If pushed, I would agree that I am a runner. I run on a regular basis year round, but am not super speedy nor do I run marathons. On average I run one “race” a year – Hood to Coast. At the risk of sounding too much like my father, most races have too many damn people. I just like to run.
For the past year or two I’ve tossed around the idea of doing a longer race. I’ve run an 8K which is about 5 miles, but nothing longer. This year I have a friend who is turning 30, actually the majority of my friends are turning 30, however this friend was entering 30 in panic mode. As we’re both single and childless, she wondered if I didn’t feel pressure to accomplish something significant before turning 30. I really didn’t. None the less, she put this bug into my head that we should run a half marathon. Since I was coming off Hood to Coast and already had my mileage up, I somehow found myself agreeing. I could run 13.1 miles with girl friends and live to tell the tale.
I mentioned to a friend at work that I was thinking about running a half. Ten minutes later he had a training schedule for me. Things were starting to look serious. To date I have yet to follow the training schedule perfectly, but I’m getting the bulk of miles in. Last Saturday I found myself on a 10-mile run through Forest Park. Who would have thought I’d ever be running that far?
Around the time that I made a decision and paid the entry fee, my girl friends all decided to do a different race. I am maintaining my commitment to the “Run Like Hell.” Supposedly it’s a great half for a first timer. Plus its in my backyard. The course goes through my neighborhood and through my work neighborhood. And up one of the biggest hills in Portland, but I’m blocking that out for now.
Here I am, about four weeks out from the race, and am still optimistic and positive about it. New shoes, a new iPod and a new mileage tracker to motivate me help with the optimism. Having a few long runs under my belt also certainly helps. Even the fact that my girl friends have deserted hasn’t distracted me. I am after all, my own best competitor. I’ve already gone from a goal of just finishing the race to finishing in less than 2 hours. A goal that is ambitious but do-able.
While I don’t feel like I need to “accomplish” anything before turning 30, I do believe in pushing myself out of my comfort zone whenever possible. If running for 13.1 miles isn’t uncomfortable, I don’t know what is.
September 28, 2010
Fall = Football
I love fall. The leaves turning beautiful shades of red and gold . . . falling to the earth and getting stuck in my windshield wipers, along the seams of my car doors and trunk and the fact that they manage to all find their way into my nice clean car. In all seriousness, I do enjoy fall. The temperatures are perfect for running and best of all . . . football season.
A few years ago, I met some guys at work who were huge Oregon State football fans. More often than not, we had a conversation on Friday where upon learning that my only plans for the weekend were studying (I was in grad school at the time), they imparted upon me notice that they would pick me up at some ungodly hour of the morning and were taking me to the football game. Now I find myself writing a check each spring for season tickets.
Like most sports I’ve never played, I’m familiar enough to understand the basic rules but am far from an expert. Each fall I try and learn a new rule or play, last year I learned about the blitz. I have a theory that someday I’m going to meet some cute football fan and he’s going to want to teach me something, so it wouldn’t be prudent to any future relationship to learn everything on my own. Besides, I currently know enough to sound mostly intelligent while getting away with some ignorance because I’m a girl. A perfect combination if you ask me.
Last weekend was an away game that was shown on a TV channel that I actually get. So my Saturday night was spent yelling at my TV in the privacy of my own home, hoping that my apartment neighbors didn’t think I was too crazy. Around the second quarter I realized that not only was I yelling the standard “Run, Quizz, Run!” but off sides, false start and pass interference were making an appearance in my ranting at the TV. Even more amazing, I had the uses of off sides and false start correct!
Why do I love fall? Yes, the leaves are pretty, but nothing brings my group of close friends together like college football. When else do you have six full Saturdays designated for doing nothing other than hanging out, eating and drinking, watching football and cheering for your team? Go Beavs.
A few years ago, I met some guys at work who were huge Oregon State football fans. More often than not, we had a conversation on Friday where upon learning that my only plans for the weekend were studying (I was in grad school at the time), they imparted upon me notice that they would pick me up at some ungodly hour of the morning and were taking me to the football game. Now I find myself writing a check each spring for season tickets.
Like most sports I’ve never played, I’m familiar enough to understand the basic rules but am far from an expert. Each fall I try and learn a new rule or play, last year I learned about the blitz. I have a theory that someday I’m going to meet some cute football fan and he’s going to want to teach me something, so it wouldn’t be prudent to any future relationship to learn everything on my own. Besides, I currently know enough to sound mostly intelligent while getting away with some ignorance because I’m a girl. A perfect combination if you ask me.
Last weekend was an away game that was shown on a TV channel that I actually get. So my Saturday night was spent yelling at my TV in the privacy of my own home, hoping that my apartment neighbors didn’t think I was too crazy. Around the second quarter I realized that not only was I yelling the standard “Run, Quizz, Run!” but off sides, false start and pass interference were making an appearance in my ranting at the TV. Even more amazing, I had the uses of off sides and false start correct!
Why do I love fall? Yes, the leaves are pretty, but nothing brings my group of close friends together like college football. When else do you have six full Saturdays designated for doing nothing other than hanging out, eating and drinking, watching football and cheering for your team? Go Beavs.
September 27, 2010
Program Kids
One of the best things I ever did was ignore my mom when she told me to stay away from a certain group of kids in my high school. These kids were . . . . Program Kids (insert evil music here). Hmmm . . . . it sounds much less terrifying than it did as I was being warned away as a freshman in high school. I vividly remember my mom telling me to not hang out with any program kids because they were trouble. That lasted maybe a week. What can I say? Those program boys were cute!
And it turned out that those kids were some of the most interesting I’d meet in Thompson Falls. They had traveled, had fancy clothes, took week long ski trips, had great stories from various adventures, and taught me the very important lesson that money is not everything. Money does not buy you love or your parent’s attention. It can however buy you trouble and a one way ticket to the middle of no where Montana to rehabilitate.
I ended up being friends with a fair number of the program kids over the years. I found it ironic that my mother was concerned about me spending time with these kids when they were under tighter rules than the strictest parents could come up with. They were genuinely nice and interesting kids though, with the common denominator of wealthy absent parents. And by the time they were rehabilitated enough to attend my high school, they were back to being “normal” kids. With less privileges and more rules than the rest of us.
A few years ago, in the MySpace hay day, one of them tracked me down to thank me for always helping him with his math. I of course sat next to him in math because he was cute and funny. He apparently sat next to me to get help with his homework. The MySpace note was so sweet and thoughtful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hardly knew what I was doing in math. It definitely made it worth ignoring my mom all those years ago.
The program kids, even if they were trouble, taught me that there was a whole wide world out there. Not just in places to see but in people to meet. More importantly, they taught me that friends can come from anywhere and come from a variety of backgrounds. And for this I thank them.
And it turned out that those kids were some of the most interesting I’d meet in Thompson Falls. They had traveled, had fancy clothes, took week long ski trips, had great stories from various adventures, and taught me the very important lesson that money is not everything. Money does not buy you love or your parent’s attention. It can however buy you trouble and a one way ticket to the middle of no where Montana to rehabilitate.
I ended up being friends with a fair number of the program kids over the years. I found it ironic that my mother was concerned about me spending time with these kids when they were under tighter rules than the strictest parents could come up with. They were genuinely nice and interesting kids though, with the common denominator of wealthy absent parents. And by the time they were rehabilitated enough to attend my high school, they were back to being “normal” kids. With less privileges and more rules than the rest of us.
A few years ago, in the MySpace hay day, one of them tracked me down to thank me for always helping him with his math. I of course sat next to him in math because he was cute and funny. He apparently sat next to me to get help with his homework. The MySpace note was so sweet and thoughtful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hardly knew what I was doing in math. It definitely made it worth ignoring my mom all those years ago.
The program kids, even if they were trouble, taught me that there was a whole wide world out there. Not just in places to see but in people to meet. More importantly, they taught me that friends can come from anywhere and come from a variety of backgrounds. And for this I thank them.
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