Well, this explains a few things

Today I learned about something called the plantaris tendon. I never knew this little strip of tissue existed before 8:30 this morning. Now I know far too much about it.

Lower leg of doom

See that thin blue strip? That's your plantaris tendon. Yours is probably fine.

Mine, however, is ruptured. Oh, and my medial gastroc and soleus muscles are torn. For even more fun, I even have a touch of the achilles tendinitis. Why not toss that onto this steaming pile of crap as well?

I can pinpoint the moment this bad boy let go: mile 6 of the Cleveland Half on May 15. It felt like someone took my right calf muscle and ripped it in two. Like any overly stubborn runner, I powered onward and finished the race. Dropping out for the dreaded DNF is not in my vocabulary, even though I could barely hobble forward. I finished that race in 2:28, my slowest half ever. But I finished.

No wonder it hurt so much! I WAS RUNNING WITH A RUPTURED TENDON AND TORN MUSCLES.

I still haven't run since that day. I was hoping to run this coming Saturday with the Engineer at the Canal Days 5K near Ft. Wayne because my leg has felt great, almost normal, for several days. I mentioned this at my appointment today and the radiologist was like "That's not a good idea."

While I won't need surgery, I may be in for a round of physical therapy. I will see my sports medicine doctor at the end of the month for a follow-up and I will hear what she has to say. Right now, however, the course of action can be summed up thusly:

• No running
• No running
• NO RUNNING!

 I'm in for a lot of elliptical, biking, rowing and strength training. 

These recent revelations make the following picture, taken near the end of the Cleveland race, quite bittersweet. I was in a tremendous amount of pain, and I knew I was almost done. I hadn't seen the Redhead yet and I was worried I had been too slow to see her at mile 7 (I didn't know she never even made it there, having gone the wrong way to spectate). I started to hear some crazy person yelling into a bullhorn and when I got close enough I saw that, yes, it was indeed the Redhead, on the sidewalk at mile 12.  Oh, happy day!

I think this is my new favorite race picture ever

I didn't know it, but this would be my last race for a long time.

Interestingly, this injury (the tendon rupture and accompanying gastroc tear) is colloquially known as "tennis leg" because it happens most often to tennis players. Why it happened to me I have no idea.

I'm holding out hope I will be able to run when I go on vacation to Cape Cod in six weeks. That's all I want: to run by the ocean.

Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon 2009: If You Have Forty-Five Seconds to Spare

Call me morbid, call me pale
I've spent six years on your trail
Six full years of my life on your trail.¹

Where it all begins.

Ah, marathon morning. Is there a time which is at once so peaceful yet so calamitous? The stillness of a late spring dawn, cold and quiet, but what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and at 4:35 am a runner awakens in the blackness of her bedchamber and lies motionless, staring at the ceiling, thinking, I am going to run a marathon today. And then the flurry of activity so early in the day, the donning of the special outfit, the arranging of the items, the packing of the bag, the trimming of the toenails, the brewing of the coffee. The heart rate monitor is strapped on, the Body Glide is applied, the D-Chip is fastened, the wild hair is contained, the laces are tied. The laces of the shoes (Brooks Adrenaline 9s) which will carry the runner girl 26.2 miles to either glory or heartbreak.

I ate a banana and a scrambled egg for breakfast, followed by a cup of coffee. Then I took two anti-diarrhea pills. I wanted to avoid the porta-potty fiasco which befell me during the Detroit Marathon last fall. In doing so, I broke the cardinal rule of marathon racing: never try anything new the day of your marathon. I had never taken anti-diarrhea medication before. It was a reckless and potentially disastrous move, but I was determined not to let my GI tract have the upper hand.

We rolled into downtown Cleveland around 6:15 am. At 6:50 I was still trapped in the seemingly endless line for the porta-potties. I squeezed myself into the crowded field as the national anthem was ending and managed to thread my way to a spot near the 3:40 pace group. The sun was rising into a cloudless sky, the temperature was about 45 degrees, and a stiff Lake Erie breeze was coursing down East 9th St. into my face. There was some noise, the crowd surged forward and relaxed, surged and relaxed, and then surged and kept moving. This was it. No hesitation, no doubts, no excuses. It was time for me to run.

Before I had gone even half a mile, I heard it from behind me: "Fuck Michigan!" I turned and saw some guy behind me with a smirk on his face. I shrugged and said, "I knew I was going to get shit for wearing this shirt!"

Brazenly flaunting my Michigan allegiance all over the streets of Cleveland. The nerve.

For the record, that guy never passed me. I totally crushed him. So there.

In addition to my U of M Alumni Association T-shirt, I wore a Dump Runners Club headband which I received from the head Dump Runner himself. My awesomely retro DRC headband plus one of my Bondi Bands kept the 'fro nicely contained and the sweat out of my eyes.

In the very early part of the race I had to deal with a serious problem. The night before, I had set Garmy in its cradle for overnight charging. Except instead of charging, it...didn't. It anti-charged. I got it out to strap it to my wrist once we reached Cleveland and when I pressed the power button, nothing happened. Nothing. The screen was as blank and expressionless as Keanu Reeves' face. Immediately I started to wail, because my entire marathon race strategy was connected to Garmy. My mom came to my rescue, taking back her Garmin 305 which she had given to my dad (my dad ran the half marathon) and giving it to me. But her Garmy was not my Garmy, configured the way I liked it. I got the Auto Lap set up to record each mile, and the display to show pace, distance, HR, and elapsed time, but when we started I realized it was also going to be angrily barking at me because my heart rate had immediately exceeded my mom's maximum HR, and I had programmed her Garmy months ago to chirp if her HR went above a certain level. That had to be stopped RIGHT NOW. I remembered how irritated I had been during the Martian Half Marathon in April when some woman's Garmin kept jingling incessantly, and how I had sped up during the second half of the race for the sole purpose of getting the hell away from her and her annoying watch. Irritation, not strategy or physical conditioning, propelled me to a PR in that race. Thus, I spent the majority of the first mile frantically pressing buttons to make the heart rate alert stop. When I finally lifted my head I was already passing by the baseball stadium. I took the time to look around and enjoy the view from on high as I crossed the Lorain Ave. bridge over the Cuyahoga River and the Flats to the West Side.

My carefully planned three-part race strategy was shot in the first mile. I hit mile 1 at 8:03, which was considerably faster than I had intended (no faster than 8:30 under pain of death!). I forced myself to slow down with limited success. My splits were all over the place. I was executing poorly and I knew it. Yet, it was a beautiful morning for a run, I felt amazing, and I couldn't help myself. The course passed by the West Side Market, St. Ignatius High School, and onward through historic Ohio City to Lakewood with its beautiful old homes along Edgewater Drive. Crowd support in this area was excellent, and I received a number of hearty "Go Blues!" from Michigan fans along the course. There was one guy with a huge Michigan flag attached to the side of his truck, wearing a Michigan sweatshirt and hat, and when he saw me passing by he yelled, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" I pointed at him and yelled back, "Go Blue!"

On the course in Lakewood.

Passing by Browns Stadium again. Almost halfway there.

Miles 1-13: 8:03, 8:40, 8:23, 8:18, 8:09, 8:09, 8:22, 8:16, 8:19, 8:18, 8:41, 8:29, 8:13. Half marathon split: 1:50:03 (8:24/mile pace).

After I passed the half marathon split near Burke Lakefront Airport, the course began the long march eastward on North Marginal Rd., a three-mile straight shot sandwiched between the highway and the lakeshore. After driving this portion of the course the week before, I knew this could be a potentially dangerous area in terms of my morale. And so it was: spectator support dwindled to nothing, my only accompaniment was the whir and rush of cars (and the occasional honk), and the sun glared down, unhindered by any tree. Around mile 14.5 I took my only porta-potty break of the race. The anti-diarrhea meds had done their best, but I still had to stop. Until that point I was on pace for a 3:40 finish. I had a 3:40 pace band on my wrist upon which I had been keeping a close eye, and I knew I was well ahead of my Boston Marathon qualifying time of 3:45:59. If I could maintain my speed, a BQ was in the bag.

Oh, hubris! I was sort of asking for it, wasn't I?

After the long tiresome drag of North Marginal Rd,. the course followed East Blvd and then Martin Luther King Drive, two beautiful, winding, tree-shaded streets encompassing miles 16-21. I was still feeling energetic, eyeing my wristband, mindful of my pace, taking in the scenery, enjoying myself.

On MLK Dr., around mile 19. Looking good.

At mile 21 the course went up a short but painfully steep hill to St. Clair Ave. I walked through the water stop there, at the top of the hill, and getting moving again was difficult. I was starting to drag. The end was tantalizingly close, but as every marathon runner knows, the real race takes place in the final 6.2 miles. It was time to buckle down and put my training to the test.

And then, around mile 22, the pain ripped through my left hamstring, the same pain which had caused me to abort one of my runs several weeks earlier. My stride became lopsided as I began favoring my left leg. Pain shot up and down the back of my leg with each step and I groaned inwardly, wondering if this was it, if it was all over, if I was going to be forced to stop and walk. Then, unbidden, a little ditty swam up from the murk in my mind. Just keep swimming...just keep swimming...It was the character Dory from the film Finding Nemo.



Just keep swimming...just keep swimming...

So that's what I did. One foot in front of the other, just keep swimming. The course entered St. Clair Ave. at East 82nd St. and it would not turn until East 40th St. Two miles of pure BLAH. I tried not to look at the street signs as they painfully ticked off one by one. I alternated that thought with "Boston, Boston, Boston." My leg hurt like hell. My calves were beginning to tense up. I limped. Just keep swimming...Boston, Boston, Boston. At mile 23 I peeked at my watch and I had been running for 3:16. I did a fast calculation in my head: 3.2 miles left. I have 29 minutes to run 3.2 miles. That's essentially a 5K. Can I do it? I've done it before. 3 miles in 29 minutes, that's nothing.

However, this wasn't me starting a 5K race fresh as a daisy with a spring in my step and a couple of sub-7:00 miles in me. This was mile 23 of a marathon and I was tired and in pain. The thought that I might miss my goal by mere seconds weighed heavily on my mind. I stared at the pavement, the three miles left to run feeling more like 20.

Then, at the corner of St Clair and E. 40th just after mile 23 I looked up and my running partner, FK, was standing on the sidewalk. I was so glad to see him. He jumped into the road and started running beside me. I groaned, "Oh my God, I'm so tired." He inquired how I was feeling. I said, "My hamstring hurts. I just want this to be over." We ran along E. 40th and turned onto Euclid Ave. around mile 24. I said, "Talk to me...about anything. Just talk."So he did. He rambled on and we made the northward turn onto E. 18th at mile 25. Only 1.2 miles to go. I looked at my watch. Holy shit, it was going to be close. Now is the time, I thought. You want this so badly. Don't give up.

I made the final turn onto Lakeside Ave. at mile 25.5. I could see far off in the distance the Cleveland City Hall building which was adjacent to the finish line. It might as well have been ten miles away. That's what it looked like to my exhausted eyes.

So close.

My running partner left me on the course just before mile 26. I was alone, ready to engage in the final battle against the clock, against myself.

My dad took this picture from the sideline. I heard him shouting my name as I ran past and all I could do was roll my eyes helplessly in his direction.

SO CLOSE. Within 100 meters of the finish.

I could see the blue banner over the finish line. My heart was thundering in my chest and I was panting. I didn't look at my watch. I didn't want to know. I screamed at myself inside my head: "HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT THIS? DON'T LET IT SLIP AWAY! JUST RUN! RUN! RUN! JUST FUCKING RUN HARDER THAN YOU'VE EVER RUN IN YOUR LIFE! RUNNNNNNN!!!"

And so I did. I ran. My entire world narrowed down to that little strip of blue. There was a dull roar in my ears which I was dimly aware of as crowd noise. I could barely hear it.

You want suffering, here it is. Gosh, doesn't this make running a marathon look like so much FUN?

AL...

MOST...(woah, check out those calf muscles!)

THERE....ARRGH!

As you can see, there was no lifting of my arms in victory or punching at the air as I crossed the finish line. I was totally, utterly spent. I could barely lift my hand to stop Garmy. I looked down. 3:45:16.

I had done it, yet it barely registered. I was preoccupied with the fact that I felt as if I were about to collapse. I moved to the side and put my hands on my knees. My chest was heaving. I saw two pairs of feet appear: race volunteers who had come to see if I was okay. One of them voiced as much and that's when I pushed myself up to a standing position, took the proffered bottle of water, and blurted out, "I JUST QUALIFIED FOR THE BOSTON MARATHON!" They congratulated me and I staggered off through the finishing corral. That was when it finally crashed down on me like a ton of bricks. I had done it. I had really, truly, done it. I started to laugh hysterically, a whooping, crazed sound. Then I began crying at the same time. I covered my face with my hands. Someone said, "I hope those are tears of joy!" I uncovered my face, took a banana from the race volunteer and yelled, "I just qualified for Boston!" I came to the end of the finish corral and my parents and running partner were waiting. I screamed, "I DID IT!"

My final official chip time was 3:45:14.

My Boston qualifying time had to be 3:45:59 or better.

45 seconds. That was how close it was. 45 seconds.

Miles 14-26.2: 8:21, 9:49 (bathroom stop), 8:36, 8:33, 8:46, 8:35, 8:39, 8:31, 9:11 (long walk at water stop), 8:55, 8:42, 8:59, 8:19, and the final 0.2 at a 7:49 pace. Second half: 1:55:11 (8:47/mile pace).

Behold, a Boston Marathon qualifier. I could barely stand up.

FK swapping my shoes for me while I excitedly text a whole bunch of people. I'm so lazy (tired?) I can't even tie my own shoes.

We slowly made our way back to the car, where my dad went inside the parking garage to retrieve it so I would not have to navigate the stairs. In the middle of the street opposite the garage was the 26 mile marker which I had passed not even an hour earlier.

I came, I saw, I conquered this mile.

Then we went down to the Flats for lunch at the Flat Iron Cafe. I wanted a beer and a greasy hamburger, dammit! I got both.

With my long-awaited pint of Smithwick's. It was delicious.

My dad and I back at the parental homestead after the race.

It has now been nine days since the race. I am still recovering physically and getting used to the idea that I am going to be running the Boston Marathon next spring. Me, who three years ago couldn't even run half a mile and weighed 65 pounds more than I do now. Me, who had never run farther than 8 miles at once before I began training for my first half marathon. Me, who could barely maintain a 9:15 pace for a 5K a mere two years ago.

I will be toeing the line in Hopkinton in April 2010.

Final race stats: 3:45:14; 8:35/mile avg; 154 avg HR; 170 max HR; 19/127 AG; 106/854 women.

1: At least that's what it felt like at the time.

After the Marathon

I'll have a proper Cleveland Marathon race report eventually, but in the meantime, this video will tell you all you need to know. Additionally, thank you all SO MUCH for the kind words of congratulations. I am still having a hard time believing I did it...

Cleveland Marathon: Boston Bound, Baby!

3:45:14.

I QUALIFIED FOR THE BOSTON MARATHON!

My god, I did it. I did it, people. I DID IT!

Full gory details soon. Must recuperate first.

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Cloudy With a Chance of Whoop-ass!

That's my official forecast for Sunday.

Actual forecast may vary.

I just picked up my race bib and various other goodies including, yes, three more Bondi Bands for 'fro control.

T-minus 18 hours to race time.

Let's rock and run.

*thanks to TC for post title inspiration.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Know the Enemy

I took a little trip to over the weekend to visit family and go on a reconnaissance mission on the Cleveland Marathon course. I am glad that I did. I have seen the enemy...and it is...Cleveland.

I got a ground-level view of what I am in for on Sunday morning. Some sections of the course promise to be lovely. Others...not so much. Um...whose idea was it for three miles on North Marginal Road with a lovely view of I-90? Really?

The intersection of East 9th and Lakeside in downtown Cleveland, looking west. The finish line is just beyond the Free Stamp (visible at right of picture).

Sunday morning between 10:40 and 10:45 am (barring disaster) I will be pounding pavement as hard as I can down this very stretch of road to complete my second marathon and hopefully, HOPEFULLY, qualify for the Boston Marathon.

I began training for this race exactly four months ago. It's time to put up or shut up. It's on, bitches.

Out with a Whimper

This was the best part of Sunday's long run: my first-ever sighting of a yellow warbler!

Well. This was certainly not the way I had envisioned cresting the hill of my marathon training: 32 miles planned over two days, 21.5 delivered.

Bah humbug!

So what the hell happened? Saturday morning it started well enough. I took off for my 10-mile pace run with a spring in my step and super fab new shorts on my hips. I did mile 1 in 8:14, tried to back off for mile 2 (8:24) but by mile 3 I had crept back to 8:14. This pace is considerably faster than the pace I hope to maintain for the marathon, but it felt nearly effortless and I decided to just go with it. I was ascending a small hill when I felt it: a sharp pulling and then snapping sensation in the middle of my left hamstring. Immediately I stopped, crying out, "ow, ow, ow," and reached around to the back of my leg. I had gone exactly 3.7 miles. I stretched, walked, stretched some more, and then decided I would at least run to reach four miles. Grumbling, I ran the quarter-mile, sharp pain shooting through my leg with each stride. Clearly ten miles wasn't going to happen. At this stage of the game I knew that I should not ignore and run through pain like I usually do. The race is three weeks away. There is no room for error, or, in my case, boneheaded stubbornness. Thus, as soon as I hit four miles, I stopped Garmy and turned around for a long walk home. It took well over an hour. At least the weather was nice. I talked to myself while I was out there (it's OK; I was in the country and no one heard me). Things like "Why did this have to happen now?" "What the fuck is going on?" "God dammit!" and my go-to all-purpose phrase of exasperation, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

The "pause" mark between miles 3 and 4 is where disaster struck.

After babying my leg for the rest of Saturday and the procurement of a great therapeutic massage, I was ready! ready! to hit the Lakelands Trail in Hamburg Sunday morning for my last long run. My über-striver distance goal was 22 miles, but I would be content with 20. After the previous day's FAIL I wanted to rock the run and go out with a bang.

I was doomed from the start, though I didn't know it. I started shortly before 9:00. I should have been on the trail at 7:00. The air was still agreeably cool at 9:00 (about 60 degrees) and the sun was obscured behind clouds. I motored along at a nice easy 8:44-8:59 pace, listened to my iPod, and kept a few neurons trained on my left hamstring (some twinges, but not enough to make me frown). I saw the yellow warbler around mile 3 of the run and was very excited. The miles wore on; I ate a Gu at mile 7, and was optimistic about achieving my goal of 22 miles.

And then. At 9.88 miles, I came to Lake Erie across the trail. At least that's what it looked like: a huge sprawling endless puddle with no opportunity to bypass it. I stopped and contemplated it. My insides shifted. Oh no, not now...I took a couple of experimental steps into the water. Instant shoe soakage. Abort! Abort! Reverse direction NOW! Guts lurch again. Spasms. Look around in desperation. No one on trail as far as I could see. Squish, squish, squish over to a grassy spot by the side of the trail. Humiliation. Why? Ugh. I need to start carrying a little Ziploc bag with some TP in it. Still no one on trail. Stand up, adjust clothes, sigh. Look longingly at dry trail beyond the water hazard. Accept defeat 1.62 miles from planned turnaround point at 11.5 miles. Turn around to face east. What's this, now? Sun? Oh noes...

Yes, the sun had burned away the cloud cover and was now beating down mercilessly. I soldiered on, hugging whichever part of the trail offered the most shade, though shade was in short supply considering the leafless state of the trees (spring hasn't quite made its full appearance up here). The temperature was rising, rising, rising (the thermometer in my car said 82 when I was done). I sucked on my CamelBak, ate another Gu. I sweated. My shorts bunched up and I started to feel the sharp bite of chafage. I reached 12 miles and thought, "There is no way I can do another 10 miles." Instant downgrade to 20-mile goal. I reached 14 miles and thought, "If I make it to 20 I will be lucky." I reached 16 and thought, "No fucking way am I even going to do 20. Once I get back to the road to the parking lot I am so done." And so it was: a little more than a mile further I swung away from the main trail and headed back to the parking lot, hitting Garmy's stop button as soon as I reached 17.5 miles. I was exhausted. My inner thigh burned from being rubbed raw. I felt like I had rolled in salt. What was left of the Ultima in my CamelBak was lukewarm. My shoulders were pink. I was pissed. I felt like I had completely failed once again. I couldn't even push myself another 2.5 miles? Across the road, another 1.25 miles down and back? What kind of fucking WEAK-ASS LOSER RUNNER AM I? I seethed at myself, muttering, "The marathon is nine miles farther, do you think you can handle it? DO YOU? Because right now I don't think so! What if it's this warm in three weeks? You can't flame out at 17.5 miles. You WILL finish the marathon."

Grumble, grumble, grumble. GRUMBLE.

Ironically, when I felt the worst and was the most displeased I was running my fastest splits of the day. Beginning with mile 11, my splits went thusly: 8:39, 8:39, 8:38, 8:53, 8:33, 8:34, 8:40, and 0.5 miles at 8:34. I wasn't even looking at Garmy because I didn't want to know how much longer the hot sweaty torture was going to continue. I just ran. Maybe I wanted it to be over with sooner. (Final stats: 17.5 miles/2:33:43/8:47 average.)

Afterward I drove to the Running Fit Trail Marathon & Half Marathon, which was taking place in the Pinckney Rec Area. I was expecting to see some of my running peeps. While I was there I took the opportunity to wade into Silver Lake's frigid waters for an impromptu "ice bath." It felt amazing. I snagged a blueberry muffin and headed home to clean up before my Michigan Lady Food Bloggers gathering (I made pork liver paté; the theme was French cooking).

And so it ended, this, my last big week of training. Except it really wasn't. I didn't run at all last Wednesday, so there went 10 miles. I managed 5 on Tuesday and 6 on Thursday. 4 on Saturday, 17.5 on Sunday, a total of 32.5 for a week I should have hit 52. This week, with 5-8-5-4-12 on the schedule, I will be running more than last week, and I'm entering my taper...

Shut up, quit whining, I'm doing great, right? Hang in there for two and a half more weeks, it's taper time, enjoy it, I've come so far, I'm going to kick ass in Cleveland, BQ in the bag, babies, it was just one lousy run, the whole program didn't fall apart, I did two 20-mile runs, the third was just the icing on the cake, STOP BITCHING. STOP!

Hey, did y'all know I'm running a marathon in less than three weeks? Well, let me TELL YOU ABOUT IT...IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL! EVEN WHEN THE EXISTING CONVERSATION HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH RUNNING! Don't worry, I'll find an opening somewhere!

So, yeah, I'm running the Cleveland Marathon on May 17...

One Month and Counting

M-Day approacheth: one more month until the Cleveland Marathon!

I feel good. This was a fantastic week of running, probably my best ever. I had three quality runs, fast runs, and I can't wait to get out for my 6- and 12-mile runs this weekend. The sudden improvement in the weather is undoubtedly helping, and I was able to wear both shorts and a tank top for the first time since last October. Divesting myself of irritating full-coverage winter gear has dramatically improved my mood.

I was tagged by Emma with an "Honest Scrap"award which goes something like this:

The Award and Rules:

This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.

The rules are as follows:

1. When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to the said person so everyone knows she/he is real.

2. Choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have seven friends. Show the seven random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog. Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

3. List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on!

In the immortal words of Sally Field, "You like me! You really, really like me!" *blushes* I'm flattered that you think my content is brilliant, all of my posts about pooping in the woods notwithstanding.

I don't like tagging other people, but I like self-absorption (I have a blog, for cryin' out loud) so I'll list ten things about myself and anyone who reads this can choose for themselves whether or not they wish to participate.

1. For a very long time I believed that rivers could only flow south because they had to follow the curve of the earth. I will not say for how long I believed this. Suffice to say it's extremely ironic that I became a geologist¹.

2. I have received nine speeding tickets. I never cried or whined or protested (or flashed any cleavage) when I got pulled over. I had no excuses. I always knew exactly how fast I was going. I like driving fast. To my credit, my last ticket was over three years ago. Once I got my Jetta I started driving like a granny.

3. I once worked at Victoria's Secret. It was the most mind-numbing, tedious job I've ever had. I lasted three weeks before I bolted for an office job.

4. I used to set ants on fire with an enormous magnifying glass². My brother and I would put slugs and snails on top of the gas grill when it was on and watch them die shriveled, horrible deaths. It's a wonder I'm not a serial killer.

5. I almost quit cross-country my freshman year of high school because my legs were so sore after the first week of practice I could barely walk. I didn't; I stuck it out. And good thing, too, or I probably wouldn't be the runner I am today.

6. I thought when the Ramones sang "I wanna be sedated," they were really saying "I wanna piece of this."

7. My two least favorite songs in the entire pantheon of songs are "Brown-Eyed Girl" and "American Pie." I will break the fucking radio trying to change the station if I hear even one nanosecond of either of those. Luckily I have both SiriusXM and an iPod adapter in my car so my chances of inadvertent exposure are greatly diminished. I also cannot abide the entire AC/DC catalog. Hearing what's-his-name's earsplitting screechy voice makes me want to slam some Renée Fleming into the CD player and rock out with a Mozart aria or two.

8. Riffing off one of Emma's items, when I was very little, like 4 or 5 years old, I apparently saved my younger brother from drowning in a swimming pool. I have no memory of doing this. As far as I'm concerned, my brother owes me.

9. I collect antique geologic maps.

10. I am terrified of raccoons. I have dubbed this procyonophobia, from the Latin name for the common American raccoon, Procyon lotor.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

1: OK, fine, I was a freshman in college and this notion was only disabused during my introductory geology class.

2: One can achieve similar effects with a geologist's hand lens.

It Was Dark And No One Saw

Yesterday I received a present in the mail from the good folks of the Cleveland Marathon (you know, that little race I'm running in less than five weeks GAAAAAHHHHH). It was a cute little stretchy black beanie-style cap with "Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon & Half Marathon 2009" stitched on the front. I got it because I registered early for the race. Score one for being an overeager beaver! (aka "total dork.")

I wore it this morning for my five-miler.

Now, in some circles, this is considered a serious breach of running etiquette. Some people believe you should not wear race garb before a race you will be running nor should you wear race garb for a race you have never run (for example, I would never consider wearing a Boston Marathon jacket, cool and awesome as it may be, until I have actually run Boston¹).

But I couldn't resist the lure of my free beanie (freebie? freanie?). As luck would have it, this morning's weather was ideal for such headgear: chilly and damp². So I slipped it on (excellent 'fro containment properties!) and headed out, feeling very sprightly and stylish indeed, and loped my way to 5.23 miles at an 8:16 pace.

No one saw me committing this pre-race faux pas, I swear. My secret is safe with me (and you guys, so don't tell anyone, OK? OK).

1: Which I will be doing in 2010, or 2011 in the event of unforseen disaster. And then you bet your ass I'm getting a BAA jacket and I'm going to wear it everywhere, even to weddings. And funerals. And other inappropriate places.

2: Good thing I went out before dawn, because it's now POURING.

Go Blue!

I just found the shirt I'm going to wear in the Cleveland Marathon:

You asked us to expand Wolverines Run and we listened. It is now open to AAUM members running in any marathon. Join Michigan alumni from around the country in Wolverines Run. Alumni Association members who register any marathon can sport their Maize and Blue spirit while running.

Here’s how it works:

Alumni Association members who participate in a marathon are eligible to register for a free Michigan T-shirt (from Cool-Max or similar material) to wear the day of the marathon. T-shirt quantities are limited this year so register now! Submit your order for your Wolverines Run T-shirt two weeks prior to the race date.

Yes, I'm a member of the Alumni Association of the University of Michigan, and when this was included with my weekly e-True Blue newsletter:

Wolverines Run is open to AAUM members running in any marathon. When you register, you'll receive a free Coolmax Michigan T-shirt to wear on race day. Not only will the shirt tell everyone you're a Michigan grad, but other Michigan alumni can easily identify you and cheer you on to the finish line. Register today!

I saw the words "marathon," "free," "Michigan," and "T-shirt" and I was like, I am so all over that.

Yes, I realize this means I will be wearing a University of Michigan shirt in an Ohio race. I like to court danger. And Viper, if you run the half marathon, you will be able to recognize me as I zoom past you.

Cleveland Rocks!

Here we go, folks. My quest for the 2010 Boston Marathon begins.

Registration Confirmation for:

Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon, Half Marathon & 10K

Dear Sarah,

Congratulations! You are now registered for Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon, Half Marathon & 10K. Please check the event's official website for updates: http://www.clevelandmarathon.com

Event Name: Rite Aid Cleveland Marathon, Half Marathon & 10K
Date & Time: May 17, 2009 07:00 AM
Location: St. Clair/E. 13TH St. Near the Galleria Mall (map)

Packet Pickup Information

Location:

Cleveland Convention Center
Hall D
500 Lakeside Ave E.
Cleveland, OH 44114

Dates/Times:
Friday, May 15, 2009 from 11:00 AM - 7:00 PM
Saturday, May 16, 2009 from 10:00 AM - 6:00 PM

NO RACE DAY PACKET PICK UP