Sunday is a time for quiet reflection. For me, this means going to church. In the very beginning, when my husband and I first started our family, it had a different connotation. We went as a family, literally dragging our children behind us. It was not quiet time back then; but it was family time, in a weird way.
We spent most of our time sitting in the pew and taking turns admonishing one or both of the kids (our youngest was not yet on the scene). That quiet reflection was distinctly absent from the experience. Over time, my husband bowed out of the experience and chose to do his quiet reflection in his cave. And, eventually, I chose to conveniently forget my faithful duty of instilling the Word of God into my children and slowly forgot to drag them along with me...
...leading to the day, many years ago, when going to church became a solo activity. It remains so to this day.
Staying true to my beliefs, one would think that I somehow found a way to turn this seemingly lonely solo activity into a fruitful solo, and distinctly "not" lonely, experience. Alas, I have not. I continue to go to church, solo, and every Sunday it continues to be lonely. I often wonder why. What am I missing? What am I not doing?
For starters, I am alone in a church filled with families or couples. Introducing myself at the beginning of Mass is the easy part. After all, the attention is directed towards introducing oneself to others one doesn't already know. Greetings to strangers, complete with handshake, smile, and a cheery "good morning". Not so easy is extending peace after The Lord's Prayer. This is geared toward family first, then strangers. I wait patiently for husbands to hug wives, then move to hug their children, and only if there is time left over turn to the loners in the pews around them. That would be me...the loner.
Sitting alone in the pew before Mass is not so difficult. I watch, amused, as families enter the pews and attempt to corral their children. Some families are better at this than others. Many of the families in my church put on their Sunday best. It brings a sly smile to my face thinking about what the parents had to go through only a short time earlier to get their 5-year-old son to put on khakis and a polo shirt, complete with belt and combed hair. Their daughter probably did not put up that much of a battle; however, there was some battle about which dress to wear with which accessories. I remember it all. I was always the oddball in this area. The clothing battle was one I was willing to acquiesce in order to win the war. Perhaps that is where my downfall began.
The teenagers are always a joy to watch. Most of them come in with an obvious attitude: mainly, they don't want to be here and would rather be sleeping. They have been dragged here, either through cajoling or guilt, in the parents' efforts to get them to show their face. To God? To the community? For their own good? It's hard to determine the motives of the parents. But, that is not my place to judge. I probably gave up on my teenagers too early. One Sunday of missed church turned into two, then a whole month. Before I even knew it, missing church became the pattern and the Word of God became less than a whisper to them. My downfall continued.
I sit alone, most times lonely (yes, you heard me say it here!), at the end of the pew. I sit at the end because it is easier to make a quick exit after the exit procession. I pray. I gaze at the figure of Christ on the cross, hanging over the altar. I marvel at His Death and Resurrection and how it impacts me. I take in the beauty of the stained glass window behind the altar. Just last Sunday I realized, after more than 3 years of attending this church, that it is the Hand of God that is depicted in the large circular mosaic. Once I figured that out, I moved my attention to the other part of the same window. I think for sure it is a dove landing in His Hand. Peace? Forgiveness?
Ofttimes I wonder what the other people think of me as I sit alone in the pew. Do they even realize I am alone? They probably think I am just saving the space for my husband, who is delayed outside trying to park the car. Except my husband never arrives. Do they notice, as they scan the church to see who is there? Do they care? I look around for other loners and identify very few of them.
Mostly I sit there sorting through my regrets of many years of child rearing. Those years are not over yet, by any means, but I regret that I didn't drag my children to church, even when my husband stopped going. I pray that my children will find their own peace, like I have had to do.
I realize that, despite my efforts, I have allowed to continue a cycle that started with my mother. I have repeated history in that she experienced the same things with me and my brothers when we were younger. To a tee. Why did I let this happen?
The answer is that I lost my focus early on and have only just now found it. But now I am alone and have to pay the price for that choice and pray that God will allow me to make up for it sometime soon, either with my children directly, or through their children. Maybe.
Until then, I continue my weekly mission and am grateful that there are others out there who chose not to cave in to the increasing pressure to just do it solo and forget about their family.
Sunday, August 29
Saturday, August 28
Memories of Austin ~ The Veloway
The next activity on my solo agenda in Austin is exercise, of some type. There is a tiny gym in the hotel, comprising 3 state-of-the-art treadmills, a stationary bicycle, and a scale. My son and I used it last night when we arrived. The equipment served its purpose of allowing us to stretch our legs and get our hearts beating after the long drive from Houston. Much past that, with no weights and obviously no fresh air, it is not my idea of a workout.
I brought my bicycle on this journey with the intent of checking out Austin's version of cyclist-friendly roadway: the Veloway.
The Veloway is a 3.17 mile enclosed loop, created roughly 15 years ago for the exclusive use of cyclists and rollerbladers. That's right: no pedestrians of any kind and, better yet, no cars. The idea was a unique approach to solving the problem, at that time, of safe roadway travel for cyclists, of which there are many in Austin. However, the money spent to make the idea a reality was controversial. The price tag was quite steep for an addition that, to many avid cyclists, would not ultimately resolve the problem of safe roadway cycling but instead would become a tourist attraction or a location for commuters to satisfy their weekend exercise needs.
Here are 2 websites for further information:
I am intrigued nonetheless. I am no stranger to roadway cycling, although I do my best to stay clear of major thoroughfares. The concentration needed to cycle on a major road, or even some busy sidestreets, is intense enough to detract from the pleasure I experience by just being outside on my bicycle. Actually, it is counterproductive and at times creates stress. Although I don't live in Houston but out in the suburbs, I am fortunate to have access to hundreds of miles of bike trails running alongside most roads in my town of 100,000 people and, in the absence of these trails, the shoulders are usually wide enough to be considered a bike lane.
Yes, I'm spoiled.
Today, I drive about 30 minutes to get there from my hotel in north Austin. Thankfully, there is not too much traffic. The road signs are big and noticable, enabling me to get directly to the out-of-the-way dirt parking lot without engaging my drive-by-braille skills. There are few cars in the tiny parking lot, which leads me to wonder how much action the Veloway sees on a daily basis, or conversely how much action did the planners expect it to see, and where do people park during the busy times. Not my problem today.
Once on the track, I get lost in the calm and the aura created by the ability to ride truly stress-free. The track is smooth, undulating, and natural, engulfed by local flora. There is little noise except for the calling birds and the breeze through my helmet. Few other cyclists are on the track with me. I silently rejoice in this because I always wrangle with the passing concept, particularly if they are traveling at the same speed as me but just happen to be ahead of me. Should I slow down and hang behind them, therefore creating that feeling of lurking, and ultimately allowing them to be the leader? Or should I speed up and pass them, but then have to maintain that faster speed, creating distance and assuming the leader spot?
Yep, these are the dilemmas that plague my conscience!
With that dilemma momentarily off the table, my only concern comes during my first loop as I learn the track. I must concentrate on the turns, some of which are hairpin bordering on switchback, to monitor my speed control through them. Somewhere in the middle occurs a sharp ascent of approximately 35-40 degress. There is a warning sign, which is probably helpful for advanced cyclists, that is mostly ineffective for a burgeoning novice like myself who is inept at switching gears quickly or efficiently. I have to stop a few feet into the ascent, unclip, and walk my bike up. Quite humiliating for me as another cyclist whizzes past me. He has obviously run this many times before and knows where to switch gears in order to maintain the momentum and torque he needs to ascend completely. I re-clip at the top and vow not to make that mistake again.
Second time around, my approach is slow and choppy but I make it to the top without stopping. I give myself a pat on the back.
Somewhere around the third time through the Veloway, I begin to realize I am bored. At the same time though, with the track only 3.2 miles, that means I have only cycled just shy of 10 miles. This is less than half of my normal cycling distance. I wrestle with myself over continuing, bored and restless, through another 3-4 loops of this. Or maybe I should take it to the streets. The rising temperature is a factor in my decision, as well as my lack of knowledge of the area and my distaste for riding on major roads.
I decide to call it quits after the fourth loop.
As I drive back to my hotel, I realize how Austinites, particularly those who use cycling as a main source of transportation or exercise, might not have agreed with the concept of the Veloway in its infancy. I can see how the expense of creating and maintaining it, as opposed to injecting that money into setting up or expanding more functional bikepaths throughout the city, might have been viewed as a waste for the people who live in Austin and are footing the bill. For me, as a frequent visitor to Austin, the Veloway is perfect. But, if I were a resident of Austin who instead needed a safer means by which to get around on my bicycle, for pleasure or otherwaise, the money spent is a wasteful extravagence that only panders to the tourist industry or to those who might use the unique concept of it as a political tool.
In the end, I now have a greater appreciation for the bike paths to which I have access back at home. While I don't use them in my daily routine, they provide more overall functionality and a continually safe environment for those on two wheels.
Back at my hotel, I contemplate my plans for the evening.
I brought my bicycle on this journey with the intent of checking out Austin's version of cyclist-friendly roadway: the Veloway.
The Veloway is a 3.17 mile enclosed loop, created roughly 15 years ago for the exclusive use of cyclists and rollerbladers. That's right: no pedestrians of any kind and, better yet, no cars. The idea was a unique approach to solving the problem, at that time, of safe roadway travel for cyclists, of which there are many in Austin. However, the money spent to make the idea a reality was controversial. The price tag was quite steep for an addition that, to many avid cyclists, would not ultimately resolve the problem of safe roadway cycling but instead would become a tourist attraction or a location for commuters to satisfy their weekend exercise needs.
Here are 2 websites for further information:
http://austin.about.com/od/thingstodooutdoors/p/veloway_bike_trail.htm
http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/issue/story?oid=oid:530587
I am intrigued nonetheless. I am no stranger to roadway cycling, although I do my best to stay clear of major thoroughfares. The concentration needed to cycle on a major road, or even some busy sidestreets, is intense enough to detract from the pleasure I experience by just being outside on my bicycle. Actually, it is counterproductive and at times creates stress. Although I don't live in Houston but out in the suburbs, I am fortunate to have access to hundreds of miles of bike trails running alongside most roads in my town of 100,000 people and, in the absence of these trails, the shoulders are usually wide enough to be considered a bike lane.
Yes, I'm spoiled.
Today, I drive about 30 minutes to get there from my hotel in north Austin. Thankfully, there is not too much traffic. The road signs are big and noticable, enabling me to get directly to the out-of-the-way dirt parking lot without engaging my drive-by-braille skills. There are few cars in the tiny parking lot, which leads me to wonder how much action the Veloway sees on a daily basis, or conversely how much action did the planners expect it to see, and where do people park during the busy times. Not my problem today.
Once on the track, I get lost in the calm and the aura created by the ability to ride truly stress-free. The track is smooth, undulating, and natural, engulfed by local flora. There is little noise except for the calling birds and the breeze through my helmet. Few other cyclists are on the track with me. I silently rejoice in this because I always wrangle with the passing concept, particularly if they are traveling at the same speed as me but just happen to be ahead of me. Should I slow down and hang behind them, therefore creating that feeling of lurking, and ultimately allowing them to be the leader? Or should I speed up and pass them, but then have to maintain that faster speed, creating distance and assuming the leader spot?
Yep, these are the dilemmas that plague my conscience!
With that dilemma momentarily off the table, my only concern comes during my first loop as I learn the track. I must concentrate on the turns, some of which are hairpin bordering on switchback, to monitor my speed control through them. Somewhere in the middle occurs a sharp ascent of approximately 35-40 degress. There is a warning sign, which is probably helpful for advanced cyclists, that is mostly ineffective for a burgeoning novice like myself who is inept at switching gears quickly or efficiently. I have to stop a few feet into the ascent, unclip, and walk my bike up. Quite humiliating for me as another cyclist whizzes past me. He has obviously run this many times before and knows where to switch gears in order to maintain the momentum and torque he needs to ascend completely. I re-clip at the top and vow not to make that mistake again.
Second time around, my approach is slow and choppy but I make it to the top without stopping. I give myself a pat on the back.
Somewhere around the third time through the Veloway, I begin to realize I am bored. At the same time though, with the track only 3.2 miles, that means I have only cycled just shy of 10 miles. This is less than half of my normal cycling distance. I wrestle with myself over continuing, bored and restless, through another 3-4 loops of this. Or maybe I should take it to the streets. The rising temperature is a factor in my decision, as well as my lack of knowledge of the area and my distaste for riding on major roads.
I decide to call it quits after the fourth loop.
As I drive back to my hotel, I realize how Austinites, particularly those who use cycling as a main source of transportation or exercise, might not have agreed with the concept of the Veloway in its infancy. I can see how the expense of creating and maintaining it, as opposed to injecting that money into setting up or expanding more functional bikepaths throughout the city, might have been viewed as a waste for the people who live in Austin and are footing the bill. For me, as a frequent visitor to Austin, the Veloway is perfect. But, if I were a resident of Austin who instead needed a safer means by which to get around on my bicycle, for pleasure or otherwaise, the money spent is a wasteful extravagence that only panders to the tourist industry or to those who might use the unique concept of it as a political tool.
In the end, I now have a greater appreciation for the bike paths to which I have access back at home. While I don't use them in my daily routine, they provide more overall functionality and a continually safe environment for those on two wheels.
Back at my hotel, I contemplate my plans for the evening.
Wednesday, August 25
The Case Of The Prodigal Panties
This is a mystery like any other: including a disappearance, a host of suspects, a range of motives and circumstances, and yes, a miraculous discovery.
Until the disappearance, I thought it was only socks that vanished. I am always prepared for this because it has been so much a part of my existence, particularly since having kids. The smaller the sock, the quicker it disappears. It leaves behind it's orphan, which gets stuffed into a plastic bag that resides in my laundry room.
Not so for panties because they don't come in pairs, unless of course you think of them as pairing up with matching bras, which is where I am at. I love Victoria's Secret and look forward to the catalog every month to see which matching sets I can acquire next. I am not one of those women who has scads of bras and matching panties, but I do my share of supporting Victoria's bottom line and have become quite fond, and dependent on, wearing matching underwear.
This is where this story begins...with four lace panties, newly acquired I might add, that were shockingly absent from their drawer on a night that I needed them most. I had a date to go out with a friend and, as my aforementioned habit dictates, I wanted to wear my purple bra with matching purple lace panties. Bras are in one drawer, and there was the bra I sought. On to the panty drawer. Searching, searching. No purple panties.
But, I had just done laundry. I checked again, and then moved to the dirty clothes basket, rifling through dirty clothes only to turn up empty handed. Back to the panty drawer, getting a little more agitated, especially when I now realize that not only are the purple ones gone, but the chartreuse, the black, and the zebra print (no matching bra for that one, but looks great with any color!)
I have a decision to make at this point: choose a completely non-matching panty, or choose a cotton panty that I really only wear during "that time of the month". What to do, what to do. It doesn't take me long to go with the matching cotton because, as I take a closer look, it is not too stained. OK, short term aspect of the problem is solved.
But, that still leaves open the question of where are the missing panties? Who took them? And for what reason?
My overtly cynical mind goes immediately to my teenage daughter. Now, we are not really the same size in panties, but instances have cropped up in the past where panties have gone missing, later to be found either on her body or in her room. Not many incidents, but enough to put a sliver of doubt in my mind.
I give her the benefit of the doubt. Next culprit?
My maid, Lucy. I have employed Lucy for almost 2 years now and not once have I ever suspected her of any of this sort of behavior. But, I am so incensed that I am willing to jump to conclusions. I try to picture Lucy, while I am not at home (which I do quite often) opening my panty drawer, quickly looking over her shoulder and cocking her head to listen for my truck pull up in the driveway, and then quickly snatching the brightest colored panties she can find from my drawer. Then, I think, yes, they all would have been in the front of the drawer, easy prey.
What about motives? And, furthermore, possibilities? Why would she do this? I can understand my daughter's possible motives, and the possibility of her fitting into my panties is not so far out. We are kind of the same size, in a pinch. But Lucy is definitely not. She just had a baby and is probably still wearing granny panties. Sorry, Lucy! That's what I was wearing all during my childbearing years.
Finally, out of sheer mental exhaustion, I let the thought go and resign myself to making an impromptu visit to Victoria's Secret to re-supplant my supply. After all, the girls at Victoria's Secret haven't seen me in, what, a week? They need their lunch money.
A few days, later, I am doing laundry....again. Twice a week, whether I like it or not. Much to my chagrin, there is a full basket of clean clothes from last laundry day sitting up in my son's bedroom. Great, he never emptied it.
Shirts in the shirt drawer, pant and shorts in the pant and shorts drawer, sweatshirts in the.....OMG! There they are....the prodigal panties. All folded and stacked at the bottom of my son's clean clothes basket.
They are now neatly ensconced back in my panty drawer. My son never knew exactly where I found them, only that they were discovered in "a full laundry basket".
So, you see, the case of the prodigal panties is solved. But, where does that leave the orphan socks?
Stay tuned.....
Until the disappearance, I thought it was only socks that vanished. I am always prepared for this because it has been so much a part of my existence, particularly since having kids. The smaller the sock, the quicker it disappears. It leaves behind it's orphan, which gets stuffed into a plastic bag that resides in my laundry room.
Not so for panties because they don't come in pairs, unless of course you think of them as pairing up with matching bras, which is where I am at. I love Victoria's Secret and look forward to the catalog every month to see which matching sets I can acquire next. I am not one of those women who has scads of bras and matching panties, but I do my share of supporting Victoria's bottom line and have become quite fond, and dependent on, wearing matching underwear.
This is where this story begins...with four lace panties, newly acquired I might add, that were shockingly absent from their drawer on a night that I needed them most. I had a date to go out with a friend and, as my aforementioned habit dictates, I wanted to wear my purple bra with matching purple lace panties. Bras are in one drawer, and there was the bra I sought. On to the panty drawer. Searching, searching. No purple panties.
But, I had just done laundry. I checked again, and then moved to the dirty clothes basket, rifling through dirty clothes only to turn up empty handed. Back to the panty drawer, getting a little more agitated, especially when I now realize that not only are the purple ones gone, but the chartreuse, the black, and the zebra print (no matching bra for that one, but looks great with any color!)
I have a decision to make at this point: choose a completely non-matching panty, or choose a cotton panty that I really only wear during "that time of the month". What to do, what to do. It doesn't take me long to go with the matching cotton because, as I take a closer look, it is not too stained. OK, short term aspect of the problem is solved.
But, that still leaves open the question of where are the missing panties? Who took them? And for what reason?
My overtly cynical mind goes immediately to my teenage daughter. Now, we are not really the same size in panties, but instances have cropped up in the past where panties have gone missing, later to be found either on her body or in her room. Not many incidents, but enough to put a sliver of doubt in my mind.
So, I ask her point blank: "Did you see (or take, under my breath) my new lace panties? Maybe one of your larger friends needed an extra pair and you thought it OK to pilfer in my panty drawer?"
"NO, that's gross, Mom," she replies with a scowl, obviously forgetting past occurrences.
I give her the benefit of the doubt. Next culprit?
My maid, Lucy. I have employed Lucy for almost 2 years now and not once have I ever suspected her of any of this sort of behavior. But, I am so incensed that I am willing to jump to conclusions. I try to picture Lucy, while I am not at home (which I do quite often) opening my panty drawer, quickly looking over her shoulder and cocking her head to listen for my truck pull up in the driveway, and then quickly snatching the brightest colored panties she can find from my drawer. Then, I think, yes, they all would have been in the front of the drawer, easy prey.
What about motives? And, furthermore, possibilities? Why would she do this? I can understand my daughter's possible motives, and the possibility of her fitting into my panties is not so far out. We are kind of the same size, in a pinch. But Lucy is definitely not. She just had a baby and is probably still wearing granny panties. Sorry, Lucy! That's what I was wearing all during my childbearing years.
Finally, out of sheer mental exhaustion, I let the thought go and resign myself to making an impromptu visit to Victoria's Secret to re-supplant my supply. After all, the girls at Victoria's Secret haven't seen me in, what, a week? They need their lunch money.
A few days, later, I am doing laundry....again. Twice a week, whether I like it or not. Much to my chagrin, there is a full basket of clean clothes from last laundry day sitting up in my son's bedroom. Great, he never emptied it.
Shirts in the shirt drawer, pant and shorts in the pant and shorts drawer, sweatshirts in the.....OMG! There they are....the prodigal panties. All folded and stacked at the bottom of my son's clean clothes basket.
They are now neatly ensconced back in my panty drawer. My son never knew exactly where I found them, only that they were discovered in "a full laundry basket".
So, you see, the case of the prodigal panties is solved. But, where does that leave the orphan socks?
Stay tuned.....
Race Update
The first annual Galveston Sand Crab did not go down in my book as a great overall success in terms of event planning. It was, however, a new personal record and a field of firsts.
Note the "first" in the previous paragraph. That should have been my first hint to a bumpy road ahead. Somehow, even with all of my technical writing prowess (hrmph, hrrmph), I missed this minor detail. Unfortunately it turned out to be a major detail with much impact.
Not for me, well, not relatively speaking, but for hundreds of others. All I wasted was time. Many others wasted not only time, but also their starting advantage in a field of almost 1500 runners. Bottom line is the race organizers were not prepared for the huge showing of interested runners and failed to line up enough volunteers to work the race-day packet pick-up. Luckily, I got there about an hour before the packet pickup was scheduled to start. I did, even with that advantage, miss being the first in line because I was lounging at the water's edge taking in the calm of the sand pipers scooting across the wet, late afternoon beach. I ended up standing in line with about 50 people ahead of me for 1.5 hours. Not bad considering many of the people behind, most of the rest of the running field (remember that 1500 number?), probably didn't get to start the race until about half an hour after the official start time.
As it was, the official race didn't actually start until 9:15pm. Close to race time, with hundreds of people still waiting, the race volunteers started running chips and t-shirts out to the runners instead of making the runners wait to come to the front.
So, here are hundreds of people packing in tighter and tighter on a floodlit beach. 8:55pm, 9:00pm (official race start time), 9:05pm. Someone gets up on the podium and starts talking but no one can hear him. Something is wrong with the speakers. He tries the bullhorn. Nothing. Again, let me focus you on hundreds of runners ~ some experienced racers used to flawless organization and pinpoint start time accuracy, watching their watches and starting to get antsy; some novice racers who I fear will leave this race thinking this is the way it always is.
Finally, at 9:10pm, a little cheer goes up as another "official" makes his way up to the start line. The flag goes down and we are off! I was lucky enough up to this point to have made my way to the front of the field, something I usually don't do because I am not that fast of a runner and these positions are usually reserved, in more organized races, for the elite runners who can push out an 8 minute mile.
The race is on the beach. No, not the seawall, but the sand. And, it's at night. Last time I ran on sand was over five years ago: Wassenaar Strand, the Netherlands. I never did it again because shortly after that I developed problems with my hip, which I think resulted from the cambered surface. As for running at night: NEVER.
With these two impediments, I estimated my normal 9:27 mile would go up to at least 9:45, if not closer to 10, taking into account visibility and rough terrain. Once I got going, I had to factor in the increased humidity. If I thought running in the morning where I live was humid, it is nothing compared to the pudding quality of the air right at the edge of the Gulf. Raise that 9:45-10 to 10:15.
I pushed on, making special effort to safeguard my footing and to pace myself. I only ended up hitting the edge of a sand castle moat once, but got out without falling or injuring my ankle (amazing what a flashlight can illuminate, not to mention dozens of them coming from behind!). Better yet, I didn't find myself speeding up to beat anyone, even when one or two of them overtook me. I actually ended up passing TWO separate people toward the end of the race who had overtaken me halfway through.
In the end, with all the barriers to personal success, I finished 53rd out of the entire field, 19th out of all females, and 3rd out of females 45-49. That could have been the result of the delays from the packet pickup fiasco. The biggest milestone, personal record if you will, is my time of 26:06 and pace of 8:24 per mile...
....not bad for getting out of my comfort zone and trying something new.
Note the "first" in the previous paragraph. That should have been my first hint to a bumpy road ahead. Somehow, even with all of my technical writing prowess (hrmph, hrrmph), I missed this minor detail. Unfortunately it turned out to be a major detail with much impact.
Not for me, well, not relatively speaking, but for hundreds of others. All I wasted was time. Many others wasted not only time, but also their starting advantage in a field of almost 1500 runners. Bottom line is the race organizers were not prepared for the huge showing of interested runners and failed to line up enough volunteers to work the race-day packet pick-up. Luckily, I got there about an hour before the packet pickup was scheduled to start. I did, even with that advantage, miss being the first in line because I was lounging at the water's edge taking in the calm of the sand pipers scooting across the wet, late afternoon beach. I ended up standing in line with about 50 people ahead of me for 1.5 hours. Not bad considering many of the people behind, most of the rest of the running field (remember that 1500 number?), probably didn't get to start the race until about half an hour after the official start time.
As it was, the official race didn't actually start until 9:15pm. Close to race time, with hundreds of people still waiting, the race volunteers started running chips and t-shirts out to the runners instead of making the runners wait to come to the front.
So, here are hundreds of people packing in tighter and tighter on a floodlit beach. 8:55pm, 9:00pm (official race start time), 9:05pm. Someone gets up on the podium and starts talking but no one can hear him. Something is wrong with the speakers. He tries the bullhorn. Nothing. Again, let me focus you on hundreds of runners ~ some experienced racers used to flawless organization and pinpoint start time accuracy, watching their watches and starting to get antsy; some novice racers who I fear will leave this race thinking this is the way it always is.
Finally, at 9:10pm, a little cheer goes up as another "official" makes his way up to the start line. The flag goes down and we are off! I was lucky enough up to this point to have made my way to the front of the field, something I usually don't do because I am not that fast of a runner and these positions are usually reserved, in more organized races, for the elite runners who can push out an 8 minute mile.
The race is on the beach. No, not the seawall, but the sand. And, it's at night. Last time I ran on sand was over five years ago: Wassenaar Strand, the Netherlands. I never did it again because shortly after that I developed problems with my hip, which I think resulted from the cambered surface. As for running at night: NEVER.
With these two impediments, I estimated my normal 9:27 mile would go up to at least 9:45, if not closer to 10, taking into account visibility and rough terrain. Once I got going, I had to factor in the increased humidity. If I thought running in the morning where I live was humid, it is nothing compared to the pudding quality of the air right at the edge of the Gulf. Raise that 9:45-10 to 10:15.
I pushed on, making special effort to safeguard my footing and to pace myself. I only ended up hitting the edge of a sand castle moat once, but got out without falling or injuring my ankle (amazing what a flashlight can illuminate, not to mention dozens of them coming from behind!). Better yet, I didn't find myself speeding up to beat anyone, even when one or two of them overtook me. I actually ended up passing TWO separate people toward the end of the race who had overtaken me halfway through.
In the end, with all the barriers to personal success, I finished 53rd out of the entire field, 19th out of all females, and 3rd out of females 45-49. That could have been the result of the delays from the packet pickup fiasco. The biggest milestone, personal record if you will, is my time of 26:06 and pace of 8:24 per mile...
....not bad for getting out of my comfort zone and trying something new.
Dry Spell
It has been a long, hot summer ~ literally and figuratively.
This summer has been one of the hottest I have experienced here in Houston. Every day, as the mercury in the thermometer rose (or the digital display in the truck went to triple digits, you choose. Who uses a real thermometer these days anyway?), I watched the grass turn brown in my lawn and the water level recede in my pool. Things naturally slow down during summer. Growth dissipates, sometimes even dies off, and the brilliance of nature fades in color and intensity.
What I didn't realize until just today is how that same concept applied to my writing this summer: I haven't posted in almost three weeks.
It's not because I had a dearth of topics. Anyone who followed me from winter into spring surely remembers my trip to Austin. I started updating with the intention of writing something daily. I was exercising daily and having fun, exciting thoughts that I could have shared.
But something happened in August. I could blame it on being busy with the kids' activities. NOT! My kids are older and don't require a daily chaperoned schedule anymore. In fact, more often than not even though they were home, all they required of me was that I keep the kitchen stocked with food ~ junk food. Pizza, hamburgers, chips, ice cream. "Mom, can you buy some soda?" It was enfuriating and it ran me down.
When children in other cities were heading back to school in the beginning of August, I kept thinking to myself, why not my kids? Why do they need all of August off? Oh, that's right, it's not about the kids, it's about the teachers (I'm a teacher, so I feel fairly safe in this assessment).
But I digress. I blame neither my children nor the school district for this one. The blame lies with me, wholly and completely.
The truth of the matter is, I lost my enthusiasm for my writing. The ideas were coming but I failed to see the point of posting because it appeared to me that not many readers were reading. This is a big taboo with writers, especially fledgling writers like myself. Virtually every self-help book on the market preaches about writing for oneself: write the story and don't worry about who is reading or what is being said.
Unfortunately, in my case not many were reading and little was being said. (Don't get me wrong, I was overjoyed with even the smallest comments. Sometimes the least verbose are the most powerful. I am still learning that lesson!)
...until the other day when I found out inadvertently that another one of my friends has been reading my blog. I also found out that she enjoys it. I admonished her to become a follower. If she does, I will have three ~ thanks Carol and D, whoever you are ~ not including myself :)
As I will do to all of my lurking fans out there, whoever you may be. Please follow me, if for no other reason than to give me the impetus I need to keep writing. If you like me, follow me.
This summer has been one of the hottest I have experienced here in Houston. Every day, as the mercury in the thermometer rose (or the digital display in the truck went to triple digits, you choose. Who uses a real thermometer these days anyway?), I watched the grass turn brown in my lawn and the water level recede in my pool. Things naturally slow down during summer. Growth dissipates, sometimes even dies off, and the brilliance of nature fades in color and intensity.
What I didn't realize until just today is how that same concept applied to my writing this summer: I haven't posted in almost three weeks.
It's not because I had a dearth of topics. Anyone who followed me from winter into spring surely remembers my trip to Austin. I started updating with the intention of writing something daily. I was exercising daily and having fun, exciting thoughts that I could have shared.
But something happened in August. I could blame it on being busy with the kids' activities. NOT! My kids are older and don't require a daily chaperoned schedule anymore. In fact, more often than not even though they were home, all they required of me was that I keep the kitchen stocked with food ~ junk food. Pizza, hamburgers, chips, ice cream. "Mom, can you buy some soda?" It was enfuriating and it ran me down.
When children in other cities were heading back to school in the beginning of August, I kept thinking to myself, why not my kids? Why do they need all of August off? Oh, that's right, it's not about the kids, it's about the teachers (I'm a teacher, so I feel fairly safe in this assessment).
But I digress. I blame neither my children nor the school district for this one. The blame lies with me, wholly and completely.
The truth of the matter is, I lost my enthusiasm for my writing. The ideas were coming but I failed to see the point of posting because it appeared to me that not many readers were reading. This is a big taboo with writers, especially fledgling writers like myself. Virtually every self-help book on the market preaches about writing for oneself: write the story and don't worry about who is reading or what is being said.
Unfortunately, in my case not many were reading and little was being said. (Don't get me wrong, I was overjoyed with even the smallest comments. Sometimes the least verbose are the most powerful. I am still learning that lesson!)
...until the other day when I found out inadvertently that another one of my friends has been reading my blog. I also found out that she enjoys it. I admonished her to become a follower. If she does, I will have three ~ thanks Carol and D, whoever you are ~ not including myself :)
As I will do to all of my lurking fans out there, whoever you may be. Please follow me, if for no other reason than to give me the impetus I need to keep writing. If you like me, follow me.
Wednesday, August 4
Cycling During a Heat Advisory
Temperatures in the high 90s, with heat index of 108, is NOT the most conducive environment to exercise in. The meteorologists say so; the doctors say so; even the mainstream media says so.
When have I ever been one to do (or not do) something just because someone suggests it?
Exactly.
I've been 4 days without exercise ~ for reasons including back problems, work, and heat~ so I am ripe to make a rash decision. After all, after 3 days my body, and my mind, go into exercise withdrawal: I get sore (er), crazy (-ier), and cranky (-ier)!
Today's decision to cycle at the end of the day, despite the heat advisory, was one of those rash decisions. Not one of my best ones.
Here are my top reasons why you should heed the heat advisories, no matter what sport you enjoy. These are too late to save me....but there might be hope for you.
Reason # 10: Your sunscreen melts off within 10 minutes.
Reason # 9: You run out of your 24 ounces of fluid halfway through your ride.
Reason # 8: The tips of your fresh, French manicure get mushy.
Reason # 7: The hot breeze feels cool.
Reason # 6: You don't know whether to curse or applaud the traffic light change {depends on whether or not shade is available in the vicinity and whether you have fluids left. Ooops, you finished your fluids off in Reason #9}.
Reason # 5: The shadows are short, or non-existant.
Reason # 4: Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.
Reason # 3: Your face feels like the underside of an egg frying in a pan.
Reason # 2: (almost forgot this one!) The people in the passing vehicles are slowing down to look at your sorry self standing on the side of the road. All the time, they are wondering whether you are truly in distress, possibly needing assistance, or just stupid enough (or arrogant?) to not heed the heat advisory.
But....the Number 1 reason ~ by far ~ you should have heeded the heat advisory:
When have I ever been one to do (or not do) something just because someone suggests it?
Exactly.
I've been 4 days without exercise ~ for reasons including back problems, work, and heat~ so I am ripe to make a rash decision. After all, after 3 days my body, and my mind, go into exercise withdrawal: I get sore (er), crazy (-ier), and cranky (-ier)!
Today's decision to cycle at the end of the day, despite the heat advisory, was one of those rash decisions. Not one of my best ones.
Here are my top reasons why you should heed the heat advisories, no matter what sport you enjoy. These are too late to save me....but there might be hope for you.
Reason # 10: Your sunscreen melts off within 10 minutes.
Reason # 9: You run out of your 24 ounces of fluid halfway through your ride.
Reason # 8: The tips of your fresh, French manicure get mushy.
Reason # 7: The hot breeze feels cool.
Reason # 6: You don't know whether to curse or applaud the traffic light change {depends on whether or not shade is available in the vicinity and whether you have fluids left. Ooops, you finished your fluids off in Reason #9}.
Reason # 5: The shadows are short, or non-existant.
Reason # 4: Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.
Reason # 3: Your face feels like the underside of an egg frying in a pan.
Reason # 2: (almost forgot this one!) The people in the passing vehicles are slowing down to look at your sorry self standing on the side of the road. All the time, they are wondering whether you are truly in distress, possibly needing assistance, or just stupid enough (or arrogant?) to not heed the heat advisory.
But....the Number 1 reason ~ by far ~ you should have heeded the heat advisory:
You have to call your 16-year-old daughter (and her friend, makes for better humiliation!) to come pick you up (you are only 10 minutes away) because you just can't fathom going that extra mile when your heart is working harder to cool you down than it is to power your legs.
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