tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23794386860599349102024-03-13T01:08:44.344-05:00Run like a mamaTammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.comBlogger311125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-13759966808959526242021-04-12T19:38:00.006-05:002021-04-13T09:00:11.295-05:00Lakefront 50K with Cicely Tyson: Race report<p> When marathons and 50Ks were cancelled last year because of COVID, I told myself that it would be good to take a year off. </p><p>But I had a little itch that I wanted to scratch.</p><p>My running partner suggested this winter signing up for the <a href="https://runmilwaukee.com/">Milwaukee marathon</a>, originally scheduled for this month but now postponed until fall. </p><p>Still wanting to scratch that itch, I checked then to see if the <a href="https://www.chicagoultra.org/">Lakefront 50K</a> was happening in March. It was -- on March 27, two days before my 53rd birthday. Cool. I registered.</p><p>Training was a challenge. February was one of the snowiest in Chicago in memory. I am lucky to belong to a gym by my house, but COVID limits how long you can be at the gym per session to 90 minutes, so I wasn't able to bang out long runs on a treadmill. (Not a real problem, I know.)</p><p>I managed to sneak in shorter runs here and there and got all of my long weekend runs in somehow, including splitting them into sessions at the treadmill and running the rest on snowy streets. One day I took a half vacation day from work to get in a 16-miler. </p><p>As race day neared, I figured I would be undertrained but I would finish. If you want to stop reading here, I accomplished both.</p><p>The course this year began in the pretty <a href="https://www.chicagoparkdistrict.com/parks-facilities/jackson-park">Jackson Park</a>, located along the lakefront on the South Side. The less exciting part is that the race was five roughly six-mile loops north on the lakefront path and back. </p><p>(The good news was the aid station at the start/finish line, staffed by the Flatlanders Ultra Group. A woman Linda recognized me, despite the mask, and we quickly caught up. She is so nice and upbeat every time I've met her. And with every loop, when I grabbed a cookie or pickle to eat, she kept telling me that I was doing great and looked strong. So grateful to her and the crew there! Also, real Coke, fig newtons and pickles during an ultra are delicious).</p><p>Mentally I knew the five loops would be really tough. I've run the Lakefront 50K before, <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2019/11/omg-they-have-pumpkin-pie-lakefront-50k.html">back in 2019 </a>when it was three 10-mile loops. I figured I had a good plan for this race -- a friend said they would run a loop or two with me; I'd do audiobook for some of the other loops, and I'd be fine.</p><p>Race day morning was cool, in the low 40s with a chance of rain. The weather would play around the next six-plus hours, from sunny to foggy to sunny to overcast to warm in the 60s. I went through three different outfit changes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5TUwpkuz198doYKVrAWLJsJ2Fe-34e5oz7pY7vpJY-Idqz7upM6Iot5XqxRI5kfm9XAI5hj-I0xjJfG7ztg2xdfsmXonVuq1HDqy7qvq5C9a_iqQJsxas2glbGLigBBGl7daN80_uxE/s1440/82FF478D-08DB-49A2-93D3-0461D6B13087.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1436" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5TUwpkuz198doYKVrAWLJsJ2Fe-34e5oz7pY7vpJY-Idqz7upM6Iot5XqxRI5kfm9XAI5hj-I0xjJfG7ztg2xdfsmXonVuq1HDqy7qvq5C9a_iqQJsxas2glbGLigBBGl7daN80_uxE/s320/82FF478D-08DB-49A2-93D3-0461D6B13087.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>At race start time I learned that I'd be doing the race solo, so I mentally hunkered down and began slowly. The first two loops, I told myself, I'd just take it all in. By that I mean enjoy the views, study the path, run around the beautiful <a href="https://www.chicagoparkdistrict.com/parks-facilities/Burnham-Park/">Promontory Point</a> (when you do five loops, that means I'd be running Promontory Point 10 times, oof), scour the lakefront/running path erosion from the last winter. </p><p>By the end of the second loop I was ready for a distraction. I tuned into the audiobook I had already begun listening to, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001807/">"Just As I Am"</a>, the autobiography of actress <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001807/">Cicely Tyson</a>. A co-worker had previously suggested the book and started a book club, so I was half-way through already and thoroughly invested in listening to Cicely's life story. </p><p>As I was listening to the chapter in which Cicely had reunited with her love <a href="https://www.milesdavis.com/">Miles Davis</a>, I saw my awesome neighbors Jack and Megan with their three cute-as-buttons little girls, waving and holding a homemade "Tammy Turbo" sign. I was probably 14 or 15 miles into the race and starting to think that it sucked, so the timing of their presence was perfect. We chatted and did some fist bumps. It was what I needed.</p><p>After I said good-bye, I went back to running and listening to the book narrator. Miles was in very rough shape from drugs and Cicely took charge of his recovery. As I ran, I listened how she took him to a Chinese medicine doctor who predicted that he only had few weeks left. She was so loyal, all the while making movies and TV shows. I had no idea how prolific she was in her career.</p><p>She talked about being cast in the 1977 TV series "Roots", which I watched as a little kid and still remember how it took my breath away. For those old enough to remember the series, the network was actually worried about how it would play with white audiences, which is why they aired it eight nights straight rather than stretch it out in as many weeks. Good grief. I still think about that.</p><p>As Miles' health gets better, he convinces Cicely to marry him and they do so at Bill Cosby's estate. As I ran one of the Promontory Point legs, I heard about how a special family ring vanished from Cicely's room and mysteriously reappeared after the ceremony, and her interpretation that her deceased mother was telling her something. </p><p>As their marriage eventually unraveled, I was on the fourth loop and tired. I studied the high-rises and landscape along the lakefront, mentally willing myself to run to that next building or breakwater. </p><p>By the start of the fifth loop, I had abandoned my windbreaker, vest and long-sleeve shirt. It was getting warm. I ran to my car (it was literally like 50 feet away from the start) and grabbed the short-sleeve race shirt we received that morning. Thank goodness I had it. </p><p>The final loop I took a break from the book, but continued to think about Cicely. I admired that she said she chose to remember Miles as her great love, instead of only the bad stuff at the end. </p><p>I decided I would play music that final loop, which I usually never do. Some old <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pet_Shop_Boys">Pet Shop Boys</a> did the trick, and I was able to mostly run (epically slowly) to the end. I was also getting nauseous, which is something that happens a lot in my races. I overheat really easily.</p><p>When I crossed the finish line, I felt happy, if a little pukey. I immediately laid on my back in the grass and stared at the sky. It felt amazing. </p><p>I don't know my exact time but it was something like 6 1/2 hours. I finished. Who cares how fast? I used to, but I don't anymore. This was my fourth 50K race and I just felt good about running and finishing it. </p><p>A week later, I finished the book. I recommend it -- it's amazing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb02dlq6UU3WzBx8MELuGi71ED2QSUvsca3-loAufLWPx2I4cm_t-fZLi-g9xnOYb2PRHODS5Cg_CyrwlwuSCGxII3FjQYYRKxNMz3bkLKtVyKyyJjDl8Cwd-me0VQyQ1RG4Xb6EVH9Ew/s1440/race.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb02dlq6UU3WzBx8MELuGi71ED2QSUvsca3-loAufLWPx2I4cm_t-fZLi-g9xnOYb2PRHODS5Cg_CyrwlwuSCGxII3FjQYYRKxNMz3bkLKtVyKyyJjDl8Cwd-me0VQyQ1RG4Xb6EVH9Ew/s320/race.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-30066645432558991902021-02-21T14:35:00.003-06:002021-02-21T14:39:48.268-06:00Embracing new adventures in the COVID worldHow's everyone getting ready for year two of the pandemic? Whimpering is permitted.<div><div><br /></div><div>There's a couple of dates from last year that stand out as "we-had-no-idea-what-was-coming". February 9 is my mom's birthday, and it was on that date in 2020 that I last saw her or any of my other Omaha family. A stroke victim from several years ago, she had been transported from her nursing home to a local hospital for a recurring health issue. </div><div><br /></div><div>I easily walked into the hospital early that morning -- before COVID settled on all of us like a stubborn fog and back when COVID was still largely happening somewhere else. She was able to look at me and smile a little. I had no idea that it would be the last Omaha visit for more than a year.<div><br /></div><div>Then there was March 17, 2020, the day after Chicago Public Schools did what seemed unthinkable at the time -- they closed all schools for two weeks because of COVID. That day was also my daughter's ninth birthday. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Remember when we thought this pandemic thing would blow over in a few weeks?)</div><div><br /></div><div>We got our nails done at our favorite neighborhood salon and stopped by Trader Joe's, where the store was packed like it was Super Bowl Sunday and the shelves were eerily stripped bare by shoppers grabbing anything they could.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cashier, who appeared weary from the crush but was still cheerful, gave us a small potted shamrock plant that my cat continues to eat whenever he can get to it. It's still alive, despite his rascally ways.</div><div><br /></div><div>That nail salon closed last summer for good, like a lot of small businesses around us that just weren't been able to make it.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>For me, those dates demarcated the period of what life was and when it would change, followed by a period of grieving, before adjusting to our new normal.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over time, many -- maybe all -- of us began to hear of people who tested positive, who had to quarantine because they had been exposed to someone, or who had lost a parent or other loved one to COVID-19. As I'm writing this, the newspaper on my coffee table's front page includes a story about how the death toll is expected to top 500,000 this week, a number that is just freaking hard to digest.</div><div><br /></div><div>My husband and our two kids have been super fortunate to stay healthy. My other child, who is 28, did get COVID-19, but thankfully recovered. </div><div><br /></div><div>Staring down another pandemic spring and summer makes me think of the ways we had to get creative as a family last year, to stay healthy and not go crazy being at home all the time together. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last summer, we got our newly purchased Honda CRV ready with crossbars and a hitch to haul luggage and bikes. I found a pretty sweet bike rack to carry four bikes.</div><div><br /></div><div>And we were off. A few new traditions and places we found included old and new camping favorites. We upped our camping trips to four last year from the typical 1 to 2 and tried new places that turned out to be pretty great -- if you need some ideas, borrow these!</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUGqKR7h3LNOQGJHU6fWacUoUlbA25siORsrEcSjSVfBlW-RsPurkUTi1RZ3JgOYsymCTVWEOTWsQTWHoxVeCyYrEqEojrB-5stx9pjvQn1MxQtVgzXNsNi5F2A9L4_oalUcG5Etb7vZA/s1440/ABFCBA8A-AC54-40A7-93E5-F13A0E89FD98.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUGqKR7h3LNOQGJHU6fWacUoUlbA25siORsrEcSjSVfBlW-RsPurkUTi1RZ3JgOYsymCTVWEOTWsQTWHoxVeCyYrEqEojrB-5stx9pjvQn1MxQtVgzXNsNi5F2A9L4_oalUcG5Etb7vZA/w200-h200/ABFCBA8A-AC54-40A7-93E5-F13A0E89FD98.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt Baldy, Indiana Dunes</td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://www.stateparks.com/kettle_moraine_state_forest_in_wisconsin.html">Kettle Moraine</a> in Wisconsin. We camp in either Kettle Moraine South or Kettle Moraine North every year. Great hiking, small lake swimming, biking. <a href="https://newglarusbrewing.com/">New Glarus Moon Man IPA</a>. It never gets old to us.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.google.com/search?gs_ssp=eJwNxkEKgCAQAEA61isk6OyqiZtP6BdqawmlYB58fs1pppE_HIS8G8JgF-iIoM0mSCtPQXthoa9GxGA0ymi8kqj2uaZwuXowX_LJ3uYasUqhkmupZOb-fAeDGjg&q=richard+bong+state+recreation+area&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS736US736&oq=richard+bong&aqs=chrome.2.69i57j46i275i433j46i175i199j0l3j46i175i199j0l2.9259j0j4&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">Richard Bong Recreation Area</a> in Wisconsin. Bong is the closest Wisconsin camping to Chicago. We've camped there before, but really came to have a new appreciation for it when we camped there in September and we did a ton of hiking though the southwest Wisconsin fall foliage.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.in.gov/dnr/parklake/2973.htm"><br />Pokagon State Park</a>, Fort Wayne, Ind. This park is a beautifully maintained camping and hiking area about three hours from Chicago. There is a fun little camping store for the kids. I loved this place so much.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7AVQItafcbiyUefSvcnrUNhDvk2YaP-o4kvhmqiE4fJAQY8evgKRt9NgQwdH3B5vlGJoYx2JpYTWSX-BY7tl4TNyTetZvk57Zfz5amTtVH0pxaY8tG5ek6Iu-LY7MjBmT90mtyuaQOA/s2048/E87F94BA-6A3C-4DC6-AE98-0D7129195E8B+-+Copy.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii7AVQItafcbiyUefSvcnrUNhDvk2YaP-o4kvhmqiE4fJAQY8evgKRt9NgQwdH3B5vlGJoYx2JpYTWSX-BY7tl4TNyTetZvk57Zfz5amTtVH0pxaY8tG5ek6Iu-LY7MjBmT90mtyuaQOA/w200-h150/E87F94BA-6A3C-4DC6-AE98-0D7129195E8B+-+Copy.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bong Recreation Area</td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://www.recreation.gov/camping/campgrounds/233465">Coon Creek State Park</a>, Shelbyville, Ill. Illinois is a long state, nearly 400 miles. Chicago is located in the far northeast corner and we pretty much never go south of, say, <a href="https://www2.illinois.gov/dnr/Parks/Pages/StarvedRock.aspx">Starved Rock State Park</a>, so there's a lot of state we haven't seen. But we have friends who talked </div><div>up Coon Creek, and we were lucky to nab a leafy tent site on a warm <br />October weekend during which the leaves were in full fall color splendor. Oh my gosh, this area is gorgeous and lovely. I can't wait to go back.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95i2kUKbuCVKf0aBMrOZlYc1NFtz81oRC3OAnwXFY59cbtQZ7Hm5o4R9dDjrTmf3car5366xltYVqnnFEalu9FU_mcYF-VmgHxxElJCe46Ktntr82dtInYgiM8up3uAX5WUmxbcK_u8g/s2048/IMG_8815.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95i2kUKbuCVKf0aBMrOZlYc1NFtz81oRC3OAnwXFY59cbtQZ7Hm5o4R9dDjrTmf3car5366xltYVqnnFEalu9FU_mcYF-VmgHxxElJCe46Ktntr82dtInYgiM8up3uAX5WUmxbcK_u8g/w200-h150/IMG_8815.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miller Beach path to the Dunes</td></tr></tbody></table>We were fortunate to be able to stay at a friend's home near <a href="https://www.southhavenmi.gov/">South Haven, Mich</a>. last summer in what has become our annual summer </div><div>vacation. I love SW Michigan so much.</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>We didn't camp here, but we did do a lot of day trips last summer and fall to the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/indu/index.htm">Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore</a>. Historically, the closest we ever got to the Indiana Dunes was driving through Indiana to get to southwest Michigan for a vacation. </div><div><br /></div><div>This year, we decided that maybe Indiana didn't have to be drive-<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4VzETWD4ZHyY7IBgjObcACxtCWXs9Q2qUYHJcal-0MR85Rp7UX8r9KatRq_or5pXyg5msl19lPZoBvqUaBQGy6w4MkomWYoY7zyxwFqxksZBAjftb7TnqHpD_WFXQ06oi5jehojhp10/s2048/IMG_8898.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4VzETWD4ZHyY7IBgjObcACxtCWXs9Q2qUYHJcal-0MR85Rp7UX8r9KatRq_or5pXyg5msl19lPZoBvqUaBQGy6w4MkomWYoY7zyxwFqxksZBAjftb7TnqHpD_WFXQ06oi5jehojhp10/w150-h200/IMG_8898.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pokagon State Park, IN</td></tr></tbody></table><br />through country, and we would actually go to the Dunes. </div><div><br /></div><div>We fell in love with the <a href="https://visitmillerbeachgary.com/explore/play/">Miller Beach</a> area of Gary, Ind. Thanks to the guidance of a friend who lives in the area, we found the perfect 3-mile roundtrip hike to lakefront beach that was remote enough to be away from the nearby crowded (and unnervingly unmasked) beaches. </div><div><br /></div><div>We made day trips as often as possible, and never failed to stop by the<a href="http://www.18thstreetbrewery.com/hammond"> 18th </a></div><div><a href="http://www.18thstreetbrewery.com/hammond">Street Brewery</a>, with awesome craft beer and food, sunny patio and super safety-minded staff. We always brought along our Scrabble game (another <br />new pandemic time hobby we picked up) and enjoyed a good meal. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-2f31h-XpydMZbJb1qH7Ri92VbWfZvjewrtK4Lx_26vtnziB2IYrh59bJmrHKTEp6TuXpaciMiJkHiQQPNLidTIQ-0ZOskvBLNlbnC4HTfitiTqicDQ0cHPD6sqnpOt2pyPMphBu7Qw/s2048/IMG_8964.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-2f31h-XpydMZbJb1qH7Ri92VbWfZvjewrtK4Lx_26vtnziB2IYrh59bJmrHKTEp6TuXpaciMiJkHiQQPNLidTIQ-0ZOskvBLNlbnC4HTfitiTqicDQ0cHPD6sqnpOt2pyPMphBu7Qw/w200-h150/IMG_8964.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near South Haven, MI</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>More recently, we did a weekend winter getaway to <a href="https://www2.illinois.gov/dnr/Parks/Pages/StarvedRock.aspx">Starved Rock</a>, which we've visited many times. What we discovered, though, was the very underrated, less crowded and lesser known <a href="https://www2.illinois.gov/dnr/Parks/Pages/Matthiessen.aspx">Matthiessen State Park</a>, which is also incredible and gorgeous.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2hH-ZiGDhyphenhyphenAqgGSHE12yFOGB69NqeDpIXggKE-xcs0ceqmWLpXoL-P9L88DeJWKwHSilp-E9GDllT2krfgYMu8uf__9cQYOkRC-29M1keWYBkzdTAfqnc8EZCfFJ-OlxguCV-ltc2zQ/s2048/IMG_9220.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2hH-ZiGDhyphenhyphenAqgGSHE12yFOGB69NqeDpIXggKE-xcs0ceqmWLpXoL-P9L88DeJWKwHSilp-E9GDllT2krfgYMu8uf__9cQYOkRC-29M1keWYBkzdTAfqnc8EZCfFJ-OlxguCV-ltc2zQ/w150-h200/IMG_9220.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coon Creek, IL</td></tr></tbody></table><div>With all of the trips, we followed the same formula. If we weren't camping (which is automatically social distancing), we rented small homes or cabins on <a href="https://www.vrbo.com/">VRBO</a>, to keep us safe. Interestingly, we found that every time we left city limits, there were a lot of maskless faces, despite the creeping death toll. </div><div> </div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YyJFekDw7jWARYJITwTBN1AtN1EFWbFTW0ZCrlW4Z9pMmTlDN53ZsNlxChZ0E0oEriktGRQwde1Jc9qOnpwzGUGiB9uxs6v8cFDeWYHljLEl1k7N1n3oVrBHWWZ81CVEPzj1W2P9LFE/s2048/IMG_9852.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YyJFekDw7jWARYJITwTBN1AtN1EFWbFTW0ZCrlW4Z9pMmTlDN53ZsNlxChZ0E0oEriktGRQwde1Jc9qOnpwzGUGiB9uxs6v8cFDeWYHljLEl1k7N1n3oVrBHWWZ81CVEPzj1W2P9LFE/w150-h200/IMG_9852.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matthiessen State Park, IL</td></tr></tbody></table>Every year about this time, when I am burned out on winter, I start making plans for warmer days ahead. This year I am pumped for our planned trips to <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/shawnee/">Shawnee National Forest</a>, <a href="https://www2.dnr.state.mi.us/parksandtrails/Details.aspx?type=SPRK&id=504">Warren State Dunes Park</a> and <a href="https://www.nps.gov/indu/planyourvisit/campgrounds.htm">Dunewood Camground</a> in the Indiana Dunes. The Shawnee trip will be right after what will be my fourth 50K race, the <a href="https://www.chicagoultra.org/">Lakefront 50K</a>. With a 17-inch snow dump last week and frigid temps, training for that race has been interesting.</div><br /><div>And if we can get everyone vaccinated and get life closer back to normal -- I can't wait to take some adventures back in Nebraska, and hug the heck out of my mom, dad and siblings. </div><div><br /></div></div>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-81498826815544026442019-11-12T07:12:00.000-06:002019-11-12T07:38:58.554-06:00OMG they have pumpkin pie! -- Lakefront 50K race reportIt was windy and snowing sideways. I was nauseous, cold and tired of running, more than 20 miles into<a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2019/10/gandy-dancer-trail-marathon-race-report.html"> a maratho</a>n, the Gandy Dancer trail marathon I ran last month.<br />
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No way I'm going the <a href="http://www.chicagoultra.org/">Lakefront 50K</a> in three weeks, I thought, thinking about a race I'd been toying with in my mind over the summer. I can't wait to stop running, I thought. One foot in front of the other. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez, once... sometimes I practice counting in Spanish when I'm running. Weird, but it kind of helps.<br />
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Three Saturdays later, I got up at 5 a.m., butterflies in my stomach. It was two days after a freak Halloween snowstorm. My 10-year-old son was sick. I had a fight with my husband the night before.<br />
My head was jumbled, but I knew this: I had been thinking about this race for weeks and nothing was going to stop me from running it.<br />
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And it was great.<br />
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It was overcast and in the 30s before the race began. The sky's color matched my mood and resolve to run the shit out of this race. I took a photo of some ducks in Lake Michigan and walked by the sparsely populated start line to pass the time before the start.<br />
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This race has two distance options, 50 kilometers (31 miles) and 50 miles. Folks running the 50-miler had started running at 6:30, two hours before my race would begin. The 50K course consisted of three loops, starting at Foster Beach on the north side of the city and running south to North Avenue Beach and back.<br />
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There were aid stations at the beginning, the turnaround point and midway, near Recreation Drive, so about 2.5 miles apart, which was great.<br />
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Loop 1: I was solo, and that was good to shake out all of the negative junk. After turning back at North Avenue, I ran north a bit and saw something very odd. A man well into his late 70s, but more likely early 80s, was completely disrobed, except for old-timey fitted, high-waisted royal blue bathing shorts. He otherwise had nothing else on -- it was about 32 degrees -- and he rubbed his hands across his creamy white arms to attempt to warm up. I ran past him and kept looking back, and he actually walked in the water and began swimming. A guy with him, also older and fully bundled in a parka, watched him. It was weird.<br />
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About another mile and a half north of there, I see this guy walked and think, hey, that looks like my friend Oliver, who's married to my co-worker Jeff. Then I notice Jeff's with him. Jeff has one of those incredible, magnetic personalities and is a hoot to work with. I was so excited to run into them. "What are you guys doing in the middle of my race?" I yelled at them. We hugged, laughed and posed for selfies. I was smiling when I left them.<br />
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I kept my pace slow and took several-minute walk breaks at aid stations, something I usually don't give myself permission to do. But I had the Gandy Dancer marathon on my mind, and how much I struggled with nausea and fatigue, and I wanted to have a better race today. So far, my strategy was working for me.<br />
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As I neared the end of the first loop, I began looking for my friend Krista, one of my very favorite people in general and definitely a favorite to run with. She had graciously agreed to run the second loop with me. The second loop went by so much faster, talking and laughing about stuff. Even when we weren't talking, it was a comfortable quiet between us. I just love running with her.<br />
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At the North Avenue turnaround, where there was an aid station with tons of yummy food (ultramarathons are stocked very differently than your typical road marathon race), there was PUMPKIN PIE. OMG I love pumpkin pie and it sound especially amazing at that moment. I yelled at Krista "they have pumpkin pie" and she laughed at me.<br />
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Not wanting to get nauseous later, I kept myself to half a piece of pie. Yay, self-restraint. We headed back north.<br />
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As we neared Foster beach, the idea of a third 10-mile loop felt a little dreadful. I kept doing quiet mental checks. Was I tired? Not too bad. Was anything hurting? No. Even my lower back, which always tightens during long runs, wasn't too bad. Was I nauseous? No. I told myself, it's just the mental part here that is the hardest. You can do this.<br />
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Krista asked me if I had iPhone headphones and since I didn't, would I like to borrow hers? I seldom listen to music running because it can kind of annoy me after a while (my music-loving husband would not understand this). She suggested a podcast or audio book and I was like, great idea!<br />
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At the end of the second loop, we hugged and she was on her way to get her mom from the airport. Her mom is as awesome as her.<br />
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I decided to take a little walk break to start the third loop. As I walked, I realized I had no idea what book to listen do or really even how to download a book since I'd never done that. Sheepishly, I text Krista for a suggestion. I loved how fast she answered, suggested a couple of options. I picked <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Maybe-You-Should-Talk-Someone-ebook/dp/B07BZ4F75T">"I think you should talk to someone"</a> by <a href="https://lorigottlieb.com/books/maybe-you-should-talk-to-someone/">Lori Gottlieb</a>, a therapist who goes to therapy herself and talks about therapy and people. Fun fact -- prior to going to medical school and ultimately psychology, she worked in television, launching at the time little-known TV shows ER and Friends.<br />
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I'm not doing the book justice -- this book is so great. And it was perfect for my jumbly mind. I listened to 10 chapters that final loop, grateful for running, my friends and this great book.<br />
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I stopped at what would be my last mid-race aid station stop at Recreation Drive, feeling good vibes. I felt good mentally. Physically, I was glad to feel how I should feel, tired, but with no major issues. I walked a bit more, and stopped to toss my paper cup into an open garbage can. I jumped when I realized I tossed the cup on top of an animal, likely a possum, that was curled up in a ball at the bottom of the can. It looked like he/she was trying to stay warm. I could see it breathing, its furry back moving up and down. Yikes!<br />
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I ran/walked the rest of the way. As I got further north, I got more excited. This was the third 50K race I've done -- I did the <a href="https://calendar.ultrarunning.com/event/paleozoic-trail-runs-devonian-spring">Paleozoic 50K</a> races in <a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2014/11/palezoic-50-finish-or-fossilize-race.html">2014</a> and <a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2015/11/paleozoic-50k-race-report-and-whats-next.html">2015</a>. It was the first 50K for me since <a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2017/01/surgery-story.html">hip surgery</a> in 2017 and since turning 50. I recovered nicely from surgery, thank goodness, but still, to do this just made me feel badass. Ultras, in fact, attract an older audience, with people my age and older running 50- and 100-mile races, so to run 50K at my age isn't actually that remarkable in the ultra world.<br />
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But I was still glad -- as I get older, I work harder to not compare myself to others and drag myself down with negative thinking. I wished I had been better about this when I was younger.<br />
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As I neared the finish line, I was smiling. I happily crossed the finish line at 6:40 and change, about 30 minutes faster than my fastest 50K (which, in fairness, was a hilly trail race and this was a flat lakefront race).<br />
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I was craving a Coke Zero, and stopped at a 7-Eleven on the way home. I forgot for a moment I was still wearing my race medal and race bib, and walked toward the store. I said hi to the grinning homeless woman in front of me and asked her if I could buy her something to eat. She asked me if I was a superhero and we both laughed. I filled her order -- a hot dog with nothing on it -- and a coke and gave her a little hug.<br />
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It was a good day.<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-50580740572671082412019-10-19T10:58:00.002-05:002019-10-19T11:02:13.956-05:00Gandy Dancer Trail Marathon: Race reportI'm a sucker for a fall marathon, especially small trail races.<br />
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While 40,000-plus people ran the Chicago Marathon last weekend, my running buddy Shaun and I had planned to run a great marathon trail race instead, the Des Plaines River Trail (DPRT) marathon. I've run it before, in <a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2018/10/the-wet-feet-marathon-race-report.html">2018</a> and in <a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2015/10/best-marathon-ever-dprt-race-report.html">2015</a>. The race was amazing in 2015. Three years later, the course was flooded (which some trail runners love) but I found it pretty tough. I wound up throwing out my back and a bleeding foot. My running buddy Shaun and I had already made a pact to skip DPRT if there was flooding again on the course.<br />
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Soooo when we saw the course conditions for DPRT were similar this year, just days before the race, I was already googling Midwest marathons for Saturday, Oct. 12, while Shaun was returning from vacation in Munich.<br />
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As soon as he landed at O'Hare, he had texts from me telling him to look at two Wisconsin marathons, both 6-7 hour drives from Chicago,the <a href="http://www.gandymarathon.com/">Gandy Dancer Trail Marathon</a> in <a href="https://www.luckwisconsin.com/">Luck, Wis.</a>, and the<a href="https://www.whistlestopmarathon.com/"> Whistlestop Marathon in <span id="goog_1687661103"></span>Ashland, Wis.</a> They both are trail marathons on old railroad beds, and both looked pretty great.<br />
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To me, it was like deciding whether to eat corn on the cob with my hands or using those cute little corn holders. It's still corn no matter what. And, in this case, it's still a trail marathon a long drive away.<br />
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(Side story: my neighborhood has a "freebox" Facebook page where neighbors can give away stuff they don't want to other folks in the neighborhood. A woman over the summer posted corn holders that were still in the package, brand new, and I was like, "yeah"! My husband was incredulous that I drove all the way to someone's house for corn holders. How could I not?! They're so cute AND functional.)<br />
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Ultimately we picked Gandy Dancer because it was one hour closer and it had snow in the forecast, whereas the other spot had 40-degree temps and rain in its forecast. I'd rather run in snow than rain. I had to google <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gandy_dancer">Gandy Dancer</a>, which I learned is a old-timey term for a railroad worker.<br />
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Then there was proposing this impulsive idea to Brett. My husband, who is not an impulsive guy, was pretty cool about it, though he did (nicely) ask, "can't you just run in some puddles? Do you really need to go so far?" Fortunately he is used to my crazy.<br />
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We left Chicago midday Friday, with Shaun arriving to pick me up in not the compact car he planned to rent but a full-on minivan. He's single with no kids, so it was pretty funny. (I quickly realized that man, vans have a ton of room!)<br />
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As we drove north of Madison, Wis., the landscape and foliage became more colorful. Fall had already settled in up here and we oohed and ahhed as we continued northward. After dark we saw the hint of the freakishly early-in-the-season snow we'd seen in the forecast that week, flakes dancing in the van's headlights. We wondered about the clothes we brought to run in, and hoped for the best.<br />
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A stop at a <a href="https://www.paradiselandingwi.com/">local bar & grill</a> in Balsam Lake for a pre-race dinner, and then we headed to stay the evening in St. Croix Falls, Wis., which only the next morning did I realize was on the Minnesota border. I guess I don't know my northern Wisconsin geography.<br />
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The next morning we got up early and saw trees swaying in the dark. It was 29 degrees. It's not that I can't run in that kind of weather, but I sure hadn't done it since last winter, and struggled mentally with the idea that I'd spend five hours running in that cold and wind. Fortunately, I had packed aobut four different running gear combos and settled on tights, long-sleeve, light hoodie and windbreaker vest.<br />
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The start line was at the <a href="https://www.luckwisconsin.com/">Luck Fire Departmen</a>t. It was still super dark out when we arrived at 6:4 a.m. to check in. One of the race volunteers, who I assume was a fireman, asked if we want to join a few runners to start the race an hour earlier than the 8 a.m. start. Considering we typically start runs as early as 4 a.m., we were game for that. Everyone was so friendly, and we had a few people who were incredulous that we were skipping our hometown marathon -- one of the largest in the world -- to run a tiny race in northwest Wisconsin.<br />
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To us, it made perfect sense.<br />
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This is the dark start line below, with eight marathon runners and firefighters wisely wearing Carhartt gear head to toe. We could barely see. The other 25 marathoners would start an hour later, as would other runners doing shorter distances.<br />
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The race was, in my mind, can be divided into two parts.<br />
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The first 13 miles -- 6.5 miles south and back to the start -- were beautiful. Snow softly blew, dusting the trees lining the crushed limestone course (an old railroad bed, thus the "Gandy Dancer" name). Those trees also blocked some of the wind.<br />
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A super friendly woman, Nicole, and her husband Andy, who was biking alongside of her, immediately struck up a conversation and made the miles tick by. They were from Minneapolis, where Nicole had just run the Twin Cities Marathon the previous weekend, and were awesome to hang out with. Andy even biked ahead to an aid station at one point to find a bandage for a blister that was forming on my heel. Minnesotans are always so nice, in my experience.<br />
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The second half of the race was harder, windier, and felt colder. My body was definitely aching and I and I couldn't feel my thumbs for awhile. Nicole and I kept passing and catching up to each other, as we each took little walk breaks, and asked if I needed company. My brain told me to grind it out in silence as I struggled with nausea and how tired I was starting to feel, so I thanked her and said I was OK.<br />
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The closer I got to the finish line, the harder and colder the wind felt. Shaun was ahead of me the whole race, since he's a lot faster. I hoped he was having a good race.<br />
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I finished more than five hours after starting, taking little walk breaks here and there and telling myself "who cares how slow you finish?!" The snow was blowing sideways and hard during the last few miles and I felt lightheaded and cold crossing the finish line. I was also disoriented because the start/finish line looked different in daylight and I didn't know where I was supposed to go after I was done running. I eventually found my way back to the fire station and laid down on the ground with my legs up a wall for what felt like a really long time.<br />
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Cheering me up after the race were the results. Because there were so few marathon runners, I came in 4th overall out of 11 women and won my age group 50-59 because there were only two women in that age group.<br />
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It's like when someone tells me I look good for my age -- I'll take it.<br />
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I loved this race, despite the challenges. I live in Chicago and yet love to go to the country as often as I can, whether it's a weekend or a race. Thank you to all of the awesome volunteers in Luck, Milltown and Frederic who cheered us, gave us handwarmers and homemade pumpkin bread.<br />
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Thinking about <a href="https://www.whistlestopmarathon.com/">Whistlestop </a>next year...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nicole and I</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My awesome running partner Shaun</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous!</td></tr>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-52188501423212065092018-12-07T06:00:00.003-06:002018-12-07T06:02:10.810-06:00Gram's 90th birthdayLast weekend my grandmother turned 90. For fun, I googled "what does turning 90 feel like". One of the hits was a link to a cheeky greeting card that said turning 90 was like turning 32 in Celsius. A story in a magazine I've never heard of, Dame, offered this insight: <a href="https://www.damemagazine.com/2015/02/19/what-its-be-90/">It's weird, but cool, to</a>o. After all, President George H.W. Bush, who died last week at 94, celebrated his 90th by skydiving.<br />
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To celebrate Gram, many from our family flew to Sacramento for her party from Michigan, Nebraska and my husband and our little ones from Chicago. We're the kind of family that doesn't gather very often, because we're so spread out. The family I grew up with in Nebraska isn't into traditional family gatherings, so it's pretty exciting when there is a family party.</div>
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Gram was as beautiful as always. She's tiny -- not sure she measures up to 5 feet anymore -- with striking short white hair that always appears to be neatly attended to. She's been on her own since Grandpa died more than 20 years ago. She had to learn how to drive and still lives on her own in the house they bought when my mother and her siblings were young kids. I was a little intimidated by her as a kid, but her strength is something I've come to admire as an adult.</div>
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The day of her party, her garage and house were set up with plenty of food, drink and chairs and tables for guests. The sun played peek-a-boo, providing warmth on a slightly chilly day. (I love California winters.) Gram wore an emerald green shirt that set off her pretty fair skin and hair. She was nervous -- as we all get when hosting a party and hoping people show up. Her neighbor Jane made jello shots, which we sampled pre-party -- even Gram, daintily spooning hers out of a small cup and wryly noting that it could be tough to maneuver her walker after doing one of these. </div>
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I spent a lot of the party stage-managing my semi-tame children, so I got to observe and talk with people in spurts. It was a blast. Every time I saw Gram, she was smiling and talking to someone. My uncles were goofy and playful and loud. My normally cranky aunt was surprisingly cheerful, and my other aunt was her usual warm, friendly self -- the kind of person who makes you feel better when you're around her. My cousins -- all younger than me, the youngest one a senior in high school -- were super fun. </div>
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My sister was there, too. I was a little nervous to see her because our relationship, which has sometimes been complicated, has been strained in recent years. She was friendly, which relaxed me, and we had fun hanging out. I love her and her warmth meant a lot to me. We wished our mother -- Gram's oldest daughter -- could have been there. She would have loved the party. Unfortunately her health makes travel impossible. It's so unfair.</div>
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I've been thinking about the weekend all week, back in cold, gray Chicago. I wished I'd relaxed more and not fussed over my kids so much. I should have spent less time working on that 500-piece puzzle I bought "for the kids"while trying to belly-breathe and more time talking to Gram and my other family members. </div>
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There are points in our lives when our friends feel closer to us than our families -- for me, this isn't one of those times. While some friends are easy -- you know where you stand with them -- I find myself wondering about others, the ones who aren't honest and you feel like are talking behind your back. </div>
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I've got some stuff stuck in my brain I need to work out -- this too shall pass is what I'm telling myself. I've always been too thin-skinned and wish I could let this kind of stuff just roll off of me. I'm not good at that.</div>
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Watching Gram with the friends who came -- the ones who loved her enough to show up -- reminded me that those are the friends to watch for and to love and cherish. </div>
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What I also was reminded of was the enduring quality of family. A family can be like a pet -- too easy to ignore and take for granted and sometimes gives you a warning snap -- but is also loyal AF and will curl up next to you when you need it, their warm body pressed against yours, providing comfort and calm.</div>
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Thank you family for being you. And happy birthday, Gram. I hope to be half as fabulous as you when I turn 90. And I'm definitely having jello shots.</div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-53665665709003794832018-10-20T14:10:00.001-05:002018-10-20T14:10:32.774-05:00The wet feet marathon: Race report<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZsQMpQJqS4PNnPPyxsebwWHE7ExSjT1zMa1BaRodhJCO2krmpBpqOB9xNj_9WSKHy317dVCoGW5y1IWyfl8D1eBG9xdMYjO5afmf7wNfbrMRMmNQk77b0T8pkdWji7eXLcOuBeFhrcQ/s1600/IMG_0589.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1126" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZsQMpQJqS4PNnPPyxsebwWHE7ExSjT1zMa1BaRodhJCO2krmpBpqOB9xNj_9WSKHy317dVCoGW5y1IWyfl8D1eBG9xdMYjO5afmf7wNfbrMRMmNQk77b0T8pkdWji7eXLcOuBeFhrcQ/s320/IMG_0589.JPEG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Last year I had surgery to repair a torn labrum and fix an impingement in my right hip. Now that's done, it was time to try a marathon again.<br />
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I signed up for what was a sure thing, the Des Plaines River Trail marathon. DPRT is a lovely, flat crushed gravel trail in the northern suburbs, offering half marathon, full marathon and 50-mile distances.<a href="https://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2015/10/best-marathon-ever-dprt-race-report.html"> I ran this race run three years ago</a> and absolutely loved it. I convinced my running buddy Shaun to sign up with me.<br />
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When it came time to train for the race back in June, I hesitated, to put it mildly. There were personal things happening at the time and I felt overwhelmed. Expending the time and energy on training for a marathon -- this would be my ninth -- seemed frivolous.<br />
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I mentioned this to Shaun on one of our many obscenely early morning runs and he said simply, we'll get through this together. Running friends are great that way.<br />
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The ego boost of a comeback marathon took a backseat to running and focusing on training as therapy for me, physically and emotionally. I ran, biked, lifted weights and did yoga all through the summer. It was a good summer. I felt physically strong.<br />
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I also focused on losing weight, and am now down close to 25 pounds since May. Menopause sucks in many ways, including adding "fluff" to my waistline over the last year. I like to joke that I've lost a toddler.<br />
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In September, as our runs became longer and longer, my old back issues began to flair up. Spasms and pain were with me nearly daily. Shortly after the final 20-mile run three weeks ahead of tapering for the race, my back was a complete mess. Those three weeks were miserable. I visited my old sports chiro, who did adjustments, but the pain kept returning. UGH.<br />
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The week before the race, I wasn't nervous about it, just about calming down my back so I could run OK. That's when our email inboxes were lit up by race director emails warning us about flooding on the course and possible re-routes. I was "meh" about it, figuring they'd figure it out.<br />
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By the end of the week, the alarmist emails had wormed their way into our nerves and fueled our jitters.<br />
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That cool morning, as racers stood around open fire pits (soooo nice) to stay warm, that's all we talked about -- how the course had been re-routed so that we would run four 6.55-mile loops (the 50-milers would do eight loops, omg) and that we would still be running through standing water, some areas up to half a foot deep. !!!!!<br />
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Another running friend had previously advised duct-taping our shoes, so we did. No one else at the race did, and we got a lot of comments and questions -- to which we readily responded that we had no clue what we were doing.<br />
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Finally, we were off. It was a gorgeous morning, sunny with frost blanketing the earth and temps in the 30s.<br />
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We encountered our first water crossing a half mile in, and then another, and more. Then we turned around and ran back through the five we just ran through. We were soaked nearly up to our knees, and parts of our upper legs and shirts as other runners tore by us and splashed us. The water was freezing. I thought, oh my god, we have to do this THREE MORE TIMES?<br />
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As I continued the first loop, there fortunately was only one more water hazard just past a bridge over the Des Plaines River and then several dry miles -- though my feet wouldn't be dry again until the end of the race.<br />
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Shaun is faster than me, so I was solo a lot of the time. We would wave and/or hug as we'd pass each other in loops. The second loop was probably the toughest, now knowing what lay ahead of me and that I'd have to run more loops of this. My back was growling but as long as I kept moving, it wasn't too bad.<br />
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Finally, I began the last loop, the sun high in the sky. I felt happy, or at least happier. Other marathoners and I grinned at each other, knowing we were near the end. I made an extra effort to cheer on the 50-milers, who would be slogging on long after I was done.<br />
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Shaun and I found each other and ran the last five or so miles together. He was not cheerful and just wanted to get the damn thing done, his words, which I was fine with. Some friends of his came to cheer him on that final lap, and it was so nice to hear people cheering for us. I also ate part of a turkey sandwich that final loop, and it was fantastic.<br />
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As soon as I crossed the finish line, I couldn't take off my soggy shoes and socks fast enough. One of my ankles was bleeding a little, but miraculously I had no blisters. We grabbed food and beer with Shaun's super nice friends Morgan and Tim and we were done for the day.<br />
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My legs were a little sore but fine over the next few days. But my back woke up screaming the next day and by Monday I could barely focus on anything, the spasming was so bad. It was as bad as it gets.<br />
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I found a new chiropractor in my neighborhood, a really wonderful woman, who helped to slowly calm it down, and I got back into my sports doc. I started physical therapy just yesterday, six days after the race, and already am feeling much better.<br />
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For the challenging course, my time of 5:30 was just fine -- and even a few minutes faster than the last marathon I ran in 2016 in Kenosha, when I was pretty injured and before I had surgery. I'm 50, and dammit, I just ran a marathon!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY-Y3ipYDFkpPb-AnADaXNxMA-I2GEakAWRfftVtmUnPOQ8kZxqF6fdmNBSEzL2D6nQtR8iBdQmFihXId8wyA9G6IR7LTmubJ2tX0-dzwH6VqNnPhSvqEW2I49-7lGTQkdUE7D86e9ro/s1600/7863FFAF-6C19-426F-A17F-91494351EF28.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY-Y3ipYDFkpPb-AnADaXNxMA-I2GEakAWRfftVtmUnPOQ8kZxqF6fdmNBSEzL2D6nQtR8iBdQmFihXId8wyA9G6IR7LTmubJ2tX0-dzwH6VqNnPhSvqEW2I49-7lGTQkdUE7D86e9ro/s320/7863FFAF-6C19-426F-A17F-91494351EF28.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left, last May at the Wisconsin Half Marathon and weighing more than 20 pounds heavier than on marathon day, right.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOVEtmBngfLyftD_Xma2LTZ5miyAk79jUcKkGvFHcURrVrayOFhP-BI3SdLocxmRcrmicUgzzB-n9U24qpTERWo__5GD2yV5ZiJHvoAzTg4d9fEeeoEbjUHM2FP0Zzj-RXIf8uEhvVUo/s1600/IMG_1903.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOVEtmBngfLyftD_Xma2LTZ5miyAk79jUcKkGvFHcURrVrayOFhP-BI3SdLocxmRcrmicUgzzB-n9U24qpTERWo__5GD2yV5ZiJHvoAzTg4d9fEeeoEbjUHM2FP0Zzj-RXIf8uEhvVUo/s320/IMG_1903.PNG" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not DFL in my age group, woohoo!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJ1KxbqxEoA8EZEXfoCYs2KluJDZtWa3r3R8ys-Cj1RCQEgdNqCOhfj862oqWOWs2cgayFRbMrRDx9vmc_BzJkCSJKqspjMkUkXUfioKnzDBnVNJid4P-X2eqySIywcFjrnNePOhbL7E/s1600/IMG_1887.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJ1KxbqxEoA8EZEXfoCYs2KluJDZtWa3r3R8ys-Cj1RCQEgdNqCOhfj862oqWOWs2cgayFRbMrRDx9vmc_BzJkCSJKqspjMkUkXUfioKnzDBnVNJid4P-X2eqySIywcFjrnNePOhbL7E/s320/IMG_1887.PNG" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A marathon is more than 50,000 steps. #science #cool</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzL2-QY0zmGNtq5xT4esENUQm2-uzTNt7T-fK0BcXN_MfXp_MdTUZYPUbL6XUWC2cdrp7PrJSSgLecd76hzfIRmPEoaOIzP8ugVlxTNRQexCEa-E3W7lgSd-IXgZtt5mEgAp8AIBWT4Y/s1600/IMG_1879.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="719" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzL2-QY0zmGNtq5xT4esENUQm2-uzTNt7T-fK0BcXN_MfXp_MdTUZYPUbL6XUWC2cdrp7PrJSSgLecd76hzfIRmPEoaOIzP8ugVlxTNRQexCEa-E3W7lgSd-IXgZtt5mEgAp8AIBWT4Y/s320/IMG_1879.PNG" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally grateful for <a href="https://www.proholisticchiropractic.com/">this chiropracto</a>r! </td></tr>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-25647117537579515082018-08-09T06:57:00.000-05:002018-08-09T07:08:38.782-05:00Riding a bike in Iowa: Ragbrai 2018 reportEarlier this year, one of us -- either my 25-year-old son Tory or I, not sure -- came up with an idea: Let's ride <a href="https://ragbrai.com/">RAGBRAI </a>this year.<br />
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RAGBRAI stands for "Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa". The Register is the Des Moine Register, a paper I tried unsuccessfully to get hired on at many years ago as a young small-town newspaper reporter in Newton, Iowa, and later in Des Moines at a small business weekly. (Years later, I made it to the Chicago Sun-Times as a reporter, so it all worked out fine in my book.)</div>
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That aside, the Register puts on this bike ride every year over seven days across the state. Back in the early 1990s, when I was that reporter, I was married with a small boy, Tory. I had thought about riding RAGBRAI but it didn't work out. And then I moved away, remarried, had more kids and became a runner. I went years hardly ever touching a bike.</div>
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The opportunity to finally do RAGBRAI was too tempting. Tory's dad and I agreed that he'd take the first four days in Iowa with our son, and I'd ride with him the last three days. Tory's extended family would drive an RV across the state and crew him and whichever parent was with him. Perfect. </div>
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RAGBRAI's web site recommends biking 1,000 miles to train. I didn't do nearly that much, but I'd already been doing spin classes regularly, <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2017/01/surgery-story.html">post-hip arthoscopy surgery in 2017</a>. I also abundantly use our city's bike share Divvy nearly daily, so I squeezed in as many 20-25-mile rides as time would allow as the July RAGBRAI dates approached. Meh, I figured. I'd just go slow and do my best. </div>
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I drove to Newton, Iowa with a rental car and a borrowed bike rack, that, unfortunately, didn't fit the rental car. I managed to keep the bike on the car by using bungy ropes to attached the bike rack to the car and the bike to the bike rack.<br />
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I sweated it the entire 300-plus mile drive to Newton, one of the towns the ride would stop through. It seemed appropriate to start the ride there, considering I had started my previous career in that town as a very green reporter and where my oldest son was born.</div>
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When I arrived at Tory's great-aunt Helen's house, he and his dad were already there. They were exhausted and hobbling a little as they walked, telling of heat and hills. </div>
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Gulp.</div>
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A good dinner later by Helen and her sister, Gerry (Tory's awesome grandmother), and we were soon in bed. I woke up around 2 a.m., fretting about riding and how I hadn't yet lined up enough babysitters for the following week to pick up the kids at camp. Ugh.</div>
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The next morning, Tory and I got our bikes and stuff together. I ate a banana and we were off to Reasnor, a tiny town 10 miles away. It was hilly, but oh my, it was cool and the sun was rising and it was amazing. A breakfast bowl from "Farm Kids", one of the many pop-up food places we'd see again over the route, and we were happy and full. </div>
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I was feeling spunky at that point, and gabbing Tory's ear off as we continued east toward Lynnville and Sully. Suddenly my chain popped off and I couldn't pedal.</div>
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This is one of the things that holds me back from biking more on my own. I know jack shit about fixing a bike. I've never even changed a tire. Deep confession.</div>
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So naturally, I panic. Tory's like, "calm down" and starts messing with the bike. Some thing that holds the chain in place is bent. He tries to fix it, but I still can't pedal. </div>
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Maybe 15 minutes into this, one of the members of the Air Force Cycling team -- which Tory told me rides RAGBRAI to assist troubled cyclists -- pulls over and begins to help us. He's a tall, young guy and super nice. He warns me he might break the derailer-whatever-it-is if he bends it back into place, but we have no choice.</div>
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It works! He tells us his name is Greg and he's stationed at Scott Air Force Base, which is near St. Louis. I tell him my dad's retired Air Force in Omaha, and thank him for his bike help. Tory and I continue on a mile to Lynnville where -- thank you!! -- there is a bike shop popup where someone is able to fix my bike enough to finish RAGBRAI. </div>
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That is a great thing about RAGBRAI -- in addition to food and drinks and funs stuff in every town, there are bike repair people to help you. What a relief!</div>
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The rest of the trip was rolling hills and stopping in little towns.<a href="https://ragbrai.com/tag/mr-pork-chop/"> I ate an amazing Iowa pork chop</a> out of a napkin on the side of the road. We stopped for ice cream. When we got to Sigourney that evening, we wound up in a weird, ginormous costume warehouse (!?), lured by the promise of free beer. We got to the RV park and took a very cold shower in 4H barn-like place for $5, but it was good to wash off the grime. Total mileage: 75, more than 3,000 feet of elevation climbed. I felt tired, but elated.<br />
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Day two was another 50-plus miles to my favorite Iowa town, Iowa City -- home to the University of Iowa and my diehard football fan husband's team. It was less hilly, with a stop in Amish country's Kalona, with delicious roadside goodies (homemade pies are a weakness of mine). Kalona is home to a great brewery, Kalona Brewing, so naturally we stopped for a beer. The taproom was packed full of bikers, everyone in a great mood. In Iowa City, we went to dinner at <a href="http://pullmandiner.com/">Pullman</a>, one of my new favorite Iowa City restaurants, and walked around on what was a beautiful summer night. I missed my family but it was pretty great.<br />
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Day three was 74 miles from Iowa City to Davenport, one of the Quad Cities on the Mississippi River. We trekked through West Liberty (super cute, quaint town) and I grabbed a pancake breakfast at the fire department in Atalissa to the east. We then rode through Moscow (blink and you missed it), Wilton, Wildcat Den State Park and then Montpelier, where Tory took a small roadside nap to allow me to catch up with him. This part of Iowa was a pretty break from the cornfields and soybean fields we'd been riding through, with more trees and some rolling hills.<br />
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We then went through Blue Grass, a tiny town with a gigantic drive-in movie theater, before finishing our ride to Davenport. The day had a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mayberry">Mayberry-like</a> quality for sure -- like time had frozen at some point in eastern Iowa. </div>
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I'd never been to Davenport. The riverfront was nice (I love riverfronts in general), and it was great to cross the finish line looking out at the Mississippi river (Big River! we always yell to the kids as we cross between Iowa and Illinois. I plan to yell that to them when they're teenagers, too). A quick burger with Tory, his grandparents and great-uncle, and we were on the road home to Chicago.<br />
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I absolutely loved RAGBRAI and biking. I'm so thrilled that I was in shape enough to do the ride and enjoy it. I'm wondering if I'm starting to like biking more than running. I can't wait to do another long organized ride.<br />
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Thank you to Helen in Newton for dinner and letting us stay at her house for the night; Curt for driving his RV all week and being all around awesome, to Tory's grandparents Mark and Gerry; who had always been so kind and wonderful since I first met them 30 years ago; Chris, Tory's dad, for doing the first four days with our son; Brett, my husband, for sparing me for a few days to do this awesome trip with Tory; and to my dad, who (mostly) patiently taught me how to ride a bike as a kid, and never fails to remind me how I used to crash into metal garbage cans.<br />
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And thank you to Tory -- a 50-year-old mom and 25-year-old guy don't have a lot of common interests, so I'm glad that you were willing to do this with your parents. It's fun having adult kids!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tory and I in Keota, Iowa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnL3WcymkOmJx8tfYnxrQ3bmNMtAElUNQBsnnS0zOrgswWcxLqvvFbGxRyKbses7FeljJfFe_NIfoLwQEfvA00fe0XxOmusYIcjwBKdtqHUPvNzFZ2JmxyBmlHBFzLQSejmmHvzv2Yws/s1600/IMG_1011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnL3WcymkOmJx8tfYnxrQ3bmNMtAElUNQBsnnS0zOrgswWcxLqvvFbGxRyKbses7FeljJfFe_NIfoLwQEfvA00fe0XxOmusYIcjwBKdtqHUPvNzFZ2JmxyBmlHBFzLQSejmmHvzv2Yws/s320/IMG_1011.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our comfy home</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3RR49uAzx54nekpUdcBHjw1M87MCyKRVc3s0SCGO18WDVnIvXPhVSQbAJGCZvXBTudem2NRo4Q7Fdg0MnBypvLtcYT8rbuVWMeriEsY6fR60zXggH6qQD58746-tVZjYii7dZjO-gVc/s1600/IMG_1013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3RR49uAzx54nekpUdcBHjw1M87MCyKRVc3s0SCGO18WDVnIvXPhVSQbAJGCZvXBTudem2NRo4Q7Fdg0MnBypvLtcYT8rbuVWMeriEsY6fR60zXggH6qQD58746-tVZjYii7dZjO-gVc/s320/IMG_1013.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this is West Liberty</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoCnr4ecCVuMngjzf8me0EYbcrB5WBFo3aie-4Bk0tqzP7qtikxa_6wYJTQmuXYu83MHG-yY3PCn9_hg-Jcevm8r-iVaMVpvPESRCf-U4lZk3SvzIAw9_toS75ovmfeYz7xSY8WuUm2Q/s1600/IMG_1015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFoCnr4ecCVuMngjzf8me0EYbcrB5WBFo3aie-4Bk0tqzP7qtikxa_6wYJTQmuXYu83MHG-yY3PCn9_hg-Jcevm8r-iVaMVpvPESRCf-U4lZk3SvzIAw9_toS75ovmfeYz7xSY8WuUm2Q/s320/IMG_1015.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atalissa, Iowa</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atalissa Fire Department making pancakes for cyclists</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drive-in in Blue Grass. Tory just signed the wall.</td></tr>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-7925779033060021242018-05-11T18:37:00.001-05:002018-05-11T18:37:38.596-05:00An accident and a raceLast Saturday, I got up super early, quietly dressing for a half marathon race just over the border in Wisconsin. It would be the third of three races in three weeks, and first races in my new age bracket of 50-54: the Lakefront 10-miler, 4/21; the Ravenswood 5K, 4/2; and that day the Wisconsin half marathon in Kenosha, where I ran my last full (miserable) marathon pre-hip surgery in 2016.<br />
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My friend Shaun picked me up at 4:45 -- we are used to very early runs together, so it's not unsual for us to meet at this hour. It was a warm-ish, windless morning -- really gorgeous out.<br />
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We were driving northbound on I-94 -- the Edens Expressway, as it's called locally. It was just past the first light of the day, but overall still dark out.<br />
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As we casually talked about our weeks, we came up upon what were two undistinguishable, large dark objects on either side of the freeway, not moving, with small dark objects strewn across the lanes.<br />
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It quickly became clear that something very bad had happened.<br />
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We stopped talking and Shaun pulled over to the right side of the road. The car accident must have just occured, because no one had yet stopped. It was a little eerie that no one was around, even at that hour.<br />
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I got out and walked over to the truck behind our parked car, while Shaun called 911. I didn't think about what I could be walking up to or if I could even open the door of an overturned car. As I approached, the door suddenly opened, the top of it scraping hard on the pavement and a man with a goatee burst out. He had blood on his face and teeth and stumbled as he unsteadily stood up and started toward the freeway. Right after him was a woman, who crawled out. I steered them both away from the road, worried they would walk into traffic.<br />
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The man fell over into the grass, and laid still. She followed and leaned over him, crying "Babe! Babe! Wake up!" I asked them if they had anyone else in the car, and she said no. I learned later that they have a two-year-old daughter together who, thankfully, was not in the car.<br />
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I have no medical training, but I didn't want to leave them until emergency responders arrived, so Shaun and I agreed to stay. It was growing more light out by the minute, and it seemed suddenly there were more people pulling over, wanting to help.<br />
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The car on the other side of the northbound lanes was pretty smashed up, and I was relieved to see that someone was moving around in there. I learned later that the person was trapped, and I don't know the condition of the second person in the vehicle.<br />
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The man with the goatee, a young-ish Latino man, groaned in pain as he laid on the grass next to the freeway. His right hand was an indistinguishable bloody pulp, and I could see his wrist bone exposed. <br />
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I didn't want his life partner -- that is how she described herself to me -- to have to look at it, and felt I should cover him to protect him, so I grabbed one of my clean shirts (I always have clothes to change into after a race) and gently covered him up, even as he cried out. God, it was awful, listening to a human in so much pain and being able to do so little.<br />
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HIs partner was so pretty, longish black hair and wearing a leather jacket, spots of blood all over her. She was anguished that she was driving. He kept moaning "I forgive you babe, it's not your fault!" They both said that they never saw the other car, and indeed, the other car didn't have any headlights on.<br />
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I gently hugged her and reminded her that she did her best . I didn't know what else to say.<br />
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It felt like an eternity that we sat there. He was now bleeding thru the gray t-shirt and both he and his partner moaned about why an ambulance wasn't there. Finally, a fire truck pulled up and ambulances began to arrive. I hugged her and said good-bye, that I would pray for her. I haven't stopped thinking about them all week.<br />
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Later at the race, when we met up with other friends running the race, we heard about this bad accident that snarled traffic and, purportedly, some runners couldn't even get to the race.<br />
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It was surreal that for the grace of God, we got there when we did. If it had been sooner, who knows if we could have gotten caught in it. If it was later, I could have been a disgruntled runner annoyed that I couldn't get to my race.<br />
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The race itself was fine -- it was hot and sunny and I was nauseous the last few miles. It was one of my slowest half marathons at 2:25. I just didn't care about the race and kept wondering about the couple. Did he lose his hand? I couldn't tell from all of the blood, and hoped that that wasn't the case. Did they have insurance? Would they be OK?<br />
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I sent an email this week to the suburban fire chief for the town that responded to the accident, after googling what skimpy news reports there were. It was a long shot, but I had to ask.<br />
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He actually answered me with a really nice email, citing HIPPA laws and said even fire departments can't find out from hospitals whether victims make it and how they're doing. He said if they contacted him, he'd let them know that I want to check on them and see if they need any help.<br />
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I hope they're OK.<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-73578645849985724842018-01-18T20:22:00.002-06:002018-01-18T20:22:24.958-06:00Frozen Gnome 10K: Race reportA year ago this week, the same week the 45th president was inaugurated and determined women marched across the globe, I had my first running-related surgery.<br />
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I had a hip arthoscopy to repair a torn labrum and to shave my thigh bone, to eliminate bone spurring and get it to fit right in my hip socket again. (<a href="https://www.rushortho.com/doctors/shane-nho">Dr. Shane Nho</a> through Rush Medical System, for those wondering. He is fantastic.)<br />
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<a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2017/01/surgery-story.html">Right before that surgery, I did a race</a> that is one of my annual favorites, the Frozen Gnome 10K/50K in Crystal Lake.<br />
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It is wicked hilly and stunningly pretty, and known for "buttslide hill", which is exactly what it sounds like. Every year I do the 10K and am sore for days -- the 50K is five loops on that terrain, and I admire the runners I see every year who do the whole thing. I also wonder how they can move the next day.<br />
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As I ran it just prior to surgery a year ago, my hip customarily ached deeply, as did my lower back, groin and the inside of my thigh. Despite how much running had come to frankly suck by then, I was optimistic about my surgery.<br />
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I wondered to my friend Shaun, who himself was rebounding from injury and starting to try and lose weight he had regained during injury, what this race would be like a year from that day, meaning this year.<br />
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Welp, Shaun and I both had an awesome time and awesome race this year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbqySsmh5q3sTPG0nY2Wg1heo7G12yyHhLxHZ_dvPSZmvZlnitZ1efrRDDniZe-3VBnHti71vgxffMa33vOITzcLk9SR86hxO5YVXSpPpN8NRs8gp2Mc5SAXcfw7wEVpkQtzbtKO5ybo/s1600/IMG_2543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbqySsmh5q3sTPG0nY2Wg1heo7G12yyHhLxHZ_dvPSZmvZlnitZ1efrRDDniZe-3VBnHti71vgxffMa33vOITzcLk9SR86hxO5YVXSpPpN8NRs8gp2Mc5SAXcfw7wEVpkQtzbtKO5ybo/s200/IMG_2543.JPG" width="200" /></a>Our usual Frozen Gnome crew carpooled from the city -- Krista, Shaun and Lindsay, who moved to Minnesota this past year but made sure to be in town for Frozen Gnome. (Yeah, we REALLY like this race so much that we're willing to cross state lines)<br />
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Another of our running friends, Terri, joined us this year. Aside: Terri fosters cats and gave me my awesome cat, Reckless, who we adopted four years ago this month. Here he is, licking our bathtub. Ick.<br />
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Crystal Lake is a pretty good haul from Chicago, at least an hour's drive in no traffic. It looks like it belongs in Iowa somewhere. Since it's a long trip, we spend the car ride every year discussing incredibly timely topics like the temperature at the start (this year it was 4 degrees. Since it was above zero, we're like, cool!).<br />
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There's also the annual speculation of how bad the ice will be on the course this year, how many pairs of socks and tights we're wearing, how many shirt/layers, which hat, which neck buff, etc.<br />
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(This year: Blue winter running jacket, windbreaker vest, Icebreaker wool shirt-- these are the bomb -- thickest tights in my possession, one thin and one thick pair of smartwool socks, and trail shoes. Other than my butt, I was pretty warm once I was running).<br />
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After previous years of deep snow, slush and icy -- we were surprised to see no snow and no ice. A freak thaw earlier in the week, when our temps got to almost 60 degrees, eliminated everything.<br />
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The start line consisted of runners, lots of them ultrarunners ready to run 50K, jumping around to stay warm, as some with a bullhorn counted down and a Journey song got blasted as we started running. One guy grumbled that this was the song that the White Sox ruined when they won the World Series in 2005 (Don't Stop Believin').<br />
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The ground was dry and frozen into uneven ruts. The trees were naked and bathed in sunlight. It was just gorgeous.<br />
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And I felt good, even with ice in my hair and on my eyelashes. I panted up and down hills I'm not used to running, but it felt good to breathe hard and struggle.<br />
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And it felt good not to hurt in a bad way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT3PHn48aWZ08Z0-VSRw36q6k3SD0ITnd1AYA5lGAQOJiSX3J2oGpBEIxZ0XJsjl6Q2AcXLUu7CW_M5VBljt1L3aTZILswvYxTm0Lrk9q9r-XNOnCVQ9h5Q8k4Y_Kcj0Kuc7QyymgaJk/s1600/IMG_2712+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT3PHn48aWZ08Z0-VSRw36q6k3SD0ITnd1AYA5lGAQOJiSX3J2oGpBEIxZ0XJsjl6Q2AcXLUu7CW_M5VBljt1L3aTZILswvYxTm0Lrk9q9r-XNOnCVQ9h5Q8k4Y_Kcj0Kuc7QyymgaJk/s200/IMG_2712+%25281%2529.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frosted hair, literally</td></tr>
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<br />I met a couple of Flatlanders, Holly and Stormy, along the way (an ultramarathon group named for Illinois' flatness in a good deal of the northern part of the state). It's fun to recognize someone on a course I've seen on the Flatlanders Facebook page or from the Strava app.<br />
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Stormy wore his daughter's white bunny-eared hat as a reminder of her, after losing her. His story isn't mine to tell, but man, I have thought of that hat a lot since the race. And I hugged my littlest ones a little extra when I got hom.<br />
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The rest of the race was a maze of steep hills, bare tree trunks, hard rutted ground and sun. Buttslide hill was snowless, so it required manuevering down the terrain like a crab, like gym class in grade school.<br />
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The rest of the story consists of meeting up in the warm car afterward to swap race stories, *maybe* someone flashed a running bra at someone, and hitting Starbucks for a satisfyingly large coffee.<br />
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How do you run in the winter? Easy -- find friends like the few hundred who love running Frozen Gnome and other trails in every kind of weather. They're out there, and they make getting out of bed and bundling up worth it.<br />
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My friend Shaun has lost a ton of weight and gotten into amazing shape. I can barely keep up with him running. He had a great race, finishing way ahead of me. I'm so happy for him. I love a good comeback story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmDfwSbGSKAMDTqs2_DgqmzXaLF1BQbX-2fN7AHReXNJCutz_GMueSuGlmoOLP8Ke-3ePCaLhSZJ7853LXiPPBJcj1HhQJ4mh74Fm-I5MVqUGqNhXCf4BIKAT8iZ-c2dLQh_DEm0REUU/s1600/IMG_2708+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmDfwSbGSKAMDTqs2_DgqmzXaLF1BQbX-2fN7AHReXNJCutz_GMueSuGlmoOLP8Ke-3ePCaLhSZJ7853LXiPPBJcj1HhQJ4mh74Fm-I5MVqUGqNhXCf4BIKAT8iZ-c2dLQh_DEm0REUU/s320/IMG_2708+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running friend lovelies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Next up: Indoor triathlon this week.<br />
<br />
"Tammy" and "triathlon" are seldom mentioned in the same sentence. Um.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-17067199715927571452018-01-09T19:46:00.004-06:002018-01-09T19:46:56.923-06:00Happy New Year, friends!Recently, my 8-year-old said something to the effect of, "If you say dumb things, that makes you dumb."<br />
<br />
As I think of goals for 2018, I'm now thinking of it in terms of "if you do dumb things, you're dumb."<br />
<br />
After a series of years running marathons and two 50Ks, 2017 was humbling.<br />
<br />
2017 running mileage: 507 miles<br />
2016 running mileage: 1,001 miles*<br />
<br />
*Many of these were pure crap <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2016/05/oh-windy-wisconsin-marathon-race-report.html">[see crappy Wisconsin marathon 2016 report]</a>, because of a torn hip labrum that resulted in hip arthoscopy surgery in January 2017.<br />
<br />
2017 biking mileage: 802 miles<br />
2016 biking mileage: 540 miles<br />
<br />
I found this year that I really like doing weights classes and yoga. I used to hate both. I rediscovered enjoying bike riding, including a 50-mile ride with my 25-year-old son and a few great running friends on a really hot fall day in Michigan<br />
<br />
(I will never forget my son changing his clothes in a dumpster in Three Oaks, Mich., after the race)\. And us laughing about it, while I changed in a car, for crying out loud.)<br />
<br />
I also found this a challenging year that had me weigh a job offer in California, where in my heart I want to move, but it was not the right thing for us.<br />
<br />
It also took me to a therapist, as I tried to figure out why I was so pissed off at the world. Turns out, I was entering menopause. NO ONE TOLD ME HOW MUCH IT WOULD SUCK.<br />
<br />
I ditched the therapist, rediscovered my wonderful regular doctor and now feel sane and normal, if a little sweaty from time to time.<br />
<br />
I also returned to running in May, four months after what was a successful surgery. I'm very grateful to Dr. Nho.<br />
<br />
This year I will turn 50. As I think about a second century of life, I am determined to do lots of things.<br />
<br />
I think the most important is to be a good, kind older person.<br />
<br />
I spent a good deal of the first century of my life taking from others, being needier rather than giving.<br />
<br />
I'd like to reverse that, and be the giver.<br />
<br />
I'm also really worried about all of the crabbiness and negativity that would be easy to cave in to. When someone cuts me off in traffic, and my normal, first reaction is to swear and be pissed off, I am *trying* to remind myself that people, most people, are trying to do their best.<br />
<br />
(My husband thinks this is ridiculous.)<br />
<br />
There's a lot about life that makes it easy to become jaded and negative, that sucks the joy out of you.<br />
<br />
I don't know if it happens to everyone in their 40s -- the decade I like to say when people become their parents, whether they like it or not.<br />
<br />
Our politics, the poverty we see daily, the nasty words on social media and news shows -- I still can't believe that this is it.<br />
<br />
I see it in people I know who can't forgive, who keep score. I've been guilty of that so many times. I don't want to be that person anymore.<br />
<br />
Recognizing my good luck to have had the upbringing and opportunities not afforded to all, I think about how trail running and yoga and hanging with good people and reading books reminds me that there is more to this world than all of the shouting that goes on.<br />
<br />
There's some pretty good things about life. I want to enjoy them more, and share them with people who need them.<br />
<br />
I want to avoid being another shouter, and do more good. If you have ideas, send em along.<br />
<br />
As for running and biking, here are my plans:<br />
<br />
--Frozen Gnome 10K trail, January (this is no ordinary 10K and my fourth year of this amazing race)<br />
--Lifetime indoor mini triathlon, January<br />
--Lakefront 10, April<br />
--Ravenswood 5K, April (my hood!)<br />
--Apple Cider Century bike ride, September<br />
--DPRT marathon, October (I ran this trail marathon in 2015 and loved it)<br />
<br />
I know I will still say and do dumb things this year. But hopefully, I'll do more good, too.<br />
<br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-45372300501646778122017-09-23T20:34:00.002-05:002017-09-23T20:34:44.385-05:00"Fun Mom": Race reportEight months ago, I had hip arthoscopy to fix my right hip, which had a torn labrum and bone spurring.<br />
<br />
Translated, it meant I couldn't straighten my right leg entirely, which messed up my running gait, which messed up running. Surgery in January repaired the labrum and shaved down the top of my thigh bone, so it fit in my hip socket again.<br />
<br />
I feel SO much better.<br />
<br />
Since May, I've been easing back into running, easing as in, I decided to join a friend of mine by signing up for the <a href="http://www.fv26.com/">Fox Valley half marathon</a> last Sunday.<br />
<br />
I've run similar races undertrained and a few months post-partum, so why not, right?<br />
<br />
Fox Valley is a good hour's drive outside of Chicago to a string of small towns along the Fox River that are cute, rustic-in-a-good-way and remind you that you have definitely left city limits. The Starbucks doesn't even automatically lock their bathroom.<br />
<br />
I met friends Krista and Lindsay, Krista doing the half, too, and Lindsay doing the full, both as fundraisers for <a href="https://volunteer.fmsc.org/register/#.WccCpciGPIU">Feed My Starving Children</a>. Both of them have recently dealt with some personal challenges. I love them both dearly, and admire them for toeing the starting line.<br />
<br />
Especially on a freakishly hot September day. Chicago is in an unusually hot spell this month, and the mercury was forecast to rise well into the 80s that morning.<br />
<br />
I didn't sleep much the night before, because I was like, wtf am I doing trying to run a half? Krista picked me up, since my car is still in the shop after someone cut off the catalytic converter from my car a week ago. Lovely.<br />
<br />
She hadn't slept much either, nervous about her own challenge that day of running after a forced hiatus.<br />
<br />
We traveled to the far flung burbs with Lindsay and Krista's husband, Scott, who radiates chill vibes, which I welcomed.<br />
<br />
Parking, pee breals, nerves and we were at the back of the start line, speedy Lindsay already off closer to the start line with her amazing support crew. We were already sweating in the heat and we hadn't yet started running.<br />
<br />
Krista and I ran three easy miles, with a few walk breaks. She saw her husband and decided she was good for the day..<br />
<br />
I gulped hard internally, thinking, oh boy, how am I going to do 10 myself?<br />
<br />
The next 10 miles were surprisingly good. It was ridiculously hot. Krista, joined now by her really sweet parents (who barely know me, but heartily cheered me on -- so kind) and her awesome hub, who yelled gustily "GO FUN MOM!"<br />
<br />
Oh yeah, I have to explain that.<br />
<br />
Months prior, when I signed up online for this race, I did it super fast before I could change my mind, and before I even told my husband. #badwife<br />
<br />
I signed up so fast I didn't remember this weird question of "would you like to put a nickname on your race bib?" For some reason, I randomly picked "fun mom" which was printed on my bib in giant letters as "FUN MOM".<br />
<br />
Good lord. Dork.<br />
<br />
So, Scott loved yelling "go fun mom" at me, as did plenty of race spectators.<br />
<br />
I mostly ran those miles, slow, concentrating to push off with step, to make sure my glutes and hamstrings were doing the work, and not lapsing into my plodding running in which the work is in the front of my legs and hips, to protect my newly healed hip.<br />
<br />
It worked.<br />
<br />
A miniature mimosa at mile 11 was helpful, too. I wanted to run backward for seconds, but decided to keep going.<br />
<br />
Despite the heat, despite my undertraining, I crossed the finish line at 2:41, my personal worst time ever, even slower than halfs I've run pregnant and post-partum.<br />
<br />
I was so happy to finish that I (mostly) didn't care about my time. "Fun moms" don't care about their race times, right?<br />
<br />
Mostly I just felt grateful. I'm OK again.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuknBalM4tTV1pd-MBaEOBqWsJsL1ZcfOyQbuJeNehihti7hguUkE8WQ_wMfgeObtBskQNhZgMtxkyrHY1zSVO9l1cYVBZOUYyfYO_7mrILm4yZLhHv3_-CiAf5GUuMbaUFKPuMriK6yo/s1600/IMG_2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuknBalM4tTV1pd-MBaEOBqWsJsL1ZcfOyQbuJeNehihti7hguUkE8WQ_wMfgeObtBskQNhZgMtxkyrHY1zSVO9l1cYVBZOUYyfYO_7mrILm4yZLhHv3_-CiAf5GUuMbaUFKPuMriK6yo/s320/IMG_2013.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No idea who this is, but I liked her shirt and sign</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYrelp0OaxjDqBe3QWwb-_2mceujvt-79lsAycDgumPf-OovnLlbPLZcxieEDZu-NiPNC4vCmwSJ410LDZ7I2b2eRkBm9S14I72fj_QVahynwY3BvJbnwDMOHPlIkBQv0M_lLk8MC9p0/s1600/IMG_2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYrelp0OaxjDqBe3QWwb-_2mceujvt-79lsAycDgumPf-OovnLlbPLZcxieEDZu-NiPNC4vCmwSJ410LDZ7I2b2eRkBm9S14I72fj_QVahynwY3BvJbnwDMOHPlIkBQv0M_lLk8MC9p0/s320/IMG_2018.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some really great people. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPZ12NanWDt-pRsDH28jtSnybn19m4qgMFLaeD9l3DisAqehCZLsXeNhiDvTOGwgyEgJQK2GA2XQqYn-XH3wgK3Vem-McxS85X9kzmY4bznAGlEWecWLTVEi_EOQFpRkaWyQyKHbN-yo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPZ12NanWDt-pRsDH28jtSnybn19m4qgMFLaeD9l3DisAqehCZLsXeNhiDvTOGwgyEgJQK2GA2XQqYn-XH3wgK3Vem-McxS85X9kzmY4bznAGlEWecWLTVEi_EOQFpRkaWyQyKHbN-yo/s320/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dork alert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCok9HMA3kL5Pqm0UkN9MzREhzFT7JEBZVu5Xj3OL0RXHZ8raEBg7Wxi0UnLLjwtG2ITKoO4ZARO_tDY_MLdCVWjg9CFgpQ-rEUcI6bo2nRDt-UPnM5paNPc4UofOC1wBteiVQWGo0o8/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMCok9HMA3kL5Pqm0UkN9MzREhzFT7JEBZVu5Xj3OL0RXHZ8raEBg7Wxi0UnLLjwtG2ITKoO4ZARO_tDY_MLdCVWjg9CFgpQ-rEUcI6bo2nRDt-UPnM5paNPc4UofOC1wBteiVQWGo0o8/s320/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fox River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0fLXtamMoUlScfu47iLburkxd8jKxB5AKtv7TCxNGnr7vybnVyPjr4TUso-0wYmnXVgy8i0F0xIoCKygi8YgmhHSDEqML_-mEvbrm8QCsndrZG2RKA675Ysrkb0zXFdrZeYxPm4CVPE/s1600/IMG_2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0fLXtamMoUlScfu47iLburkxd8jKxB5AKtv7TCxNGnr7vybnVyPjr4TUso-0wYmnXVgy8i0F0xIoCKygi8YgmhHSDEqML_-mEvbrm8QCsndrZG2RKA675Ysrkb0zXFdrZeYxPm4CVPE/s320/IMG_2010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Japanese garden -- so pretty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-39168749294788341602017-08-08T19:19:00.003-05:002017-08-08T19:19:54.617-05:00Celebrate with me: I quit smoking 10 years ago!I tried my first cigarette in junior high in the early 1980s. It was pretty gross. But I figured if I just stuck with it, I might like it some day.<br />
<br />
When college came around, I figured, why not try it here and there. By the time I was 21 and old enough to go to bars, I'd also figured out that buying Virginia Slims meant no guy would bum cigarettes off of me. (It worked.)<br />
<br />
At my first newspaper job, in a small town in Iowa, it seemed like everyone smoked. I bummed Merits off my editor.<br />
<br />
I got pregnant and married in short order, and didn't adjust to marriage well. As I failed miserably as a wife, I began picking up packs of Marlboro Light 100s here and there. I saw my mom smoke my whole life, and it didn't seem like a big deal.<br />
<br />
When my son was with his dad, I went out to bars and smoked and drank with fellow 20-year-olds.<br />
<br />
At some point around here, I was addicted. I eventually smoked every day.<br />
<br />
And I would do it for another 15 years, well into my days at the Chicago Sun-Times (we actually had a smoking room in our old building at 401 N. Wabash, it even grossed me out as a smoker).<br />
<br />
As a reporter at the paper, I began to worry quietly about my lifestyle, at times. I had gained quite a bit of weight. I smoked. I used to be cute and wasn't anymore.<br />
<br />
I like to figure out solutions to problems, so I went through Weight Watchers the year I married my husband, focusing on losing weight first, then learning to exercise regularly (it came slowly.)<br />
<br />
Four years later, in 2007, I decided, after running a couple of 5Ks as a newbie runner, that I was going to run a whole marathon.<br />
<br />
I can be impulsive.<br />
<br />
I had tried several times to quit smoking up to that point -- cold turkey and Wellbutrin, mainly. The feeling of failure felt heavy. Why was I so weak?<br />
<br />
I began marathon training, fretting that I was a fraud because I still smoked. One day, one of the heaviest smokers I'd ever met told me about a program at Northwestern Hospital. Eight weeks of weekly meetings, medication and support.<br />
<br />
I was tired of feeling weak and tired of being ashamed. Addiction is like being enslaved. I wasn't born smoking. Why did I feel like I needed to do it to get through the day?<br />
<br />
I went through the program, taking Chantix, the prescription medication. It gave me crazy, technicolor dreams. I don't think I had a good night's sleep for the few months I was on it.<br />
<br />
It also turns off the pleasure receptors of the brain that LOVE nicotine. It made smoking not fun at all.<br />
<br />
When you quit smoking -- and I would guess the same is true for alcohol or drug addiction -- you feel like you've lost something really important. You also feel like total shit for what seems like an eternity. I remember wondering if anyone had ever died from nicotine withdrawal. (No, don't think that's happened). Well, that, and the withdrawal from the ton of chemicals cigarette companies put in cigarettes to keep you hooked.<br />
<br />
That last cigarette I had, 10 years ago tonight, I remember as clearly as I remember where I was when the police chased OJ Simpson on a California freeway.<br />
<br />
I was in my kitchen, drinking a Cosmopolitan. (I really loved Sex and the City, including the signature show drink...) I smoked my last cigarette, and then took the half pack of Marlboro Lights that I had left and soaked them under the kitchen faucet.<br />
<br />
I was done.<br />
<br />
It's kind of amazing that it's been 10 years. Since then, I have since had two more children, changed jobs more than once, and run 10 marathons and 50Ks.<br />
<br />
It would be easy to say something like, see, if I can kick my addiction, anyone can. But in a way, I had it easy. Right after I quit smoking, the state of Illinois banned indoor smoking, including bars. Few if any of my friends smoked anymore. I was seldom near a smoker at all.<br />
<br />
I imagine for an alcoholic, it has to be a lot harder, since we live in a society that really dwells on drinking. If you decline a drink at a party, some people will assume you have a problem or you're pregnant. If you declined a cigarette, well, that's cool, then.<br />
<br />
I sat next to a woman on the train today who reeked of cigarette smoke, and felt grateful that I got that help to kick smoking that I did. Not smug, just grateful.<br />
<br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-81373713170226784532017-07-16T13:14:00.003-05:002017-07-16T13:18:55.402-05:00The church of mowing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqgmmxN-Oc6OFwjTCX3hIoGC_zOSxlXPAifQ-fh6gT3hXj1L8sLsp9zloZyIVXsWCKv-S1DfwpH-ay7huq4v4qaZdukc1HpYK07aC-Qv67v9hLhJC4J3QS0cIxy0iYErS6s1Z5dQgVpI/s1600/IMG_1459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqgmmxN-Oc6OFwjTCX3hIoGC_zOSxlXPAifQ-fh6gT3hXj1L8sLsp9zloZyIVXsWCKv-S1DfwpH-ay7huq4v4qaZdukc1HpYK07aC-Qv67v9hLhJC4J3QS0cIxy0iYErS6s1Z5dQgVpI/s320/IMG_1459.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I want to feel 18 again, I mow the lawn.<br />
<br />
I'm going to exaggerate here, but only a little. I love mowing. And I love mowing when it's hot and humid.<br />
<br />
I grew up an Air Force kid, our family domiciled in Omaha, Nebraska from the start of my eighth grade year at Logan Fontenelle Junior High until I graduated from Bellevue West High School in 1986.<br />
<br />
Though the Deep South (not sure why I feel the need to capitalize that, but I do) is best known for torrid summers, summers in eastern Nebraska are hot, sticky affairs as well.<br />
<br />
Compared with my current home of 20-plus years in Chicago, just a few miles from a nearly constant cooling Lake Michigan, nearly all weather in Nebraska is about extremes -- hotter, more humid, colder, snowier, and a heck of a lot more tornados than Chicago.<br />
<br />
It was those summers in high school, as the oldest of an Air Force colonel and a stay-at-home mom, I got the marquis chores, including mowing. I grumbled, but I kind of liked it, too.<br />
<br />
There was something so physically satisfying about pushing sweat out of my eyes, under a wicked and unforgiving sun, and seeing the lines of newly tamed and shortened grass emerge. Even as I was dive-bombed by a million mosquitoes and biting flies.<br />
<br />
Back then, you had to put a grasscatcher on the mower -- if mulching mowers were around, we didn't have one -- so every so often I'd have to stop, turn it off and go empty the then-heavy, fragrant grass, especially if it was wet and clumping, seeing my fingertips quickly become stained green.<br />
<br />
My shoulders would ache, though not terribly, and sweat would trickle down the front of my bra and soak the back of my shirt.<br />
<br />
In those days, I didn't feel pretty or thin -- though now I look back and know that I was just fine. As I mowed then, I'm sure I thought about school -- hard AP classes, trying to keep up my mostly all-As, boys that I desperately liked but felt unworthy of. I'd also think about how many calories I must be burning, so that I wouldn't get fat.<br />
<br />
Being a slightly neurotic teen-age girl is so fun, isn't it?<br />
<br />
And yet I remember joy on those hot days. The satisfaction of a hard job well done. Feeling physically strong. It took years for me to discover that again, when I started running in late 30s and worked my way into long trail races.<br />
<br />
My husband and I bought our house 15 years ago next month. He grew up mainly in apartments and was eager to have his own yard and mower. I figured since I mowed as a kid, I'd be the mower in the family. Conflict!<br />
<br />
Yes, we both love to mow, but I usually don't insist on it. I sneak it in once in a while, when he's run to the store or sleeping or on the rare occasion that he's out, like he is this weekend at the Pitchfork Music Festival.<br />
<br />
After a trip to the pool, I got the kids settled with Netflix and a snack, and went to the garage.<br />
<br />
I got the hand hedge clippers and the hand edger out -- I never, ever use a power edger. Doing it by hand just feels like honest work.<br />
<br />
Sweat poured in my eyes as usual,. I pulled up my shirt many times to wipe my drenched, hot face, not caring who might get a glimpse of my torso, which has housed three babies.<br />
<br />
I edged carefully, my Air Force colonel's daughter self pleased with the neat lines that formed and tidily separated the lawn and the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
I hand-clipped the areas where the mower won't reach (my husband usually skips that part and it drives me a little bananas).<br />
<br />
And then I mowed, first moving the mower on the outside edges to form a frame for the lawn, then methodically mowing diagonally because it just looks awesome.<br />
<br />
The sweat soaked my shirt and tricked down my bra, the sun bright and warm against my neck. I felt young again. Being 17 or 18 wasn't easy, but there were young moments of happiness, of feeling like aha, I have this.<br />
<br />
I felt that again as I saw the manicured lines made by the mower, and stood and looked at the lawn when I was done.<br />
<br />
I was happy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQ0tCqRb_hADFnjivblnSq6FwICUoKQAh24_qqS5tWLs8ugOBQ2lEs_CHzhqKGuWQnaONinnc4TWU9OvwA1ZoeLLwcMP8RUR7bSxvnKoQ3SQihuEDtzbRgw_JxPVBwTQBA8YkfMz9k8o/s1600/IMG_1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQ0tCqRb_hADFnjivblnSq6FwICUoKQAh24_qqS5tWLs8ugOBQ2lEs_CHzhqKGuWQnaONinnc4TWU9OvwA1ZoeLLwcMP8RUR7bSxvnKoQ3SQihuEDtzbRgw_JxPVBwTQBA8YkfMz9k8o/s320/IMG_1455.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hand-trimmed overgrown grass around this ugly sewer thing we try to hide with flowers.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDA3gjdSrbH8y28icXKSuHetkVcoGIf4t2AFl5svPI6ZcDt0_rCEBgMB9DyUsZ6f5oMCv5fGQ3Hvkv2tW5UMjPwwSZCdEqWxzh5rHgk11EMTHaoScXWm6iSxfH4lOXG5ZuBj2mANWVV5M/s1600/IMG_1457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDA3gjdSrbH8y28icXKSuHetkVcoGIf4t2AFl5svPI6ZcDt0_rCEBgMB9DyUsZ6f5oMCv5fGQ3Hvkv2tW5UMjPwwSZCdEqWxzh5rHgk11EMTHaoScXWm6iSxfH4lOXG5ZuBj2mANWVV5M/s320/IMG_1457.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neat and tidy edging. Love our backyard -- a nice little sanctuary in the city.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAxii6uRhR-Tqppq2bZa7rdv3ptP-apif7HupWVgCaJ1xLcaAP-4jGx1I27zQtOOIjr1z8uYhVfeMvDz-T3usiF9AklQy0Cdzg9L-Ut_pXnQj_R_sI97Qhg0eohkNAWytywkuSokz-pU/s1600/IMG_1458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAxii6uRhR-Tqppq2bZa7rdv3ptP-apif7HupWVgCaJ1xLcaAP-4jGx1I27zQtOOIjr1z8uYhVfeMvDz-T3usiF9AklQy0Cdzg9L-Ut_pXnQj_R_sI97Qhg0eohkNAWytywkuSokz-pU/s320/IMG_1458.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you look hard, you might be able to see the diagonal mowing lines.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-71493079337962181872017-06-15T06:51:00.001-05:002017-06-15T06:51:15.498-05:00Graduation day, babyAt 4:15 a.m., as I drove north on a pretty desolate Western Avenue toward Evanston, I noticed the outline of clouds against an already-lightening sky. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I steered into the condensed school parking lot at 4:30, the cars I recognize as quickly as my own were there -- the light teal Prius and the dark Honda CRV. It made me smile.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And there was the old crew -- Krista, Terri, Betsey and Kellie. I hadn't run with them since before my hip scope surgery last January. Another runner has joined the group, Kara. Sleepily, we introduced ourselves. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
OK, maybe I was just the sleepy one, after some wine with some wonderful colleagues last night and months of not getting up at 4 a.m. for runs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We began running the still dark streets, the sky rapidly brightening as our feet quietly tapped along the pavement.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sweet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Earlier this week, I was finally and officially cleared to run, graduating from the "back to running" anti-gravity treadmill. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After four months of no running and a ton of physical therapy, I had been running on a special treadmill for about four-ish weeks that encased my lower half in a bubble and did run/walks starting at 65% of my body weight. It also reminded me that I have back fat, which gets squished upward when you run on an anti-gravity treadmill. Fun!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Each session I increased by 5% and each time the amount of running increased and walking decreased. I learned that I would like running even more if I just weighed, oh, 120 pounds. Which I don't.</div>
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So today was the test... could I run my old morning default distance of 5 miles? Yes, yes I did. </div>
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It's good to be back.</div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-89752962033049781712017-02-03T14:37:00.002-06:002017-02-03T14:37:35.981-06:00Hipsters, help and -- yay -- I'm two weeks post-opAs of today, I'm two weeks and a day post-op from a <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2017/01/surgery-story.html">hip arthoscopy</a> to fix a <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/hip-labral-tear/home/ovc-20270126">hip labral tear </a>(torn cartilage) and a <a href="http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/topic.cfm?topic=a00571">femoral acetabular impingement</a> in my hip.<br />
<br />
Yay!<br />
<br />
My surgery was done the day before the new presidential administration took office, so you could say my recovery has tracked the new administration. Let's just say my recovery is going much more smoothly.<br />
<br />
Some observations:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>When people see you in a hip brace and crutches, they automatically assume something very bad happened. It just looks worse than it is -- it's pretty good so far.</li>
<li>I can button my jeans again this week. SWEET!</li>
<li>My family's been pretty great in helping. My 7-year-old just learned to tie his shoe (because his mom just got around to teaching him, oops) so he's gotten to practice on me, since I'm not supposed to be doing deep bends, which makes putting on my right shoe hard. </li>
<li>Doors get opened for me, cars stop to let me crutch across the street (this is a good thing in Chicago), people even bring me food. (Yum. I wish that last part could continue indefinitely.)</li>
<li>Binny's delivers. Yes!</li>
<li>I'm sleeping in my 5-year-old daughter's "My Little Pony"-adorned bed right now, so I don't have to navigate stairs to my room in the middle of the night. She thinks it's one big slumber party, enthusiastically agreeing to sleep in her plush unicorn sleeping bag on the floor. I think she thinks I'm going to stay there permanently. The cat sleeps with me there, too. </li>
<li>My running friends are SO nice to set up reasons for me to leave my house and gab for hours. Non-running friends (who I imagine are like yeah, dummy, running is bad for you) have been so nice, too, with cards and even a book to read while I'm off work. Which I haven't yet started, but I will!</li>
<li>I'm so grateful for a FB group that calls ourselves "hipsters" and shares surgery and recovery stories. Reading of others' experiences of having multiple hip surgeries, I'm attacking my recovery like a double cheeseburger on a camping trip. It's like quitting smoking -- I really, really, really only want to do this once, thankyouverymuch.</li>
<li>Hip surgery does not automatically mean hip replacement. I've been asked that a lot. I'm not old enough to join AARP yet and, therefore, using only vanity for logic, I'm obviously too young for a hip replacement. (According to the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons, the <a href="http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/topic.cfm?topic=a00377">average age is 50 to 80</a>. OK, so I'm closer than I thought. But not there yet!)</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
One of the challenges of all of this has been going from exercising six days a week, with sweaty runs or spin classes several days a week, to, well, not sweating at all.<br />
<br />
I realized how much I depend upon exercise to keep me well below "snarling" level. I felt really down several times this past week. (Though, compared with problems others are facing now, I kept reminding myself a lot that I am really, really lucky.)<br />
<br />
I'm allowed to ride a stationary bike with no resistance for 20 minutes every day, on which it s impossible to break a sweat or generate much in the way of endorphins. I asked (ok, maybe I pleaded with) my physical therapist, who cleared me to lift weights (upper body) and that has lifted my mood. It always pays to ask for what you need.<br />
<br />
I will be able to give up crutches as early as next week, so that's cool. The clunky brace in a few more weeks. Drive a car again some day. Eventually attempt the elliptical machine (six weeks) and -- the sweetest gift -- running (four months).<br />
<br />
I'm getting there. ☺✌🏃<br />
<br />
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-69846520225744200602017-01-26T13:03:00.002-06:002017-01-26T13:07:51.779-06:00Surgery storyA couple of weeks ago, I ran the <a href="http://www.runfrozengnome.com/">Frozen Gnome</a> 10K trail race, known for its January frostiness, ultrarunners (because there's a 50K option), "butt-slide hill", and, of course, a human runner dressed as a GNOME.<br />
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There's a little group of us who have done it each of the last three years, and we're addicts. At <a href="http://crystallakeparks.org/Parks-Facilities/Veteran-Acres.asp">Veteran Acres</a> in Crystal Lake, this race is the only reason I even know where Crystal Lake is.<br />
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This race is one big postcard for snowy (well, icy this year), hilly and tranquil woods that will remind you that you have a soul -- and it needs feeding.<br />
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This was my last race before surgery,which was a week ago today.<br />
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As I ran that morning, I didn't feel bummed or worried as I anticipated the surgery. Sure, my hip ached, as it had daily in the last year and more. It had ached during this particular race last year, too, long before I knew I had a labral hip tear and a bone deformity that only surgery would (hopefully) be able to fix.<br />
<br />
As I ran, I felt calm and hopeful instead, knowing that maybe I will feel so much better when I run this race in January 2018.<br />
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***<br />
Last Thursday, I woke up with a jumpy stomach after not sleeping much. So much for calm.<br />
<br />
The week prior I had been a distracted mess, forgetting my husband's haircut appointment and that I needed to pick up the kids, losing stuff around the house and forgetting to turn in the Girl Scout cookie order.<br />
<br />
I totally disqualified myself for mom or wife of the month, for sure. Good thing there's a low bar here for that.<br />
<br />
We got the kids ready for school. I was worried the two littles, who are 5 and 7, would be scared, but fortunately they seemed ok and much better than me.<br />
<br />
After hugs and final walking-to-school instructions to my oldest son, who is 24, Brett and I were off to Rush Hospital in Oak Park.<br />
<br />
We made it on time, because I lied to my husband and told him we had to be there earlier than we really did. I don't like to lie but man, it works every time. It's worth him being annoyed with me. I hate to be late.<br />
<br />
We got into a little waiting room right away, and then sat for a few hours. Because I couldn't eat or drink anything after midnight, I was grumpy.<br />
<br />
That faded when a hospital worker showed up with a bed and said to hop on, it was time to go to the operating waiting area. Fear flooded me as I got on to the bed and I started to cry as I looked at my husband. I'm a cryer, that's just what happens when I get freaked.<br />
<br />
As I sniffled my way to the OR holding area, the worker mispronounced my name, Tamara, and said "Ta-MARR-uh, you're not crying, are you?" I was like, yeah, I am.<br />
<br />
He said it would be OK, that my surgeon was awesome (he was about the 50th person who by this point told me how awesome my surgeon is, which was comforting) and that when Chicago Bulls players come in for surgery, they're pretty scared too. Well, that got my attention!<br />
<br />
I laid in a holding area for another hour, watching Trump's Treasury Secretary nominee, investment banker Steven Mnuchin, get grilled by the Senate, which gave me some grim glee as nurses paraded in and out of my room, very cheerful and encouraging.<br />
<br />
(God, nurses are awesome.)<br />
<br />
Finally, it was time to be wheeled into the OR, so my anesthesia "cocktail" was added to my IV and I was brought into the OR.<br />
<br />
So this is kind of nerdy, but I really wanted to see that OR before I fell asleep. How often, outside of TV, do non-medical people see these? For the brief few minutes I was still awake, it was an amazing sight, with equipment, lights and plastic sheeting everywhere.<br />
<br />
And then, it was over. A few groggy hours in recovery and a few most lost hours laying around after that and my husband was helping me in the car. Or the nurse. Who knows.<br />
<br />
I dry heaved part of the way home and don't remember much else other than hugs and cards from my awesome kiddies.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Since then, it's been all about resting and recovering. I have to use, just for a few weeks, lots of medical equipment. I'm really, really, really trying to be good and do what I'm supposed to do:<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFSGi8EjJQCkAQlnqK3iIOzPwqi0Y4FTGXUQSa5gVdTuX9XatId-fj9XesToV5gHNHM1gRzL-CGQfJ4RzMwDvNqcakVYd6RQyAJ69ZM7PqGez692V3X_axTvYta6ma12wUB5Gh9MrLHg/s1600/surgery+coll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFSGi8EjJQCkAQlnqK3iIOzPwqi0Y4FTGXUQSa5gVdTuX9XatId-fj9XesToV5gHNHM1gRzL-CGQfJ4RzMwDvNqcakVYd6RQyAJ69ZM7PqGez692V3X_axTvYta6ma12wUB5Gh9MrLHg/s400/surgery+coll.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fixing a runner takes a lot of equipment, apparently. From top left, clockwise: Crutches (obviously), no more than 20 pounds on the surgical leg, which is really hard to gauge; Reckless the cat checks out the ice wrap/compression machine, used several times a day; the <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">CPM, a passive motion machine on which I lay my leg and it lifts it up and down, four hours a day; </span>foam "booties" that hold my toes up toward the ceiling while I sleep (FUN!!! I hate back sleeping); and a <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">sassy hip brace that amplifies the frumpy mom look (but I'm wearing a Frozen Gnome race shirt, so that's cool).</span><br />
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To pass time, I'm (finally) reading some books, since I stopped reading them sometime around 2009. I'm currently reading <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/algren-mary-wisniewski/1123528109">Algren: A Life </a>by a friend of mine. It's really good.</div>
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I'm studying Spanish again, though when I watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2707408/">Narcos</a> much of it is still spoken too quickly for me to understand. But I pick up more individual words now, so that's cool.</div>
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I also got to weigh in on my oldest son's Tinder profile description, which needed some work. I think he regrets showing me that now. (Too much self deprecation in his self-description, if you ask me. Which he didn't. Overreaching mom, right here). </div>
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And I finally watched <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0314331/">Love, Actually</a>, which came out 14 years ago. It was awesome.</div>
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Each day, I crutch over to the gym two blocks from my house every morning for my 20 minutes of stationary bike riding, clutching any chance I can to preserve my sanity and escape from 1. presidential politics and 2. the fact that I CAN'T GO FOR A RUN FOR 3 3/4 MORE MONTHS. </div>
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If I time it right, I get to catch a glimpse of a line of parka-clad three-year-olds grasping a rope on a morning walk from the local day care. </div>
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So stinking cute. Can't wait for you little cutie-pies to grow up and fix the world. </div>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-39348134458426398372017-01-04T09:23:00.000-06:002017-01-04T09:24:58.857-06:00Good-bye, 2016, the year of crap running. Hello, 2017!A few days after Christmas, I had planned to run eight miles with a couple of regular running buddies.<br />
<br />
But my hip ached -- again -- so I bailed, reluctantly. An MRI in November revealed a hip labral tear -- basically, the cartilage in the hip socket is torn and there is a bone spur or something like that.<br />
<br />
The good news is I can still run a little, though nowhere near my usual mileage. This is good news for my family, too, since they have to live with me and a few miles is better than no miles.<br />
<br />
I've made up the difference as best as I could with weekly weight-lifting classes and tons <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2016/09/the-silver-lining.html">more biking </a>and spin classes.<br />
<br />
Like other runners, I love to track my mileage. I use Strava, an online app that makes it easy.<br />
<br />
So as the year end approached, my ego piped up. I wondered what my mileage would look like for 2016, considering I've been injured basically all year, including during <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/2016/05/oh-windy-wisconsin-marathon-race-report.html">my worst marathon race/time ever last spring</a>.<br />
<br />
As of 12/30, I was at 992 miles.<br />
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Dang it. I could have hit 1,000 if I hadn't blown off my run earlier in the week.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I'm smart and sometimes I'm a bonehead. So to get my miles up past the millennial milestone, I ran just over eight miles on New Year's Eve in Southwestern Michigan, discovering during my run the <a href="http://www.swmlc.org/content/wau-ke-na-william-erby-smith-preserve-0">Wau-Ke-Na nature preserve trails</a>.<br />
<br />
Sure, the run felt like crap from the waist down, so I focused on how pretty the countryside was. It *kind of* worked, like eating fat-free ice cream and pretending it tastes amazing.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEG0Uyj7aX5pHy-wl3J5PuCAXGveg65t5rMe2RyMBwFpgA2VVlBYg2nKfHaqo4M1Kj9rblKKX8mgiJ3sSqpYkKvdZgX2cuw5ib49m93bEeltYBlthDxk6CtSgyx1qcjcinT40GpTKdmgA/s1600/michigan+running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEG0Uyj7aX5pHy-wl3J5PuCAXGveg65t5rMe2RyMBwFpgA2VVlBYg2nKfHaqo4M1Kj9rblKKX8mgiJ3sSqpYkKvdZgX2cuw5ib49m93bEeltYBlthDxk6CtSgyx1qcjcinT40GpTKdmgA/s320/michigan+running.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://www.swmlc.org/content/wau-ke-na-william-erby-smith-preserve-0">Wau-Ke-Na</a> nature preserve near Fennville, Mich. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thanks to that run, I finished 2016 with 1,001 miles, a nice big number accomplishment for a rough year of running.<br />
<br />
And I biked 911 miles for the year, way more than I've biked in recent years and a function of being forced to do something besides run all the time.<br />
<br />
My sports doc tells me that it can take two years on average to diagnose a labral tear because so many other things have to be ruled out as the root cause, like the hamstring tendon tear last summer.<br />
<br />
We tried a steroid injection after Thanksgiving, but it didn't stick.<br />
<br />
She says it's common in women runners who have had kids. Indeed, since having my daughter five years ago, the connection between my hip and hamstring has felt "stuck" and I've been in and out of physical therapy since then -- sometimes for hip stuff, sometimes back issues.<br />
<br />
I really like running and kids. Bummer. But I wouldn't change the last several years -- I love being a mom and I love running.<br />
<br />
Next stop is surgery. I meet with the surgeon this week. He's recommended by both my doc and by the ultrarunning community, so I'm feeling hopeful and optimistic about this next step.<br />
<br />
And, eventually, I'll be back to full-fat ice cream.<br />
<br />
Yum.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-1462658520435304662016-11-12T09:25:00.000-06:002016-11-12T19:17:31.489-06:00Soy una mujer We were blabbing away, happily on an early morning run. Early runs with my running besties set the tone for the day, I truly believe.<br />
<br />
A car crept up to the left of us.<br />
<br />
It was dark, save for the streetlights along the roadway. And it was loud -- we were venturing on to an overpass over Interstate 90, which connects downtown Chicago to O'Hare, suburbs and eventually, Wisconsin and on to Seattle.<br />
<br />
Even at 5 a.m., the expressway roars.<br />
<br />
We could make out the shape of a guy at the wheel. His car slowed to a crawl, and he was looking at us and trying to say something. The din of the freeway noise drowned him out. We picked up our step, instinctively.<br />
<br />
No woman wants to talk to a strange guy crawling by her in his car. It's happened before. He's not there to say good morning.<br />
<br />
He had to stop a bit in front of us for a stoplight. Shit, we thought, slow down until the light turns green and he has no choice but to keep going.<br />
<br />
The light turned, and he waited. We had caught up with him again, unfortunately. And he sat there with his passenger window still down, leaning toward us and trying to say something. My heart was pounding. Keep going, we said to each other. Fortunately, the car behind him honked and forced him to move -- presumably, go home for the night, we thought.<br />
<br />
We quickly detoured to side streets. We still run side streets now.<br />
<br />
About a year ago, walking to my train station, a distraught woman called out to me and asked me if she could walk with me.<br />
<br />
Confused, I said "sure". She quickly explained that the dude on the bike on the street had been following her and trying to talk to her. Seeing both of us glaring at him, he went away.<br />
<br />
These instances are by far exceptions in life. I am blessed to be surrounded by good, loving men -- my loyal, do-the-right-thing husband. My 24- and 7-year-old sons. My wonderful bosses, so many amazing guy friends and colleagues who are bright, funny, and so supportive of women.<br />
<br />
But this shit does happen to women. And worse. Like just about every woman I know, I've been grabbed in places I shouldn't be, called horrible names and had men push themselves on to me. I was once told I was hired because my boss liked my legs, and once almost didn't get a job because I wore a pantsuit instead of a dress. (And the editor who almost didn't hire me because of that was a woman!)<br />
<br />
This crap happens less now that I'm older, but occasionally I still find myself in uncomfortable or scary positions, and it pisses me off.<br />
<br />
The great thing about being older is that I'm less afraid to be a bitch if I need to -- even when they scream obscenities at you for standing up for yourself. (Go ahead, dude, you think I haven't been called that before?) Though yeah, I'm still scared, I'll admit.<br />
<br />
With the guy in the car, I wondered what went through his head -- if it occurred to him that he might be freaking the shit out of women running in the dark by pulling up to us like that.<br />
<br />
I'll never know, though I can pretend he went home, put on his jammies and went to bed, and later woke up and had a feminist epiphany and decided he should help women and not scare the crap out of them. Or maybe he just woke up with a headache.<br />
<br />
After the election events of this week, I've been thinking about a lot of this stuff. There is so much hate and rage and bullying and shit out there I want to pull the cover over my head and hide. It's so bad for our kids and for people less able or unable to defend themselves. Someone opened up the box of human depravity and left it open. I feel sick, over and over.<br />
<br />
And it's not like I'm remotely perfect. I am a deeply flawed person. Just ask some of my relatives. I don't do enough for the world, or my friends, or my family. I try, but I know I fail a little every day.<br />
<br />
Hillary failed, too. I first got to see her in action covering a health care event she did in 1993 in Des Moines. I was impressed. I've watched her for 20-plus years, as she got older, I grew up. In my 20s, I could not figure out why people were so freaked out by her. I remained impressed with her through the years. I've watched her get skewered over the years, and watched her fail, too, and spectacularly so this week.<br />
<br />
When this photo of Hillary went viral this week, it made me smile.<br />
<br />
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<br />
She dusted herself off and was still smiling, if tiredly. God bless you. If you can do it, we can do it.<br />
<br />
Sure, sometimes we're scared. But we can keep going.<br />
<br />
Working on my part in that now -- how can I better support women around me, and women I haven't yet met. I have friends going through divorces, betrayal, job losses, miserable bosses and not being paid what they're worth, infertility, cancer, loneliness -- and want to help and support beyond what I normally do. Kids, too -- the little ones who go to school and get called the n-word or beat up because they're Muslim. It's a knife in my chest. For the love of god, we have to protect our kids!!<br />
<br />
Figuring out what and where I can be most helpful. I know I will fall short, but I have to do more.<br />
<br />
Soy una mujer. Soy una mama. Soy una estudiante en espanol. Soy una hermana, una hija y una amiga, una esposa, we learned this week in the conversational Spanish class I'm taking. Those aren't just descriptions -- they mean something.<br />
<br />
And are reminders that we should fight for those who need us to fight for them -- even if my heart is racing and someone is telling me I'm a bitch or a whiny city liberal.<br />
<br />
I saw this quote attributed to Lucille Ball this morning -- "I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't."<br />
<br />
Yep. Let's go, ladies. It's a new day.<br />
<br />
And thanks, Hillary. <3<br />
<br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-13901631966390683472016-09-19T07:06:00.001-05:002016-09-19T07:07:40.792-05:00The silver liningThis has been the summer of biking in our house.<br />
<br />
We've worked hard with our "littles" to teach them how to ride bikes. It's paying off.<br />
<br />
Little M-man, my 7-year-old, is now able to pedal in short spurts. A little dude who struggles with confidence sometimes, he was beaming Saturday as he worked with his big brother and was actually biking on his own.<br />
<br />
His 5-year-old sister C is tearing around on her tiny pink bike, demanding to go farther than the sidewalks near our house. She wants to bike with mommy, whose nagging running injury has prompted her to bike more.<br />
<br />
I love that girl's spunk.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder if the world is getting crabbier, or if as I age I am viewing the world through a different lense. It seems so many people are unhappy or angry sometimes, and grumbling is a reflex. I'm certainly guilty of it.<br />
<br />
I was recently walking on Michigan Avenue, which teemed with people on a warm September afternoon. I wondered how many of them were crabby. I pictured them as cute babies instead, to see if my lense of humanity would be kinder. I decided to picture them as five-year-olds instead. Kids that age are the bomb.<br />
<br />
Some stuff you can't fix. Some stuff you can, if you try.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Long before I became a runner, I biked. My introduction to biking as a kid was far from remarkable.<br />
<br />
I had a pink bike with a pink striped banana seat (I LOVED that bike). Back then, we didn't wear bike helmets. My dad will still laugh about how many times I crashed into garbage cans trying to learn. It seemed to take forever. (God, it took forever...)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But then biking became fun, super fun. It meant big-kid freedom to wander. Sometimes, as I got older, it meant peace, a chance to collect jumbled thoughts, whether it was my bewildered eighth grade self on military base housing streets in Omaha or my troubled new mom self, back when my oldest son was born, on a little used trail east of Des Moines.<br />
<br />
I vowed that this year would be the summer that my kids would learn to ride -- and hopefully, learn to love biking as I did. And that has been so great to work with them.<br />
<br />
It's also been great to re-discover biking for myself and remember why I loved it so much.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday morning, I had planned to do another of a series of rides I've been doing on the weekends lately along the <a href="http://www.traillink.com/trail/north-shore-channel-trail.aspx">North Channel Trail</a>, which runs thru a chunk of the North Side of Chicago into a bunch of suburbs, eventually reaching the Green Bay Trail that starts in the tony suburbs of Wilmette, Kenilworth and Winnetka (which, at ~20 miles round trip from my house, is as far as I've gotten). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But M-man was up in the middle of the night. He is usually a great sleeper, but he was barking-coughing and crying. Poor kid was miserable. I stayed with him until he could sleep again, so I didn't get up as early as I would have liked to get 25 miles in (that was my goal).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, by the time I got up and fed the kids, I had an hour or so to squeeze in a ride before a kids' birthday party. I decided to bike west from my house, along some more bike-friendly streets, to the <a href="http://fpdcc.com/preserves-and-trails/trail-descriptions/">North Branch trail</a>, where I've done plenty of runs.<br />
<br />
Given the time constraint, I knew that just as I reached the <a href="http://fpdcc.com/location/caldwell-woods/">Caldwell Woods</a>, where the awesome paved bike trails began and wound north that I would have to turn around.<br />
<br />
But hey, a ride's a ride. And it was a beautiful fall day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then I discovered something awesome.<br />
<br />
The biking path has been extended south of Caldwell Woods to Cicero and Forest Glen roads, easily accessible from bike-friendly Bryn Mawr Road.<br />
<br />
I was elated.<br />
<br />
The construction/do not enter signs were still up, promising $500 fines for trespassers, but the path had plenty of scofflaw bikers and walkers already.<br />
<br />
I joined them. A new path is just irresistible.<br />
<br />
I giddily biked up to Caldwell Woods, my turnaround. I wanted to split myself in two -- send one mom back to do all the mom stuff at my house, and the other part of me keep biking, wind in my hair.<br />
<br />
The rest of the day, I thought about that ride. I got grouchy about stupid stuff at a few points in the day, which I feel silly about, and reminded myself to think about the things that make us happy. If I'm grouchy, even if I can't go for a bike ride that second, maybe just thinking about that feeling can help pave over the grouchy moment.<br />
<br />
Yeah, it doesn't always work. But sometimes it helps.<br />
<br />
I so cannot wait to take the "littles" up to that path for a ride!<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Biking has been the silver lining to what's happening with my favorite physical activity, running. Unforunately, my hamstring tendon/hip issues are still there, a good seven-plus months and counting. I can run a few times a week, but my hamstring feels stuck.<br />
<br />
Back to the sports doctor this week. Never give up, right?</div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-3863776590660435722016-08-28T10:52:00.000-05:002016-08-28T10:56:00.753-05:00My non-triumphant returnI was pretty zen and even a little smug a week ago, when <a href="http://runlikeamama.blogspot.com/">I wrote about not really missing running for the last six weeks to heal from an injury.</a><br />
<br />
Then I was clear to run. I ran four miles with a friend, and it went, well, OK, but...<br />
<br />
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<br />
I realized that hamstring tendon issue, though better, was still there. Post-run, throughout the workday, I ached.<br />
<br />
Dang it. Too much too soon.<br />
<br />
Two days later, I thought, hey, I'll just warm up better and just do three miles.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Welp, that didn't work so well, either. Then, at combo of spin class and core exercise class yesterday, my IT band and knee let me know that they were not happy with me.<br />
<br />
This is what I'm *supposed* to be doing, according to my sports doc.<br />
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So, I could just cry about it, or shut up and move forward. I'm headed back to the sports doc this week to see if we can do anything else.<br />
<br />
I've also started the walk/run, with no issues or pain. Only thing that's hurting today is my pride. That's OK with me.<br />
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-69375985926318477842016-08-21T21:29:00.004-05:002016-08-22T07:30:52.440-05:00Why I haven't missed runningNine years ago, I trained for my first marathon, the Chicago marathon, after never having run more than six miles in my life.<br />
<br />
During the 20-mile long run that year -- the final run before a three-week taper to the race -- I was doubled over in pain. Popliteal (behind the knee) tendonitis.<br />
<br />
I was the biggest friggin' baby about it. I cried, moaned, whined about it to whoever would listen. (I feel really silly about that now.)<br />
<br />
Running was new, exciting and man, this former smoker and plump chick was so close to running a marathon. I felt special, like I was actually accomplishing something meaningful.<br />
<br />
(Editor's note: I ran/walked the 2007 Chicago marathon until it was canceled mid-race because it was hotter than hell. A humbling final chapter.)<br />
<br />
I've had to quit running a few times(and come back) since then. Two pregnancies. A broken toe last year.<br />
<br />
And then this year, a small tear to a hamstring tendon, the year I had planned to attempt my first 50-mile run. The sports doc told me not to run for six weeks.<br />
<br />
I moaned, though a lot less, the first day to my good running buddies.<br />
<br />
When you're a mom who works full-time, running is pretty much your social life. I'm mainly OK with that. I was going to miss the comraderie.<br />
<br />
And since then, a strange thing has happened.<br />
<br />
I haven't missed running.<br />
<br />
At all.<br />
<br />
My Facebook feed is filled with people posting about their workouts. And it also has <a href="http://mashable.com/2016/08/13/facebook-posters-narcissists/#riKkNFBPbSqM">a few articles posted about people who post about their workouts being narcissists or insecure people</a>.<br />
<br />
For the record, I used to post shit like that a lot. Then I grew kind of, I don't know, embarrassed at times. I mean, who gives a crap about how many miles someone ran or what time they did it? I put the brakes on -- I didn't want to be an asshole anymore.<br />
<br />
At least about my workouts, anyway. Ha.<br />
<br />
(Though sometimes, I'm gonna post about it. There's just times a girl's gotta shout out.)<br />
<br />
So, back to running. I've spent the last 5 1/2 weeks doing anything but running. Spinning, weights classes, bike riding, step classes, yoga and today, even a kickboxing class that is gonna hurt in the morning.<br />
<br />
I actually feel pretty good -- my hip stuff that led to the hamstring tear still feels kind of there, so I don't know what to make of that. But my cardiovascular is really good and I feel strong.<br />
<br />
Uh oh, did I just veered into narcissist territory again?<br />
<br />
But I don't miss running at all.<br />
<br />
And I'm not sure why.<br />
<br />
I'll start back this week, just because, well, I can.<br />
<br />
I won't run a marathon or more this fall.<br />
<br />
But I might do some shorter races.<br />
<br />
Maybe.<br />
<br />
It's a little like when, earlier this year, I felt driven to take on a new job and challenge -- but discovered my existing professional gig was pretty awesome and suited me very well.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I struggle to just stop and enjoy where I am. I have a hard time in stopping this simmering, near-constant feeling like I have to keep pushing harder and harder toward this ambiguous and amorphous goal in my mind that I need to work even harder, and do something remarkable.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I don't even know why I'm doing it. It's like trying to find an endzone or a finish line in really thick fog. Who knows if it's even there.<br />
<br />
Maybe instead of thinking about all of this stuff when I finally go for a run this week, I'll just tell my brain to shut up. I'll just put on my running shoes, put one foot in front of the other, and enjoy running again.<br />
<br />
If you're interested in which it is, I'll be glad to let you know in (hopefully) the least narcissist way possible.<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-47017425374231793152016-07-17T07:59:00.001-05:002016-07-17T18:15:11.471-05:00Pookie comes home, and the MRI doesn't lie<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">When your babysitter for your kindergartner and second-grader tells you she's going on vacation for two weeks, you naturally go into full-on panic mode and scramble to line up backup sitters and wonderful friends to cover the staggered, multi-location summer camp dropoffs and pickups. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And you take a few of those warm, summer days off of work to cover the gap. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Oh darn, I guess I will have to take ANOTHER sunny day off.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">That worked out fortuitously last week. As my little campers were marching off to their day camps Thursday, my 23-year-old son was coming home to Chicago.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">For real.</span></span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJmunCpYBwCGYQwqarQ4XjP-nR1p9orzjzSPkeGpqc8tswEksLO3Mm3atiLwutLx2Gu4IcXGwG1TxrNY6oebAcZbIsW5cZNvQBYeVIKdTVZwc6qWi2hdiHPplGy_NcInvCBA2BlfKQWw/s1600/pooky.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBJmunCpYBwCGYQwqarQ4XjP-nR1p9orzjzSPkeGpqc8tswEksLO3Mm3atiLwutLx2Gu4IcXGwG1TxrNY6oebAcZbIsW5cZNvQBYeVIKdTVZwc6qWi2hdiHPplGy_NcInvCBA2BlfKQWw/s200/pooky.png" width="176"></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">When he was little, I called him "pookie bear" after <a href="https://garfield.com/">Garfield's</a> favorite stuffed animal. (Remember when Garfield was huge in the 90s?) </span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">This popped into my mind as I had just dropped my second camper, my daughter, that morning. I was heading to the <a href="http://www.divvybikes.com/">Divvy</a> station (my total new obsession -- bike-sharing is brilliant!) and my phone rang. He had driven all night (much to my motherly dismay) and was parked in front of my house, waiting for me to let him in. </span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">And to unload some of his possessions, because after five years in Iowa, he was returning home. </span></span><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">I biked home as fast as I could, thinking, wow. This is really happening.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Pookie is coming home.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">When I got home, we started moving the half dozen crates and tubs of possessions into the house. A box of trophies. (Heart melting a little. Loved his <a href="http://www.chicagoparkdistrict.com/parks/Welles-Park/">Welles Park </a>sports days). Albums and CDs. Collection of frisbees. (laughing a little at this, such as 23-year-old.)</span></span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3Zde4ZgYDglSGZHTYFxIbs8Dpfs5cOjyPNHLYOIyECltR4QbKZweuUfBBUoU3Tb4HPMju6GmNgK580Oq6oeuzs3fPEde3_r7abs-pIZ6sc4G3tCCgqUurkxVMbScea4oIiqLfr0dwH0/s1600/torymove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3Zde4ZgYDglSGZHTYFxIbs8Dpfs5cOjyPNHLYOIyECltR4QbKZweuUfBBUoU3Tb4HPMju6GmNgK580Oq6oeuzs3fPEde3_r7abs-pIZ6sc4G3tCCgqUurkxVMbScea4oIiqLfr0dwH0/s200/torymove.jpg" width="150"></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Five years ago this summer, I helped him pack up all this stuff to move out and head to Iowa for college, and closer to his father. I remembered how much and how hard I cried for days after that. OK, weeks.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Few things have been harder than watching my child move away for good.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">I lost count of how many people who told me to watch out, your kids come back. And you're not done with parenting or helping them just because they're old enough to vote or legally drink.</span></span><br>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br>That has turned out to be true.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;"><br></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">We'll see how this goes -- it's a temporary stop, him living with us again, until he lands a job and can swing his own place.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">But I am so, so, so happy. My baby's home.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">***</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">My running has kind of sucked this year. Something in my right hip hates me. It has felt stuck for ages, despite physical therapy. I ran <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2379438686059934910#editor/target=post;postID=8674132351311000250;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=4;src=postname">my shittiest marathon in May</a> because of this stuff. (Which I shouldn't have run, but I am ridiculously pig-headed.)</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">I finally went in for my first-ever MRI last Monday. Within a day, I had this response from my doc: </span></span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"Dr. _______ would like you to rest from running for 6 weeks. Your MRI showed some tendinopathy and a partial tendon tear. There was also swelling in your iscial tuberosity, "Sits" bone where the tendon attaches under your glute. There was also some incidental degenerative changed in your lumbar spine and pubic symphasis. Please do not hesitate to call or email with any questions, comments, or concerns."</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I'm a civilian, and that sounded scary. What?!</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Fortunately, one of my college roommates and best friends is a doctor. I texted her: "Hey, Mary, want to read my MRI results and tell me how much I should freak out?"</span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Within 10 minutes, she had called me. "Hey, you tore your hamstring tendon!" Fortunately, it is a "very slight" tear. She said all of the other scary sounding stuff is just the body reacting to the injury.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">She was firm: Rest. Don't run. Let this heal and you'll be fine.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">So, that's a relief. Now I know why running has sucked, and why that marathon sucked.</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">I can do any other physical activity -- biking, weights, step class. None of those hurt. So I'm lucky, because if I couldn't do anything I would lose my mind. </span></span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">But I'm still really bummed. I love running. It's my social life. </span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I had already given up on the idea of running my first 50-miler this October given the hip stuff, hoping for a marathon race instead. Not sure if that's going to happen.</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I feel silly feeling this way, when people are really suffering from real maladies and problems. But it feels kind of lonely.</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">On the plus side, my house is now cleaner than normal and I'm more rested from not getting up at 4:30 a.m. daily.</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">37 days until August 24... :-)</span><br>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br></span></div>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-28788941633757513872016-05-15T19:07:00.000-05:002016-05-15T19:44:50.624-05:00Cutting through the noise: My sister's kickass fitness story<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">"Noise" is how I have come to think of all of the stories, studies and opinions on losing weight and gaining fitness.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Seriously. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Think about all of the stories about "The Biggest Loser" lately and <a href="http://bgr.com/2016/05/13/how-to-lose-weight-nbc-biggest-loser/">the critics </a>who say it's all a sham because people regained their weight. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Another story recently quoted a study that basically said heavy people who lose a lot of weight are often doomed to gain it back. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Then there are all sorts of diets with names like </span><a href="http://whole30.com/whole30-program-rules/" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Whole 30</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">. (I cringed once at a kid's birthday party listening to this mom talk about the Whole 30 all of the food she had had to cut out and gradually add back. God, it sounded awful.I wanted to yell at her "you're going to gain that all back!")</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">It's just all so confusing. No wonder people get frustrated and give up or don't try. Who can blame them?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">Which brings me to what I believe, based on my own experience and now the that of my sister Missey, whose amazing story she's letting me share here. Hard work, not gimmicks, are what will get you to your goals. It's work to stay fit and healthy, too. It's so, so hard. But it's doable.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">My sister, who is two years younger than me, is AMAZING. She has lost 80 pounds in just a few years -- the slow, hard way. No gimmicks, no fads, no starving. She's gone from obese to being a fitness coach (who no doubt could kick my runner's ass) and finishing 5Ks and recently a 10K. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.8px;">My sister's story in her words:</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I have been with my husband for 22 years (married for 20 1/2) and we have three wonderful sons: my step-son Dakota (who gave me the most adorable grandson last October, Ryker), my sons Ryan (19 and a freshman at University of Nebraska) and my youngest Breck (14, in the eighth grade). They have brought a tremendous amount of joy to my life! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I am a special ed paraprofessional at an elementary school, a job I have loved for six years. Prior to that, I was a branch manager for a large bank a dozen years -- a job I loved but that cut too deeply into time with my family. I also had to sit a lot and developed a bad habit of eating out, which caught up with me (along with two pregnancies!)</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">In March of 2014 I decided that a change needed to be made. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life. Then 44, I had </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">no ill effects from being overweight -- but I knew it was coming. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I have two wonderful parents who both have an excessive amount of heath issues and I did not want to go down that path. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">My first step was getting a</span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1577839327"> fitbit</a></b></i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><a href="http://./">.</a> The first two weeks I had it I continued to eat as I had been (lots of fast food) and realized I was eating well over 3000 calories a day! Eek! I was in such shock to see that this was a daily occurrence. No wonder I had hit my highest weight.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I realized that I could no longer blame the office job (I had been gone for more than three years) or baby weight (my youngest was 12 then). I really had to look hard at myself and decided that I was in control of what I put in my body. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">My first step was to cut out fast food. I lost 10 pounds in two weeks from that alone. I tried to eat healthier, but I am not a veggie person so it was hard. But I reminded myself that I was making steps in the right direction. After years of trying all the fad diets, I realized that it really is a lifestyle choice, not a diet. I told myself that this was the right course and that it would take time to make the changes needed -- because it took years to put all that weight on.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Two months after I started making my changes, my dear friend Carmen wanted to focus on losing her baby weight and get back into running again. She and another coworker decided to do a month-long challenge to eat healthy and start to exercise again. I joined in and stepped into a gym for the first time in my life!! It gave me extreme anxiety to do so, but I knew I really had no choice if I wanted to live a healthier lifestyle. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">It was hard at first. I could only walk for 10 minutes at a slow pace on the treadmill, but I did it! We kept up with the walking and tried weight machines and some fitness classes. I started to overcome my anxiety of working out, especially in front of others. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">We were both so excited that we continued small challenges to keep each other motivated. By March of 2015 -- one year later -- I had lost 60 pounds and 20-plus inches! I felt amazing and couldn't believe how far I had come, although I knew I still had a way to go. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Carmen and I continued to walk, go to the gym and started sharing meals. Last summer, I had a few setbacks and gainedback a few pounds (too many bbqs and adult beverages).I was frustrated and attempted to refocus as best as I could, but felt I really needed something different to renew my passion for living a healthier life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Then a co-worker told Carmen and me about </span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><a href="http://extremebodyshaping.com/">Farrell's</a>, </b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">which offered a 10-week fitness program -- 45 minutes a day, six days a week.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">That same day, October 9, 2015 we both signed up! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">The team atmosphere, focus on both building strength and developing cardio fitness, and nutrition guidance was exactly what we needed to re-motivate ourselves! </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I learned so much about nutrition, including to no longer solely focus on counting calories and losing weight. I learned it was important to fuel your body with the proper amount of carbs and proteins. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">During that 10 weeks I lost 16 lbs, 13.75 inches and 3.5 percent body fat. Since that 10 weeks ended, I have lost another eight pounds and 12.5 inches.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> My clothes became much looser and I had never felt better! By week five of my 10 weeks I was asking when I could sign up to be a FIT student. :)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I have had people tell me that I need to lose more weight (which is true); however I am now healthier and stronger than I have ever been. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">Even then my early 20's when I was a size 3 and weighed 115 lbs, I may have been thin, but I wasn't healthy. I was just young. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I walked/ran my first 10K in March of this year at the age of 46, I can easily go on 3-4 mile walks, play basketball with my son, keep up with all of the kids as school and now kickbox! I did not have the energy then that I do now 26 years later. I've learned that looks are definitely deceiving and that the </span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">number on the scale does not define the shape or health you are in</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br /><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3qQigLjm67bIte8aKkZTLzHF2JdoKRyXe3LI0x3U6ZrqnmcTeX7JXzxn-Cqb1z7A1b4gZhSHusEx_6MSDHZBE2dK2wNXUh2Z4Yw5qwJSDG7tS58b0xe9YegSgDqCOVfeFTQKZiHLAG0/s1600/1990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3qQigLjm67bIte8aKkZTLzHF2JdoKRyXe3LI0x3U6ZrqnmcTeX7JXzxn-Cqb1z7A1b4gZhSHusEx_6MSDHZBE2dK2wNXUh2Z4Yw5qwJSDG7tS58b0xe9YegSgDqCOVfeFTQKZiHLAG0/s320/1990.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Yep, this is me, 20 years old in 1990. I may have been thin but I was not as healthy as I am now. I didn't exercise and my diet consisted on mostly fast food. (but don't you love the hair!) </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77PEFAkMxgVIskPV2-RUYekH71pTJyg5le6HzJH_Tc_PFWINeH-2UOu0UY-LaD-xtJlPO5m5yEmUkpVUP9mufwYgwlsmSAyZhcHHxVb-_DISWdJ002LNJ-8inlSywitLMQSd5_eUII2o/s1600/2014+mis+and+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77PEFAkMxgVIskPV2-RUYekH71pTJyg5le6HzJH_Tc_PFWINeH-2UOu0UY-LaD-xtJlPO5m5yEmUkpVUP9mufwYgwlsmSAyZhcHHxVb-_DISWdJ002LNJ-8inlSywitLMQSd5_eUII2o/s320/2014+mis+and+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">This is me on the left and Carmen in March of 2014. Both of us started to realize that changes in our food choices and exercise needed to be a priorities in our lives. As Carmen has told me and others, being a mom makes it hard, but if we don't take care of ourselves how will we take care of others?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKv6xgm-ZXwn193RJ47cTbg89_5BjYITPGTY0maWK18swm14ouZ_WDoZUgVaraMqd2TL7penF9rbfaPuoX-cGYNYMdL2_UTU8vqnSgVHO-aceEE-eMB9LgWfvRpDhWdDxGXoL2CkQjkgA/s1600/2013+and+2016+photos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKv6xgm-ZXwn193RJ47cTbg89_5BjYITPGTY0maWK18swm14ouZ_WDoZUgVaraMqd2TL7penF9rbfaPuoX-cGYNYMdL2_UTU8vqnSgVHO-aceEE-eMB9LgWfvRpDhWdDxGXoL2CkQjkgA/s320/2013+and+2016+photos.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: 12.8px;">Yes this is me at my heaviest in both of the above pictures (2013 and 2014) and me now (2016). I be may older but I am so much healthier (I know I keep saying that but it is true)! </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><u>I have dropped six pant sizes, four shirt sizes and even a shoe size! I am now down 80 pounds and 40-plus inches.</u></span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Although a lot of my weight loss came before Farrell's, I have lost more inches in the six months at Farrell's then I did from the 1.5 years of cardio and weights I did on my own. To me, this speaks about how much this program works! It really is 80% balanced nutrition and 20% exercise. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">The best thing to come out of this -- I am now honored to be a fitness coach at Farrell's and try to help others find their path to a healthier life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">This story you've read is the story I now share with new clients. I hope my story helps them realize that no matter what your body size is, the health you are in, it is NEVER too late to change and live for you! I encourage all of them to talk to us and ask questions, and remind them that we understand what they're going through and that we are here for them and want to do our best each day to support them through their journeys!!</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIX1L0-Zybu0QT7KvE8-LFuGW_8eWoRxEOwbuyTWejCZt24ipwf6ABUH8ayTtNoWoJ7fUUGfhkksQU4mJ0h9rBgSzSgnqcsp6Yeld6kWk739qrVG_QR6EuyCWt8i7vv8MBECrmMLvQT4/s1600/missey+and+carmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIX1L0-Zybu0QT7KvE8-LFuGW_8eWoRxEOwbuyTWejCZt24ipwf6ABUH8ayTtNoWoJ7fUUGfhkksQU4mJ0h9rBgSzSgnqcsp6Yeld6kWk739qrVG_QR6EuyCWt8i7vv8MBECrmMLvQT4/s320/missey+and+carmen.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missey and Carmen at a recent 5K race: Looking fabulous!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Thank you for taking the time to read this</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">!</span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-86741323513110002502016-05-10T06:20:00.001-05:002018-01-09T19:20:48.429-06:00Oh windy Wisconsin marathon: Race reportSometimes getting older rocks.<br />
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Five years ago, if I had run a marathon that was a PW (personal worst, or slowest ever), I would have been crushed. I used to fixated on PRs (personal records), which were relatively easy to obtain since I've only been running about 10 years now.<br />
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On Saturday, I ran the <a href="http://wisconsinmarathon.com/">Wisconsin Marathon</a> and ran a PW of 5:35:57, 614th place out of 674.<br />
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Humbling.<br />
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But man, I'm pretty happy to have finished at all.<br />
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For months now I've been wrestling with a hamstring/hip ache that won't go away. I've been in physical therapy for six weeks and it's only a little better. My PT was pretty cheery last week that he'd get me to the start and finish line as he dug into my leg with his elbow so hard that tears came to my eyes.<br />
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Running is so glamorous.<br />
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On race morning, my friend Krista picked me up at 5 a.m. We run together all the time and she's easy to hang out with. She's also a CPS teacher, so we stress out about school stuff together -- she from the teacher perspective and me from the mom one. She's also kind and super chill, a good influence on my tightly wound, sometimes acidic self.<br />
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We cruised to Kenosha and arrived in just an hour. Amazing how close Chicago is to Wisconsin when there is no traffic.<br />
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We met up with some of our other awesome running friends, Betsey, a lawyer and whose now-teenage daughter has generously passed on an awesome bed, a Pottery Barn play kitchen and the cutest little necklaces to my girly-girl 5-year-old. One of my favorite pastimes with Betsey is to stress about politics.<br />
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We also met up with Terri, my favorite snarky Canadian who fosters cats and does something technology-related for a living. (She has patiently explained it to me, but I'm still not sure what exactly it is.) She also gave me Reckless, our family cat, after I "borrowed" him two years ago because we suddenly got mice in our kitchen.<br />
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Terri was doing the half marathon, the three of rest of us doing the full marathon. Such a great crew.<br />
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Prior to the start, I was able to meet up with Andy, a nice guy I went to high school. Not many of us Nebraska kids in Chicago, so it was nice to say hi and have my arm twisted to go to our, um, 30th reunion this summer.<br />
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The morning was sunny and 70 degrees, though it was supposed to cool off into the 50s by race time.<br />
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As we lined up at the start line, the sky to the west of us was suddenly dark and the wind picked up. The temperature dropped and we shivered. The wind felt downright cold. I shivered in my short-sleeve Flatlanders shirt and shorts. I tend to run hot, but wondered if I was going to be cold for the next five hours...<br />
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Finally we were off. The wind was fierce. Man. I was really cold now.<br />
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Also on my mind was a pretty big personal decision just the day before, after weeks of sleeping like crap and feeling stressed. On that race morning, I had been awake since 2 a.m., worrying not about the race (for a change!) but worrying about change, letting people down.<br />
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So I was more tired than I would have liked to have been in the first five miles. I told myself one million times that I could just drop out at the half marathon mark. No one would judge me, except myself.<br />
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Somewhere after we left the little downtown area, we were along Lake Michigan. The view was beautiful but we were running straight into a strong wind that slapped our bodies so hard that it sometimes felt like I was barely moving. It reminded me of swimming in choppy open water, when I'm working so hard to swim but feeling like I'm not moving forward.<br />
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This continued for about the two longest miles of my life. The wind whipped sand off the narrow strip of beach so hard it stung our eyes, faces and legs. Someone jokingly called it "exfoliation". At one point it felt like one of my contacts was half hanging out of my eye, which burned with sand.<br />
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Betsey and Krista were ahead of us a bit by this point, so Terri and I hung together and agreed it was OK to complain to each other. It sucked.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandbags were no match for the wind.</td></tr>
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Around 7.5 miles, we turned back and the wind was to our back. It was like a whole different run, though there were points I felt like the wind was half carrying me, and I'm not a petite person.<br />
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My leg was annoying me, but I wasn't in pain. I could feel the injured area tightening to the point my knee would start clicking. I'd then stop, stretch my piriformis and then my hamstrings, and run again (or walk a bit). I would repeat that throughout the race.<br />
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As we approached the half marathon mark, I was still debating out loud whether I should quit at the half. Betsey kept slowing down and waiting for me, gentling reminding me that it was OK to do so. Why she is so nice and didn't tell me to make a decision and shut it... well, she's just nice!<br />
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Terri turned off to finish the half and I followed Betsey instead. I laughed, "well, I guess I'm doing the full."<br />
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The second half of the race winds south thru town and then into a more rural area into Pleasant Prairie. It was windy but not as windy as right by the water, and the wind was to our backs for miles. I tried not to think about the wind we'd face when it was time to turn back north.<br />
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Some of the houses were pretty fancy, others modest. I want to move somewhere warmer some day, but these country houses and proximity to the water were pretty appealing. The scenery mostly made up for the fact that I was, indeed, having a kind of sucky race.<br />
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Betsey was so nice and insisted on sticking with me, though I know she doesn't like to stop and take walk breaks (I get it, when I'm in healthier running shape I like to keep breaks short, too). The miles went slowly and then we finally turned back north.<br />
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Brr.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty!</td></tr>
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The wind continued to be stiff and unforgiving. By mile 20, I told Betsey that if I managed to do 20 then I certainly could finish 26.2 miles and urged her to go on. I appreciated her kindness but I planned to take more walk breaks to give my body a rest.<br />
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I was really tired and didn't care how long it took me to finish.<br />
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After all, <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/sports/ida-keeling-100-years-old-world-record-100-m-1.3572469">Ida Keeling </a>doesn't quit. (Damn.)<br />
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At mile 25, I took a dorky selfie to text my friends, who would be done with their races by now, so they knew that I was close. I hoped they were staying warm somewhere.<br />
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I was so happy to see the 26-mile mark and was reminded of why I like smaller races.<br />
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I could hear the announcer cheering people over the finish line. As I spotted it, he ran up to me with his microphone and asked me my name, and then announced me. So nice! I ran as fast as I could muster and after crossing, was handed a cool medal of a guy made of cheese and a Mylar blanket that wouldn't stay on me because of the wind.<br />
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I found Krista and Betsey as quickly as possible. We shivered to get our photo taken by a woman I could tell did not want to stop and take our picture (she was on her way to work, but reluctantly agreed) and we went separate ways.<br />
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I'm glad I did the race. Thanks to these awesome friends!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1jhA88s5dJpnbBSdPCBymZPOfjS4JT3psAJtLMeNicBs2uIJqK-0k_m7N1jAprHRQkdYshAkwQC0BqvBqjFxcopvesSvSXEDgX-NqDkI7JTN_Sycre6Gimh1PgtG9rB9BZxQB_awhiE/s1600/race+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1jhA88s5dJpnbBSdPCBymZPOfjS4JT3psAJtLMeNicBs2uIJqK-0k_m7N1jAprHRQkdYshAkwQC0BqvBqjFxcopvesSvSXEDgX-NqDkI7JTN_Sycre6Gimh1PgtG9rB9BZxQB_awhiE/s320/race+friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Krista, Betsey and Terri. <3</td></tr>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2379438686059934910.post-31446642395719693792016-04-08T07:03:00.000-05:002016-04-08T07:07:13.923-05:00Bangs or no bangs?In a month, I will run another marathon, the <a href="http://www.wisconsinmarathon.com/">Wisconsin Marathon </a>in Kenosha.<br />
<br />
Why? Because there are cheese curds at the finish line, my friend Krista reminds me.<br />
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Yum, cheese curds.<br />
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Southeast Wisconsin is also home to one of the very best places on earth, the <a href="http://www.marscheese.com/">Mars Cheese Castle. </a> That is worth the drive up north.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPzWGeQ3FGIdrvEkI4CItyeV_rN5qLuFaiaKt2J04LOAf-g79xfuLw0q8WDLj7mjdKrbwDutjb5B1ec4JWr7YAkm7OSHp2M1R4BFoC6qjG0GLcqAuTasHpaylUsuye-GwYjbXm2MMu-o/s1600/mars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPzWGeQ3FGIdrvEkI4CItyeV_rN5qLuFaiaKt2J04LOAf-g79xfuLw0q8WDLj7mjdKrbwDutjb5B1ec4JWr7YAkm7OSHp2M1R4BFoC6qjG0GLcqAuTasHpaylUsuye-GwYjbXm2MMu-o/s200/mars.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheese castle!</td></tr>
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I've been actually kind of psyched for this race.<br />
<br />
After running <a href="http://www.desplainesrivertrailraces.com/">the Des Plaines River Trail (DPRT) marathon </a>last fall, I was was happy to discover that it's possible to really enjoy a marathon. The key was doing it with good friends and taking it easy. You know, making a point to actually try and enjoy it.<br />
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After several sucky-ass marathons of trying to stick to a pace and set new PRs (personal records), this changed -- for the better -- my view of running marathons and the two 50k ultras I've done the last couple of years.<br />
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So run Kenosha for the hell of it? Sure, why not.<br />
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But, the last month or so, some nagging aches -- if I'm honest with myself, it's stuff I had last year, too -- led to a bunch of stuff that made me have to slow way down on running. Sports doc diagnosis: some kind of hamstring/hip tendonopathy, piriformas syndrome, etc. Get some physical therapy. Bleah.<br />
<br />
So, time to apply the "bangs vs. no bangs test".<br />
<br />
I am never, ever satisfied with my bangs.<br />
<br />
I grow them out.<br />
<br />
Then I decide my forehead is wrinkly and I get bangs again to look younger (a cheap alternative to Botox, I rationalize.)<br />
<br />
Now I'm not liking my bangs and growing them out.<br />
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This weird mental test applies to other stuff, too. Skip the race or drop to a half marathon distance or cross-train like crazy and just have the best race that is possible, even if I'm DFL (dead effing last).<br />
<br />
Yes, this is the world's dumbest metaphor.<br />
<br />
So, I'm growing out my bangs again and they're a mess right now.<br />
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So's my "training" as I shove a step and bodypump class or a spin class into my schedule, run lower mileage during the week -- and curse when things ache. (The physical therapist I'm seeing is doing so much to help -- I'm better, just impatient).<br />
<br />
I've made myself go to the pool the last three Friday mornings -- I am a terrible swimmer and don't really like it. So I'm just doing separate drills to practice armstroke and kicking, which are both astoundingly exhausting.<br />
<br />
(But it's kind of cool, too... I am going to try and stick with it.)<br />
<br />
How everything shakes out on race day -- who knows.<br />
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But hopefully my bangs will be long enough by then to pull back and out of my eyes as I'm running toward those cheese curds.<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00648442241652746073noreply@blogger.com0