Archive for the ‘2012’ Category
I really should play my weather & botched race odds in Vegas. Or as Tony Soprano would say, “Now I got to go unfuck what you just fucked.” Oh I’ll sing that Mr. Soprano! Celeste thought it would be great fun to run a New Years themed 5K at night in downtown LA. Nah, it didn’t matter that the gun went off way past my bed. Nope, never occurred to me that while I felt it would not be wise to run a Sunday am run around the area that well, it’d be perfectly fine to run it in the dark. La La La and Ba Ba Ba- I am just the support sheep. This race was all CC. Too bad she brought her lucky charm Drea- disaster was sure to strike.
After a rather good Saturday morning workout, I sat on my tennis ball and drove CC and I down to LA. We checked into the Checkers and nabbed our race bags while immediately tossing the hideous tech-not T in the bin. We plopped ourselves upon white crisp washed and folded by SOMEBODY ELSE sheets and flipped on the television. Celeste passed me a jar of candy corn and I faded into a sugary zone of a brain washed buzz.
It’s 3pm. Do you know where your Mommy is?
She’s watching day time TV eating triangular wax and loving it! The corn kept me going through Tommy Boy, Dinner With Schmucks, and Entertainment Tonight. I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair hoping it would brush my brain, and put on the running clothes. Time to run support.
The course had two out and back point turns and I planned to wait at those marks and cheer CC on to a great race. We strapped on our blinking glowing bling and found the starting line easy enough. Too bad we won’t be saying the same thing about the finish line. Celeste warmed up and arrived at the starting line on time. We waited another twenty minutes for the race to start. A masked mime danced the funky chicken to entertain us during this delay.
The National Anthem was sung sans vocal vibrations and dramatic pitch and BOOM the runners were off. I followed Celeste’s start and watched her head toward the first point turn around. She took off fast and hard, but also looked and sounded smooth. I got very excited that this might be a very good day for her. She headed back toward me clocking a quick first mile- 6:16. I followed her for a bit to watch her head to the second point turn around. The streets were very dark and the runners ahead of her were scarce. We passed two men and found ourselves almost completely alone running through the dark warehouse streets of downtown LA. I think I’ve seen this movie. At this point I really didn’t feel comfortable leaving Celeste so I ran along side her reminding her that the 5K Hell that she was entering, oh you know, the flesh eating demon feeling…yeah yeah the burning your skin alive feeling….the death would be too forgiving feeling….was the one she expected, wanted, and craved. Her breathing increased, but she would relax it and powered on clocking a 6:17 second mile.
Every step of the final mile in a 5K is poetic agony. If your innards are not being boiled to blanched bits, baby you are not trying. This is the Go Time of Show Time. Celeste turned over her legs, she kept her stride smooth, but her body began to slow down. She was in third place and only needed to fight through this final mile to nail a well bled PR. From viewing the course map, I knew at this point past her last point turn that it was a straight shot to the finish line. The streets were still completely black. There was a lack of mile markers and course markings making me feel that Gretel’s bread crumbs had gone to the birds. In other words, where the fuck are we! Our straight shot led us to a line of white road barricades guarded by three of LAPD. I was pretty sure we were supposed to run through that blockage, but what the Hell do I know about LA streets!? So I asked the cops.
Isn’t the finish line over there? You know through that wall you built.
No, you go back that way. She pointed us right and back into on coming runners.
Where? Are you sure? I ask as CC sputters the pain of rising 5K puke. We turn under their direction and head down a road to no finish line. When you are trying your hardest, every moment at the end of a 5K is excruciating. Now Celeste was being asked to go beyond that 3.1 into the black hole of complete tortuous Hell. We knew it was wrong. The leaders emerged out of the dark toward us barking, “They fucked the 5K!”
We stopped. A sure PR left as visible as the finish line. Grumble. Selfishly, I was so glad I had not raced this because with all my luck and Karma I’d probably have had one of those three bangle my wrists in LA silver. It’s not called going Postal, it’s called going 5K. I was really mad for CC. We made every other word the F word and jogged back through the barricades and toward the mythical finish line. The announcer was still jolly cracking jokes over the MC. A few runners staggered back bitching, but crossed the line anyway. There was no way we were crossing the line and we jumped the course prior to the finish.
Oh! Cheaters! A race volunteer accused us of banditing the over priced blackness.
Fuck you! Said the pig tailed gal in purple with cute glowing things stuck in her head. It’s just so much more concise than explaining that we were not bandits as was clearly visible by our race numbers pinned to our chests.
You can’t say Fuck you to a volunteer!
Ah the streets didn’t seem that dangerous anymore. I mean I didn’t even tell the pervert who asked me if I needed to pee pee where he could go. We just ran back to the Checkers, superman changed into jeans and sweaters and tucked into a bistro offering up hot steamed mussels and french fries.
Excuse me ladies, the kitchen is about to close. Would you like anything else?
AHMUYGAWD! I just closed down a restaurant and it isn’t because they ONLY serve LUNCH! A PR did happen tonight!
Happy New Year! A new year is always a chance to reflect upon the past year and dream up goodness for the one to come. A good friend of mine found sadness at the end of their year. This surprised me. I gave them my perception of their year. I wrote down all the highs and lows that I could remember and presented it to them- as you can imagine, the ups significantly out weighed the downs. We are always and forever our own harshest critic.
I too had a roller year, but at the end of it I look back as someone other than myself. In other words, someone not so critical and snarky. By GOLLY! I had a great year! It all depends on how you look at it. If we try to keep it to running, I ran my largest mileage year- 3,810 miles. I completed two marathons, went to Nationals XC, performed well in two 5Ks, two half marathons, two 10Ks, and tied my PR in the mile. I was a LuLu ambassador for the third time and got featured in The Wall Street Journal. Sure, I suffered set backs through iron issues, but I have learned better how to prevent them and I made training adjustments to keep myself healthy otherwise.
Did I get what I wanted in 2012? Of course not! What if anything is a satisfied runner? But I got what I needed. For me it was a year of personal growth- not just in running, but yes like so many things in my life- through running.
When I was a teenager, my father encouraged me, “You can be anything you want in life if you would just put as much energy into it as you do running.”
Ahhhhhh, the rub. I just spent another year doing exactly what I love.
“What do you really want to do this next year Drea?”
“Me?” I ask with some confusion like the sound of a Duh, “I just want to run.”
Instead of looking back at a year that hovered around personal bests, but not betters and weeks of frustrating performances- I see a year that truly built upon my perspective. It’s been growing in there for a while, but like all changes, the ones that take the longest to transpire are the ones that are usually more permanent. Can you smell the maturity? No not that smell, that’s the garlic. It’s been a nice Christmas. OK you can’t smell it. Can you see it? NO!?
Well, I’m still a work in progress. Aren’t we all darling! It takes a lifetime to become your person. We can’t all start out way ahead like that sweet mouse over there! SNIFF! Forgive me, I’m feeling overly emotional these past few days.
Les Miserables has crept into our house- and TAKEN OVER! How many times do I have to cry? I haven’t even seen the movie yet! That’s later today. I saw the production live three times (Houston, New York, London). The story has been pumping through song in our house for three days now.
New Years’ Eve, the kids starred with concern as they watched their parents cry over steak and mushrooms while Fantine belted about broken dreams. Happy New Year my darlings! Whahhhaaaaa!
Naturally we had to rent the live concert that celebrated 25 years of miserable beauty and passionate song with all the performers who ever walked the main stage. Breath taking! More tears. My eyes look like I’m eating salted cheerios in pickle juice- two puffy bags with wandering globes that blink, I think. It must stop.
But before it does- check this out. A young man named Ramin Karimloo who will now play the role of Jean Valjean in London’s West End, started mentoring the production at the young age of 14. Talented and dreaming, he told his parents perhaps not in these words, but play along….
“Mom, Dad, I’m dropping out of high school to go sing on cruise ships because one day I’m going to be the phantom in The Phantom of the Oprah.”
GULP. Ramin, you are going to do what?
But then he did. He did not just dream- he chased. At the age of 29, he became the youngest performer ever to play the role of the Phantom. Ramin performed in that 25th anniversary live concert that has now been played TWICE in my house and yes….SNIFF!
So keep dreaming! And of course CHASE ON!
More than five people have asked my opinion on the latest news of former Olympian Suzy Favor Hamilton. Clearly, more than five warrants a blog blip. While I’m sure the web is already alive in spinning puns from her maiden name, I assure you Sir, that at $600 an hour she’s NOT doing you a favor! That’s a service. Rah Rah Capitalism.
Depression and anxiety will make all kinds of people do all kinds of things. Those in the public eye get to wave their indiscretions in the media for all the world to ooohhh & aaahhh. Tis the price of fame. Usually the story is a bit different- successful athlete gets swallowed up in depression and wha-lah substance abuse burns the bank books! Drugs, alcohol, DUI arrests, if it were a man armed robbery, domestic abuse, failed child support, bankruptcy, belligerent words declared for PEOPLE to document and blah blah blah.
But not Super Suzy! How many depressed people do you know go to Vegas and MAKE MONEY!? She’s not blowing high dough, she’s making it grow! Uh-hem. Her depression brought her clients at a damn bling bling price tag. Now I’m not saying what she’s done is right or admirable, but I’m not judging.
Maybe she’s a thrill seeker. Plenty of cliff jumpers load themselves in substances and DRIVE. That puts a lot of lives at risk. But not Suzy! She just had someone else pay the ticket and she went for a ride. She said it was “Exciting!” Well, to each their own. Snicker-Snicker.
Tis the season! I am soaking up the recovery. The house is all fa la la. I mean it is f-ing tinseling in fa la la la. There are ribbons, bows, reindeer, santa hats, lights, candles, cinnamon spiced smelly stuff in jars, peppermint hand soaps and Christmas towels, colored lights on the house, wreaths and snow drift placemats. I have stockings, nutcrackers, snowflakes, and candy canes. I have paper cuts from wrapping and damaged taste buds from licking envelopes (nah not really I made the kid do that). There are chocolate advent calendars and promises that SANTA IS WATCHING! I made some Christmas owl cookies. They looked so cute going into the oven. But they came out all angry and shit. Why must everything be so dramatic? Just stay CUTE! Anger management still tasted really gingerbready good so there were no set backs on my progress of my Christmas off season layer. Tis the season! Oh, I already said that.
So there I was having some wine and my daughter asked if she could eat all the chocolates from the Christmas Chocolate Bowl. Christmas Chocolate Bowl? Oh like you don’t have a Fuck It Bucket? Well, maybe you should.
“Sure baby girl,” I waved my hand deeming approval, “Go ahead.” My five year old proceeded to amaze me as she chipmunked all the sweets into her cheeks. Amusement ended when a foreshadowing thought would have been appreciated my son discovered the destruction of precious rarities. While he staggered around the house crying like a shot seagull, my daughter salted his wound with, “Mommy said I could.” Thanks Girl MacBeth.
My son wants to be a gold miner. My daughter mimicked his entrepreneurial desires, “I want to be a gold miner too!”
“No, no dear,” I corrected, “That’s gold digger.”
I took my kids to the Nutcracker ballet.
They were really good up until ten minutes from curtain. My son began to lose it. He slouched into his seat with spastic leg kicks and with a Golem like voice stammered out repetitively, “Nut-Crack-ER! NUT-CRACK-ER! Nut—CRACK–EEEEEER!” Thankfully the clapping began before there was a full head rotation. Next up, Trolley of Lights! What could possibly go wrong in 90 minutes?
They made their Santa letters. Brilliantly, I did all the shopping before they made their requests. I’m just gonna roll with, “You don’t really know what you want. Santa, HE knows what you want.”
My son keeps declaring that he wants to marry a Jewish girl. He anticipates celebrating both Christmas and Hanukkah like the Bare Naked Ladies trying to cash in on songs about both Bethlehem and Dreidels.
I haven’t explained to the Gold Miner the economics on being the Daddy on that operation yet. Ah magic.
It really is the most, wonderful, time of the year.
I have been working with Marcy for just over six months. This busy mother of three young children struggled to manage her weight. She had ideas about diets and fitness, but she did not realize that being healthy is not a diet.
I helped Marcy discover a new lifestyle- no diets, no short cuts, but in the end all reward.
I am so proud of Marcy. Lots of people are! Marcy has inspired her entire family.
2013 is looking good!