summer is here

The Continuous Life by Mark Strand

What of the neighborhood homes awash In a silver light, of children hunched in the bushes, Watching the grown-ups for signs of surrender, Signs that the irregular pleasures of moving From day to day, of being adrift on the swell of duty, Have run their course? O parents, confess To your little ones the night is a long way off And your taste for the mundane grows; tell them Your worship of household chores has barely begun; Describe the beauty of shovels and rakes, brooms and mops; Say there will always be cooking and cleaning to do, That one thing leads to another, which leads to another; Explain that you live between two great darks, the first With an ending, the second without one, that the luckiest Thing is having been born, that you live in a blur Of hours and days, months and years, and believe It has meaning, despite the occasional fear You are slipping away with nothing completed, nothing To prove you existed. Tell the children to come inside, That your search goes on for something you lost—a name, A family album that fell from its own small matter Into another, a piece of the dark that might have been yours, You don't really know. Say that each of you tries To keep busy, learning to lean down close and hear The careless breathing of earth and feel its available Languor come over you, wave after wave, sending Small tremors of love through your brief, Undeniable selves, into your days, and beyond.

my week so far

Last night I was sitting on the couch, working on my laptop, when I got the low-battery, plug in now or die warning. So I sighed, put my computer down on the floor [foreshadowing: there are no good stories that begin with "and then I put my computer on the floor..."] and got my power cord. The closest plug was behind the couch, so I had to pull the couch away from the wall. Did I mention I was drinking water? I was. So, couch pulling + water glass sitting on arm + laptop on floor = screwed. I am writing this on my ipad, which is irksome but only in a first-world, too many stamp options at the post office, why did they kill off Ned Stark, kind of way.

I had a dentist appointment this morning, which is a frequent occurrence these days. Apparently I clench and/or grind my teeth at night, and we know this because I managed to break two of my molars last year. So I am now wearing a mouthguard splint thing when I sleep, which kind of makes me look like I have a mouth full of Hubba Bubba, but in an attractive way. I have to go in every couple of weeks to have it adjusted, and after today's appointment I had an hour to kill before my sitter left. I drove over to the coffee shop in the old textile mill, ordered a decaf americano, and then picked a spot to work. Unfortunately, the table I picked was next to a loudly humming refrigerator case, hidden behind a curtain. I knew right away that it was a bad spot, that I wanted to move. But I didn't want to seem high maintenance to the guy working on his laptop in the corner. Or to the couple leaning into each other across the room. So I stayed put. Sure am glad I did that!

At dinner tonight, Miles listed for us all the current crushes happening in his class at school. As always seems to be the case, it appears that most of the boys have a crush on the same girl (although not Miles). He asked me to guess which girls he likes, so I called out names and he answered yes, no or maybe. He blushed a little at one or two of the names, which was just about the sweetest thing I have seen all week. Then Clara started offering up her own ideas, like "how about the rug?!? Do you love the rug?" Meanwhile Ruby kept asking to please be excused, but we had only just sat down and she had maybe eaten three bites of food. Each time I said no she put her forehead down on the table and moaned. Related: do you want to know how to make an almost-three year old mad? Ask her if she is tired.

We recently promoted our crazy part-time cat to full-time indoor cat, and so far it seems to be going well (although if you asked him, I doubt he would consider it a promotion, more like incarceration). He has stopped hissing and swiping his claws at me, and his cat-fight scratches are healing. I don't think he has fully adjusted to the litter box though, because this morning I left him shut in our room while the sitter was here (because otherwise he stalks around waiting for a door to open) and I came home to a three-days-worth pile of cat shit in the middle of my bed. Message received Marvin.

Yesterday Ruby and I walked out of her pre-school at the same time as the older brother of one of her friends. The brother was with his grandma, and I said to Ruby, "look, it's _____, [friend]'s brother." So then the grandma asked who we were, and said, "Oh we hear a lot about Ruby." Then somehow we got on the subject of Ruby's hair, and I told her "Ruby hates when I brush her hair." Grandma said, "[Friend]too. She throws a fit. But then ____[the mom, whom I know and like] doesn't care much about her hair." Now imagine grandma saying these words and smelling dog shit at the same time. Because that was the face she made when she said, "doesn't care much about her hair." I'm dying to know if the grandma is the mom's mom, or her MIL. I can't decide which is worse. Of course, I was standing there with just-showered wet hair pulled up in a bun. Because I also don't care much about my hair. Which is why my daughter won't let me brush her hair. Point to grandma.

Just so you know

If your 7 year old gets a letter in the mail inviting him to apply for a Citi Thank You Preferred credit card with a 0% interest rate for 18 months, and you call Citibank to inquire as to why exactly they are sending a 7 year old a credit card application, Citibank will have no information for you.

And you will spend over 23 minutes on hold.

We wonder

Kitchenette Building

by Gwendolyn Brooks

We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" mate, a giddy sound, not strong
Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".

But could a dream sent up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,

Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?

We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.

race day

Well, the bad news is that an hour before my alarm was set to go off (at 4 a.m.) Clara woke me up complaining of a bad dream. Of course, I was immediately wide awake. So now it is 3:15 a.m. and I am dressed and ready for my race. Which doesn't start for three hours and 45 minutes.

The good news is that all the running experts agree that one should eat some carbs 4 hours before a long race. Which is ridiculous advice because most races start at 7 a.m. And who is going to get up at 3 a.m. to eat a waffle, right?

Answer: mothers.

The temperature dropped overnight. It is now around 50 degrees outside, and that rain they have been predicting has finally arrived. And looks like it brought some wind too. I am again questioning whether shorts or pants are better for the race. I think I am still going with shorts because that is what I have worn on my long runs. I know they are comfortable and no weird chaffing. Also, my pants have no pockets, so I would need to wear my running belt (really just a sporty fanny pack), which is annoying to keep adjusting and, like taking a bigger suitcase on vacation, just invites me to overpack and carry things I won't need on my run.

Brian and the kids are going to be spectating at mile 22, and I packed a bag of things for him to bring. Dry socks, my good gloves, more gel, those caffeinated jelly beans (which I reminded him yesterday do not give these to the kids; when I eat them I feel like I have had two shots of espresso). But I am trying to carry everything I need so I won't have to waste any precious time unless I really need to.

I have four gels, two without caffeine for miles 6 and 12, and two with caffeine for miles 18 and ?? Two pockets in my shorts, two pockets on my shirt. Also, burt's bees chapstick. And that is all I am carrying. The forecast says 30% chance of rain for the morning, so I probably need to wear my visor. I don't love wearing it because even though it is black it feels so tennis-y and country club. But it keeps the rain off my eyes without trapping too much heat on my head. So, visor it is.

I haven't decided on shoes yet - new pair or old pair. I was thinking new pair, because Brian got them for me for Christmas and they surely have a bit more cushioning in them. But I don't want my new shoes to get wet because I like my new shoes. I should mention that my new shoes and my old shoes are exactly the same except for color. Old = gray and blue. New = black and blue. This factors in to the consideration.

Yesterday Clara helped me pick out some arm warmers at the marathon expo. I was going to wear my trusty old blue patagonia shirt that I have had since I did outward bound when I was 18, but I really don't want to mess with unpinning my race bib and repinning it if I take off my shirt. Also, don't want to run with it tied around my waist if I don't have to (and I am not tossing that shirt). So I decided to get some arm warmers instead.

Of course, a friend of ours told Brian yesterday that she just cuts the feet off old socks and wears those for racing. Much cooler that buying some. But Clara picked some bright pink ones for me to buy yesterday, so now I am thinking that it will be good luck to wear those. They were only $10, so I can toss if I need to. I am bringing the freebie gloves that a sponsor was giving away, even though they would fit the hands of a lumberjack.

I'm glad I went for my long run in the rain last weekend. I know it isn't a big deal as long as you keep moving. But still, I am going to be cold from the time I park the car until the middle of the first mile. Which is probably an hour and a half. Maybe it will be warm inside the convention center. I can't remember.

I keep bouncing around in my head over pace and time. I haven't run a marathon in fourteen years, so I know I need to approach this as a first-timer, i.e. no time goal. But I can't help myself. When I run my competitive side really comes out, and I want to finish strong. In my mind I am reviewing my past long runs - the good ones and the not so good ones. There is only so much I can control, and the weather is probably the biggest thing out of my control. Bad weather slows runners down. Just a fact. So I need to not get too hung up on my time. And yet, I know I can run a good race. And the circle goes round.

The coach of my running group advised us to think of the marathon as a 20-mile training run followed by a 6.2 mile race. Which means I need to hold back until at least mile 20. I think I can do it, but that is not an easy thing to do when there are people to pass all around and spectators cheering and all that adrenaline.

So now it is 4:23 a.m. and I really don't know what to do with myself. I guess I will just spend the next hour debating my clothing choices, and then leave the house at 5:30.

Here's to a good race!

one week one day

The first thing I heard this morning was Clara's voice. "I had a scary dream. Can I cuddle with you?" I lifted the covers, and she climbed in. Time: 4:55 a.m.

The second thing I heard was the rain. It's Saturday, which means long run. I heaved our fat orange cat off my chest, got out of bed and turned off the alarm before it went off. Then I got back in bed next to my little bundle of Clara-warmth, and started debating with myself. Time: 5:10 a.m.

I can run later on my own...but it's the last long run with my group before the marathon.
I'm tired...no one ever says, "I wish I hadn't gone for that run."
No one would blame me for skipping on a cold, rainy day...how much do you want this?

I decided to at least get dressed and see how miserable it was outside. Clothes on, coffee made, shoes on. Shuffle, phone, wallet, water. Watch and wristband. Then I stepped outside.

And stepped right back in. It wasn't just raining, it was cold. I changed my shorts to running pants, then stood by the front door, uncertain. I decided I would drive over to base and make my decision there.

I could tell that a lot of people had decided to stay in bed this morning. Lots of parking nearby. I really didn't want to turn off the heat in the car. I really didn't want to get wet. I muttered "fucker" several times, not really sure who or what I was referring to. Time: 6:00 a.m.

Then I got out and started running. About three minutes later the rain went from light drizzle to downpour. A flicker through my brain, "what the fuck am I doing this for?" But minutes later, I started to warm up. Maybe I made the right decision.

And then I came upon a guy running in a 1999 Houston-marathon finisher jacket. Seriously! The last marathon I ran was the 1999 Houston marathon. And I haven't seen anyone wearing a shirt or jacket from that race in years. Clearly, a sign of encouragement from the universe.

I had planned to run ten miles, but at the turn around I was feeling good so I did the extra loop that made it 12.5. There weren't many people running the full course this morning (maybe because there just weren't that many people running at all) so I ran alone for this part, keeping pace off a guy in a blue jacket way up ahead of me.

Of course, during the last mile there was another downpour. My shoes were like sponges strapped on my feet, squishing water out with every step. My clothes were soaked through. I kept thinking about the dry shirt in the car. I finished the run, and even though I was tired, I kept running back to the car so I wouldn't get any colder.

In the car, I pulled off my wet shirts, not really caring if anyone saw me, and got the dry one on. Can I describe the heaven that is a dry shirt? (Truly, one gift of long-distance running is exactly this kind of gratitude. Simply not-running becomes a luxury beyond all others. Being out of the rain feels so lucky. A dry shirt, something to savor.) 

“The distance runner is mysteriously reconciling the separations of body and mind, of pain and pleasure, of the conscious and the unconscious. He is repairing the rent, and healing the wound in his divided self. He has found a way to make the ordinary extraordinary; the commonplace unique; the everyday eternal.”
-George Sheehan

 I looked down at my pants - there must have been some laundry detergent left on my pants because there was soapy white foam on both knees. I wished I had brought some dry pants. And dry shoes and socks. And maybe a blow dryer. And a space heater.

I turned up the heat and went to get bagels. Then home, to the longest shower I have taken in a long time. Time: who cares, I'm done running.

"You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming." - Frank Shorter

 One week and one day. I think I'm ready. I know my body can run 26.2 miles. Now it's just up to my mind to make it happen.