Quitter

I woke up this morning and I decided to quit my quest to run a marathon in every state. Nebraska was staring back at me from my closet door where I color in each state I have run and it was pure white. I didn’t run Nebraska and it was there on the map taunting me. Calling me a failure. In my defense, I had the flu and I could no more have run a marathon that day than shuffled out to check the mail. But there it was reminding me of the money I’d spent on nothing.

I will fall short of my goal this year. I feel like I do when I set a goal to run a marathon in under four hours, but I pass the twenty mile mark in over three fifteen. There is usually no way I can make up the time and I spend the last six miles kicking myself and rehashing the first twenty, wondering where I could have sped it up. Here I am in early October with almost three months left to go in the year watching my goal slip through my fingers with no idea what to do about it. And questioning my stupid goal. If it was really important, wouldn’t I strive for it to the exclusion of all else? Am I really balancing all the other priorities in my life or am I, at the core, just a quitter?

We have a phenomenal athlete on our cross country team. She has fans. Yesterday at a meet she didn’t attend, several of her fans came up to meet her. I must say I was disappointed by the lack of graciousness some of her teammates showed to the fans, but this is heady stuff for anyone, let alone the teenage teammates of a phenom. I offered to record a video greeting of the girls for the phenom. They were delighted. Do we need fans in order to run? Or are the fans a result of doing what you know you were meant to do and doing it well?

One of the coaches from another team said that if you weren’t in it to win, it wasn’t worth doing. I respectfully disagreed with him. I said “If I only ran the races I thought I would win, I would never show up at anything.” And I started to wonder… Why show up at all? Maybe that’s why I thought I would quit. But life fully lived is in the mundanity of every day living. God’s will is showing up and doing the next right thing.

I have signed up for 9 marathons this year (10 if you count Iowa in a few weeks) and I have only run 7. I decided that next year I am going to keep a spreadsheet and write down all the money I spend on marathons – the airfare, hotel, registration – including those I run and those I pay for but don’t run so I can get an accurate picture of how much money I am spending on this quest. I guess this means I am not quitting after all. Stupid quest.

Best Laid Plans

I am supposed to run the Omaha Marathon this weekend. It’s Nebraska. That’s a pretty big state to color in on my map and it stretches the colors into new territory. Sure I have Minnesota and Florida and Massachusetts. But Nebraska looks more like I am getting a toe hold to the East. I feel like I am playing Risk instead of running a marathon in every state.

On Sunday, Mary suddenly got sick. I took her to the doctor on Monday. The doctor refused to test for the type of flu that it is, but definitely said it was the flu. She seems to be a little better today. But just a little. Yesterday, Charlie got sick. His teacher said he had an awful day at school. I think she was worried about this starting a trend. He isn’t prone to awfulness. Yes, he is different. But awful? Never. He said he wasn’t feeling well. When we got home, his temperature was 101. Today, he was worse. Will they be better for me to go to Omaha? Will I be ok?

I really need a marathon.

Lucky in Love

I love running. Mostly I love running. Except on mornings when I am running alone and my brain mites have taken over. “You can’t do it.” they tell me. “Just stay in bed.” “Run later.” If I am lucky enough to have rationality win over the brain mites and I put my running shoes on and get out there, usually I feel better. Unless the brain mites launch an insurgency. “Isn’t that your IT band that’s hurting?” “Ouch! Your ankles! You can’t run on sore ankles. You might as well go home.” To combat the brain mites, I try to run with other people who get me thinking about something besides the ongoing dialog in my head.

This morning I was facing the prospect of running alone. I set up the Map My Run app on my new iPhone. At least that would be fun. I headed out the door listening to tunes on my iPhone and hoping the new app was working. I stopped to check it at about half a mile. It said I was running at a 14 minute mile pace. I knew I was slow, but not that slow! Stinkin’ iPhone app. I began running again and by mile 1 it said I was running at an 8:23 pace. That’s better.

By three miles, the brain mites were winning and I thought I might just retrace my steps and go home. I ran up to the meeting spot for tomorrow’s cross country workout for no reason at all, but as I was running back, I saw a guy and two girls run past the street lights down by the canal. That has to be Frank and Theresa, I thought, and I sprinted to catch up with them. They were running with Cindy, who I had never met. She was nice – younger and faster than I am. Frank is just back to running after 8 months off with an injury, so he was only running 10 miles. They hit their turn around sooner than I expected. But, lucky for me, Theresa is training for Ironman and had to put in 6 more miles.

It was hot and muggy as soon as it was light, but we managed to slog through it. Theresa makes me run a little faster than I would have on a day like today and that is a good thing. We picked up another runner who I saw last week who is also training for Ironman. He wants to improve his running because it is his “weak link.” He buys a Coke at his turn around and I am dying to tell him how bad that is for him, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t have any data on the deleterious effects of drinking Coke, but just reading the label is all I need to know.

I ended the day happy with 15 miles. My iPhone App died somewhere after 8 miles (the last time I checked) and I didn’t really care. I won’t use it again. It’s too much technology for a run. Too distracting. Like bringing a generator on a camping trip to the woods.

I know I am lucky to be able to run. I know I am lucky to be able to overcome the brain mites. I know I am lucky to actually enjoy running once I get out there and have company. My body doesn’t fail me, just my brain. For some people, running is more of a struggle. My friend Alan finds that he isn’t a natural runner, but knows that when he does run, it enables him to manage his diabetes more effectively. He writes a terrific blog http://dommy.com/ihaterunning/ and he is raising money for diabetes research, education, and support at: http://bit.ly/3hSxyN I am not raising money but, if you, dear reader, are so inclined, I ask you to support Alan. He allows me to see that I should never take running for granted.

Passing the torch

My closet floor is cluttered with old running shoes I can’t bear to part with, my Boston drop bag, Brooks shoe boxes and other detritus of a Marathon Maniac. There was also a bag filled half full with excess swag I picked up at conferences, marathon expos, and through the generous donations of people I asked for give-away goodies. I use them as prizes for my kids running team. Every time we met, at the end of our run, I would pull out my Brooks shoe box containing slips of paper. Each slip held a child’s name. You must be present to win.

“Let me pick this time, Mrs. Wyman!” “Can I pick, Coach?” They gathered around me like little birds in the nest begging to be fed the latest worm. Depending on the day, I might ask one of the kids who could read to draw the name. If I had a lot of prizes in my bag and a lot of kids in front of me, we would draw another name. If there were still a few minutes before the bell rang, we would draw another name. The kids who were lucky enough to have their name drawn would dive into the bag looking for the perfect prize. I kept about ten prizes in the bag at any one time. If these winners had to go through all the swag to find their perfect prize, we would still be out there waiting. This was coveted swag.

I don’t want to say I had favorites on the team. Each kid on the team was special. Although there were often close to 70 kids aged from four to eleven on the team, at workouts we usually had 40 to 50. Sometimes fewer if it was really cold. There was one boy who ran with us every year for the past five years. When he started, he had to wear leg braces. Big white molded plastic contraptions that strapped on with wide Velcro straps. He hated his leg braces. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears that would form in the corners of his eyes at the thought of his ugly leg braces. I imagine they were painful, but I never asked. The neat thing about this kid was that every single time I saw him on campus, which was just about every day, his face would light up and he would ask “Do we get to run today, Mrs. Wyman?” He needed no swag. For him, running was swag.

Last year, my youngest son spent most of the time curled up on the ground crying. It was a tough year for him. His Tourettes was coming into full flower. He wanted 100% of my attention, but I couldn’t give it to him if I was coaching. I figured my turn as coach was coming to an end. I didn’t enjoy coaching with my son crumpled on the ground crying. I couldn’t coach if I was helping him. It was time to give someone else a turn as coach.

On Sunday, I pushed the shoes aside and hidden underneath the dresses I never wear was the swag bag. I put it in my car and dropped it off at the new coach’s house. I miss the swag bag. Running is swag for me, too, but so is running with the kids.

Run with the Horses Marathon Race Report

Short form: Wyoming – CHECK!

Long form:

If I hadn’t already bought the plane tickets and had my sister coming, I would have stayed home. Some injuries to my feet (completely unrelated to running) have kept me off them for weeks. I had barely run at all since San Francisco last month. But, it was my sister’s birthday and she was flying in and it was Wyoming… I still regret not going to Texas when Mary was sick. Not sure bundling her up for a long car ride would have been a good idea, but I wonder if there could have been a better solution than the one I chose at the time.

So, with trepidation, I packed my bags on Friday morning and headed to the airport. In the back of my mind, I thought my experience with previous marathons might just pull me through. Muscle memory and all that.

It wasn’t a long flight to Salt Lake City and when we got there we didn’t have too much trouble finding the rent-a-car counter. The young man behind the counter told me with a tinge of disgust, the same way I talk about palm kernal oil, that we had a Chevy Cobalt. The implication was obvious – I should upgrade. I had no idea what a Cobalt was, but I just wanted the cheapest.

The drive over was uneventful. I felt like we climbed to a higher elevation coming out of Salt Lake City and never went down again. Green River, Wyoming sits at just over 6,000 feet. Turns out, our hotel is at mile 2 (and 24) of the marathon course, so my sister and I decided to drive the course. It is on the Wild Horse Loop and we thought we might see some wild horses. From the hotel, it is pretty much uphill until past mile 5. There is a 1200 foot elevation gain in this marathon and I suspect 1100 of it is between mile 2 and 5. It was dusty. There was no shade. Despite the 6:30 start, I suspected this run would be hot. It’s a good thing I am from Phoenix and accustomed to this, I thought.

At the “expo” – which was just a packet pick up – we got really cool race shirts/jackets. It is a bright yellow that will be easy to see on those cold dark morning runs in the winter. This is a very nice shirt, especially for such a low priced marathon. Then we went to the art fair and shrimp boil. I don’t think shrimp is the best pre-race meal, but it was the thing to do. I like getting the local flavor out of the marathon experience. We met other Maniacs and 50 Staters and it was fun. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel and I slept better than I have in weeks.

Race morning I got up and got dressed, still unsure of what the day would hold. Could I make it all 26.2 miles? My foot was not quite healed. I hadn’t run. Doubts filled my head. I showed up anyway. It wasn’t too cool a morning, although it had been predicted that it would be 50 at the start, it didn’t feel that cold to me. I left my gloves and sweatshirt in the car. I brought along Bruce’s iPod because I couldn’t find mine and I thought I might be alone out there for a long time. I wanted something to listen to. There was a line painted on the road, someone shouted “GO!” and we were off. 140 marathoners, a bunch of half-marathoners and some running the 10K.

In the first mile, we passed a house where two women were standing inside looking out the window at us. Each had a beer in her hand. I thanked God I was on the outside of that window. Then we climbed up and over a bridge that took us over the railroad tracks in the Union Pacific yard. The bridge appeared to be made of concrete and steel, but it bounced like the bridge at Tom Sawyer’s Island and I was scared I would lose my footing.

My first mile was 9:15. Was this a sustainable pace? Too fast? Too slow? My breathing was still getting adjusted to the altitude. I was unsure what the next mile would hold. At mile 2 the pavement ended and the uphill began. I was trading places with some women who were running then walking, running then walking. I decided that I would walk from mile 3 to mile 4. I put in the ear buds and turned on the iPod. This was not my music mix, but I thought it would be interesting. Eric Clapton was first, followed by Surfin’ USA. I removed the iPod.

I started talking to a woman from the Genome Project at Washington University in St Louis. I told her about Girls Have IT Day and asked her if they had outreach. She said yes and told me about their summer intern program for high school students. I have to remember to look that up. This woman was sponsored by Anhauser-Busch to come out here and give out their energy drink at the finish. She’s run a bunch of marathons, but today was only doing the half as she was targeting Disney in January. I enjoyed talking to her. Along the way, we’d started running again. I wondered if I would just turn around with her at the half turn around or if I could really go 26.2 miles.

About mile 6, now on rolling dirt road, we passed some guys who were talking about San Francisco. They were Maniacs and I adjusted my pace to talk to them. They were from the Seattle area and Denver. Denver had run San Francisco and I enjoyed talking to him about our experiences. It sounds like we had a similar experience, but Denver has run many more marathons than I have, so this was not his first time at SF. We ran a little faster than Seattle, so he dropped back. We weren’t setting any speed records, but I enjoyed having someone to talk to and this wasn’t my day for speed records.

The half turn around came and went. We were 1/4 of the way through the marathon and my watch said 1:15. This was going to be a long day, I thought, but it was all ok. I was ready for a long day. Denver and I stopped at every aid station and chatted with the volunteers. They weren’t handing out cups like they do at other races, but they were setting them on the table for us to pick up. It was conducive to chatting.

A woman driving a car and ringing a cow bell was cheering for Val, whoever that was. Her car had “Go Val Go” written in the dust. Then I saw a man with “Go Val Go” on the back of his shirt. Denver and I told him how much we enjoyed his cheering squad. He ignored us. He was wearing ear buds and I could hear the music blaring. I told Denver that he couldn’t hear us because his music was too loud. We would find out later that he was indeed hard of hearing and had left his hearing aids out for the marathon. His one woman cheering squad told us that’s why she used a cow bell – so he could hear her.

Denver asked if my sister was behind us or in front of us. I said she was way in front of us and we’d probably be seeing her soon. I suspected that she would already be at the turn around. The first woman to come past us looked tired and she was sweating profusely. My sister was not too far back and she looked fresh and ready to go. I thought “She’s right where she wants to be.”

At the half turn around, Denver remarked on the buffet. There were chips, M&Ms, fruit and all sorts of stuff. Two hours and thirty-five minutes had passed since the start. He’d been encouraging me to go on without him every time he had to stop and walk, but I was enjoying our run together and I thought it was helping me not get injured. I have trouble setting appropriate limits for myself. This was good. I thought I might leave him at mile 16 and run in, but at mile 16 I was feeling nauseous and I didn’t want to run ahead. I just wanted to finish.

We saw what people told us were wild horses, but they could have been anything they were so far away. A sheriff rolled by in a pickup and shouted something to us. We both said something like “OK!” and then simultaneously turned to each other and asked “What did he say?”

Somewhere along the way I learned that Denver’s name was Craig. We stopped and read the signs at the overlooks. I don’t think Craig minded the break and I had promised myself the day before on our course tour that I would stop and read them. We saw bands of white and brown in the distant hills. The signs told us that the brown was oil shale and Craig worried out loud about the folly of extracting the oil.

He saw the sheriff at the side of the road and stopped to ask what he had said. Turns out there was a big rattlesnake in our way. We missed it.

One hot dusty mile after another we made progress to the end. I was tired, but nothing felt injured. The blood I had anticipated to be pouring out of my left toe was not. All was well. I think I talked too much. Part of me was just focused on telling stories to fill the time and focus on something besides any pain or tiredness I felt. In retrospect, I should have asked more questions.

At the finish, I saw my sister with a nice award hanging around her neck. Turns out she finished second, but the woman who beat her got a rolling aid station at mile 18. For the last 8 miles of the race, where my sister had anticipated wearing her down by making her rush through the quaint aid stations, the rival had aid handed to her out the window of an SUV and she didn’t need to stop. We debate over whether she knows this is against USATF rules or not. My sister is prone to giving her the benefit of the doubt. I just say she cheated.

That afternoon my sister and I went to get moose burgers (well, she was going to have one, I was going to have the veggie option) but it turns out I was duped. The moose burgers were made of beef. We washed the car because we didn’t want the car rental company knowing we drove on a dirt road and there appeared to be a horse shoe nail in the front tire. And we attempted to climb up the hill to the giant GR on the hillside, but there were signs warning us of a $200 fine for doing so. Thankfully (because I was wearing flip flops) we stayed on the valley floor.

The horse shoe nail was a rock. We had a nice little run this morning and everything was working. I’m set for running with my team tomorrow. And our plane was on time. All in all, a very nice road trip. A very nice finishers medal. And a very nice Wyoming.

Serially Misunderstood

Thanks to the amazing tools offered by WordPress, I learned that someone has linked to me in their blog! Wow! Readership! Fans! They like me. They really like me.

Not so fast. I went and read the blog that linked to mine. It was written by a half marathoner in San Francisco. He said that I whined a lot! What?! Finishing a full marathon is hard work. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it, but I accuse anyone who says a marathon isn’t hard of being disingenuous. I think whiners are people who are saying “My life is so hard! It just isn’t fair!” To the contrary, I was laughing at myself for not being prepared for the hills. I was recounting my own difficulties of running with an injured leg. But through it all, I was intensely grateful to be able to run at all. I was filled with joy for being able to run a full marathon through a beautiful city rich with history. I was thrilled to the tips of my toes that 50% of my immediate family showed up to wish me well when I needed it. And given the opportunity, I would do it all again.

I guess you had to be there. A joke isn’t funny if you have to explain it. Writing isn’t meaningful if it requires justification. I think I’ll stop checking the statistics from Word Press.

I recently read “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” by Haruki Murakami. It is an excellent memoir about the honest challenges and joys of being a marathoner. He wants to write on his headstone “At least he never walked.” I want to write on mine “At least she never quit.”

San Francisco Marathon Race Report

Short Form:  4:13 (who knew it would be so hilly?)

Long Form:

I had trouble getting psyched up for SFM.  I had a great marathon in Missoula two weeks prior and had a few great runs in Maple Valley the following week, but my last run in Maple Valley lasted just over a minute.  My hamstring seized up and it hurt unlike any time before.  I knew to keep running would mean more damage and I hoped if I stopped that it would have time to heal.  I hardly ran again.  It is tough to prepare for a marathon while camping, in my opinion. I began to entertain thoughts of not running SFM.  In my quest for running a marathon in all 50 states, I already had California.

Saturday before the race, we picked up my shirt and number early in the morning and began our ad hoc self-guided walking tour of San Francisco.  After we were done and I sat down with gmaps pedometer, I figured it was somewhere around eight miles.  I slept okay on Saturday night – better than I usually do prior to a marathon.  Getting up extra early isn’t the big deal it used to be.  The alarm went off at about 4 AM and I stood up.  Instantly, I thought “Screw it.” and climbed back in bed.  I told Bruce to forget it, I wasn’t going to go.  He said some things I forget, trying to make me feel better, and then said “We can go down later and watch the runners go by.”  then I heard my sister’s voice “I’d rather be a DNF than a Did Not Start.”  There was no way I could stay in bed and live with myself.  By this time, Bruce had fallen back to sleep, so I poked him repeatedly and said “I gotta do this.”

Getting to the start line took just a few minutes.  When we rented the house in Potrero Hill, we didn’t realize how convenient it would be for running the marathon.  It was a few blocks to a view spot and just three miles to the start/finish.  It was dark and the usual pre-marathon hoopla was going on.  I had my video camera, so I started filming and wondering if I would see anyone I knew.  I chatted briefly with the woman next to me in wave 4.  It was her second marathon and she was hoping for a PR.  Her first marathon was 4 and a half hours.  I wished her well.  I wouldn’t be getting a PR this day.

In the first four flat miles, the sun gently illuminated the fog.  My right leg hurt, but I’d expected that.  My left ankle started hurting and I thought of those guys at the Seattle Marathon during mile 1.  The first guy was listing his aches and pains to the second guy.  The second guy finally said “Look.  26.2 miles is a long way to go.  You do NOT need to tell me about every little ache and pain.”  I laughed at myself and tried to focus on something else.  There were a few chatty people, but no one I felt was going the right pace for me.  This was not going to be a run in which I would try to hold a pace.  I would just run.

I looked at the Golden Gate Bridge appearing up ahead and noticed how much higher it was than we were.  Could this course have hills?  I am not sure why I didn’t think it would.  Perhaps I was just thinking of the first four miles.  The hill was highlighted by some “Burma Shave” signs with stats about the biggest hills in San Francisco.  Worried I would forget them, I filmed them.  When I learn how to edit the film, I will post it on You Tube.  Funny I still call it “film.”

The Golden Gate Bridge was an out and back.  I saw about half a dozen people I know on the bridge.  That was fun.  After the bridge I saw a sign warning of coyote crossing.  Only in San Francisco, I guess.  We ran through some lovely neighborhoods on our way to Golden Gate Park.  Mostly, I think we ran up hill.  Coming into Golden Gate Park, we passed the half way mark.  I forget my split, but it was over two hours.  The second half was going to be ugly.  I could tell.  I stopped to film the buffalo in honor of all the buffalo we’d seen in Yellowstone.  Around mile 15, I put my iPod on and took off my long sleeve shirt.  I had overdressed for this marathon and loaded up with a fuel belt and water.  I don’t know why I had so much stuff with me.  I felt like a pack mule.

Coming out of Golden Gate Park, we ran through Haight-Ashbury.  I had always wanted to see it and it didn’t disappoint.  I wondered about what life was like there in 1969.  I was glad I could run a marathon instead of lie around in a drug-induced haze.  I ran past a banner telling me to break through the wall.  I had no wall.  This whole marathon was hard.  So hard, I forgot to take my Gu.  What was I thinking?

Running into Potrero at about mile 21, I really hoped I would see my family.  I didn’t.  I tried not to let the disappointment get me down.  It’s tough to be a marathon spectator.  But then I saw Bruce and Charlie down the block.  I think I set my fastest time running towards them as Charlie ran towards me.  I picked him up in a big squeezy hug.  We chatted briefly.  He wanted to run the last three miles with me, but was discouraged to learn we’d have to walk three miles back to the house after that.  I trudged on without him.  I did not enjoy the last three miles.  They took forever.  The bands there to cheer us on were loud and not to my taste.  I ran past Barry Bonds Little League Field and I wondered about how healthy it was to have his name on the park as a role model for kids.  I ran past the AT&T Park, which was PacBell Park last time I was in San Francisco.  I ran to where I could hear the announcers at the finish ridiculing some poor guy for failing to wear nipple protectors.  They didn’t let it go and it made me mad.  28 years ago when I ran the Bay to Breakers in San Francisco, I was so fat that my legs rubbed together.  After 8 miles, I was a bloody, embarrassed mess.  I think if the guys at the finish line had ridiculed me, that I never would have run again.  The announcers should be there to cheer on the finishers, not make fun of them.  They said absolutely nothing about me as I finished.  Not even my number.  I was fine with that.

The finish had enough food to keep me supplied as I walked the three miles back to the house.  I was a little disoriented, so I think I went 3 and a half miles, but after a kind woman gave me her map, I was fine.

San Francisco was fun and I would do it again in a minute.  Only next time, I would prefer to do it with a healthy right leg and some hill training.

Vacation Report #5

It stinks that I left my camera in my parents’ van.  There have been so many things this week that I wanted to take pictures of.  I did take some video of the Von Wyman Family Singers around the campfire.  It is such a special time.  The camp out was nice, but cold.  Better too cold than too hot, I think, but I was still cold.

Today we drove to Ashland and I had another experience that ranks up with the best of the trip.  While walking through the park, we found the Ashland City Band playing a free concert.  They were excellent!  And there was such a pleasant mix of ages in the band.  Charlie enjoyed learning what all the different instruments were and trying to pick out the sounds that they made.  Afterwards, we asked one player what kind of instrument he was playing and he told us it was a contrabass clarinet.  He was so nice and helped explain what many other instruments were and the differences between them.  He also told us that they receive their music on Wednesday night and play it in the concert on Thursday night!  What an impressive band.

I have been thinking about backing out of the San Francisco Marathon.  My hamstring is iffy and I haven’t been able to log the essential miles.  I’ll see how I feel.

In the car today Charlie learned how to read a map.

Vacation Report #4

It’s been tough to get consistent Internet access since we left Missoula.  We stayed from Monday night to Sunday morning on the floor of the house my parents are selling.  They have moved into a cottage that is a much more manageable size for two retirees, but not for two retirees plus an active family of five.  I don’t think sleeping on the floor is the best way to prepare for a marathon, so I am just hoping I can finish San Francisco on Sunday, but that’s another story.

While we were at my parents’ we enjoyed running with my sister and her buddies, going to the farmers’ market (great entertainment provided by Jim Hanna and his band!  We just visited a farmers’ market in Oregon and all Charlie could do was complain about the music and say how much better Uncle Jim’s band was.  I thought so, too, but with my bad ear for music, I am not as bothered by flat, out of key singers.), going to the King County Fair and whale watching.  To be honest, the whale watching was not worth the cost, but it is something I have wanted to do for years.  We saw Minke whales, but no Orcas.

I made multiple trips to the Enumclaw Transfer Station with my dad.  He says no one appreciates it like he does and I think he’s right.

On Sunday morning we left for Portland to visit family.  They have a lovely home and a VERY comfortable bed!  Kathy is an excellent chef and we had a great time.  We visited the rose garden and the Japanese garden, although the quiet zen of the place was disturbed by two very chatty teenagers as Mary and her cousin, Amy, caught up on lost time.

Monday I went to the laundromat in Lake Oswego to wash Cory’s sleeping bag that I had not properly dried a few days earlier.  Note to self: thoroughly dry down sleeping bag or it will stink in a few days.  I popped quarters into the drier like a slot machine in Vegas and still it took all morning.  Just after noon  we headed for Corvallis and some blueberry picking at Anderson’s Blueberries.  Charlie is quite the blueberry connoisseur, but once he finds a variety he likes, he’ll eat a pint by himself.  We brought a few bags to the coast with us to share while camping with family in Newport, OR, but they had 12 pounds to share when we showed up.  It’s good to be here during blueberry season! We’re going to pick more tomorrow to take home with us for freezing.

Now, I am sitting in a laundromat with free wifi.  I just popped another quarter in to continue drying my already dry load so i could snag a few more minutes to blog.

Missoula Marathon Race Report

Short form:  3:48, second best marathon time yet

Long form:  We had a nice dinner the night before with all the kids, Mary, Cliff and Tony at an Italian restaurant in Missoula whose name I have forgotten.  Cafe Mambo, maybe.  There were a gaggle of other marathoners there and Cliff had wisely made a reservation for us.  Afterwards we walked to Bernice’s Bakery so Mary could get her requisite piece of chocolate cake.

Marathon morning I woke up at 3:30 AM thinking, yet again, “Why am I doing this?!”  I questioned my sanity, which seems to be dangling on a thinner thread as I get older.  After I got ready, Bruce walked me to the bus.  Our hotel was located rather close to everything we wanted to do.  We did a lot of walking in Missoula.  The bus ride to the start took forever.  I was sure he’d made a wrong turn, or missed our turn entirely.  At the start, Mary connected with old friends, but I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

The gun was terribly loud and I was lucky to get to the start just seconds before it went off.  We ran the first nine miles past beautiful farm land and a paper pulp mill, which I found interesting.  The pacer for the 3:50 pace group was driving me crazy, so I set my goal to beat her.  I ran for many miles with Kim, a local woman who was running her first marathon.  She ended up placing in our division and beating me by over 10 minutes!  What a great first marathon!  She has a farm in Missoula and I enjoyed chatting with her.  At around 10 miles or so, she was feeling very good and decided to speed up.  But by then I had found Ed, a 37 year old from Idaho.  His goal was 3:40 and we seemed well matched.  He had served in the middle east like my brother and he had four kids about the same ages as mine.  He was good company for much of the marathon.

At around the halfway point, we turned into a wooded area and ran up a hill.  Ouch that hill took more than I thought it should.  I loved the downhill that followed.  The last ten miles or so were through neighborhoods that I didn’t find as interesting as the farm land.  Maybe because the last five miles were tougher than I thought they should be.  I had lost the spring in my step.  I had tried to take Gu every five miles so I wouldn’t bonk, and I didn’t, but my stomach wasn’t happy at all.  It was hot.  I was sighing a lot and wishing for the end.  Much to my pleasant surprise, the end wasn’t where I thought I was, it was closer by two blocks!  That felt great!  My boys were there to cheer me on at the finish.  My sister was stunned to see me.  Her goal had been to beat me by an hour and here it was just 29 minutes after she finished.  That was fun.

The volunteers were great all the way along the race.  The course marshals did a fantastic job with traffic control and telling us where to go.  The drinks were plentiful and there were even two gel stops, although I carry my own, it was nice to see.  The half marathon walkers, who were on the same course, were very nice about moving over when I shouted “On your left!”  (I had little lateral movement left and they were often spread four and five across making it difficult to pass them.) The only bad part was at the end.  There was no plain water at the finish, just flavored water and I really sincerely just wanted plain water.  I would absolutely recommend Missoula to any marathoner.  Nice town.  Lots of fun.  Well done race.

Later in the afternoon, my sister, Charlie and I hiked up the mountain behind the football stadium to the M.  I have pictures of it somewhere and will try to remember to add them later.  It was fun and a great way to recover.  I don’t feel sore at all.  Ready for SFM in 10 days!