week, by some miracle, I managed to get out and run two days in a row! And I was like, "Hey, body, remember when we used to do this all the time? Maybe we can do it some more!" and my body said, "I hate you and can always devise weird pains you can't even imagine yet to stop you from doing something so stupid."

So. We're a work in progress.

Nothing says "running" like a picture
of my feet standing still, yeah?

Meanwhile, I'm looking for a spring half marathon. I'm planning to be in Austin for my 40th birthday--yay!-- but that means both the Flying Pig (Cincinnati) and the Indy Mini (Indianapolis) are out, because I'll be 1200 miles away that weekend. Bummer. The Hoosier Half in Bloomington in April is an early favourite, if they get their act together sometime soon and update the registration page.

Meanwhile meanwhile, in the excitement of the Hotter'N Hell Hundred this weekend (Texas had its biggest bicycle event of the year in the hot-and-dry northern part of the state at the same time that the southeastern side was being washed away by a hurricane. Everyone I know is safe, but it was a long and anxious weekend all the same), I started searching training plans for a lengthy bicycle ride--namely, the Ride Across Indiana. I'm pretty sure one has to be not entirely in possession of all one's faculties to even consider doing such a thing, but that happens to be my exact description, so it's totally fine.

Oddly enough, the distance (160 miles in one day) and the completely different approach to training than I've ever done before (you know, wheels instead of feet) isn't what's giving me pause about this. I've been going back and forth about it for weeks now, because I've always been strictly a utilitarian cyclist, and when anyone's asked me if I train for these massive bike events, I've always said, "No. That's what running is for." To make this change feels like I'm giving up a fundamental part of my identity. On the other hand, I'll be 40 next summer, and isn't that what 40 is for?

So I wrote a plan down and will see about adding some intentional riding miles to my intentional running miles in the next few weeks. This may be a thing. We'll see.

Are you trying anything new with the final third of 2017?

Conscious Choices

I took my own words to heart last week and decided that if I'm going to call it quits with running, that it has to be a conscious decision. Otherwise, I have to make the decision to lace up and head out every day. But either way, I wasn't going to let inertia decide for me.

Surprise, surprise-- I love running and am not ready to put it behind me yet. I signed up for the local Turkey Trot and renewed my subscription to Runner's World all in the same day.

That was the easy part. The hard part is still suiting up, stepping out my door, and putting in the miles, which I haven't completely forgotten how to do. Fortunately, not a lot of miles are required to train for a 10K. It's not like I signed up for a marathon and therefore signed hours of my week away for the next four months. But I've survived worse things than having to get up the first time my alarm goes off. I can do this.

We only get so many of these, after
all. Source: Benjamin Earwicker
on freeimages.com.

One of the benefits of running is that its lessons spill over into other areas of life. The realization that I was once again slipping into living my life by default, instead of taking hold with both hands of the time and abilities I have and stretching them in every possible way, has jolted me enough to take a look at other areas of my life. My social media use definitely bears more looking at--I've already backed away from Facebook about as much as I can, because that's not a pleasant space any longer, but I can still get lost in Pinterest for hours. My to-do list of art/craft projects is longer than my ta-done! list, again, with supplies kicking around waiting for "someday" to arrive. Community opportunities that would require me to occasionally leave my house and go do things keep coming my way.

I hear there's an eclipse to watch, with appropriate care, today.

Whichever of these things I choose to do, or not do, I want to at least engage my brain long enough to make a choice. I want to be present in my own life, and not on autopilot.

What choices are you making today?

Maybe

Running without a goal in mind, except a vague remembrance of the health benefits and the feeling that I should continue doing this thing, is not working out that well for me. I'm going in fits and starts and having to pep-talk myself into heading out the door at all. ("Two miles! Two miles are great! Come on, I can totally do two miles if I just get out of bed!")

These shoes aren't doing me any
good without feet in them.

So I've been toying with the idea that maybe it's time to write "The End" on the "Running" chapter of my life, to let it go altogether and focus on any of my 78 other hobbies instead. Maybe this part of brain that's hanging on needs to finally acknowledge what the rest of my body has been telling it--that we're done doing this. Or maybe, because I don't know if that last thing is really true, maybe it's that without my biggest cheerleader beside me, the relevant neurons can't conjure up the motivation to keep moving any longer. It's more work and less fun without him.

Of course, there's also the fairly obvious solution of signing up for a race and seeing what happens. Once upon a time I could go out and run for the sake of running, but it could be that that is the chapter that is really behind me (more than 10 years behind me, in fact), and far from lacking the will to keep going, I've instead been trying to get back into a groove that was filled in long ago. If that's the case, then really my only problem here is a temporary wrong turn. I can fix wrong turns--I do it on an almost-daily basis, what with my keen sense of misdirection and inability to use a digital map.

A previous Turkey Trot shirt,
as outlined on Chadwick's
t-shirt quilt. Maybe my
favourite thing about the
whole blanket.

Which is it going to be? No idea. The thought of never running again fills me with despair, so that's probably not it. But I could easily keep putting off the decision and de facto stop running without ever having made a conscious choice. I want that less than anything--if this is indeed to be a parting of the ways, then I'd like to be present for that decision.

On the other hand, I did get an email this week about early registration being open for the Turkey Trot. An easy, non-threatening, go-as-slow-as-I-want event that barely requires training at all. Is that enough to get the neurons firing?

Maybe today is the day I'll find out.

The Beat Goes On

After last week's weeping and gnashing of teeth over my run-less state, I got a few miles in. It was predictably unpleasant, as runs usually are after a break, but the good news is that this week will be better. Plus I have lots of motivation this week to get up and get it done-- Wimbledon starts in just a couple hours. Best two weeks of the year, coming right up!

Both my runs this week were without music, which I do from time to time. Having music is great, especially when I match my pace to the beat without realizing it, or when I need to switch off the thoughts in my head and it's there as a convenient subject change. Most of the time, though, it's just background and I'm not really hearing it.

July 4, 2009. Coming into the home
stretch, so I'm either listening to
"Wonderwall" or "Scotland the Brave."
I'm not sure if it makes me feel
better or worse about myself to look at
pics from when I was faster and skinnier
and happier. Either way, I set a 10-mile
PR that day that still stands.
Source: WTRC.

I found this out early on, that music can be a beat or a pleasant background sound without me giving it any serious concentration. There was a time that I tried listening to the Bible while running. You know what it feels like to run to the dulcet tones of Exodus? It feels like 40 years in the wilderness. But I didn't do any better with other audio books, either, so it's not entirely Moses' fault. Then a coworker told me that she prays while running, which would be great except it turns out my brain cells that are responsible for praying are the same ones responsible for keeping my feet going in a straight line on the sidewalk.

I wish I were joking about that. There has to be some kind of short-circuit happening up there. Surely not everyone has this problem--I mean, I know my coworker didn't. Is this a binary thing, like you can either do it successfully or you veer off the path, with no in between?

Anyway, to avoid laying down and dying in despair or dying from inadvertently running out into traffic, I decided it was best if I just let my brain work through whatever it needed to, and some background music was there on standby if needed. I've gotten through some amazing thoughts while running. I've written entire chapters of whatever novel I'm working on, only to promptly forget them when I get home (but usually the general idea remains). I've had whole arguments with people I'm feeling angsty towards so that I come home ready to let the angst go. I think of really kind things I want to be sure to say to friends, most of which are also immediately forgotten. (I've pondered the merits of taking along a dictaphone for these kinds of moments.) And what's really cool is when I'm deep in thought, thinking I'm not hearing the song that's playing, only to pass that spot a couple days later and think of the song. My brain is grabbing hold of something, after all.

I know when I go without running all those thoughts have no good outlet, but I don't really have a way to measure just how much benefit I'm getting from having that time to let my mind run wild. I just know that it's critical to keep my mind--and therefore myself--on an even keel. No matter what's happening in the background.

What keeps you balanced?

Paused

My running the last few weeks has been more theoretical than literal, or to put it more bluntly, I can't remember when I last my running shoes on. I have a fairly detailed log, so of course I could just look, but that's not quite the same thing as being able to remember it.

What my running shoes look like when I'm not totally
neglecting them. 

This is irritating to me not only because I kind of need running to keep my synapses firing in good working order instead of short-circuiting sideways to "unbearable," but also because I'm wasting this nice summer weather that I love quite a lot. It's not like I've forgotten how much I hate running in the cold, but maybe it's that not-running became such an easy go-to that now I'm having a hard time getting my brain back out of that rut I dug. Sigh.

I wonder how long I'm allowed to not-do something while still calling myself a practitioner? A few weeks off running, when there's no race on the horizon, is easy enough to correct as long as I go out and do it eventually. When I think of all the other creative acts in my life (yes, I totally count running as a creative act) that come and go and come again--I don't know how comfortable I am calling myself a quilter, for instance, when the last quilts I finished were at least 10 years ago. The last cross-stitch I made was 2 1/2 years ago, and it didn't turn out as well as I had hoped it would (so much so that I told the recipients that I was totes cool with them shoving it in a drawer and never looking at it again. They laughed, but I don't know what they really did with it).

Or is everything like marathoning? I'll never stop being a marathoner, even if I never run one again--does that also apply to being a crocheter? A public speaker? A cookie maker?

One thing all these skills have in common is that the skills become rusty with lack of use. One thing they all have in common is they can always be picked up again when the time is right. And one great thing about Mondays, as I say as often as possible, is that it's a perfect time to begin anew. So that's why I'm headed out this morning for the short run that's listed on my plan, just to make sure that I remember how to put one foot in front of another.

What will you begin again today?

Upward

Have I mentioned that I live on top of a hill? A lot of places in Cincinnati are on top of hills, of course, and I live in one of them. Some of the ways up are steepish, others not so much. All of them are sweaty.

There are some advantages to all these hills, of course.

So it was that one day I had gone for a bit of a ramble round and was returning home via the steepest of the possible directions from my house. The hill before mine is not as high, but from the top of it I looked across to see that not only was I not level with the top of the next hill, but also that the top of the hill was obscured by trees, which made it look even worse than it really is. As I headed down and the next hill loomed ever larger, it continued to look steeper the closer I got to the bottom, and it was almost hard to believe this was the same hill I've been easily up and down dozens of times.

Guess what made the hill flatten out and not look so awful? Going up it, of course. Tackling something up close, taking it step by step and inch by inch, is rarely so insurmountable as trying to take in the whole thing at once. (Alas, those times when up close really is worse--well, that's why we have chocolates and friends. Friends with chocolates, if at all possible.) As Samwise Gamgee so wisely put it, "It's the job that's never started as takes longest to finish." And a hill will never get smaller from standing at the bottom staring up at it.

I'm just going to go apply this thought to as many things as possible before I forget again.

Consistency Is Its Own Reward (but medals are nice, too)

In case anyone was wondering: training in Cincinnati and then racing in Indianapolis is a great strategy. I should do that again.

I got a couple short runs in this week, which I don't usually do after races more than 15K in length, so I guess my legs are fine. Probably. I'm not as well acquainted with my running muscles as I once was, and since that's something I should probably change, I have my running calendar laid out from now until the end of the year. Nothing major or dramatic, just rebuilding some consistency into my life that's been sorely lacking since I stopped being a member of my local running club.

Aside: y'all, never underestimate the power of other people in your life. As encouragers, as accountability partners, as friends who will mock you if you let things slide--whatever. Fill your life with those folks and don't let them go. And always be willing to be that person in someone else's life. Humans need other humans. Runners--some of us, anyway--need other runners.

I still don't have any more 2017 races on my calendar, although I'm debating the merits of Cincinnati's trail series, if for no other reason that it will be kinda like being in the running club again. Downside: getting anywhere that's more than a couple miles away without a car. Even low-cost races get expensive in a hurry if I have to get a Zipcar every time. So I'm pondering.

Today is a new day. Let's go.

Updated medal display. (Because what else am I going to do with them?)
The far right are Chadwick's finisher medals--the ones I could find, anyway.
Red, white, & blue ribbons to the left of those are our age-group medals.
The rest are my finisher medals. 

Sweat, Sun, Sheep, and Speedway: Indy Mini 2017

In case you missed all the fuss on Twitter or Facebook: I met my goal time at the Indy Mini by 12 seconds, AND I got the Meb high-five I was looking for. Hard to argue with that.

The weather report got progressively more depressing as last week went on, only for the skies to defy all expectations, as they are wont to do, and after a morning of the rain stopping then starting then stopping then starting then stopping then starting, it finally cleared off for good just as the winners were coming down the home stretch and I was somewhere past mile 2. (My wave started 30 minutes later than their wave. It didn't take me an hour to go two miles.)

The crowd support in Speedway, Indiana, is the best anywhere. They love this race, and it shows--I think the whole town was out on Saturday morning. Lots of high school cheerleaders were on the Speedway itself, which is much appreciated since it's the most boring stretch of the entire race. (Everybody was talking about that after--you go into this race thinking that running on the Speedway will be so exciting, and it turns out to be the most mind-numbing 2.5 miles known to half marathoning.) I did not kiss the bricks this year, partly because I was already moving faster than I had intended and there was a line, partly because since I was moving right along, I was afraid if I stopped and got that close to the ground I might not get up again, and...

Because I got my Meb-five and that was all I was after. Last year, Meb had quite an entourage running with him and everyone made a big fuss as he passed, so I was kind of expecting a bunch of people, or at least a giant "Here he is!" sign, but what actually happened was he was standing by himself on the track facing oncoming runners, and if anyone looked the wrong way they might have missed him. I mean, I've seen hundreds of pictures of Meb and heard his voice in many interviews, so it's not like I didn't recognize him, but the whole thing was so low-key I wondered a bit if I'd just high-fived some random gent who was looking for his friends. (I've high-fived so many random gents in the course of my running life that it's not like one more makes that much difference.) Anyway, I got my high-five and he said "Good job," and that was enough excitement for this race.

And the sheep. I'm pretty sure these were the same folks who dressed as the entire cast of Mario Karts last year, and I passed them all stopped at the exact same bar I saw them at in 2016, only for them to somehow get past me before the finish. Again. So, Bo-Peep and her sheep ran, walked, or otherwise goofed off for 13.1 miles, and I must have been more zoned than I thought to have missed a herd of sheep going by me in the final two miles. They were definitely having more fun than I was.

After spending the first five miles telling myself to slow down, only to look back down at my watch a minute later and seeing that I'd sped up again, I finally went with whatever my legs wanted to do knowing that I could always walk later if I ran out of steam. Except I got to mile 11 and was like, "No way am I stopping now." Y'all, Runner Su is back, and this time I hope she's back to stay instead of dropping in for a few miles and then disappearing again. I've missed her. I'm pretty sure my celestial running buddy was by my side, too, as he usually is.

The end result was an overall pace of 12:34/mile, which would have made Past Su lay on the floor and cry but is freaking flying for 2017 Su. My final time was 2:44:48, which is 20 minutes faster than 2016. Not only will I take it, my feet have barely touched the floor since I crossed the finish line.

For now, I have no races to train for (although I have a Cincinnati race calendar open right this minute--Cincy has a trail series!--so that won't last long), and there's no telling when I'll run 13.1 again. Maybe not until the Flying Pig a year from now. But (barring something really awful happening) this will certainly not be my last one.

Finding a Family

I'm away from what is rapidly becoming my beloved church home (right now it's just my really really really like a lot church home, which takes a lot longer to say) this morning, and reflecting on something Keely and I talked about earlier this week: What is church?

She's going through the same fun-fun finding a new church thing that I just finished. (We've been doing things at more or less the same times for at least 15 years now. Not on purpose--it just happens.) Through our conversation, my phone was buzzing with "mouse updates"--someone at church was having some unwanted critter problems last week and regaling a couple of us with the more hilarious details. So, naturally, when Keely asked, I said, "People who will willingly read each others' mouse updates." She said, "That's a really good definition."

I spent half an hour this morning
swearing at my phone and the
Flying Pig Marathon, trying to
get the runner tracking to work.
After all, it's only fair for me to also
track my running friends in return
for all the kind texts and tweets.

And I like that it is. I'm sure there are many folks with so many support networks that all they're looking for from church is the encouragement from the Sunday morning gathering. If that's you, fantastic. On you go.

If it's not, for those who are looking for more than that, then "what is church?" is the question we have to ask ourselves, perhaps several times. I was not specifically looking for people who would send me congratulatory texts after I finish a half marathon, or their mouse updates, or suggestions for the best places to ride a bike, but that's what I found once I found a church family that was kind and welcoming and not weird about me being widowed with no children. (It's remarkably sad how many church folks are weird about that. More the "no children" than the "widowed", but still.) What is church for you?

The church I'm visiting this morning is the church I grew up in, and once upon a time they were my people, but I can feel the years between us when I visit. Some of them still see the kid they once knew, which is only natural. Some of them still say, "Oh, Billy and Denise have a sister?" every time they see me, as though I'm one of The Silence. Some of them are every bit the delightful folks they've been my whole life. I'm happy to seem them on every visit, but I readily admit I'll be happier to be back at Echo next Sunday.

Because they're church for me.

Tired Shoes

On the eve of my ninth half marathon (remember that time I said I wasn't that into the half marathon thing? I changed my mind about that in a hurry), let's talk shoes.

I've been very fond of these shoes, but it's time to meet
their replacement. Today at the Indy Mini expo, I hope.

Shoes are tricky, because they're easily the most expensive and the most complicated part of any runner's gear--they have so many kinds of materials in their construction, after all--yet their useful life as running shoes is pretty short (between 500-1000 miles, although most experts will caution that you start playing with fire if you push it to the higher end of the range). I can generally tell when my shoes need replacing by how my feet and ankles feel--when they start getting weird pains, I change out my shoes, which for me is usually around 700 miles.

But what to do with them? The landfill is a terrible option, but thrift stores won't always take slightly-broken shoes with open arms, either. Planet Aid will send them to developing countries, Nike will upcycle them into tracks and other cool things, and some gardening types (hey, that's me!) will use them as planters for a couple seasons. I've also occasionally unloaded them onto friends who don't mind free, slightly-used shoes, especially when Mizuno goes a bit crazy and makes my preferred shoe model in pink, as they do from time to time. Ugh, no way will I downgrade those to my everyday shoes. It's bad enough having to wear pink while running.

As with pretty much everything, shoe recycling/reusing takes a bit of thought and maybe some time to research good options, but there's almost certainly something that can be done with your old shoes besides tossing them. 

Zoom!

That's the sound I'm going to make when I'm running on the Speedway on Saturday. Of course, I'll have to say it aloud, because my running is less "zoom" and more "plod," but whatever. Going slower just means I have more time to line up to high-five Meb, amirite?

I'm just gonna go get another set of these Saturday.

Seriously. If I manage to get a Meb-five, I don't even care if I break my leg on the next turn and have to be carried back via the nearest hospital. That's really all I'm going for.

So! Less than a week to go until my second running of the Indy Mini. As I did for El Paso, I'm guessing my final 12-mile training run time is likely to be close to my race day finishing time. I was a bit slower than that in El Paso, but here's the thing about Indianapolis--it's flatter than the flattest of pancakes. Unlike everywhere I look in Cincinnati, the closest thing the Indy Mini has to a hill is the ramp up to the Speedway. Where Meb will be. I think I got this.

This will be my 61st race and my 9th half marathon. There's nothing particularly significant about those numbers (except, hey! That's where all my money goes), but since I went to the trouble to look them up, I decided to share. You know what's going to be sad about this race? No one following me on a bike. So... anybody wanna come be my portable cheering section? It's flat!

Let's do this, Indy.

Brainwork

Just to be clear: slow and steady does not win any races. Slow and unsteady wins even fewer ones. Unfortunately, slow and unsteady is the best I can do most days.

I passed this Friday night, thought,
"Did I really just see that?" and
went back to look at it. It's one of
the local bike parking posts at the
end of someone's driveway, for
reasons passing understanding.
There are worse places to put these
posts, but not many.

On the other hand, since I haven't shortened my long runs in between my two halfs (yes, that's the correct spelling), I'm doing a lot of out-and-backs that give me a chance to choose a different street every week and find out what's within easy bike distance of my house.

I did one of those Friday night, for two reasons: 1) I didn't want to spend too much of my visit to Indiana running and shorten up what was a short enough weekend with Grandma, and 2) Friday was my most stressful workday so far at my new job (still love it, but it was a bit of a day) and I thought a long run would shake off the stress so I could go into Saturday morning with a fresh perspective on the universe. Which worked, if only because I woke up Saturday all creaky from running so late in the day. Fortunately, I started my trip to Indiana off with a walk to the bus stop, so I de-creaked a bit.

A lot of the reasons I came back to running 10 years ago still exist--holding my family medical history at bay for as long as I can, keeping my weight under some semblance of control (which is not really working that well, truth be told), and giving my brain a chance to clear out all the cobwebs so the world looks a bit better. Reason #3 is enough to keep at it even without the others.

Which is why I'll head out for five miles before I go to work tomorrow. Because I'm definitely easier to get along with after a run, even the slow and unsteady ones.

Quantitative Methods

Monday is usually the day I blog about running. Here's how my running is going:

With that out of the way, let's talk writing instead. Well, creating. I default to writing because that's kind of my thing, but I'm pretty sure this applies to other types of creative processes.

Are people still debating over quantity vs quality? I kinda checked out of that one sometime in the 80s (yes, I got an early start on this) after a series of teachers telling us to focus more on the quality of our schoolwork were matched with another series telling us that we'd get the quality only if we upped our quantity, i.e., with more practice. Yes, these were the kinds of lectures that went down at Weston Elementary School.

Anyway. I don't know if that debate is still raging, or if it's settled now, but my experience has been that the second group of teachers were correct, and quantity of creative output will result in an increase in quality over time. There are almost certainly exceptions to this, but practice really does, more or less, get you closer to perfect.

Kim Liao sets a goal of 100 rejections per year, because to get that many rejections means she has to do a lot of writing, and some of that writing is eventually going to find its way to the right publication. Upworthy, the website, encourages its writers to embrace failure as part of the road to going viral.

I said this to two different coworkers last week. They both
reacted the way you'd expect highly qualified and
dedicated mental health professionals to react, which is
why I gotta stop quoting The West Wing at work.
Source.

So I was already feeling well validated in my decision to blog every day, or at least as close to every day as I possibly can, even though some of these posts are bound to be duds. And then I was listening to an episode of The West Wing Weekly podcast with Aaron Sorkin as a guest. Mr Sorkin said a couple things that I find both amazing and comforting: 1) most of the time his first drafts were what they filmed (what???), and a lot of times they sucked, and he would like to have them all back again to rewrite; and 2) after finishing nearly every episode, he would realize that his well of ideas was run dry and he had used up all his words.

And this is Aaron Sorkin. The guy who has written some of my favourite lines of all time. If an award-winning writer can feel this way... well, I choose to let it give me hope instead of despair. And given how prolific he is, he ought to know something about the byproducts of quantity, and about the words turning up when they're needed most.

What are you practicing today?