tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36141292466967863222024-03-12T20:00:16.886-07:00PiccolaPineConeOn running and babies and Canadians far from home.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-66975961578077477422015-01-18T16:02:00.000-08:002015-01-18T16:02:08.627-08:00And then my treadmill brokeI've known for awhile that I am terrible at making decisions but I always secretly thought that everyone was indecisive and that I fit in right in the middle of the pack as a washy-washy, flip-flopping, indecisive, avoidant decision maker. But as my life has worn on and decisions have piled up I realize I am somewhat beyond the normal of indecisive and perhaps flirting with pathologically indecisive. I had a blinding realization recently during the cold snap we have been having. Every single morning, when I got up to run I would agonize and fritter away precious minutes (at 4.45 am) deciding whether to run on the treadmill in our basement or put on my big girl panties (and tights and wind pants and compression socks, and hoodie and jacket and mitts and neck warmer and hat) suck it up and run outside. Literally on some mornings I would dress and undress three times torn between the two very inconsequential options; frustrating because I don't wake up at 4.45 am to dither, I wake up at 4.45 am to log some miles dammit.<br />
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And then my treadmill broke. And suddenly my mornings were so... much... better. No dithering, no agonizing, I just sucked it up, got dressed and went outside to do the thing I had woken up at 4.45 am to do. No choice, no decision making. And honestly I like it so much better that way. And I am loving running outside in these frigid temperatures. I realize now that my strength is not and never will be in making decisions... My strength is in <i>enjoying the situation I am in and making it work.</i><br />
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This, I realize, is why I was almost paralyzed last year when, against all odds and common sense, I found myself with three simultaneous job offers. This is why, well into January, my husband and I (who is about on par with me in decision making abilities) have not only not booked our spring break. We are now questioning whether we should even go despite the fact that we agreed we would and set aside the money. I don't do well with options and choices and if that sounds horribly spoiled that's only because, well, it probably is. In a weird way, I was probably meant to live in communist Russia with my future pre-determined for me ( and if that sounds horribly ignorant, well see previous comment). And I understand why I get so frustrated now when I finally DO manage to make a decision and my husband starts saying "well, have you thought about x" and "I don't think you're thinking about y" and "are you sure you don't want to do a" as he always always seems when I make a decision because for me, making a decision is like climbing Everest and I feel like he is standing the at the top and when I finally summit, the questioning gives me a shove and BOOM, I back down on the North Col (or insert proper place on Mount Everest here and please forgive the horribly over-dramatic analogy).<br />
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Anyway that was my mental vomit for the day after months and months of silence. Perhaps as I continue to get in shape I will return to some kind of blogging...PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-88300638090732213132014-09-22T18:14:00.002-07:002014-09-22T18:14:20.519-07:00The hidden side of disengagementEmployee engagement is said to be a good thing. More than any skill set, degree, certification, employers look for people who will be actively engaged in their work, or, in plainer, crosser terms: really give a shit about their job. It is seemingly good from the worker's perspective too; as we all are too keenly aware, we spend more waking hours at work with the random assortment of people we did not specifically chose to spend our lives with than we do outside of work, with the people we chose, the people we gave birth to, the people in our social circles. So, given that, wouldn't we rather be engaged i.e. actively interested in our job?<br />
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I worked for 12 years at a job where engagement didn't begin to describe my feelings towards it. I was engaged, married and actively intimate with my job. I was knee and elbow deep in every way possible with the company where I worked. I loved what I did. I felt recognized, rewarded in almost every way (financially being the exception). My co-workers were great; I could not have been more "engaged". But here is the hidden side to engagement... When something goes wrong (and in software companies something goes wrong all the freaking time) that feeling of engagement and involvement transforms into obsession, worry, sleepless nights wondering, thinking about which line of code is crapping out, why it is working on my machine but not on theirs, tossing and turning, driving into the office at 2 am to try out one potential solution RIGHT NOW. Oh yes, engagement has its downside.<br />
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Disengagement in work, on the other hand, means one spends a large chunk of one's life pursuing something without much personal meaning. Being disengaged in my work feels like everything is sort of happening in a bubble somewhere "over there". I hear talk of hugely impacting bugs or massive looming deadlines bugs and my thought is "oh wow, that sounds really bad. Oh look, it's 5 pm - time to go home! What are we having for dinner tonight?" I work hard. I care. I do my best. Between 9 am - 5 pm. All work related thoughts simply evaporate from my head the moment I walk out the door. It's rather liberating but also a little sad. Recently someone asked me what I do as a job and I really struggled to provide a meaningful description.<br />
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It's been 6 months now. I no longer fear I will be fired every single day. I no longer fear I will run away screaming every day. I have developed a deeper understanding of how I can be useful and what skills I will have to develop in myself in order to succeed. I am taking a night class to develop my skill set. I am well paid. I don't call in sick when I am not. I get along with people. On the surface everything seems ok. And maybe is just how it into work in a larger company. Maybe what I am describing is the norm, but still I struggle to find any meaning on a day to day basis. Something doesn't fit quite right. It has been six months. It feels like it is taking a long time to break these shoes in!PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-64914595183385664882014-09-03T19:05:00.001-07:002014-09-03T19:05:17.282-07:00The Chair of CalmNot surprisingly as Big has started kindergarten I find myself surrounded by friends & offspring who have done the same in the past week. As we all navigate these alien landscapes and compare notes, definitely my favourite facet of kindergarten life is: the Chair of Calm. One of my friend's sons comes home every day and reports to her who was sent to the Chair of Calm. In my mind it is a very high chair, possibly requiring 3 or 4 steps to reach the seat, lined with pillows in navy blue and has a built in massaging function. Personally I would love to be sent to the Chair of Calm. As I led a meeting with 7 extremely pissed off people today (not pissed off at me per sey but perhaps peripherally pissed off at me) And I could feel my hands grow clammy and my heart pound, I thought about how very uncalming my chair was and wishes for a strict but kind kindergarten teacher to appear and order me into the Chair of Calm.<div>
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Kindergarten is perplexing to say the least. There are so many confusing rules to follow that I just cannot seem to keep straight in my head. To rattle off a few:</div>
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-the lunch bag cannot be in the backpack</div>
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-the morning snack must be in the backpack NOT the lunch bag</div>
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-the morning snack can consist only of fruit, vegetable or cheese I.e. ONE of those items, no mixing and nothing not included on that last so, for example, crackers and cheese would be twice verboten once for having two different types of food items and twice for the crackers which are not fruit, veg or cheese.</div>
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And I understand. Believe me I do. I know and appreciate that each kindergarten teacher is in charge of a pack of 18-20 wild animals with very little back up or assistance, very little funding and they are making do with the very barebones of just about everything so if they want the snack in the backpack then I will cheerfully oblige... Except when I don't out of sheer confusion, fatigue, disorganization.... I really hope that I don't screw the pooch on this kindergarten bureaucracy. I don't want to be the problem parent and also I genuinely do want to amaze life as easy as possible for the woman who will hopefully teaching Big a couple of useful things this year.</div>
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But I remain confused and always on the cusp of screwing up. I have about 5,000 questions to ask of the daycare, the teacher, the lunch people, the after school people (note these are all different entities to add to the confusion) but I don't want to overwhelm anyone with my ignorance so I am kind of dolling them out one at a time, slowly filling in the gaping holes in our knowledge. The onus is really on me; we chose French school which means that I am charged with all understanding and communicating. </div>
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Big has taken to school with aplomb. She marches off each morning with out a backwards glance and marches out at the end of the day with her lunch bag empty, backpack full brimming with forms to be filled out and hand-outs to be understood and head completely empty of ANYTHING that transpired during the day enter the conversation I am sure every parent has with their kindergartener:</div>
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What did you do?</div>
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I don't know.</div>
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What was your favourite part?</div>
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Lunch</div>
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What did you learn?</div>
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Nothing (actually to be fair today she said "helping others")</div>
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Who did you play with?</div>
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I don't remember.</div>
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It's a black box this kindergarten experience. I put her in in the morning and she emerges at the end of the day, fed, tired, hopefully slightly more knowledgeable and perhaps having spent some quality time in the chair of calm.</div>
PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-77719527125373151342014-09-01T17:29:00.000-07:002014-09-01T17:29:23.024-07:00Learning to swim by barely avoiding drowningGrowing up I was allowed to chose from the normal array of activities that are typically available to the middle class child: various forms of dancing and art and gymnastics and skating and on and on and on. There were only 3 things that were mandatory: learning to speak French, learning to play the piano and learning to swim. None of these were negotiable but the last was particularly not. Without even really thinking about it, I have adopted two of these skills, speaking French and swimming, as mandatory for Big and Little. Rationale being: we live in Quebec and humans breathe oxygen (where those two things are independent of each other) therefore French and swimming required. Coincidentally or not, they are also two of the skills I have not outsourced to other people. As a parent whose children are in daycare and in a myriad of activities, I find myself constantly amazed by what they knows and often dismayed that it was not I who had the opportunity to teach it to them. While it is wonderful to see them acquire this array of knowledge and skills, I have firmly staked out French and swimming as mine to teach them.<br />
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So on a semi-regular basis I find myself at the public pool mostly patiently but sometimes not instructing Big in kicking and thrashing and generally not sinking. It both helps and hinders that she is utterly without fear and bursting with over-confidence. She will jump into the deep end, thrash her way towards the side, come within what appears to be inches of drowning when I grab her arm to support her, react with extreme frustration that I am not letting her do it herself. So it is left to me to discern with my professional eye (yes, I spent many years lifeguarding) whether she is drowning or swimming. She does make forward progress though it is by no means efficient, she keeps her nostrils barely above water and usually reaches the wall without my help. It truly is, learning to swim by barely avoiding drowning.<br />
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It is an excellent metaphor for how I feel we are living our lives right now as a family. I don't mean to be overdramatic and I recognize that if I screw up one of my many responsibilities the consequences are not going to be dire (just embarrassing, costly, career ending or childhood wrecking depending on which responsibility we are talking about) but no one is going to die, thousands of lives will not be affected so I think I have good perspective on this but nonetheless I do feel now (especially with Big in school instead of daycare and the multiple logistical challenges that entails) that we go about our days swimming by barely avoiding drowning. Getting the report due at work in just on time, running out at 11 pm to the store to get the extra stuff needed for lunch, sliding into home base just before the ball slams into the catcher's glove with the school supplies and the 10,000 forms needed by the school filled out. Getting the child picked up JUsT before the daycare closes. Now to make life more chaotic, we are adding to all of this a night class (mine), skating lessons (Big's), potentially a new job (mine - I'll find out tomorrow if the multiple interviews I did last week on top of everything else bore fruit) and yes, we are treading water while someone hands us brick after brick after brick.<br />
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But, and I don't say or think this nearly often enough, I have a really wonderful family to run this crazy obstacle course with. Hang on tight, autumn is here! Chaotic but hopefully fun times ahead.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-59797698278007158052014-08-31T18:09:00.001-07:002014-08-31T18:14:10.839-07:00Race Report: Just as out of shape as I thoughtYou know how sometimes you race and it is a magical experience in which you effortlessly run far faster than any recent work-out indicated was feasible? Yesterday was not that day. Yesterday had more of the feel of opening a credit card bill, knowing I owe a lot and the balance being every bit as bad as I feared or stepping on the scale after the Christmas holidays knowing I way over-indulged, hoping that my metabolism magically sped up and took care of it all but knowing it is going to be bad, and it is.<br />
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Yesterday was a 1:38:41 half marathon raced all out. That is a Whopping 18 minutes slower than 4 years ago, 11 minutes slower than even last year. 18 minutes! I can shower, dress, make our lunches, load up the kids and be off to work in 18 minutes. That is a mind boggling chunk of time. But it was not really a shock to run that time, it kind of makes sense given the larger context and I find myself strangely happy for having run it. Also happy that I am happy about it (if that makes any sense). Both happy AND happy to be happy. It's like I am channeling the seven dwarves over here<br />
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It was a bit of an unusual race in that it was logistically tacked onto an ironman and half ironman so the start time of the marathon was 5.30 pm and start of the half marathon was 7 pm which personally suits me much better than dreadful morning races. It also meant that there was a lot of comraderie on the course. The course itself was a 5.275 km loop run 4 X for the half marathoners. The start/finish was on a track which, by the end of my race, was under the lights. Personally I love loop courses and I love running on the track at night so two points in my favour. There were no km markers on the course which I found irritating especially after paying an entry fee that was so exorbitant I am embarrassed to write it here. There were only about 70 people in the half marathon but btwn all the other events going on concurrently, it didn't matter - there was always someone else to chase.<br />
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I went out in 1:32:30 pace for the first loop which I knew was probably optimistic but I was hoping not by too much. At 3 km I passed a woman who I would eventually beat by 10 minutes which I mention only because of what happened next. I passed her and she immediately threw in a huge surge. So, I ignored her, continued running at my pace and about a minute later I caught her again and slowly started to pass. Surge. Again. Repeat same sequence. The third time I caught back up to her she threw a surge and an elbow! Seriously at the 4 km mark of a tiny, community half marathon with absolutely NOTHING in the way of prizes. Throughout all of this, she was breathing HARD, like middle distance hard and we still had 17 km to go. This time I lost my temper and said "you are being so stupid." (Am not at my most active while self-propelling at more than 13 kph.) She was wearing headphones so who knows if she heard. This time I dropped it to about 4/km which I hoped I could hold for a minute without wrecking my own race and lost her for good. From then on I entertained myself by seeing how much I had built up my lead on her on every lap and was pleased to see that with every lap I put 2-3 minutes on her. I wished I hadn't lost my temper but it was irritating.<br />
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Anyway things were okay until about 12 km and then the body just started falling apart. Aerobically I was fine. Injury wise I was fine (hallelujah!!!) but quite simply my body just hasn't run many kilometres lately and it was not ready to deal with 21 consecutive kilometres. My hip flexors were so tight, I thought they were going to just walk off my legs in protest. It felt like my hamstrings were going to peel off the back of my legs. My quads ... Oh the quads! I could feel every single insertion point. I have definitely felt far better at the end of most of the marathons I have run. In other words, it felt like I was running a half marathon on about 40-60 km of running per week and no long runs at all. I told myself to just get to an hour and 5 minutes of running (arbitrary time) and then I could have a (45 second) walking break as a reward. I could tell by timing someone I had been running with that I only lost 20 seconds by doing this so I essentially repeated this every 10-12 minutes until I finally got to finish under the lights at the track.<br />
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So, no longer injured (yay), asthma under control (yay), very out of shape especially muscular endurance (booooo) but this can be fixed (yay) and surely I can only get faster from here???<br />
And yes, I did beat the crazy surging lady ... Actually I won which was kind of fun also though I would take a faster time over a win any day.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-63984434472149216782014-08-19T05:34:00.002-07:002014-08-19T05:38:39.321-07:00SomethingBlogging like so many other things is easy to just stop doing. We all go through life with a set of priorities, for me it goes like this: family, work, running - nothing else happens until those priorities have been satisfied and typically once I reach the third item on the list, it is time to go back to the first item without ever moving further down the list at all. It also turns out that starting a brand new job with two kids is noticeably more hectic than working at the same job for the past decade and having two kids. Who knew? Anyway once I had stopped blogging for a week, then two, then a month, then five, it was markedly easier to not blog than to blog. And always the challenge is, when you start up again, where do you start? And finally the answer came just start with something.... Any old thing.<br />
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So here is my something.<br />
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I have been going through a symphony of injuries. I like the word symphony because of its implication that these injuries were all playing together to create a whole greater than the sum of parts which is definitely how I experienced them. It began in late May when I offered to pace a friend for part of her marathon. She was in sub-3 shape and I was kind of well, in excellent donut eating shape by that point. But I figured with my experience, muscle memory, blah blah blah I could pull it off! And I did! To the tune of 14 km at 3:05 pace (my friend did go on to PB though due to various factors did not break 3) but back to the symphony of injuries, I actually wound up winning 32 km that day when all was said and done. This might not be particularly far in absolute terms but it happened to be about 18 km further than I had recently run. Enter injury number 1 - joint pain in the toes for which I immediately took 18 days off.<br />
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So I did everything by the book, time off, rehab, stretching, I even came back on a walk run plan. I WALKED RAN - I was so mature, patient and good and was rewarded with immediate severe Achilles tendinitis which really, I must say, pissed me right off. I rightly felt like I had DONE MY TIME and that if my body was going to spring another injury on me it should have had the common decency to do so while I was rehabbing the first so that I could have taken care of both together -bc we all know that that is how bodies work right? Anyway I then discovered eccentric heel drops (god, I LOVE that name) which studies have shown that 3 x 15 per day can improve Achilles pain in even long term chronic cases. So, of course, I started by doing 100 a day because, apparently, I had used up my dose of intelligence and maturity for this year with the walk-run thing. Anyway that, predictably, led to calf strains in both calves. Then I tried heel inserts to ease the Achilles which led to weird ankle injuries and on and on and on.<br />
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In the midst of all of this I really did begin to seriously wonder if I am simply at the end of my lifespan as a runner. Sure, we all hear about the 90 year old who is still running a sub whatever marathon and I always assumed that would be me too, I really have no back up for self fulfillment and am counting on this body to carry me through. In the midst of this symphony however I began to realize that being an octogenarian road runner is not guaranteed. This body came with no guarantees which might seem like kind of an obvious thing to say but really, somehow I thought maybe mine did. So,on the eve of my 40th birthday I began to wonder if this was it, because not only did I seem to be chronically injured but even when not injured I was just running so much slower than I used.... I think I have said this before but my marathon pace seems to have become my half marathon pace And my 10 km pace seems to have become my 3 km pace etc.<br />
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So this is where I am now - I am back running, up to 15 km. sometimes I even get a whole 5 km that is pain free but importantly, the number of pain free kilometres seems to be slowly increasing. The acute Achilles issues seems to have dullened back into their old baseline chronic condition ( yay, back to chronic). I am doing regular eccentric heel drops and not being stupid about it. I think that my lifespan as a runners not yet ended though I truly do believe now that I will never run as fast as I used to. But I am starting to be okay with that - truly, if I can continue to run at any speed, I will work to appreciate that. In fact one very run I say out loud: "I appreciate this." How's that for maturity?<br />
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And that I guess, is my something.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-68949814520689465152014-04-03T18:17:00.000-07:002014-04-03T18:17:11.032-07:00MiscellaneousSo, day 18 at my new job is in the bag. As I have already said (over and over again) this has been a big adjustment for me. I guess I haven't really said why, and it goes a bit beyond the obvious fact that new jobs are always an adjustment. I was at my last job for 12 years. 12! Long enough to feel very competent, knowledgeable and to have been involved with just about every aspect of the business. Add to that, I was the fifth person hired at the last company I worked for and when I left we were 25 - so, a very small though steadily growing place. My new company, at 120 (?) people feels huge in comparison (though I realize that probably still qualifies it as a small business). The industry is completely different (the common thread is software but other than that I am definitely not in Kansas anymore).<br />
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Anyway so yeah, big adjustment, whine whine whine however I have to say that after 13 days, I noticed a small but significant step change in my level of knowledge and comfort in my new position and today, again, I noticed another small but important change in my comfort level. So much so that I have promoted myself from "Useless" to - drum roll - "Mostly Useless". And while being "Mostly Useless" feels pretty shitty at best, it is still heaps above "Useless". Even better, I can see in the not too distant future when I feel very confident I will rise to the level of "Somewhat Useless".<br />
If none of this makes sense, see: Syndrome, Impostor.<br />
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On the running front, I ran my second race of 2014 on the week-end. The first one had been a 10 km at altitude while sleep and calorie deprived, jet lagged and dehydrated on loose sand (I DO enjoy lining up those excuses) in which I eked out a 43:50 10 km. I thought that would for sure be my slowest race of the season. Enter the last (god I hope it was the last anyway) blizzard of the season being coincident with my first 5 km of the season and that yielded a 20:57. In the hours after the race I berated myself thinking that the conditions had not been THAT bad and that I am really out of shape etc. etc. but then the race pictures came out and after looking at them I have decided to just Let It Go because really, yes, it was THAT bad:<br />
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Otherwise I feel oddly confident in my fitness and training. I am doing some new-style work-outs like 25 X 200 m @ goal 5 km pace on short rest. They are hard but different and that keeps in interesting. My next race is in 2 weeks, another 5 km, and I am really hoping for sub-19.</div>
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PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-90147574786372530312014-03-28T18:51:00.002-07:002014-03-28T18:56:11.947-07:00Memories from a winter qui n'a jamais pris son fin<div style="text-align: center;">
It was the winter for which we bought brand new snowsuits and thereafter I would simply randomly pluck one red and one purple blob from the park/daycare/grocery store etc. and hope for the best:</div>
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It was the winter during which all of our upper bodies got stronger than we ever imagined:</div>
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It was the winter of the Christmas which despite the (small) mountain of gifts, the $1 flashing Rudolph nose from the Dollar Store was the most sought after commodity:</div>
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It was the winter during which we should have done more of this:</div>
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But as the weeks wore on and we wore down, we did a lot of this:</div>
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(drank... too... much... milk)</div>
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It was NOT the winter in which Big gave up the crib despite being taller than it is long. Clearly, ti was also not the winter during which she gave up the pacifier:</div>
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It was the winter over which we played many games of hide and seek:</div>
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And the winter during which Little got the (hopefully) worst hair cut of her life courtesy of her penny pinching mom who felt confident trimming the bangs was an easy job:</div>
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(if you can see scalp, it's not a trim mom!)</div>
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It was the winter of lots of dress up (not only to cover up bad haircuts):</div>
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It was (is) the winter that all made us long for this:</div>
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PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-63393026872307171442014-03-23T15:09:00.001-07:002014-03-23T15:09:34.169-07:00You have chosen...So, as alluded to in previous posts, I made some pretty big life decisions in the past month or so. I chose from several possible, appealing options and am now living the consequences of that choice. I feel like I am walking around waiting for one of two verdicts, this:<br />
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or this:</div>
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I guess that makes it sound like it is all external i.e. I am sitting around waiting to see if my new situation is ideal or otherwise. Meanwhile I am (sometimes) adult enough to know that any situation will be in large part what I make of it. But I am struggling a ton. Struggling with the fact that no one really knows me (and those who want to get to know me are probably put off by the 11th century Grail Knight looming over my shoulder). I am struggling also with my always overly developed sense of nostalgia; seriously, I was once nostalgic for a particular telephone booths! I am also, I am sure, somewhat over-romanticizing my last position. I am also struggling with what I can only imagine is a little touch of depression (or perhaps over-training - one or the other is making it very difficult to stay awake past 8.00 pm).<br />
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So... I need to take action. I need to read more material that will be helpful in my new job. I need to eat better (more green vegetables). I need to drink more (well I need to drink less wine but more water). I need to stop running on the treadmill all the time because I think it is making me tired, injured and therefore sluggish and unhappy. I need to keep my chin up and a positive attitude and remember that one of my strengths is being able to figure out how to make myself useful and engaged in unfamiliar situations. And I need to listen to <a href="http://indianajones.wikia.com/wiki/Grail_Knight">Robert Eddison</a> say "He chose poorly" about 30 times in a row because it makes me laugh. And laughing is good. Laughing is good.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-21890930347699538672014-03-15T14:50:00.002-07:002014-03-15T14:50:07.839-07:00Change is hardWeek 1 is completed at new job. Adjustment is the word of the week. I knew it would be hard to change jobs after 12 years, moving from a job where I was a pretty key player at a very small company where (sing it with me) everybody knows my name... hell more than knew my name, they knew the names of my kids, my husband, how I take my coffee (not that they ever got it for me), when I was PMS-ing, my favorite foods, my pet peeves, when I was really mad but trying to hide it, when I was really mad but not hiding it (ok, I guess that last one is not that impressive). So, it's hard to go from a level of extreme intimacy to being a very small, very anonymous fish in a very large pond.<br />
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And, of course, there is so much that sucks about staring a new job, any job - not knowing where the bathroom is (or once you do, not being able to remember the code for the door), riding the elevator and not being sure if it is filled with coworkers I have already met but cannot remember, feeling self conscious about the toboggan in my cubicle bc I cannot figure out where else to put it and I need it to bring Big & Little home from the daycare, feeling self conscious over - well - just about everything, being that annoying person who consumes the time of other people without giving anything back. Adding to the feeling of disconnect, I had a going away party at my old job at the end of this week and the stark contrast between how at home I feel with those people and how I feel in my new place was a little hard to take. Not to mention, my former co-workers gave me the best going away presents EVER: gum (bc I never have any and am always begging), chocolate (for obvious reasons), coffee flavored tea (bc they knew I would love the ridiculousness of it), a GARMIN watch for running (hello! After 25 years as a runner, I am going to know in real-time how fast and how far, I sense a new addiction), pyjamas (inside joke too long to go into), a scarf (bc I am always cold), a framed picture of them on and on... As I write all of this I keep coming back to... WHY am did I leave? Seriously, why?<br />
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Anyway it'll be fine. It will be fine. Everyone has a hard time at their new job at first (unless the job is mattress tester and chocolate taster or treadmill verifier but enough about my fantasies). It WILL be fine and eventually, after a while, I am sure it will be more than fine. Eventually after a time, I know I will like this job and love the people I am working with. There are lots of positives about this job, I just need to learn, adjust and embrace the newness. But yeah, change is hard.<br />
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Running song of the week: Changes - David Bowie (I think)PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-2940679391248570862014-03-10T07:46:00.001-07:002014-03-10T07:46:36.402-07:00InterludeSo, was it totally obvious from my last two posts that the drama was me changing jobs? Or did it sound like I was getting divorced? Anyway yes, job change for me after 12, mostly wonderful, years at my (as of Friday) "old" job. And now I find myself in an interlude between jobs... an interlude of one freaking day because despite having 3 job offers while job hunting I did not manage to negotiate ANY time off between jobs (I am officially the world's WORST negotiator be it with 2 year olds, 4.5 year olds or future employers there is seriously no one as spineless as me). In fact this one day off I have is not through my negotiating "skills" but rather happenstance.<br />
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So yes, I find myself somewhat nostalgic. 12 years is a long time... I am leaving some really good friends, a great boss, an athlete I coach and two work husbands behind. Though the sadness has mostly past and now faded to excitement. I am excited to try something new, in a brand new industry, very different size of company, different location, different job description, different dress code (as in, there is one), different... well... just about everything. If I can pull this off then hopefully I will finally beat my lifelong, severe case of i<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impostor_syndrome">mpostor syndrome</a> (look it up, it's a thing!) into the ground and prove to myself, that I am actually competent (more likely I will just find new and creative ways to doubt myself but... whatever). And that is really all I can say about my new job.<br />
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On the running front - great news. Against all odds, I suddenly find myself in pretty good shape going into the spring road race season. Not due to any hard work I might add but simply due to some fortuitous weight loss. The secret to weight loss, I have found, lies in a combination of 8 weeks of interviewing, 4 weeks of decision making/stress/preparing for major life change and going to altitude (which always kills my appetite) alone (hence lots of time to run) for almost a week - cap it off with a severe case of stomach flu and voila: goal racing weight achieved. Though I have managed to run some good work-outs - heck I even broke 70 km two weeks in a row after 20 (TWENTY- seriously how did that happen?) weeks of not going above 60 km (and usually not even 50 km) so I find myself refreshed and lean (if not exactly physically fit) going into the spring road racing season and am excited to see what I can make happen out there on the roads and perhaps even on the track.<br />
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First up, a 5 km at the end of March - last year I managed 18.55. I'm going to throw it out there no holds barred - I am aiming for sub-18:30 right off the bat, right at the beginning of the season with my A goal for the 2014 season being to break 18:00 for the 5 km again. As mentioned previously, I turn 40 (FORTY - seriously how did that happen?) weeks, um, I mean years, old this year. Previously my plan had been to run the NYC marathon to celebrate but after some (as usual) indecision I have decided the ROI is not great where the investment constitutes miles and miles of training while getting used to a new job as well as the whopping entry fee. So now instead I am thinking a week-end alone somewhere, an short flight from Montreal to do a half marathon somewhere beautiful and warm in late autumn (any suggestions?) and the goal there will be sub-1:24.<br />
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<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-78591110803370631832014-02-23T14:39:00.001-08:002014-02-23T14:39:06.339-08:00120 hours in the Land of EnchantmentI've kind of gotten to the place where so much has transpired much of which i cannot really talk about since my before-last post that I am at a loss as to what, if anything, to document. Fortunately I have never been bound to the concepts coherence and continuity therefore... 120 hours in the Land of Enchantment it is as the topic for my first post in 3 months. The stars lined up for me this month and I scored 2 days of business in New Mexico which I promptly tacked a pre-work week-end onto, that combined with the entire day of travel required to get there and voila 120 hours in the Land of Enchantment for me! Well not all them spent entirely in the land of Enchantment but 120 consecutive hours of alone-time (minus maybe 16 hours of work). I really, truly cannot recommend this type of escape highly enough. At one point during the trip I must have gone a full 36 hours without saying a word to anyone. Bliss.<br />
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I landed Saturday afternoon and after checking into my hotel headed over to catch package pick-up for the race I was doing the next day before it closed (yes, of COURSE I found a race to do). After getting my number I headed out onto the course for a pre-race shake-out only to discover:<br />
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a) flying up to 5,000 feet that morning from sea level really DID have a big impact on my ability to, well, breathe<br />
b) the course was entirely on loose sand<br />
c) not sleeping for 3 days beforehand negatively impacted my energy levels (sleep hampered by teething baby, major life decision)<br />
d) not eating (much) 3 days beforehand negatively impacted my energy levels<br />
e) not drinking (much) all day was really just the final straw...<br />
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I dragged myself through some brutal 9:30 miles, drank about 3 L of water, headed back to my hotel, took 2 sleeping pills, put in my ear plugs and disappeared off to dreamland for about 11 solid hours (sorry Ingrid... I feel like a class A jerk bragging about that).<br />
While 11 hours of straight sleep can really do wonders for a person, they cannot erase 5,000 feet of altitude and so it was not a big surprise when I dragged myself barely breathing to a 43:50 finish the following day (10 km). As I fell across the finish line and collapsed onto the grass, I have never quite felt the world spinning that much, it was comparable only to a very bad trip I once had in college when I smoked something that, in retrospect, could not have been only pot... but anyway... Lying there not entirely sure if I could stand with absolutely NO one offering any assistance whatsoever also made me realize there is a something to be said for being in a place "where everybody knows your name" (regardless of whether they are glad you came). Anyway I eventually scrapped myself off of the grass (grass! green grass, in February!!) and got moving because this temporarily childless mom had lots on her agenda for the day, first of which was this:<br />
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Hiking in the Sandia foothills almost within the city of Albuquerque. I felt like a kid in the veritable candy store...8 hours of daylights yet and trails galore to explore. Disclaimer, these are not actually m pictures as I cannot find my camera cable but these are pictures of where I were:</div>
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Nothing short of heaven to wander in desert foothills with no particular agenda and only the occasional wandering about mountain lions or cougars crossing my mind.<br />
<br />
I was also fortunate enough to get to Petroglyph National Monument and was awed by petroglyphs more than 1000 years old:<br />
<br />
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<br />
And some, sadly that were about 2 years old... sigh... people suck. Though who knows, in the year 3014, someone may be awed and inspired by the fact that Kevin hearts Becky...<br />
<br />
My 120 hours in the Land of Enchantment also featured soaks in a whirlpool, hours of uninterrupted reading, dinner in restaurants and all the exercise I wanted... on several occasions, I actually stopped running because - I was TIRED OF RUNNING! Not because of guilt or someone needed something or the babysitter needed to leave etc. etc. On several occasions I also stopped sleeping because, get this, I WASN'T TIRED ANYMORE!<br />
<br />
All in all, an amazing trip (also fortuitously timed as both children had stomach flu while I was gone... have I mentioned I have the best husband in the world??). The trip also made a nice transition between what I am already thinking of "the last phase" of my life and this next phase... a phase which is not entirely decided yet (though the timeline to make final decisions is becoming desperately short) but regardless of the final details, it will without a doubt be a new adventure.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-85763234267525082652014-02-20T02:01:00.001-08:002014-02-21T06:25:04.628-08:00This is ourselves under pressureI have had wickedly terrible insomnia in my life but this week is taking it to a whole new level of bone crushing exhaustion. There are major changes happening in my life. Well, more succinctly put, there is A major change happening in my life. One I chose and made happen. And I think it will be good thing (I guess it would be pretty damn self destructive if I didn't think it would be a good thing given that I chose it and made it happen!!) but it means saying good-bye to a lot of really good people. It means moving out of my comfort zone... like my comfort is the Shire and where I am going... I won't even be able to see Middle Earth. This decision has meant saying no to people who I really like, admire and respect (saying no - talk about being WAY out of my comfort zone!).<br />
<br />
As with any cross roads in life, this decision comes with its share of introspection and greater understanding of myself and my motivations. I have come to realize that when it comes to big decisions, I tend to wall off, isolate, hunker down and internalize the entire process. On the exterior I maintain a perfect "situation normal" facade. Inside there is a raging debate going on in which I am having the conversation with the key people impacted by the decision only I am speaking their parts. The end result is that when I emerge from my cocoon, decision made, it feels like a bit of a bomb being dropped to everyone else. I have actually said (in the distant past) on one day "yes, spending our summer vacation with your mother sounds great to me" and, the next " I don't think we should date anymore". I guess walling off isn't the greatest trait ever. I honestly didn't realize I had this bomb dropping tendency but after this recent decision, when I look back I see it is part of a firmly established pattern. Now that I see the pattern, I also instantly understand why - I am so easily swayed by other people and have such a hard time hearing my own voice that when it comes to big decisions, I feel I cannot even open the door to discussion even a tiny crack until I have figured out what I think... and at that point, the decision has been irrevocably made. So, I know this now about myself, not sure what, if anything, to do about that nugget of information but I read somewhere in some self help book that it is supposedly good to know yourself :)<br />
<br />
So, I have reached the cliched fork in the road and chosen one of the paths. I have a reasonable idea of the lay of the land ahead and the details should come into focus soon. Whatever lies ahead, I certainly hope it involves more sleep, lots more sleep.<br />
<br />
Life altering decision making song of the day: Under Pressure by Queen feat David Bowie<br />
<br />
<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-40858039013727687132013-11-30T16:25:00.001-08:002013-11-30T16:25:15.188-08:00Race Report: So much freaking funAhhh, indoor track with your Saharan desert dryness, obstacle course of flying sand, wayward shot puts and headphone wearing athletes randomly wandering across the track. Your funny pockets of smells that don't seem to dissapate - grease from the snack bar, sweat from, well, everywhere, sharp medicinal smelling A535 and farts from nervous athletes. The feeling of every last molecule of water in your body immediately evaporating during the first lap of every race. The endless post-race hacking and general burning of all mucous membranes. I've missed you indoor track and I had a helluva ton of fun today.<br />
<br />
On today's menu for me was a 1500 m and, wait for it, a 4 X 200 m. I'll wait while everyone stops laughing... So I prepared for the 1500 m over the past few weeks by doing, what was it again? Oh, that's right nothing. I have run approximately 15 times since my goal race this fall in a kind of aimless, lackluster sort of way. Out of the blue, I was asked to participate in a 4 X 200 m relay team by this guy who is trying to drum up masters participation in Quebec track & field (and I do means masters... the woman who ran the third leg of our relay is 80 years old!! and while I did not have a watch on her (esp. since I was handing off to her) I guestimate she ran about 45 seconds - if we were to age grade, I am sure she would have wound up with the fastest relay split of the day on any team!!). Anyway once I had committed to doing the 4 X 200 m and secured a babysitter, I figured it only made sense to pick the longest distance race on the menu and do it... which turned out to be the 1500 m. My first 1500 m since I ran it at Olympic Trials in 2000 (oh, in case there was any doubt there, I did not make the Olympic Team in 2000, or any other year, the team had been chosen and signed their paperwork by the time I got the finish line). Anyhooo memories of days gone by aside, I decided to give the 1500 m another whirl. I pulled a time of 5:20 out of my butt as a seed time and off I went.<br />
<br />
So it was fun. Good clean (well occasionally fart smelling) fun. I did what i always do on the track and started off at the very back of the pack until people had sorted themselves out into single file and finished with the pushing, shoving and spiking and then went about my slow but evenly paced business and worked the race from the back:<br />
<br />
300 m - 1:00<br />
400 m - 1:23<br />
500 m - 1:48<br />
600 m - 2:06<br />
700 m - 2:26<br />
1000 m - 3:29<br />
1200 m - 4:10<br />
1300 m - 4:30<br />
1500 m - 5:08.66<br />
<br />
(yeah, I like lots of numbers...)<br />
<br />
I cannot say enough about this whole starting slow strategy... it makes racing (especially when unprepared and out of shape) so much more pleasant. Paste-mouth aside, I felt pretty damn good through except for the last 300 m in which the lactic acid crept in and I was truly wondering if I was going to trip and face plant.<br />
<br />
The 4 X 200 m... well by that time the meet was running 30-40 minutes late as indoor track meets will do. Our sitter is fairly new and I had promised her I would be home by 4 pm. The 4 X 2 was scheduled for 3 pm and we were in third i.e. the slowest heat. At 3.40 the first heat went off and, had it been an individual event, I probably would have scratched and left 20 minutes prior but relay running requires, by definition, team players. In this case my team consisted of one of my best friends of 13 years, an 80 year old woman and a women who had torn (?) her knee the day prior but still showed up for the team so bailing to keep a promise to the babysitter was not an option. Anyway long story short, I ran second, finished my leg, changed and by the time the race was over I was essentially out the door. The whole thing is a blur that I don't really remember except almost running over the woman I was handing off to because I kept expecting her to start running as I came into the exchange zone but I guess she doesn't believe in flying starts because she was completely still as I ran up to and then essentially over (sorry!!!) her. We sorted herself, I put the baton in her hand and off she went.<br />
<br />
Anyway good times. I missed you stinky, chaotic indoor track. See you in two weeks for a 3000 m.<br />
<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-18505347328747739892013-11-15T13:30:00.001-08:002013-11-15T13:35:41.077-08:00Numbers[I wrote this several years ago now at which time I was already several years past my most serious training period of my life. It is an account of trying to train as a marathon runner while being a reluctant frequent flyer for work - based very loosely on a hybrid of a past life of mine and George Clooney's character from the movie "Up in the Air" i.e. most of what is in here is either highly exaggerated or quite simply not true. I'm posting it now bc I just went on my first business trip (Memphis, TN!) in several months which reminded me of this piece and I sprang for in-air internet ($3 for 30 minutes) and I can't resist the temptation of publishing a post from 30,000 feet!]<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Numbers are
the essence of running. I run approximately 6,000 kilometers in any given year.
This is 15% of the way around the earth’s equator. It is the distance from <st1:city w:st="on">New York City</st1:city> to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city>
as the seagull flies. It is more than most people though less than many people I personally know;
what matters to me is that it is the amount I need to run to fulfill my goals
as a marathon runner. <span style="color: red;"> </span>If I were to run every day of the year,
I would have to cover 16 kilometers a day in order to cover this distance.
However I generously allow my body two days off every month which means that on
the remaining days I must average just over 18 kilometers.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">244,000: the
number of kilometers I covered for work last year, criss-crossing the United
States and Canada, at 38,000 feet. 125: the number of days I spent as<span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:17"> </del></span> a road warrior, one of thousands who travel
for work. Pack, unpack, re-pack. 125 times. Off with the shoes, out with the laptop,
remove liquids and gels, 250 times. 250 frantic, last minute searches for the
boarding pass -<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:mxp" datetime="2010-07-16T12:42"> </ins></span>you'd think I’d have a foolproof
place for it. 250 bags of stale peanuts consumed per year. 1000 cab or rental
car rides to and from the airport. Hours waiting for delayed flights. Dozens of
nights in generic motel rooms due to cancelled flights.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">24 hours.
That is all anyone is given to complete the daily grind. In a runner’s world,
every 24 hours the counter resets itself to zero and the task of completing the
daily allotment of mileage begins anew. The only way to get it done as a road
warrior is to create time where apparently there is none. It cannot be during
the precious hours of sleep as they are already too scarce. It obviously cannot
be during the 7 hours spent on the client site. It cannot be done while sitting
comfortably in one`s seat with the seatbelt tightly fastened. What remain are some
6 hours spent travelling to and waiting at the airport.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Consequently
the journey to the airport became my time to run. When I am done with my
clients for the day, done thanking them and saying good-bye, politely refusing
a ride to the airport or a quick drink at a local bar, I change Superman-style
in the closest public toilet. Off come my skirt-always a skirt never pants to
save weight<span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:mxp" datetime="2010-07-16T12:50">,</del></span><span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:26"> - </ins></span><span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:mxp" datetime="2010-07-16T12:50"> </del></span>my nylons, black flats, cardigan
and blouse. I lovingly wrap them around the unavoidable laptop to protect it
and cram them into my backpack. Never a briefcase because what kind of
superhero runs with a briefcase? On goes the superhero uniform: shorts<span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:26"> </del></span> and tank in the spring, summer and fall,
tights and fleece in the winter. My packing and planning is a science of
efficiency and weight saving. I wear a sports bra under my business clothes to
save weight and embarrassment if I must change in an alley. Everything I bring
on these trips has a purpose if not two or three; nothing goes unused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Transformation
complete, I move out. I glide past snarls of rush hour traffic, sometimes on
dirty gritty streets, sometimes through the oasis of an urban park. I head out
along my pre-mapquested route to the airport or as close as I can reasonably
get. Travelling to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Boston</st1:place></st1:city>
is always a treat as it gives me a chance to re-acquaint myself with its
emerald necklace and although running all the way to the airport is not quite
possible, a short subway ride gets me there. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Philadelphia</st1:place></st1:city> is a challenge as the airport is
20 kilometers from the city center but one can, with careful manoeuvring, run
right to its front door. It is perhaps not the most aesthetic run however there
is a profound sense of accomplishment in self-locomoting the entire distance to
the airport. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Baton Rouge</st1:place></st1:city>
is another favourite for its scenery and aromas so distinctly different from my
hometown. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Smaller
centers pose unique challenges as their airports can be many kilometres
distant, often shared with other towns. <st1:city w:st="on">Iowa City</st1:city>,
a frequent destination for me, is serviced by the <st1:placename w:st="on">Eastern</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Iowa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype>
in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cedar Rapids</st1:place></st1:city>,
40 kilometres away. This is typically longer than I have time to run in the
precious window of time between leaving my client and catching my flight. In
situations like this, I will take a taxi to the airport and then create for
myself a running route around the perimeter of the airport. This can be an
unexpected treat, as in Iowa, <span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:38"> </del></span>when
I run past corn fields and along forested trails. Alternatively it can be
downright soul destroying, the route composed of inevitable parking lots, gas
stations<span class="msoDel"><del cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:44">,</del></span>
and fast food joints. One challenge of running on airport property,
particularly with a backpack, is that it makes airport security nervous. I get the sense that they are certain I am up
to no good although they cannot quite put their finger on what I am doing
wrong. My flimsy “story” of getting my run in before my flight is clearly a
sham. I have heard the words: “I<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:45">’</ins></span>ll have to ask you to stop now<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:mxp" datetime="2010-07-16T12:56">,</ins></span>
Ma<span class="msoIns"><ins cite="mailto:donb" datetime="2010-07-17T20:45">’</ins></span>am”
a discouraging number of times.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Opting for a
rental car over a taxi affords much more freedom. A plethora of running routes
reveal themselves to me during the drive to the airport. I have parked in a
suburban neighbourhood in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place></st1:state>
and run 15 muddy kilometres in woods
underneath the approach path to Dulles airport. As airbuses roared overhead, I
hurdled logs, splashed through streams and startled deer. As my flight took off
later that evening, I was able to identify the patch of woods that had afforded
me so much pleasure and I felt the glow of my secret knowledge of the
intimacies of that solitary patch of woods.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Delayed
flights are an inevitable part of the business travel experience. During one
year I kept track of the total number of hours I spent in various airports during
delays - a staggering 80 hours. These times can afford running opportunities
but the cost of admission is that one must truly not care what other people
think. Fortunately I do not. At least not about this. I have run countless
kilometres on the underground concourse at O`<st1:placename w:st="on">Hare</st1:placename>
Airport. Any traveller worth their salt is familiar with the approximately half
mile stretch of underground walkway with its psychedelic, forever-in-the-seventies
light display that connects concourse B and C at Chicago`s famously sluggish
airport. I run back and forth keeping time to the infinite, automated message
“the moving walkway is now ending, please look down!”. Occasionally I’m stopped
by the very human message “Ma’am, we’ll have to ask you to refrain from running
here.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It is an
oddity of our society that a runner can be such a source of suspicion and
confusion. One of my first experiences of running on the road taught me well
the need for discretion. It was winter in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Boston</st1:place></st1:city>,
the temperature hovering around -5 deg C. I decided I would have to forgo a
winter coat for the trip as it would not fit into my backpack during the run to
the airport. This is not as problematic as it might seem as realistically the
amount of time I spend outside on these trips, not including running time of
course, is less than 10 minutes. I figured I could endure those brief snippets
of time outside. My one concern was being stranded outside due to my cab
breaking down or similar and so I tucked a space emergency blanket I had
received at the end of a marathon into my pack as insurance against that
possibility. I remember discussing my plans with my training partner, whose
nonchalant comment was that I should wear small flats rather than my clunky
heels in order to further reduce weight in my backpack. Just another day of trying to get the miles
in, was her blasé reaction. Her non-reaction lulled me into a sense of
normalcy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I arrived
onsite and my client was at the door to meet me. I could see him taking in my skirt,
blouse, cardigan, ballet slippers and back-pack. "Where is your
coat?" he asked, clearly perplexed. "Oh, I didn't bring one to save
weight and space because I'll be running back to the airport later today."
I replied. An uncomfortably long and profound silence ensued. From the look on
his face I wondered if I had accidentally announced that I needed to be done by
6 o’clock in order to catch my spaceship back to my home planet. Oh, to be that green and oblivious again.
Sprinkled throughout the rest of the day, at random, inappropriate moments,
were comments and questions as he clearly struggled to understand. As we talked
about research methodology, he interjected with: "but... how are you going
to shower?". As we did trouble shooting on his datasets, he queried:
"Surely you can't run with your laptop?". As we talked about
alternate data analysis strategies, he proclaimed: "But, it's over ten
miles to the airport, you can't possibly run that far!" As we were joined
by various colleagues throughout the day, he began every introduction with:
"She's going to RUN back to the airport. With her laptop in her backpack. To
the AIRPORT! With a LAPTOP!" I doubt anyone even found out my name or the
actual purpose of my visit.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I’ll admit
that I enjoy being perceived as eccentric, extreme, and hard core. I will even
admit, with some embarrassment, that it feeds my ever-starving ego to earn the admiration
of people through my running. However, I realized that day that this habit of
mine was simply too far from the average person’s boundaries of normal to fit
into the strict, mould of the business professional. In our society where the
car reigns supreme and self-locomoting is simply not viewed as a means of
transport, it is far more socially acceptable get drunk and obnoxious at the
airport bar than it is to spend that same time running to the airport.
Regardless, being perceived as eccentric was clearly stripping me of my
professionalism and was creating unacceptable distraction. I realized that day
that I would have to go under cover.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Since that
time I have developed strategies to avoid detection. I get directions to the
conference room rather than being met at the front door so that I can ferret
away my backpack and my lack of coat is not questioned. I politely but firmly
decline offers of rides to the airports or calling of taxis with vague,
murmured excuses. I have shamelessly made up conference calls, office
emergencies, headaches, toothaches and heartaches in order to duck out of
invitations for “a quick drink nearby before heading to the airport.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> I often feel not so much like an athlete
trying to get in a run as an addict trying to get in a fix. I know that there
is a fine line between passion and addiction. The lengths I go to appear to fit
the definition of normal sometimes do make me question on which side of that
line I tread. However it comes down to the numbers. The marathon is a dictator
whose demands are absolute and unbending. The marathon does not care about
normal or eccentric. It does not care whether its subjects trained on a track,
treadmill, forested paths, along the side of the highway, backpack on back
headed to the airport or on the underground concourse at O’Hare airport. The marathon
imperviously deals out its 42.195 kilometres and a fool is the runner who toes
the line unprepared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-25962930983673062582013-10-24T19:25:00.003-07:002013-10-24T19:25:36.658-07:00Day in the LifeLater on, when things calm down, maybe decades from now... I want to be sure I remember what the pace was like when Big & Little were just wee ones...<br />
<br />
6.30 am: wake up to the sound of Little asking for milk. Totally hung over because last night was a sleeping pill night... get her from the pack and play (where she still sleeps because Big never gave up her crib... I used to fight her over it but now I figure she will literally outgrow it and be forced to move - already when I lie awake sometimes with insomnia I can hear the irregular thump of her various long limbs hitting the sides).<br />
<br />
6:30 - 6:45 am: nurse and try to convince myself to get out of bed.<br />
<br />
6:45 am: remember that Harriet, the person who cleans for us once a week is coming this morning (I am embarrassed to admit that but trying to stay in the spirit of honesty) is coming and the place is a disaster. Begin the bizarre process of cleaning up before the person who comes to clean arrives. I can never quite figure out what is an acceptable mess to leave and what is rude. For example, it somehow seems like a breach of etiquette to leave the pots from last night's dinner unwashed in the sink - I guess because I do that on a daily basis so it seems rude to leave it in anticipation of her arrival. Dirty toilets just seems wrong; disrespectful. Various odds and ends lying on the floors of our bedrooms - not good. Anyway I do what I can while Big & Little slowly wake up.<br />
<br />
7:00 - 7:45 am: The morning battle to change diaper, dress, feed and then dress again because I always forget that I should not let them eat in the clothes they are going out in. Wrestle with Big's hair - she is very particular about her hairstyle which is a poor match indeed for my non-existent hair-styling skills. Note the outdoor temp reads 0 deg C (wah!) and dress them in many, many warm layers because...<br />
<br />
7:45 am: Load them into the double running stroller and we are off on the 5.2 km run to daycare. Oof. Still very tired from last week-end's half marathon. Barely moving. Fairly uneventful run to daycare: one friendly thumbs up from fellow runner, one headphone-wearing pre-teen steps out directly in front of me and DOWN he goes. But hard. I pick him up. Lots of mutual apologies. He's fine. Keep going. One titanic out the front of the stroller i.e. picture this:<br />
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now take Leonardo and put in Big and take Kate and put in Little and take the Titanic and put in the double running stroller. All in all, fairly uneventful.<br />
<br />
8:30 am: arrive daycare, drop kids, fold up stroller and store in the special spot daycare lets me use and I am off on the 6 km uphill run to work.<br />
<br />
9:00 am: arrive at work (stopping en route to buy 500 mL of chocolate milk because I can already feel my blood sugar plummeting). Shower (yes, at work, best perk ever!), change, do an equally bad job on my hair.<br />
<br />
9:15 am - 5:00 pm: work. at desk. all day. Good day, finally get an ant script (for any techy geeks who might be reading) to work that I have been struggling with. Some productive conversations about ongoing projects. Attend one meeting I feel ill prepared for.<br />
<br />
5:00 pm: run back to daycare feeling just terrible.<br />
<br />
5:30 pm: arrive daycare stopping en route to buy brownies for kids as a snack for the way home. Realize that I am cold, shivery and not feeling up to running home. This is a problem because the double stroller barely fits on the sidewalk let alone on the bus or the subway. Decide it will probably not rain tonight and leave the stroller in its outdoor parking spot.<br />
<br />
5:50 pm: leave daycare for home. I am still in my sweaty running clothes, temperature is hovering around 3-4 deg C, am freezing. Little does not want to walk so i am carrying her having, as I do not, a stroller. Big also does not want to walk but there is not much to be done about that. I am feeling worse and worse and so damn cold. Big starts a tantrum and sits down on the sidewalk. Start thinking about taking a taxi home. Finally lure Big to the bus stop using brownies as bait. Bus is coming, hallelejah! Cram onto packed bus. Big and Little share a seat and I kneel at their feet. Big asks for her nounou (pacifier), realize I have forgotten it in the running stroller at the daycare. Big wants to get off the bus to retrieve nounou. In essence I tell her "hell no!". Little starts crying "no monkey, no monkey, mama, no monkey" louder and more urgently with every passing minute though in truth she can barele be heard above Big's screams. I promise Big a nounou when we get home (wondering if in fact we have another one at home and if I am going to have to go to the pharmacy to buy one). Big calms down. Little still demanding "no monkey" and so for the rest of the 30 minute long bus ride (yes, it takes way longer by bus than to run) the whole bus gets to listen to "10 little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and broke his head, mama called the doctor and the doctor said : " (insert Little's voice) "no monkey! no monkey!).<br />
<br />
6:25 pm: arrive bus stop terminus.<br />
6:26 pm: get on second bus which is mercifully there and which saves us a 600 m walk (or, 15 minutes with a reluctant pre-schooler)<br />
6:35 pm: arrive home.<br />
<br />
6:35-6:45 pm: Big and Little run around screaming while I make grilled cheese and continue to feel progressively worse. Put on long johns, pyjama pants, sweat shirt, fleece and touque. Still freezing.<br />
<br />
6:45 pm: Sister calls. Have a great conversation with her while Big & Little pretty much ignore grilled cheese. Little demonstrates for Sister how she can now say Big's name as well as her own.<br />
<br />
7:30 pm: stories, pyjamas, teeth brushing, video<br />
<br />
8:00 pm: all three of us get into the "big bed". Little falls asleep nursing while Big thrashes like a fish out of water.<br />
<br />
9:00 pm: Big decides she wants to sleep in the crib and leaves and I decide to treat myself to modern Family (my TV vice now that "How I met your Mother" has gone down the tubes this season IMHO). Should probably sleep given how I am feeling but want the treat.<br />
<br />
9:30 pm: bedtime for mama without showering. Manage to put Little in pack & play without waking her up. Fall into feverish and fit full sleep.<br />
<br />
Disclaimer: lest anyone think I have a total slacker husband - he is actually out of town so this wasn't exactly a representative "day in the life" but nonetheless fairly accurately captures my life on Wednesday Oct. 23.<br />
<br />
<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-7283687225194521942013-10-19T18:24:00.000-07:002013-10-19T18:24:05.489-07:00Race Report: Fall Half MarathonGoal: sub-1:30<br />
Secret Wish: 1:25:00<br />
Actual: 1:27:32 (is this what's called splitting the difference?)<br />
<br />
So... all in all, pretty disappointing I have to say. After my 38:53 10 km I felt confident about running very close to 1:26 if not faster (not in the least because I plugged 38:53 into a half dozen marathon prediction calculators and got times ranging from 1:25 to 1:26:30). All in all, I am not quite sure why I came up short. The weather was ideal, the course, though rolling, was fair, and although the race was not extremely competitive (1:27:32 netted me 13th overall) I did find a good group to work with.<br />
<br />
I went out right at 4:03 pace and within 200 m found a tall guy to hide behind. I shamelessly tucked in right behind him. I was riding buddy so closely that I doubt there is a single picture of me for the first 5 km:<br />
<br />
1 km - 4:03<br />
2 km - 4:03<br />
3 km - 4:04 (this guys is a metronome!)<br />
4 km - 4:11 (except when he's not)<br />
5 km - 3:53 (overcompensate much??)<br />
<br />
At 5 km I decided that although it was not in my best interest, I could not in good conscience continue to blatantly hide out behind this guy without at least offering to help so I pulled up next to him and asked if he was happy leading or if he would like to me to take it for awhile. "I would LOVE for you to take it for awhile." Sigh... ok.<br />
<br />
6 km - 4:17 (are you sure you want me to take it?)<br />
<br />
Whereupon another guy immediately pulled up and told me he would try for a kilometer, I had my doubts because he was breathing pretty hard but off he went and he was gone.<br />
<br />
7 km - 3:50 (buddy must have run under 3:40 on that one)<br />
<br />
So I continued to effectively lead our little group with buddy way off the front:<br />
<br />
8 km - 4:05 (uphills begin)<br />
9 km - 4:06<br />
10 km - 4:12 (solid uphill)<br />
<br />
At this point the pace felt comfortably hard and I was very pleased to be working within this little group. I got behind the original tall leader again along with another guy we swallowed up and felt content to ride this little train for as long as possible. I felt quite certain that although I might not be able to finish at this pace, that I had not gone out very much over my head.<br />
<br />
11 km - 4:10 (continuing uphill)<br />
<br />
At this point I got passed by a woman and moved into second which honestly did not bother me. Mostly I was just happy to have more company in the pack.<br />
<br />
12 km - 4:08 (yes, uphill)<br />
<br />
Right around here the pace started transitioning from comfortably hard to hardly comfortable and my little train started breaking apart. The first place woman started pulling away. Two of the guys sort of went with her but couldn't keep up and just got strung out, another guy stopped due to what looked like a back problem and suddenly our little train was gone. I was feeling less "Little Engine that could" and more Whingy Whiner.<br />
<br />
13 km - 4:07 (still ostensibly in the zone but feeling oh, so bad)<br />
14 km - 4:14 (steepest km of the race)<br />
15 km - 4:17<br />
<br />
At this point the course is a gentle downhill until the finish and I had imagined myself easily running 3:55s - 3:57s over this portion to compensate for what I was sure would be a slower pace on the uphills.<br />
<br />
16 km - 4:21 (first downhill km)<br />
<br />
I decided that that was a blip and that now that I was on the final stretch which was thankfully gravel (and downhill), I would for sure start hitting sub-4s.<br />
<br />
17 km - 4:11<br />
<br />
When I saw 4:11, I thought for sure that they had mis-marked the km. Yes, PPC wasn't running slower than planned, THAT km MUST have been long.<br />
<br />
18 km - 4:14<br />
<br />
That one too.<br />
<br />
19 km - 4:15<br />
<br />
And that one.<br />
<br />
20 km - 4:11<br />
<br />
Oh... forget it!!<br />
<br />
21 km - 4:07<br />
<br />
last 100 m - 21 seconds.<br />
<br />
Total time, as mentioned above, 1:27:32.<br />
<br />
About which I can only say CRAP. I honestly believe I was fit for sub-1:26. I did not wimp out mentally, I was working hard the whole way. I am not sure where those extra 90 seconds came from. It wasn't a cardio problem, my breathing was fine until the last 100 m when I was really trying to kick... it was a muscular thing. My legs were just trashed. By the time I got to the downhills, I couldn't take advantage of them because I was just too tired muscularly. I actually ran slower on the downhills than on the ups.<br />
<br />
If I had to guess I would say I was lacking longer runs in my build up; I did 2 hours once and probably 7-8 90 minute runs... I probably would have benefited from more 2 hour runs to build that muscular endurance but honestly my training program, humble as it was, strained my family more than is acceptable so... it is what it is. More manageable would have been to lose some weight before this half; there is no denying that every extra pounds (down to a certain physiologic limit) is extra weight carried and time added. It's straight forward physics and I trained at and raced at close to 8 pounds over my ideal weight. 8 pounds a lots of minutes makes. I just finished reading The Secret Race which is a tell-all book about the world of elite cycling and I was amazed at how closely elite cyclists monitor their weight and restrict their diet. The cyclist about whom the book was written talks of going on 5 hours rides and then drinking sparking water to fool his stomach into thinking it is full, taking a sleeping pill and going to sleep to avoid eating until the next day. In fact, he even goes so far as to say given the choice between having access to more EPO or losing weight he would always chose the latter because the effect is so important. It was a pretty wild read and astonishing to me how closely they can predict improvements in performance based on weight loss.... anyhow my take home messages are, if I am really serious about running fast over the half marathon but am not willing to take any more time away from my family or lose anymore sleep than I am going to need:<br />
<br />
1) more 120 minute runs pushing the children in the stroller if necessary<br />
2) less chocolate cake<br />
3) EPO<br />
<br />
yeah, I`ll probably leave it at 1 & 2... after a nice, long break that is.<br />
<br />
<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-49841535193158911192013-10-17T18:53:00.000-07:002013-10-17T18:53:04.605-07:00A, B & C Goals for Half MarathonMy goal half marathon is in two days<i> - </i>to hold myself accountable, here are my A, B & C goals - if I remember correctly an C goal is something that one is almost sure to accomplish, like the wheels would have to fall off the cart completely to not make it. B is tough but realistic, really the time that one is realistically fit to run and then just has to dig a little bit deeper for and A is totally reaching for the stars... so, here we go:<br />
<br />
C goal: well, since the whole point of this exercise was to qualify for the 2014 NYC marathon by running a sub-1:30, this has to be the C goal. Although my 1:28 20 km in mid-August might lead me to believe a 1:30 is not a given, I feel transformed as a runner since then. I really do think that if I don't run a sub-1:30, something has gone disastrously wrong (and since I am booking TWO hotel rooms.... TWO! One for the family and one JUST FOR ME!! I will not be sleep deprived, at least not the night immediately before).<br />
<br />
B goal: tough but realistic, hmmm.... I honestly think I am fit to run 1:26:30 so I guess a tough but realistic goal would be 1:25:30.<br />
<br />
A goal: 1:23:30. That would be a reach. Huge reach.<br />
<br />
I think I am good to go. Training has gone well. I am mostly injury free. Build up races have been reasonable to good. I have been getting at least 6 hours of sleep per night with luxurious 4 hours stretches sometimes. I am a woman without excuses. I am a woman who is off to bed.<br />
<br />
Here we go.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-82059876379471620182013-10-12T09:55:00.003-07:002013-10-12T09:56:54.239-07:00Am I hopelessly immature or...are photos of children inadvertently giving the finger just so damn funny??<br />
Little is about 15 minutes old in this snapshot and it should be an incredibly tender moment between us but... finger! I wet myself laughing whenever I see it. Verdict: so damn funny.<br />
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PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-77056830708169121322013-10-06T12:35:00.001-07:002013-10-06T12:35:05.317-07:00Race Report: Occam's RazorSo I know based on my work-outs and my racing progression just about what kind of shape I am in for 10 km, pretty much down to +/- 10 seconds. Yet nonetheless on the start line I find myself thinking about "the good old days" when a "bad" race meant 37:50 and breaking 37:30 was pretty much a given. Sigh. So I'm cruising along, I have a decent first 2 km (3:50, 3:51) and then settle into a 3:53-3:56 pace. As I am running along, I wonder why I can't seem to comfortably go any faster. It occurs to me that it might be my asthma - there is a strong smell of fertilizer in the air coming from the south shore farms and perhaps that is somehow triggering my airways. Perhaps it is the persistent lack of sleep that is holding me back; nighttime continues to be a challenge. Then again it could be the sleeping pill I took at 1 am that has not worn off and is preventing me from turning over my legs faster. Or, perhaps it is because I am about to get my period and the accompanying heaviness and sluggishness that is enforcing this pace in the high 3:50s rather than the 3:40-3:45 I ran "back in the day". As I move between 4 and 5 km, another hypothesis occurs to me and I know in my gut it is the right one. I am running 39 minute pace because THAT IS THE SHAPE I AM IN. It's not the air quality, the sleep deprivation, my menstrual cycle or even the irritation caused by the "I'm sexy and I know it" sign on the back of the runner in front of me (really) nor any of the other dozens of excuses runners seem to search for... it is truly the simplest possible explanation. I am running 39 minute pace because I am in 39 minute shape. Period.<br />
<br />
Nonetheless I do manage a final km of 3:41 which is enough to put me in lactic acid severe enough that the final three steps of the race were done on extremely shaky legs (and I am quite proud that I was able to go to the bottom of the barrel like that) good for 38:53... my first sub-39 minute 10 km in a year.<br />
<br />
So I guess I have a choice, I can celebrate the fact that I ran to my current level of fitness, broke 39 minutes and generally ran a mentally tough race with a huge kick. I can be grateful that despite working full time and having two children I get to run about 60-75 km per week. Or I can whine and moan about how I used to be 2 minutes faster and many of the women who I used to regularly beat are already starting their cool down runs when I cross the finish line. I chose the former. I have to chose the former. Though it might be "settling", what the point of doing this if I am continually dissatisfied and mourning days gone by? Case in point, one of the women I beat today WON this race in the year it served as national championships in a time 6 minutes faster than she ran today and yet, on she runs, enjoying the effort, the comradeship and the sport. That is what I chose.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-68209415933604741292013-09-30T18:30:00.002-07:002013-09-30T18:30:29.790-07:00Bloody vomitBloody vomit is scary. Even when you know exactly what is causing it... like, for example, your finger stuck halfway down your baby's esophagus as you try to scoop out a wire cap that she is intent on ingesting. Which is almost exactly the position I found myself in yesterday morning, though the paramedic who subsequently arrived at our house with the ambulance told me after things had settled, that in all probability I was probably just at the very back of her mouth tangled up in her tonsils. Ambulance? You might be chuckling at the overkill and, 24 hours later, I admit I am embarrassed at having called an ambulance. But as I said, bloody vomit is damn scary especially in quantities large enough to soak her shirt, parts of my shirt and the carpet and even more so when accompanied by oozing blood from the nose.<br />
<br />
But let me back up, my finger is probing her tonsils and I finally got it out and despite the fact that Little and I were shaking like crazy, for one naive moment, I actually thought we were good. Then the vomiting started. And of course it makes sense - finger down throat, baby will vomit. Corrugated wire cap rubbing against tender tonsils etc., baby will vomit blood. Perhaps even more terrifying was her near catatonic state. She was just spent. I knew I wasn't fit to drive so I thought I'd call a cab. Couldn't think of the number. Couldn't control my fingers enough to look it up. Dialed 911 with Little on my knee still vomiting blood and Big asking me if we were still going to the birthday party. The ambulance arrived maybe 6-7 minutes later and the paramedics checked her out. By this time the vomiting had stopped, the flow of blood from her mouth had stopped. She checked out totally fine (though the completely disinterested and passive way in which she let them examine her scared the hell out of me). They paramedics explained they were legally obliged to offer me a ride to the hospital and could not give me advice either way on whether it was necessary to go; their demeanor however made it clear it was not necessary. Just as I declined, her nose started substantially bleeding again. I changed my mind and off we went.<br />
<br />
2 hours later (2 hours... pretty amazingly quick - I figure we must have been triaged in the "nervous mom just humor her" category) the doctor confirmed that he could see a small cut causing the bleeding and there was nothing to be done and Little would be fine. By this time the lethargy had passed and she was climbing the curtains and knocking over the garbage cans and so feeling foolish and like a giant waster of the taxpayer dollar, I gathered my sprog and departed. And yes, we made it to the birthday party.<br />
<br />
So there are lots of "take homes" from this little escapade, lots of things to beat myself up over. Let's start with the fact that the wire cap was out in the first place. Bad. Then there's the fact that when I saw it was in her mouth, I immediately went after it instead of asking her for it or just turning her upside down until it fell out. No, I went in panicked, guns blazing and probably pushed it further in. Worse. Those 20 seconds with my finger deep inside my mouth felt like an eternity. She was freaked, struggling, I couldn't grab the cap. It was long enough for me to think "I've got to get behind it", "I'm actually going to push it into her throat", "This could actually be the way she dies". It was.... horrifying. Horrifying how bad my instinct were (despite the fact that I have infant/toddler first aid training and life guarded for many years) and a very potent reminder of how in less than one minute things can go so very wrong.<br />
<br />
<br />PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-34600194734494064182013-09-26T18:17:00.000-07:002013-09-26T18:17:01.639-07:00The snowsuitSince Big & Little were born (yes, I'm getting tired of Thing 1 & 2 - tired of the nicknames, not the kids) I have probably spent less than $500 on clothing which is not bad if you consider that they have racked up close to 6 years of living between them. We have been showered in hand me downs from day 1 and I feel so fortunate. I love hand-me-downs and it's not just because I am cheap (I am) or because I hate shopping (I do). When I put a hand-me-down shirt on Big that I know has been worn by at least 3 other pre-schoolers and I see the tiny holes around the cuffs and the thinness of the fabric around the elbows and the tiny, permanent brown stain which I tell myself is chocolate though truthfully I have no idea, it makes me inexplicably happy. I think of all the little people who wore this shirt and wore in the holes while they played and loved the fabric down to its threads and blissfully ate chocolate (hopefully) and it is as if their happy memories, their hours of play, their story times have been imbued into the garment. So yes, for reasons practical, economic and romantic, I adore Big & Little's hand-me-down wardrobes.<br />
<br />
This year however there was no denying that Big would need a winter snowsuit. We could not get away with squeezing her back into her 3T winter attire and surprisingly when I went to the carefully labelled storage containers in the basement, none of the 4T-5T containers held winter gear. It is the first time there has been a hole in our supply chain. So off we went to Mountain Equipment Coop where every good Canadian shops for outdoorsy stuff. I found the perfect snowsuit for Big. It cost a shocking amount - don't get me wrong, I don't mind paying for Big to stay warm all winter but when you are used to "free", $90 comes as a bit of a shock. I was all set to leave, true to my normal "get in, get the thing, get out" commando style of shipping when the 18 month snowsuits caught my eye. Little's need for winter clothing is borderline. We have, of course, all of Big's old stuff but as she and Big are not season-locked when it comes to season-specific items, it is not always a perfect match. For sure though, I could have either had her swimming all winter in Big's 2T stuff or else layered her with several pieces that, albeit awkward, would have kept her warm all winter. So technically Little did not require a snowsuit and since the PPC "Law of Acquisition" is generally "Don't do it!!", I was ready to walk away. Yet something made me linger, tracing the inevitably cute snowsuit with one finger. I put my hand inside to gage how closely it resembled the feel of a sleeping bag and stumbled across the most amazing feature. A name-tag... but not just a name-tag. A name-tag with four distinct spaces for four different children and then, best of all, underneath each a little phrase. For child # 1 "I wonder where this will travel to", child #2 "Good thing she grew quickly, I was getting cold", child #3 "Grew like a bad weed she did" and child #4 "At last! It's my turn."<br />
<br />
I stood there thinking about it. Thinking about how we would definitely hand this down, to my cousin who recently had triplets and from there who knows. Thinking about the parents who would carefully pen their child's name in it. Thinking of all the snowballs that would get made, all the tobogganing that would happen, all the times a parent would do up this snowsuit only to be told that its occupant had to pee, all the snow angels. All the parents, grandparents, friends who would watch their snowsuit-laden toddler trundling along, a cheerful cherry red blob against a sullen winter day. I thought about how by the time the fourth child received it, Little would not be little, about how the fourth child probably had not even been born yet and I just started bawling in the store. And to my shock, I bought it. I bought the unnecessary $90 snowsuit because of the 50 cent name-tag sewn into it, because of the way that 50 cent name-tag had made me feel.<br />
<br />
It's a great marketing lesson. It really is true that if you can imagine your consumer and connect with them in some way, they will buy your stuff. I have never had this feeling before... but there was no way I was NOT going to buy that snowsuit. And I cried in the car as I told hubby about it, sipping our Tim Horton's coffee while Big & Little snoozed in their car seats in the back. I cried the next day (to my horror) as I told my colleague about the experience at our communal coffee machine (I was trying to draw parallels to the product we develop together but since our product is a data acquisition software for the life sciences, neither of us could think of one so it was a pretty unproductive conversation but at least it made us both uncomfortable!). And I am sure I will cry the first time I wrestle it onto Little so that she can go out and make her snowangels.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-62281514566791197872013-09-22T18:15:00.001-07:002013-09-22T18:24:14.415-07:00A near perfect week in trainingPerfect in that I came very close to following my training plan almost exactly - in the end I fell 2 X 400 and 6 X 10 second uphill sprints short of completing the week as prescribed (and wound up with 8 extra minutes of tempo). This is huge for me. I have a hard time following other people's training plan in part because I arrogantly tend to believe that I know better than other people what I, as an athlete, need (though I notice that I never seem to follow my own plan) and in part because the logistics of our lives are such that it is hard to follow ANY plan (plan to get to daycare on time, plan to get to work on time, plan to get the family fed, plan to stick to a budget, plans in general tend not to work in PPC's Planet of Disorder & Chaos).<br />
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But somehow this plan is sticking. And I am really enjoying it and moreover, learning lessons I had long forgotten... just basic stuff like, the easy days have to be easy so that hard days can be hard. You have to run long to build basic physiologic building blocks. 75 minutes does not constitute long... just basic stuff I had forgotten. So anyway, here is what week of nearly perfectly executed training looked like:<br />
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Monday - 16.8 km including 8 miles of alternating mile @ 7:45, mile @ 6:10 (ran 6:08, 6:05, 6:05, 6:03)<br />
Tuesday - off<br />
Wednesday - 63 minutes easy including 6 X 10 second hill sprints and one unscheduled tempo around one of my favorite 2.2 km loops<br />
Thursday - off<br />
Friday - 64 minutes easy pushing Thing 2 in stroller<br />
Saturday - track work-out, eek! 10 X 400 m (was supposed to be 12) - averaged 78.9 - fastest (76.4 - wound up racing someone) slowest 80.8. total 14.6 km.<br />
Sunday - 2 hour run. First hour pushing Thing 1 & 2 in the double chariot. In order to convince Thing 1 to come I promised her we would find a bridge, forest and a highest hill (anyone else seen that episode of Dora 50,000 time or so???). Bridge and forest were no problem and luckily I was able to sell a modest sized overpass as the highest hill. Averaged 4:48 per km with them. Then I took off on my own for an hour (to be clear, I did drop them at home with their Papa... I didn't just suddenly run off abandoning them on the highest hill) and averaged 4:24. total 25.9 km in 2 hours.<br />
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4 weeks 'till race day!PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-44503656370335712022013-09-10T18:00:00.001-07:002013-09-10T18:00:05.406-07:00Cry it outCry it out... it's one of those controversial parenting topics about which everyone seems to have an opinion, and expresses it! Loudly! With conviction! Sanctimoniously! Defensively! There is no shortage of online <strike>debates </strike>schoolyard brawls about its merits and evils. For those who don't know what "cry it out" is, I have two things to say 1) in a nutshell, it's a method for helping a baby to learn to fall asleep and sleep through the night in which they are essentially left to cry themselves to sleep and 2) don't read this post, you'll reach new depths of boredom!<br />
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Anyway it always seemed to me, based on the amount of venom & defensiveness surrounding "cry it out" that it fell into THAT category which most parenting methods seem to - "right for some, not for others, not likely to do much good or much harm". Generally it seemed like something I would rather not do (while honestly not judging those who did) but with Thing 1 I didn't give it much though because right as I was starting to get antsy about her not sleeping through the night as well as getting ready to go back to work, she obligingly learned to sleep through the night on her own.<br />
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Along came Thing 2 and although her sleeping has always been much worse than Thing 1's, I just assumed that she too would learn to sleep through the night at around 1 (because of course that's how siblings work... they grow, develop and react in exactly the same way). I resisted any form of sleep training despite the brutal nights waiting for that magic one year mark...which came...and went... without any perceptible improvement in Thing 2's sleeping habits. I won't go into the gory details in this post because I think I have done so in several previous self indulgent posts. Suffice it to say, though it was highly variable, I was getting about an average of 6 hours of sleep per night with the longest stretch typically being less than three hours... for a year and a half and things were starting to look pretty black.<br />
<br />Finally on the advice of a friend (who had urged me to sleep train Thing 2 at 6 months) I consulted a sleep expert whose advise was detailed and specific but boiled down to "let her cry it out". Hubby and I decided the ideal time to do this would be in the summer when he did not have to teach; unfortunately we found ourselves having that conversation at the tail-end of Labor Day week-end right before the start of the academic year. Ideal the timing would not be... Being the slow moving procrastinators we tend to be, we sat on the decision a bit longer and then hubby left on a business trip. I don't know what allowed me to finally overcome my inertia but last night, day 2 into hubby's trip I suddenly worked up the courage to give it a try.<br />
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I parked Thing 1 in front of a movie, nursed Thing 2 lightly and then put her, still awake into her pack and play. Whereupon she immediately, apparently moving on raw instinct, sprang up and began screaming... we're talking - I had not even left the room yet! Thinking that this was never going to work, I closed the door and went to join Thing 1 who compounded my already crippling guilt be repeatedly asking me why I wasn't going to comfort Thing 2. The next 20 minutes were agonizing for everyone... the following 15 saw the wailing ramp down to protesting and finally silence. 35 minutes total to fall asleep. I waited another 15 and then went to check on her and found that I could not open the door. Feeling somewhat sick and franctic I reached my hand in and sure enough the door was being blocked her Thing 2 who had, for the first time ever, busted her way out of the pack and play and taken up camp in front of the door. Yes, I felt pretty damn wretched. But dammit... Thing 2 slept through the whole night and I am talking until 6.30 am when I actually went in and woke her up.<br />
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Which was encouraging enough to not persist on night 2 (tonight). I had heard from everyone that the first night is the worst. So I was pleased but not surprised when she fell asleep after only 5 minutes tonight (this time I added music-playing night light that probably helped).<br />
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I don't really want to wade into the "cry it out" debate; I can only speak based on my experience and my comfort zone and I am certain no expert in child psychology but here we go... I agree with the opponents of cry it out that it is probably not the best experience ever for a small child to be left to cry themselves to sleep (and believe me "probably not the best experience" is highly euphemistic compared to some of the phrase-ology out there). I think it is probably downright traumatic. But you know what? It is also probably pretty damn traumatic for a child to see their mom or dad crying because they are just so f**king tired. It is probably pretty damn traumatic for a child to be injured or killed in a car accident caused by their exhausted or sleep deprived parent and I will admit to getting behind the wheel on a few occasions and thinking that what I was doing was tantamount to drunk driving. At my lowest, I actually found myself one morning in the wee hours crying as I nursed Thing 2 saying to her "please, please, please let me get some sleep, I am begging you" ... that's probably not so good for baby either. So if this whole "cry it out" thing continues on its current trajectory and our entire family (Thing 2 included) finally starts getting proper, uninterrupted sleep than as much as I hated hearing her cry for so long the first night or for that matter for any amount of time on any night, my only real regret is that I did not do it sooner.PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3614129246696786322.post-26255556431584662572013-09-05T18:32:00.005-07:002013-09-05T18:43:46.564-07:00A promising work-out and my weight in stonesThe pieces are slowly falling together training-wise. I am starting to feel like a sub-1:30 half marathon this fall is in the cards (why I would jinx myself like that, I really don't know). There are a few things that are helping: having a training program again - I was sucking the big lollipop at being my own coach, I would plan ambitious work-outs and then just go for an easy run as soon as I was slightly sleep deprived or feeling a little off. Now I have a plan which means not having to think (love...not...thinking), having a sense of accountability and generally just a reminder of what a reasonable half marathon training schedule looks like so even though I am falling far short (due to severe, chronic sleep deprivation... same old, same old) at least I am striving to hit reasonable and am cognizant of where the gaps are. I am getting in some long runs (thanks to the plan) which were clearly the element most lacking prior to my disastrous 20 km. I now have five long runs under my belt (90 minutes counts as a long run these days) and my goal race is still 6 weeks distant so that feels really good.<br />
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The crisper, less humid, better air quality that generally comes in September has been huge and finally I have lost some weight (more on that in a moment) and it all adds up to feeling fitter and more confident. Now if I could just get some sleep, I would be superwoman! I had a great work-out tonight that really boosted my confidence. 80 minute run including 10 km continuous average 4:05 per km. The effort felt faster than half marathon pace but not by much! I think my half marathon pace might be 4:10 at this point... I`m getting there!<br />
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So the weight loss... I went on a "diet" quotation marks because my diet consisted simply of no longer eating when I wasn't hungry and BOOM! 4 pounds disappeared felt awesome. Which is good because my weight was getting critical.. we're talking my bmi was, god forbid, actually creeping into "normal" range - eek! So here's the weird part... I don't know how much I actually weigh right now... my scale randomly changes units on me and recently it switched over to stones...yes, Stones! Seriously, am I exporting potatoes? Why on earth would my scale offer stones as an option... and I use the word option loosely since it switched to stones of its own volition and there is no apparent way of switching it back. But I'm leaving it there (not, as I mentioned, that I have a choice)... I think it's good for me to not know my exact number. Sure, I am just one google search away from finding out or just thinking about it for 30 seconds but I am trying to avoid finding out. I know relative to the switch-over how much I weight and can gauge on that and I am hoping this will cut down on some of my obsessiveness on this topic.<br />
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One thing I have noticed is that although the first 4 pounds slid off when I decided to stop recreational eating now that I am only eating to satisfy hunger weight loss has halted (makes sense). So I tried restricting just a little bit, nothing major just a little 200-300 calorie deficit and <i>immediately</i> started to feel flat & lacking energy on my runs. So I am wondering if it is worth continuing to try to lose more weight (pebbles?) or if I should just leave things be. According to this <a href="http://www.runningforfitness.org/calc/diet/weighteffect">calculator</a> I can shave off approximately 35 seconds from my half marathon for every pound loss [Note: calculator makes the HUGE assumption that the athlete is within a healthy bmi range and that the weight lost is fat] but I find it so tough to lose weight without affecting training. It would probably be helpful if I took advantage of that mythical 20 minute post-run window and fueled to optimize glycogen storage.<br />
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Anyway just some random thoughts...PiccolaPineConehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09520539255908849462noreply@blogger.com2