An Open Letter to Parents

Dear Moms and Dads Who Drive:

Please, please pay attention as you drive through intersections, especially those with crosswalks.  There have been countless times that you have driven right through the crosswalk without even noticing that Rory and I are there in the street.  You don't even realize that you're a few seconds away from hitting a person and her dog with your car.

Rory and I love to go running, and she actually knows to look both ways in intersections with me.  We never cross a street with cars until I can make eye contact with the driver, but I need you to know that you rarely even see us there.   You make a rolling stop through the crosswalk lines, all while the crosswalk guy is lit up on the light posts.  You don't even pause to look for pedestrians at the corner.

Parents, I hate to single you out, but nearly every time a driver has driven right out in front of us, it's been a driver with their own kids in the car.  Family cars are the ones not paying attention in the crosswalks.  It really upsets me when a parent is the one not seeing us out there, because I had assumed that parents would pay more attention to crosswalk lights and runners and dogs on the sidewalks.  But, I'm sad to say that no, they're actually the least aware.

Please pay attention as you drive.  I'm someone's child, too.

Love,
sara


(image courtesy of Sacramento County)

Tuesdays with Rory

I adopted Rory a little more than six years ago from a shelter out in Bonita, California.  She was the most calm dog there, and just nuzzled me while I poked my fingers through her pen door.  That plus her caramel eyebrows sealed the deal, and I adopted her on the spot.  But after having spent six years together, while she is definitely a lover, she's certainly not calm.  Well, she's calm most of the time that she's sleeping (bunny dreams are terribly exciting, it seems), but other than that, she's fairly distracted. 

Now, I've always loved the idea of taking her running with me.  It makes so much sense - she gets exercise, and I look like I'm running with a big, scary dog.  People pretty much leave me alone when I run with her, and it makes me feel more safe.  Our only hiccup is that Rory does not listen to me while we're out.  She's a million other directions, spotting squirrels and birds and kids and dogs and twigs and rocks and anything but me.

This wouldn't be a huge problem except that there have been multiple times that her distraction has caused me to trip and fall.  She looks off to the side, her rump bumps into my calf while I'm midstep, and I fly forward into a full, bouncing belly flop on the concrete.  It's not fun, and it hurts more than a little.  Neither are twisted ankles after she's clothes-lined me with the leash.  Beyond that, it's just not good for her to be scatterbrained when we're out, not paying a lick of attention to me and what we're doing. 

Our running struggles reached a near meltdown a few weeks ago, and I began handing her and her leash over to Bo one mile into each run.  I was fed up, frustrated, and my running gate was crooked and tense because of my dealing with her.  I just gave up.  And that alone was even more frustrating.  I don't give up; I work through things, dangit.  Even if it requires work and more work and lots of failed attempts.  I work through it to success. 

Then one Sunday afternoon, I needed to burn off some pent-up energy from having sat on the couch all day.  I was feeling antsy and just craved movement.  I threw on some shoes, told her to come with me, and we hit the trail in the mini-forest behind our house.  And we hiked.  And she fell into line right behind me.  She was off leash, and had an entire field to run through.  And she followed me without one word of direction from me.  She followed me.  As she made me her pack leader, I began evaluating myself at that point.  How was I different?  What energy was I giving off?  I realized that afternoon, that I was feeling happy and my only goal was to work out some pent-up energy.  I simply wanted to get my legs moving and to breathe the outside air.  And because I was calm and focused and content, she followed me.

It was a huge, huge breakthrough for us that day.  I came back happy and hopeful; two emotions I almost never experience when Rory and I are out together.  And I began running in the mornings when there are fewer distractions for her.  And when I'm not reeling from a long day of work and impending Sarandipity orders and the endless lists I have spinning through my mind. 

And I'm consciously working on being a leader who approaches a run as a gift from God - something to be grateful for.  Until a week ago, I've always approached running as a task on my list, a means to an end, whether that end be a marathon or weight loss.  It's always been a chore.  But this morning, as we set out in the gray hush of dawn, I reminded myself how incredible it is that I can run.  That I have a simple, reliable way to calm my mind and work out energy and instill contentment in my soul.  And I tried to keep my mind in the moment and focused only on moving forward. 

I'm a work in progress.  But, as usual, I'm working on it.  And in the correct direction this time.

An Open Letter to My Midsection

Dear Thighs, Dear Belly, Dear Buttocks:

I'm really just so sorry for how I've been treating you lately. 

It's not your fault that you look and feel the way you do; it's my fault entirely.  You don't deserve to be stabbed with my looks of disdain and discontent as we get dressed in the morning.  You don't deserve to be treated as some evil nemesis of this body of mine; you belong to me, and you are a part of me. 

To be honest, you really have never asked much of me.  Your greatest wish is for me to take you running, so that you'll feel strong and powerful and healthy again.  You want rest so that you can conquer each day with ease and grace.  You want to be less burdened by fat so that you're not having to struggle carrying around extra weight on this frame.  You're crying out to feel strong, and I'm completely ignoring your pleas. 

I'm sorry, Midsection, that I've been embarrassed of you and that I've racked my brain for ways to cover you up.  You've treated me so well over the years, carrying me to places and people and making my life so much richer by these experiences.  I've treated you as the enemy when really, you are a warrior. 

I'm sorry, Midsection.  I really am concerned with your wellbeing, and I'm trying hard to figure out how to take better care of you.  We'll get through this together.

Love,
Sara Kay


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She Ran.

Dude, I ran last night.  I ran! 

Ok, it's not really so monumental in the grand scheme of things, but it is to me.  I've basically not been running since my half marathon last summer.  I think that in the past 8 months, I maxed out at 4 miles for my longest run.  And that estimate is probably generous.  This past month, I've only run a few times and those runs hovered around the 2.5 mile mark.  I bring all this up because I've been feeling so gross about my body lately.  Just generally disgusted with how I look and feel.  And you know that feeling when you've really put in a hard workout?  How you feel so strong and vital and just plain awake the next day?  I've been missing that.  I've reeeeeally been missing that. 

So, this week, I decided to make myself work.  No 2.5 mile runs that make me sweat but don't burn any calories.  No.  If those Biggest Loser folks can work themselves harder than they ever have, I sure as heck can do a 5 mile run when I'm out of shape.  So I did.  I did!  Last night, I did a hilly 5 miles at a very respectable pace.  And it felt goooooooood.  I am already in one of my best moods today than I've been in months.  No lie.  I always forget how running makes me feel.  I just need to get out there and sweat out the uglies, and I'm so much more pleasant.  

Which reminds me of a poem I've been carrying around for years.  I saw it as a magazine cut-out pinned to someone's bulletin board and quickly scribbled it down.  I've posted it here before, but it totally warrants a repeat.


my head

it loves to go for runs.
because it loves the chance to think.
to have long conversations with myself.

and every time i feel surprised.
i never realized how badly we needed to talk.

Celebrity Spotting

I've only ever spotted ONE celebrity in real-life. This guy:

What - don't recognize him? Maybe this will ring a bell. Here's on the left here:

No? Ok, this one might help refresh your memory:

Ok, so that's Meb Keflezighi. That last photo is of him winning the NYC Marathon last weekend. And he's the first American to have won in 27 years! But why do I care so much?! Because, he's from San Diego, kids. Yes, and I've seen him in real-life, out and about. On OUR running trails, no less. I saw the 2004 Athens Silver Medalist in the Marathon and the 2009 NYC Marathon winner running the Penasquitos trails. And, yes - he's ridiculously fast. Have you ever seen a 5 minute miler running trails? You don't see much more than a blur, trust me.

You should go read this quick article on him and his win. It's truly touching.

Go, Meb!!

Asphalt Therapy

my head

it loves to go for runs.
because it loves the chance to think.
to have long conversations with myself.

and every time i feel surprised.
i never realized how badly we needed to talk.


Years ago, I found this poem as a magazine page cutout on someone's bulletin board. It seems so simple, and it's quick to skim over. But the words hold so much meaning. And it holds completely true.

This morning, I went for a run. Which isn't horribly surprising news. But what's important to note is that the run was hard. Really hard.

I'm not that person who just loves to run and thinks it feels so great and can't imagine my life without it, etc. No. I'm not that girl. It's a struggle for me. Some days, it's a struggle to make myself go right up until the point I hit the start button on my watch. And a lot of times, it feels hard for most of my run. I don't get a runner's high or catch my second wind. But what is fantastic is how I feel afterward. The rest of my day is better and more clear and happier. Running makes my mind relax, which is crucial for someone like me whose brain is always racing and pacing. Running helps me think of creative ways to tackle life's problems. Running gives me one on one time with nature and the beauty of the earth. Running makes me happy for how it makes me feel on the inside. It's my own personal therapy out there on the pavement.

And, for that reason, I look forward to my run tomorrow.

The Half

Well, it's done. I ran that half marathon on Sunday. In summary? It was 13.1 miles of misery. Ok, maybe the first couple of miles weren't too bad, but I'm so bummed!

For those of you haven't done a large race like this, I've done a blow-by-blow of the race, albeit in mini form. Usually, I write a lot more in my race recaps, but I didn't want to torture you with paragraph upon paragraph of whining about how I felt. Consider yourself (mostly) spared ;)

Hands down, my favorite race distance is the half. It's long enough to be a big challenge and to require some legit training. But it doesn't consume your life the way a full marathon does. I love this distance. So my train wreck of a race yesterday only has me determined to "redeem" myself with a half sometime very soon.

Like the 2 months of training prior, I did this race solo. But it felt good, like a personal challenge. A battle I was fighting to get in shape and to be mentally strong enough to go at it without having to lean on a friend when the race got hard. So, because I wasn't talking (a whole 2+ hours without talking, gasp!), I did a lot of observing.

The race shuttle buses dropped me off at the start an hour before the race start, and it was still dark. It felt calming to be standing out there on the point overlooking the city, in the hushed silence of predawn. And then a girl got stuck in a porta-potty. Ha! I'm not laughing at her, just the hilarity of that breaking my daze and snapping me back to reality. I was standing in the long bathroom lines while I watched 3 people try to bend the latch far enough to allow her to open the door and escape. Once she finally emerged, we clapped for her, and her rescuers bent the latch until it snapped, in order to avoid a repeat incident. The park patrol lady saw them and was very unhappy, and said something to them, and then walked away with a dirty horrible look on her face. Sorry, lady! But the poor girl was stuck in a disgusting porta-potty!! What're you gonna do?

The race started and I quickly fell into a relaxed rhythym in the middle of the road. And I felt good. And then I realized at mile 2 that I needed to pee again. Again?! What's with that?! I so didn't want to stop, so I skipped the first set of on-course bathrooms, hoping that it was just nerves and jitters. I continued noticing all the people around me and listened to their nervous chatter. I heard funny stories and also heard stories between longtime friends. I saw girls in running skirts and then also saw their hineys when their skirts bounced up (mental note: tell Marnie!!).

The course meanders through quiet neighborhoods at miles 2 and 3. All I could hear under the cover of old trees was our footfalls, and it made me wonder what it sounded like to the people inside those houses. Do we sound like freeway traffic? Do we sound like a rushing river? I think it subconsciously had an effect on all the runners because conversations quieted, and you could only hear the sound of a thousand feet touching the ground.

The quiet ended as we started our long descent around mile 3. I love long hills (up or down, I'll take either), and I think the sudden downhill created a stir in the running pack. People started talking and laughing again, and even hooted out loud whistles when a guy ran by dressed like this:
(Runners love to dress up in wacky costumes for races. Search Google Images for "running costume" and you'll find some pics.)

It was right around mile 3.5 that I realized all was not well in my belly. I decided to finally pee so I stopped at the toilets there. But as I continued on the course, I couldn't shake the nauseated feeling that had crept up. And my stomach started cramping up after another mile. It was just so strange, and I kept wondering if I had inadvertently eaten something bad for dinner the night before. It's not at all like me to feel that way while running. But it wasn't enough to make me really question it at that point, so I kept on going.

I ended up jumping off the course a second time at mile 5.5 to go to the bathroom yet again. This time it was a real flushing bathroom, but minus any doors. (Don't ask me why there are San Diego parks with doorless bathroom stalls. It's just yucky.) I didn't feel any better after the bathroom stop, but I jumped back into the race to try and psych myself up for the remaining 8 miles. I spotted one of my alumni friends around mile 5, where he snapped this picture of me:
Seeing friends on the course is an awesome distraction when you're feeling less than great. It snaps you back to reality and helps you focus on something positive and happy, which is truly worth piles of gold.

I continued running, but started feeling so bad that I had to actually talk myself into not walking until I hit the mile 8 marker. Unbelievable! And I did, indeed, walk at mile 8. And then I ran. And then I walked. And then I ran. I began trying to convince myself to do a run/walk pattern just to cover the remaining miles. Every time I started running again, the stomach pain and nausea would flash back within 5 seconds. I briefly thought about leaving the race, even though I've never ever considered not finishing. But then I decided (in my infinite mid-race misery-affected wisdom) that it would actually take me longer to have the race crew get me back to Brian at the finish than to just trudge through the final 4 miles. I'm brilliant, yes I am. So I ran. And walked.

At mile 10, I started running about 15 seconds before this photo was taken. But check out the boat riggings in the background!

The waterstop at mile 10 featured giant water sprayers and people shooting water up into the air. It felt like an oasis in the middle of all that concrete and stagnant muggy air, so I ran through it and got totally drenched. Woohooo!! And then, I smelled the cheeseburgers. Evidently, that water stop crew offers up cheeseburger wedges every year as part of their shtick. I nearly puked when that smell wafted up!

I had another puking near-miss around mile 11 when I ended up running next to a guy who kept choking and coughing on his snot. Yes. Mucous. And it was audible. Audible mucous. It was the one time that I decided walking was a fantastic race strategy, and I happily let him jog ahead, out of ear shot. Ahhhh..And then somehow, I caught him again a half mile later. No! Two seconds after I was pleased to notice the disappearance of snot sounds, I heard him emit a loud, "EHHH" with every other step. You know that sound - the sound you hear in the gym when some guys are lifting, a loud grunt. Yeah. So I hugged the inside of the road and let him disappear behind me as I tackled the hill.

It made me incredibly sad to have run-walked that hill. I've run it a thousand times, and because of that I've got a mental edge on it. I was happy to notice that as soon as I started running, I passed a lot of people, but then as soon as I walked, they in turn passed me. I skipped the water stop in favor of the carb drink offered and discovered by way of nearly puking that it was banana flavored. Disgusting! The first carb stop had something mildly berry, and the second one was something citrusy. Someone needs to slap the drink sponsors for putting something so disgusting in the middle of the worst hill at the very last water stop!!! And I'll volunteer to be first in the line of slappers. Sign me up.

I managed to get myself up the hill and continued my run-walk strategy across the bridge into Balboa Park. I managed to run the last half mile because I couldn't bear to be walking with all those crowds yelling and clapping. And thankfully, the last quarter mile is downhill and a blur, mentally, so I managed to forget about the pukey feelings and kick it in to sprint through the last of the race. I crossed the finish line with the most enormous feeling of relief. Finally, I could legimately stop running. I mindlessly followed the other runners through an alley between two industrial buildings. And honestly, it felt like we were in a cattle shoot, with no way to escape the railings and concrete, our only option to move forward. (Evidently, I'm still wildly imaginative after 13 miles of nausea. Good to know.) I stepped out into the grassy area and saw my friend Dur. He had such a fantastic race, and when he hugged me, we nearly toppled over. In case you were wondering, tired running legs don't make for a good structure when hugging on a slopey patch of grass. After we finally regained our balance, I spotted Brian not 10 feet away, searching the crowds for my face. There were 8,500 runners and nearly as many spectators, so it can be mayhem at finish lines. We'll have to come up with a game plan if I ever decide to do a marathon, the poor guy.

At the entrance to Balboa Park. I only included this for the pretty background.

We left there without hanging around to mingle much and headed to breakfast. My stomach couldn't handle much more than an egg, so we drove home. I showered, brushed my teeth, and crawled onto the couch. After I slept for 2 hours, I woke up normal again (hurrahhhhh!!!) and completely famished. Thank goodness my stomach was back to being nice to me. After that, I porked out the rest of the day to try and take advantage of the 1400 calories I had burned that morning.

While this experience was definitely my worst on a race course, it's only motivated me to find another race to tackle soon. I want to wipe this experience from my memory and replace it with one that's infinitely better. Because I know that I can. Because I know that I will. Because I know that it will rock.