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.

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.

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:

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.

Memories of Austin ~ That Night

{Author's warning: This is not a traditional blog posting in that the events in this thread are not occurring, well, currently. Please put on your imagination.}

By the time I got back to my room later that day, after completing my day's exploratory mission, I was drained of energy, and I must say even enthusiasm. My plan to get dressed up and go to dinner at some eclectic, downtown Austin restaurant diminished with every minute I lay in bed recuperating, T.V. remote in hand and laptop within arm's reach, from the heat and the walking. The limbic part of my brain that controls physical activity could not reconcile with the frontal lobe which dictates planning, nor even with the pleasure center which was holding out for more novelty and excitement. Somewhat of an overload was occuring which was keeping me supine and not letting me out of its grip.

The final resolution was dinner close to the hotel, with minimal preparation and travel time. But where?

I ended up at Pappadeaux during main dinner rush, in one of the last seats toward the end of the bar. It was crowded and noisy enough to make it difficult to talk with the waiter, much less order my food and wine, putting a quick end to any easy social outlet. If I can't talk to the waiter, what would I do? I remembered my solo trip to New Orleans when I sat at the oyster bar at my hotel in the same set of circumstances. But then, the din of the crowd around wasn't so loud as to render inaudible any chatting with the guys shucking my oysters, nor the people that sat next to me.

Not this time, apparently.

Luckily, I had come prepared with the day's newspaper. I ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell, a Greek salad (I love P.'s Greek salad), and a glass of the house Syrah. Halfway through my oysters, a man sat next to me. He ordered a glass of wine. I continued to read my paper. At some point, as is customary with me for some reason, I made a comment out loud about something I had just read. Or was it about the World Cup game that was on the T.V.?

It doesn't matter because even over the echo of the crowd and the maitre'd calling names over the intercom, he responded back instead of ignoring me. Before I knew it, maybe even before he knew it, we were chatting about politics, and enjoying it. Toward the end of my Greek salad and well into my 3rd glass of wine (not sure how many glasses of wine he was up to. Not as many as me, I don't think) we moved to sharing ideas about teenagers and driving. By the time our checks came and we had paid our bills, it felt like I had been sitting with a good friend whom I hadn't seen in awhile.

I know what you must be saying: something about not talking to strangers in big cities, particularly when you are a female traveling alone. But, I'm a big girl; I've been around enough to have developed a stranger danger radar. My radar did not go off that night, not to his words, his appearance, or to his approach to life.

We walked out to the parking lot together. He didn't have a business card, so I gave him one of mine. And then we went our separate ways: he was headed to Houston the next day and I would continue my adventure in Austin. I wondered whether he would end up like so many other people I had met in my travels. Would he be a faceless business card stuck in my agenda or a character study for one of my ethereal stories?

Either way, I was glad for the time spent with him. His good company saved me from my solo pursuit at the end of my day.

That night, back at my hotel, I received an email from him. I guess he felt the same way.

Memories of Austin ~ Day Tourist

My tourist activity for my first day solo in Austin is the Capitol Building.

You need to know that I don't usually do "normal" tourist activities when I travel. I avoid the attractions that are likely to have crowds of people. I hate waiting in lines. I just hate being part of a crowd in general. Another reason is that I tend to get bored quickly and have a poor retention of details.

So, I have a few options on how to approach telling you about my Capitol Building visit. I could proceed to tell you a bunch of details about the Capitol: details about age, construction, history. Many of these details would bore you, and I would have to look them up anyhow because I have since forgotten them. Not to mention that these types of details are not the focus of my blog. If I bore you, you'll stop coming by to be entertained.

Or, I could just insert a handy link and let you look up the details at your leisure. In that way, I can write about the things that might interest you more.


Here is the link to learn more about The State Capitol Building in Austin: www.tspb.state.tx.us/tspb.htm


I am not sure if I mentioned it before, but what interests me in Austin this time is to define the phrase "Keep Austin Weird". It originated from a phone conversation between a librarian with the Austin Community College system and a local radio station. The librarian, Red Wasserich, and his wife used the phrase on bumper stickers and distributed them as a way to promote small business in Austin. The phrase was eventually trademarked in 2003 and shortly thereafter evolved into a tourist slogan. It is not unique to Austin anymore; it has been adopted by cities all over the country from Oregon to Florida to Virginia.


What is "weird" about Austin? And do the locals see themselves as "weird"?


The only "weird" thing about my visit to the Capitol Building today was trying to find parking.

Weird Austin Item #1 = Parking

Quite a few qualities stood out as weird in comparison to all the other cities I have visited, driven and parked in.

First, Austin has a limited supply of parking structures for a city with such a high tourist appeal. But, what's more, these parking structures are poorly marked from the street. I drove around the same four block area three times to relocate the structure that I thought I identified as public parking only by craning my neck into the darkened entrance as I flew past it at 35 mph. Combine this with the attention-hogging needs of navigating one way streets and bicycle lanes, and you have a recipe for frustration.

Parking costs in any big city are high. It seems just natural. What's "weird" about Austin's parking is that, while the parking structures are the most expensive at almost $2 per hour, there is copious, less-expensive street parking in a variety of pay options. Some are standard coin meters, which are highly inconvenient in this age of plastic money. I don't tend to carry 10 pounds of change with me when I travel. To accomodate that, there are many meters that accept credit cards.

Lastly, there are various lots around the city labeled LAZ. These lots are usually small and hard to maneuver in (so plan for difficulty parking that big Dodge Ram or Chevy Suburban) and are operated on the honor system. At the front of the lot, you will find a large box that looks like a big bird hotel with many slots that correspond to parking spots. A rate chart is posted in clear view. Several of these lots, particularly those on the West side of town, are monitored by either a parking machine, or a live human. Be careful of the humans though: some are a little on the weird side, literally. One lot I tried had a monitor who was so weird that I got back into my car and went to the lot across the street. Even paid an additional $2 for the privilege.

The rest of my Capitol Building visit was normal. I joined a tour group with a tour director named Josh, who was quite young and spoke too fast. I felt the urge to hit the pause button on his recital of whatever recording he was playing in his head. The tour hasn't changed much in the last 10 years since I took it last time and the building and grounds are still just as beautiful.

Back to the hotel afterwards. As I drive back to the hotel I wonder what to do for dinner. I hate eating dinner in a restaurant by myself. I hate even more to waste good alone time.

Who knows ~ I might meet someone new, traveling Austin solo, just like I am.

No Safety in the Presence of Arrogance

As I left to go cycling today, my husband said, "Be careful." It is not unusual for him to tell me this if he happens to be there when I leave. But, today, he sounded more emphatic.

"Don't worry. I always am," I responded, walking my bike out of the garage.

"I know, but there are alot of crazy drivers out there. You never know what they'll do."

"I usually don't have a problem with drivers. I stay on my side of the road and move over when I can. You would be amazed by what a little courtesy can achieve," I said.

He said, "Well, cyclists in general are arrogant, especially when they ride in the middle of the road. I just blow past them at speed. I can be gone by the time they hit the ground."

He said this as I rolled down the driveway and into the street. Who is the arrogant one? Really!

After I got past the shock of the implications of what he said, I felt empty. I would think that because I am a cyclist, that he would have more compassion for other cyclists on the road, not less. What if I was one of those cyclists, minding my own business traveling on the side of the road, when some other arrogant driver, like himself, thought I was taking up too much space and swooped around me at speed, possibly causing me to crash and end up in the hospital? Would that be something I deserved? Or would he wax sanctimonious on the wave of road safety for cyclists?

I hope that is not what it takes.

As I got going on my ride, I paid particular attention to the behavior of the drivers. Are they all that arrogant? Thank goodness for me, each one of them gave me wide berth when they could. One driver even slowed down drastically behind me when the road narrowed into one lane. I reciprocated by moving to the shoulder to let him pass by. I wondered if my husband had ever given any cyclists a chance before he sped around them in anger.

The relationship between cyclists and drivers on the open road can be symbiotic if we allow it to be. But, in order for this to happen we have to all moderate our arrogance and try to see things from the other perspective, if even just a bit.

As for my husband's caustic remarks, the attitude that spawned them will take a lot more work.

Memories of Austin ~ Free At Last

Day 1 started like any other school day, except that my son got out of bed on the first warning instead of the 5th or 6th. And why not? The day he waited for all year was finally here: the first day of baseball camp at UT.

Another exception was that he was prepared and ready: no delays, no forgotten items, no missing sneakers and most importantly enough, no temper tantrums or manipulations to stay home. It was actually a pleasure to be with him.

Thank goodness we knew our way around. After all, we wouldn't want to ruin the good feeling and preparation by getting lost and arriving late. But, just 12 hours previously, trying to find the Benihana, we were making endless spirals around the same 2 intersections of I-35 North, passing the same landmarks (including the local Walmart) and always ending up on the "wrong" side of the highway. Finally, we figured out why I, the master of driving by braille, couldn't correctly find our way back to the hotel, repeatedly.

The reason? The hopelessly helpful concierge informed us that we are on the north feeder when in fact we are on the south feeder.

When we got to his camp ~ the baseball stadium at UT Austin ~ he did what I expected: distanced himself from me right after check in, sought out his peers, and forgot that I was even there, actually borderline ignored me, as he immersed himself in his new environment. I don't think he even saw me sneak out. I don't think I had to "sneak" out but it does make me feel better to think I did.

At last, I was solo and free. And so was he. I wondered fleetingly as I drove towards the Capitol Building if he would miss me as much I would miss him.