Marathon Thoughts

It's been awhile since I ran my marathon, but I think about the experience almost daily.  I have strong feelings of accomplishment (mostly from the training) as well as strong feelings of regret (mostly from race day).  Although I may have registered for my one and only marathon for the wrong reason (I'm so angry I'm going to run a marathon!), I will always be glad I completed it. It was tough physically and drained me mentally and emotionally, but training for it and completing it was a growth experience.  I really got to know myself, what tests me, what challenges me, what I can overcome, and who loves and supports me.

Have you seen that YouTube video called Marathon Thoughts?  You can find it here.  It's hilarious but doesn't capture the complete experience of running a marathon.  No.  A complete documentation is as long and drawn out as a marathon.  I never want to forget the experience.  The day after the race I wrote it down in an email to a friend who was sick and bored and wanted to know all about it.  So I'm posting it here for posterity in case that email gets erased from my mailbox forever.  Everyone's marathon is different.  I'm sure some are more pleasant than others.  This is my marathon.

Brian dropped off my friend Kathy and me at the start a little after 7 am. Race started at 7:50. We went into a fancy hotel lobby to use the restroom and stay warm for a while. So much more practical than buying tickets to the RnR warm zone for $50! When it was time to go, she headed for corral 4 and I went to 5. Never saw her again! She turns 50 TODAY and she finished in 4:13. What in the world?!

So my race....

Cross the line and enjoyed the band. Music! I haven't heard it while running for six months!  It was exciting. Here I go! Why is my butt all wet? My water bottle is leaking. My water BOTTLES are leaking. I'm soaked through. Does it look like I peed myself? Are people behind me laughing? No, they're probably thinking, "That sucks. Glad that didn't happen to me." Oh man. I'm cold. Will I be wet for 26 miles? No, it's Arizona. I'll dry in five minutes.

Mile 1 Cool band. Makes me smile. Good thing my dad schooled me in classic rock because it's mostly old white guys with guitars who are as cool as a dad's guitar. I should take off my long sleeved cotton t-shirt now. Throw it down.  Bye!  You’ve served me well!

Mile 2 I start looking for Brian. He said he'd be around mile 2 or 3.

Mile 3 Cross the 5K line. Woooo! Hope this texting thing works and my friends are cheering at home! See Brian and wave. He sees me. Our slow camera allows him one blurry shot so he's trying to outrun me on the side to get more. I slow up to make it easier for him. Riiiiiight. All for him. I'm staying at my 'above ten minute mile' pace.  The plan is if I'm feeling good later, I can pick it up. (Now that makes me say ahahahahahahahahahaha.)

·     Miles 4-8 Continue going north on Central through downtown Phoenix. Turn right onto Missouri. I start taking a Gu at 10K. It's not going down easily and I see Brian ahead. I have about half of it and throw it down. Want good race pics! Gu race pics are not good, as I learned from my half marathon photos!

Mile 9 South on 24th through the Biltmore area--where I worked when we first moved here. That was nice. I'm feeling great at nine and thinking this is going well. I was pretty tired at mile 9 of the half but today I'm doing okay.  Clock says 1:30-something.  Oh man.  My friend Julie is probably finished with her half marathon because her goal was 1:33.  She said she’d wait for me to finish.  She’s going to be there so long!  So sorry, Julie!  Make the turn east onto Camelback Road. There's Brian. I'm thinking it's almost harder when people show up because you have to look like you're doing well. Hmmmm. That's when he tells me my friends are at 10.5. Run strong to them!

Mile 10 I see my friends and they're very supportive and cute and funny. I stop to say hello for a few seconds and carry on. 

Miles 11-12 Horrid. Who knew that stretch of Camelback was such an incline? It wasn't steep but it was looooong. I felt like I had to poop. I wondered if I was pooping and didn't know it. Don't pants your poop!  Again...are people behind me laughing at me? No, they're just happy it didn't happen to them. I started praying to the race gods for a port-a-potty at the top of the hill. Must keep running. Do not walk. That will make you poop for sure. Run, Sara, run! Crested the hill and started a downhill on Arcadia. A port-a-potty! Hooray! I hear U2's Desire playing and wished I was running past that stage instead of in the bathroom. Darn it!  One of my faves!

·     Mile 13-19 See Brian at the start of the dreaded 3 miles out and 3 miles back portion. I knew this would be a death march facing the runners ahead of me but after I make it through this I'll be at mile 19 which is close to 20 and I know I can do 20. I run over the 13.1 mat and give myself permission to walk a bit. I figure if I’m walking I should make it worthwhile and take another Gu. It's been 2:20 already and it's about 10:30 am. I'm normally finished with my training runs at 9:00 or 10:00. The sun is so blazing hot! Not a cloud in the sky! I convince myself training early in the day before the sun comes up is the flaw of my training plan and start to give in.  From this point on I'm running/I'm walking/I'm running/I'm walking with no plan or idea what I'm doing because the plan was to not walk at all and certainly not this early. I try to run to the water station so I can walk through it. I try to run through the cheering station because even if I'll never see these people again, I don't want to look bad. There aren't many spectators on this stretch because it's hard to get to and only one band and a DJ. The band is taking a break? Are you kidding me? Bands who take breaks while marathoners are running are the scums of the earth! Brian approaches me on his bike to check on me. At 14: "Are you okay?" "Yes, I'm just hot." At 18: "You're doing really well, Sara." "I'm so tired." "I know." "This is so hard." "Yeah. But you look better than a lot of other people. Aimee's at 21. I'm gonna head to the finish after this, ok?" "Ok. Thank you. I love you!" He rides off and I get choked up and nearly hyperventilate because he's out here with me. It's not just the words he's saying that are so encouraging, it's the sympathetic way he's looking at me. Like I know you're working hard and you can do this. Just keep going. I'm really proud of you.

Mile 20 Head south on 48th Street. So tired. So hot. I'm drinking so much water and Nuun but I don't feel like it's sloshing around. Guess it was absorbing well and I really needed it. Did I mention it was HOT? I'm walking a bit then running a bit. Going on feel but I think my mind was giving in. Take a Gu, walk through a water station and decide to run to my friends.

Mile 21 Must look strong! I make it and chat a minute and get hugs. I'm whoosy just standing there not moving. My legs are like jelly. They can probably tell I'm not myself and I bet as soon as I took off they were like, "Whoa. She doesn't look so good."

Miles 22-23 The Gu is kicking in! I'm floating. I'm running for a pretty good stretch. Feeling okay and like I can do this. Not much further. Just a little over a 5K. Things are good.

·     Mile 24 Oh god. Why? Why is this so long? I'm so tired. Go away sun!  I pull out a pack of Jelly Belly sport beans and eat three. Maybe this will help. It's not helping. I'm so hot and tired!  I pass a 40K sign.  40K?  How many kilometers is a marathon?  I’ve done 8 5Ks in a row already?  Whyyyyyyyyyyy?

Mile 25  I see a water station ahead so I eat the remaining 3 sport beans.  I stop for water and start going again.  The 5:00 pacer passes me going up a steep ramp. Nothing matters anymore. Well, Sara. Who cares? Damn it I should have chased her, but at the time she looked like she was going so fast! I was so deflated I gave up for a minute and by the time I got my shizz together there was no way I could make it up to catch her, let alone beat her. I kept my head up but walked some more.

Mile 26 I cross the Mill Avenue bridge but can't will myself to run across the whole thing. Then there's that hill you have to go up towards the stadiums. I walked until I was sure I would be able to run to the end. It was so hard to run it in. I just wanted to stop. In the chutes, the guy in front of me dropped a glove and didn't know it. He went that whole way without losing it. How can I let him lose it now? I picked it up and chased him to the finish. That bought me a few seconds. Saw my friends and Brian. Saw some more friends on the other side who stayed soooo long after their half marathon finish to see me. Brian chased me to the finish line to get a photo at the line. I crossed it and stopped.

There was no crying. No fantastic high. I was just glad to stop. They were tearing down the chocolate milk tent. And the Jamba Juice tent. These RnR races aren’t very thoughtful. The same thing happened to Jennifer in San Diego. They cater to the half marathoners more than the marathoners for no other reason than that there are more of them, I think. Yes, they deserve their fair share. Their FAIR share. Just because they're finished three hours earlier doesn't mean they need to take more than their fair share of the goods when people are out there for twice as long and really need it at the end. That was really disappointing. I got some kind of disgusting fruit cocktail, a water, pretzels, and 3 granola bars handed to me. Thanks for no protein! I'll just go pass out now.  Anyhoo.....

·     I met my friends and Brian in the reunion area. While I waited for them I enjoyed the cover band who was probably ten times better than headliner Andy Grammer.  He finished playing an hour ago (hope you enjoyed it half-marathoners!). At least I knew all this band’s songs.

All in all, I'm glad it's over. My goal was to complete a marathon without getting injured. Nothing at all hurt during the race. I was just fatigued. Today, my quads are sore and my ankles are stiff, but I think that's pretty normal after 26.2 miles. I went for a walk to loosen up and I plan to keep moving and stretching. I'm sure I'll hurt for a good 2-3 days. I'll ease back into things on my bike later this week maybe. I miss Pearl.

I’m a marathoner! Two days later I’m finally proud of myself.  For someone at my level (I’m not a runner.  I’m a mom who wanted to do a marathon.), it’s less about the race itself and more about dedicating yourself to the training.  The training was the hard work and I did that and I am proud of it.  Yes it took me over 5 hours to run 26.2 miles.  So what?  Since July 23^rd , I’ve run over 500 miles.  500 miles?!  I am awesome!

New Motto

Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.

Over the summer, this has been my favorite new song.  Thank you, Phillip Phillips, for singing something else because if I had to hear "Home" one.more.time....  This song is beautiful, and the lyrics are powerful and inspiring.  I want to play it on the guitar someday (probably ten years from now at least).  Nothing beats this hook.  So moving.  I loved this song the first time I heard it, and usually they have to grow on me.

A few weeks ago, a relatively new friend said to me, "I really dig the way you live your life. You just go after what you want.  I really admire that about you."  That's going to stick with me a while.  Granted, she doesn't know me all that well yet.  She knows some of my highlights but none of my "lowlights."  I do have to agree with her though that I am self-motivated and possess a drive and ambition that is probably stronger than the average person's.  There's no shame in saying that I am proud of that.  I am a doer.  If I want to try something, I try it.  If I say I'm going to do something, I do it.  If I start something, I finish it.  Even if it takes years!  It doesn't matter how long it takes, just as long as I get there.

I never thought I'd be a runner, but now I'm a marathoner.  I never thought I'd swim to get anywhere, and now I'm a triathlete.  I never thought I'd play any instrument other than the piano, but now I'm holding a guitar in my hands and strumming chords to songs I enjoy.  I don't have to be great at any of these things but having the guts to do something outside of my comfort zone once in a while keeps my passion fiery.

So like a drum, I'll never stop beating.  Dismissing any fears of failure or humiliation, I'll try new things to create a more well-rounded Sara .  Mark my words, someday I will play that song.  And maybe try ballroom dancing, too.

Adjectives of the Lame

Sit back for another installment of Sara's intolerance.

Is it amazing?  Incredible, you say?  Is it really amazing?  Is it really incredible? Or are you too lazy to come up with a more appropriate adjective that explains what makes it so amazing or incredible?

Have you noticed these words being overused lately?  I have.  So has Jimmy Kimmel.  To my delight the day after "The Bachelor" airs, he does a bit that showcases how the characters on that show overuse "amazing."  Every episode has nearly twenty amazings.  If you find yourself using that word, you only need to picture a plastic, superficial bachelor or bachelorette saying it and you will stop.  I've never watched that show, by the way.  I've only seen how moronic these men and women are during Kimmel's "amazing" count.

It may take a few extra moments, but a person sounds so much more intelligent when they speak thoughtfully.  Sometimes it is difficult to find the right word for a situation, but when it comes to you and you're able to say what you really mean, the person to whom you're speaking will know what you really mean.  Don't you want people to know what you mean?  If you don't, what's the point in even talking?  Say what you need to say!

From Guitar Zero

...to being my own guitar hero.

This weekend after much research, shopping, and hands on strumming at guitar stores around town, I got my first real six string.  First?  I'm not sure about that. Yet. She's a beauty and all I need for now.

I woke up the next morning, saw the guitar, and the realization that it's all mine sunk in.  What also sunk in was the surreal experience of purchasing it.  Yes, Sara.  That really happened.

Most big purchases in this household are made by both Brian and me, but Brian does the extensive research and comparison shopping.  He gives me the highlights and we decide together.  Although supportive of my new hobby and purchase, he admitted to not knowing anything about acoustic guitars and to not being interested in researching them.  So I called on a friend to help me through the process of where to go, what to tell the salesperson, what to ask, etc.  I went all alone to three shops, completely intimidated and terrified.  The owner of the first shop, Larry, was a delight.  He sat me down right away and started placing guitars in my hands.  At first I had no idea what I was holding at any given time nor did he tell me anything about the guitars.  Instead, he asked me what I thought of them.  He was looking for simple things like "it feels comfortable" or "this seems pretty small" or "I don't like that dragon on there."  Seriously. Anyway, turns out he gave me at least eight guitars to try and handed me some of them several times without my knowing.  He said that every time I held this one I had something positive to say.  That's the one I would end up purchasing four days later.

I did visit two other shops during the week.  The lady at the second shop seemed nice enough, but she was no Larry, and the only guitar there I liked was a brand that's new to the market.  My friend didn't seem too impressed so that wore off on me.  The last store I went to was Guitar Center.  That's an experience I don't want to relive.  Going in, I knew I'd be the only woman in there.  Going in, I figured I'd be treated like a little lady.  I did not want to go in, and I was sorry I did. Let's not speak of it.

So after all that, I went back to the first shop.  That same guitar was still my favorite.  Still unsure since I'm such a newbie, I asked an old friend if he would mind trying it.  He got sick though and couldn't.  During our weekly Saturday sweatfest, another friend offered up the opinion of her musician husband.  So a few hours later, I met them at the shop.  As he was playing it, the old friend I asked first surprisingly walked in.  Holy moly.  How many people does it take for Sara to choose a guitar?  It's a party!  Both musicians offered their seals of approval so I made my purchase and brought her home.  I feel good about it.  About all of it!

I call her Sweet Lady Geneviève, or Geneviève for short.  (Keep the G soft please.)  She's made in Québec, so she's French Canadian.  She's slim and has a gorgeous tan.  She has a warm voice that commands attention yet she sings sweet and true. That's her character.  If you want to get technical, the guitar is a Seagull S6 Slim.  The features that set it apart from the S6 Original are a slightly thinner neck, cream-colored bindings, and a tighter grain on top.  It's lovely.  She's lovely.

Mind. Body. House.

Summer has ended.  We had a lovely and restful vacation with family, and the kids went back to school last week.  How are things going?  Everything Zen?  I do think so!

Last year I tried the part-time job thing.  It started off fine, but my boss's instructions to me were rarely in sync with his expectations and I'm no mind-reader.  So this year I'm starting it off by organizing and cleaning everything in our house.  I know I've said I would do that before, but this time I remind myself that I have all year long to get there.  No deadlines.  What's more, I reward myself daily.  I begin every day with a run, bike, or strength training session, do something productive, and then reap my reward.  Here's how:

Monday I dropped off the kids and cleaned our family room from top to bottom.  I mean drag the step ladder from the garage to clean the ceiling fan to wiping the the shutters to cleaning the baseboards clean!  After that, I showered and my friend and I went out to drink our lunches.  Cheers!

Tuesday I purged and organized a few kitchen drawers and cabinets, showered, and visited a guitar store as I was in the market.

Wednesday, I purged and organized a few more kitchen drawers and cabinets.  I cleaned the silverware holder and got rid of phone books.  Why did I wait until now to get rid of those?  I have no idea.  Then I showered and went to a different guitar store.

Thursday I cleaned the outsides of the kitchen cabinets and other grimy spots like the top of the refrigerator.  Then I showered and went to another guitar store and then back to the first one.

I can't remember what I did on Friday but I know I did something productive and then played on my borrowed guitar for the rest of the afternoon.

It is very liberating to get rid of the stuff we don't need and get everything we do need neat and tidy.  It feels so good that it's affecting my mind in the most excellent of ways.  Out with the bad.  In with the good.  Everything Zen.

Hobby Hazard

Playing guitar will never be my occupation, but it's been my hobby for the past month. I'm learning a new skill. At the ripe old age of 37, mind you.  This is the way I've always wanted to learn how to play music.  My teacher is ridiculously talented as both a musician and a teacher.  Really, I kind of think he walks on water.  I'll save my praises of Justin Sandercoe for another day.  Right now, check out my fingers.  They look awful but I'm so proud of them!  I certainly can't be accused of not practicing.

Not Enough Ruffles in the World

I hesitate to even write a post about body image.  Everything worth saying has been said better than I ever could, and it always comes down to the same main ideas:

It's what's inside that really counts.
We shouldn't try to look like women in magazines.
Women in magazines don't even look like that.
You can't define yourself by a number on the scale.
And so on and so on and so on.

Those mantras have been drilled into me since my childhood.  I'm guilty of drilling them into my Girl Scout troop.  But the fact remains, women will always care. How can we not?  We're supposed to look pretty.  For every your stomach looks fine comment from a friend, there's an email in my inbox promoting a new exercise plan for flat abs.  Images of beautiful women surround us. They're featured in displays at the grocery store, in the newspaper ads, in movies and on television, on album covers, and they taunt me every time I walk past Victoria's Secret.  And there lies the root of my own personal insecurity.

No one but my close friends read this blog and anyone who looks at me can tell anyway, so here goes.  To say it politely, I'm not blessed with a curvy figure.  I've joked that my cup size is an A-minus, but there's nothing really funny about that to me.  While I can run off fat and tone my muscles, the only way to make myself curvier is through surgery.  Since I have reservations about doing something as safe as coloring my hair though, cosmetic surgery is completely out of the question.  There is nothing fake about me.  (Not even my hair, and my make-up is BB cream!)  I'm an open book.  I don't pretend to be anyone else (unless it's Halloween or the 3-Day/Ironman when my friend and I dress up to act out).  Plus it costs too much.  And it will probably hurt. If I did it (which I won't), what if I focus on another "flaw," and I still feel bad about myself?  That last one will totally happen.  I know me.  Lastly, I can understand why young, single women might choose to have breast augmentation surgery, but I have a husband who loves me the way I am.  What would be the point?  It may be difficult to find clothes that fit well and bathing suit shopping is the worst, but in the grand scheme of life having small breasts is not a big deal.  It makes running easier and I don't need a super-supportive bra. I should be happy I'm healthy.  I am.  Does it sound like I'm talking myself into it?  I am.  I don't judge women who have the surgery, either.  Maybe they're braver than me or I'm braver for living with it.  Who's to say?  Not me and no one else but the owner of the body.  I respect their decision to go through with it, just as I would expect people to respect my choice to not go through with it.

Speaking of bathing suit shopping, my friend went in search of her summer suit today.  As I was sitting at the kids' swimming lessons, she was texting me updates.  She kept putting herself down and focusing on her cellulite, her thighs, her hips.  I told her none of that mattered; just find something pretty that accents the features she DOES feel good about.  Why can't we talk to ourselves in the same considerate and compassionate way we talk to our best friends?  Only hours before, I was trying on the three suits I own in anticipation of visiting the neighbors' pool this afternoon. Standing before the mirror, I was unhappy three times over.  I bought a two-piece suit earlier this year after reading (in a magazine featuring swimsuit models) that small-chested women would do well to wear a top with ruffles.  I'm easily convinced.  It looks all right, but it doesn't enhance anything.  It just looks like there are a lot of ruffles on my chest.   And that's...okay, I tell myself.  I should go on....  Hey Sara, look at how toned your arms are.  Look at your pretty, naturally-colored hair.  Your abs look better than they did a few months ago.  I'm trying my best to not feel insecure about my body, but I know when I go to the public pool I will compare my figure to everyone else around me.  However, practically every other woman there will probably be doing it, too.  It's our nature.  Maybe the exact same woman I  am envying is wishing she had my ______.  In any case, we all need to just get over it.  I offer no solutions, but maybe playing Beautiful in our heads on repeat would get us on the right track.