I said last night that I would provide my hotel report concerning the Four Seasons Houston. I think that approximately 1 person in the entire world cares about what I think about the hotels I stay in (i.e. me), but I said I'd post, so I will. Only it will be from memory, since I'm back home in Austin now.
Okay, so, Four Seasons...
1) The minibar has awesome cashews. If you're ever on the road and in search of the best mini-bar cashews, you want Banana Moon brand (or something like that) and you want the giant cashews. These bad boys are, in fact, pretty fat little suckers and they're covered in salt. Yum!! If you eat the whole can, expect to feel sick to your stomach and to have consumed 560 calories and a shitload of fat grams (but oh so worth it).
2) The minibar has Perrier. I'd prefer San Pellegrino, seeing as how the French are generally a pain in the ass and it shows in the aggressive carbonation of Perrier sparkling water. By contrast, San Pellegrino is a little more relaxed in terms of the bubbly aspect to the water, plus it's Italian, which is automatically preferable to French water--the French are just so high maintenance. But anyway...
3) The minibar only provides three beers, total: one Miller Lite, one Budweiser, and one Heineken. This sucks. There should be two of each. Just sayin'...
4) The room was fine. Not glorious. Not sumptuous. Fine. The Four Seasons Houston is a lot like the Four Seasons Austin...it just flat out needs to be updated. It's still awfully nice, but the Earth tones they originally chose to decorate the place in (lots of soothing yellows, mild browns and beiges) are a little dated at this point. Also, my room, a "Deluxe King" or DK, for short, was this big-ass room on the corner that was big, but contained no more furniture or fancy-pants stuff than a regular room with less square footage would have contained. Bottom line, I felt gyped (even though I did get to watch all the people file into the Toyota Center to see Barack).
5) Quickies: the bathrobes are a really nice touch; the bathing products (shampoo, soap, etc.) all smell good plus they give you shower gel, which most hotels no longer do; the toilets do not flush to my satisfaction (my toilet at home gets 'er done faster in the flush department than the 4S's toilet); the personnel are incredibly nice and friendly and I'm pretty sure you could swear at them and kick them in the balls and they would still be super nice; valet parking rates are reasonable given what I've seen ($27 a day, but my office parking garage is $18, and I had my car parked longer at the 4S, so...).
6) Now, here's a friendly tip. If your cell phone doesn't work in your hotel room, whatever you do, resist the urge to use the hotel phone. I mean, if you can charge the call to your company, or you have a calling card or whatever, use it. However, if you're a little lubed up from the Miller and/or Budweiser products in your minibar, and you decide, damn the torpedoes!, you're going to make a lengthy personal call via the hotel phone (it's oh-so-easy to dial 8+1+the number), DON'T DO IT!!!! It could wind up costing you something like, I don't know, $265. Not that I would know, I'm just sayin'...
7) If you decide to take yourself to dinner at Quattro, the "authentic" Italian restaurant on the third floor, note that eating at the bar is maybe not the best option if you're a white, mid-thirties, hardly-ever-smile-but-really-mean-to-because-you-genuinely-like-people-especially-bartenders kind of a gal. You simply will not get good service. Also, the olives they serve gratis are not worth the calories, so skip 'em.
8) Even if you say "no", people will take off with your luggage, so come prepared to tip. Also, if you can't get through the concierge/front desk line to get change for a twenty before the bellhop shows up with your suitcase you've had in storage all day, don't worry about it, he has change.
9) OH MY GOD, I ALMOST FORGOT AND THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING OF ALL: there is no coffee pot in your room, so you HAVE to order room service if you want coffee while you're getting ready to go in the morning. Annoying.
Right, so that does it for my Four Seasons Houston report.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Obama in '08 (in Houston, Anyway)
I'm in Houston, staying at the Four Seasons downtown (hotel report to come later, suffice it for now to say that the minibar has cashews and they are awesome).
I had a client meeting this afternoon, and it went well, more on that later, too. Maybe.
What I really am posting to say is that my room looks out at the Toyota Center, where the Rockets play. However, this evening, Barack Obama is speaking. There is already a line around the block to get in. People have already been chanting and cheering. There's a helicopter circling.
I wonder if there are any tickets left or if not tickets, whether you have to go stand in that long-ass line to get in. I wonder if Oprah's here...
I had a client meeting this afternoon, and it went well, more on that later, too. Maybe.
What I really am posting to say is that my room looks out at the Toyota Center, where the Rockets play. However, this evening, Barack Obama is speaking. There is already a line around the block to get in. People have already been chanting and cheering. There's a helicopter circling.
I wonder if there are any tickets left or if not tickets, whether you have to go stand in that long-ass line to get in. I wonder if Oprah's here...
Monday, February 18, 2008
AT&T Marathon Race Report--And No, I Didn't Run
I did not run the marathon yesterday. On the one hand, today, I wish I had. I have signed up for and completed four marathons, including Boston, and I have felt the soreness the day after that is at once cursed and blessed. I know what it's like to place your feet on the floor as you attempt to get out of bed, and to pause for a moment there, weighing whether or not your legs will actually support you. I'm familiar with the hitch in your git-a-long as you go about your normal, day-to-day activities. It's a welcome kind of stiffness. But it's not just physical, it's mental. You're not quite all there. The brain is tired from an activity that is more mental, arguably, than physical. You are emotionally, psychologically and spiritually (perhaps) drained. The best thing you can do on the day after a marathon is something wonderously mindless, and simply enjoy the high of what you accomplished the day before. And I wish I felt that soreness and that spaciness today. But then again, I'm happy for what I did yesterday, and though it was not the marathon, and it cannot match the emotion of conquering 26.2 on your own two feet, I got to witness so many amazing things.
Yesterday morning, running late as usual, I met Tim S., Carri, Kerry and Shorey at Barton Springs and Congress, just after the cannon went off marking the start of the marathon. I was remarkably calm in my tardiness--for once--and, accepting that I was too late to meet these four wonderful people at J&A's at the appointed time of 6:30 a.m., I took my time getting my bike off my car, checking my tires, putting on all my layers of clothing, figuring out which pocket would hold what stuff, etc. I took my time on this gorgeous morning, right up until I heard the cannon fire (holy shit was that loud!), and heard the fireworks going off, and then I wanted like nothing else in the world to be at the starting line, watching my friends, a wonderfully nice man I work with, and my dad take off from the starting line and head south along Congress to begin their 26.2 mile journey. I kicked it into high gear and hauled ass from J&A's to the Embassy Suites to meet up with the people I would ride around with on the course for the next four hours.
I was sad that I'd missed so many people crossing the bridge by the time I met up with my fellow cheerleaders, but I at least thought I might see my dad. His first marathon was Dallas in 2006. I was supposed to run it with him, but an IT band issue made that impossible, so I jumped into the race with him at mile 12 and did the last 14 with him--a fair amount of which was in the rain at 50 degrees or less--and I was so proud of him. His name (unfortunately, Dick) was on his bib and he had a special bib for being a first-timer, and I will never forget the people in Lakewood (a neighborhood I lived in when I first moved back to Dallas from grad school) cheering for my dad by name, and this one lady in particular, who said to him, "Today you are a marathoner." I started crying, I was so proud of him. On that day, in fact, my whole family became marathoners: my mom (2 prior marathons), my dad (1) and me (4). So fast forward to Austin, and here my dad would be making his second attempt at the distance. He did Dallas in 4:58. I knew he wouldn't run Austin as fast, so I knew I wouldn't see him out on the course, since our group cheerleader goal was to root our friends on, who are considerably faster than my dad (and he knew this was my strategy and encouraged it, so it's not like I'm the world's biggest asshole of a daughter), so I really, really hoped I'd see him at the start. Unfortunately, I didn't, but Tim, Carri, Kerry and Shorey were kind enough to stay for a good, long time, helping me look for him (Group: What does he look like? Me: A fatter, older, male version of me.).
Our next stop was city hall. We chose this spot because we figured we were well ahead of the runners, it being roughly mile six and all, and so this would afford us time for a bathroom break and a cup of coffee, neither of which happened, since both Austin Java and Joe's were closed (WTF?). However, to make up for it, we did get to ride our bikes across the 1st Street bridge, which was utterly devoid of traffic. I even rode on the wrong side of the road, and for as silly as that sounds, it was fun. Think about it: the sun is barely up, it's a chilly day but you feel so alive, you're outside, you're out to cheer for the people you love, and you're riding down the middle of a busy street that is, for once, not busy, and you just feel free. It's tough to get more beautiful than that.
We parked our bikes and stood there next to city hall on Lavaca and waited for the runners. It's thrilling, that wait. And then, there they were. At first it was a slow trickle, and I was happy to see Desiree. I don't know her except to say that once I talked with her at J&A's and she was really, really nice, and I know she has big dreams, so I always like to see her doing well and looking strong. Aside from her, I didn't recognize a soul, aside from the people I know, and even then, had I been on my own, I would have missed most of them--I think I need contacts or Lasik or something. Anyway, it was good to see so many people looking so strong, 10k in to this bad boy. But then, who doesn't look good...right?
Next came the task of getting to Exposition and Enfield. Holy God, this was harder than you might think! Long story short, we wound up on the course, riding alongside the runners as they turned off Cesar Chavez and onto the little road that winds around Austin High. Not good. Too narrow for well-meaning cyclists who are very definitely in the way of runners. The good news is, we managed to find a cut-through to get us out to Lake Austin Blvd., and none of the runners seemed to mind we were taking up part of their course--we kept saying we were sorry, and they kept telling us they were glad we were out there cheering. That felt good.
So, fast forward to Exposition and Westover. We had to struggle to get to this point on the course before our friends showed up. I can't remember if we got there in time to see Wiley and Triscuit come through (roughly 3:20 - 3:30 pace), but we definitely missed Panther (and my new partner-from-work friend, who was in from Detroit and is a much stronger runner than I thought). I know we saw Dionn and Nick, however, and they both looked strong. Dave and Michael were behind them, as was Justin. David looked okay, and so did Justin. Michael looked like he might have been struggling a tiny bit. But overall, everyone seemed to be holding it together. This was roughly mile 11...
The cheerleader group then high-tailed it to Hancock and Shoal Creek, which I think was about mile 14 (incidentally, thank you to Tim S., our fearless and infinitely patient map reader and navigator extraordinaire). We still missed the 3:00 group, which means we missed Panther and my work friend (Dan is his name, by the way). This was frustrating and a little disappointing, but we were still in plenty of time to see Wiley, Triscuit, Dionn and Nick, all of whom looked strong. Dave was fading just a tiny bit, Justin seemed in good spirits, but Michael didn't look happy at all. It is worth noting that by now, the sun was shining brightly, and it was starting to get a little warm (probably into the high 50's to low 60's by this point).
The next cheerleader stop was mile 20 or thereabouts. Finally we were ahead of the lead runners! We waited there for a little while. Tim helped a deaf girl who was riding the course figure out where she was. It was kind of sweet. When the runners began trickling in, we got out our cowbells and yelled for them. We kept looking for Panther. At one point, after we'd expected to see him and started getting nervous, we wondered if Audrey had gone into labor and Panther had left the race, but we figured we would have heard, and so we kept waiting. It wasn't that Panther was THAT slow, it's just that I think we all wanted him to smash his PR, and so we kept thinking he'd show up running, like, 2:40 pace or something, unrealistic as that absolutely was. We finally saw him coming up the hill (his form and his yellow shoes are unmistakeable), and we cheered stupidly and loudly for him. He looked like he'd long since stopped having fun. We waited around for a tiny bit longer, but we didn't stay to cheer much past Panther. I really thought I would've seen Dan by now, but having just met him in person the day before--clothed in a sweater and jeans and looking all showered and clean--it's tough to say what he would have looked like running. Turns out, I'm certain he ran right past us and I just failed to recognize him.
Anyway, we got back on our bikes and headed for Tony's house at 46th and Speedway. I have no idea what mile marker that was--22, maybe? Anyway, Tony was out front (for the first time that I'd ever witnessed, without a baseball cap). He was kind enough to let us use his restroom and park our bikes on his curb. And then we stood there for the longest of any stop. By now it was legitimately warm, at least for a marathon. We saw Panther coming and we cheered like maniacs. He came to the side of the road and told us he had started walking by 16. Still, he was making good time, even though he looked very unhappy and uncomfortable by this point. I am happy to report, I FINALLY saw partner-from-work Dan, my new friend. Only I didn't put it together in time that that was him. I hate yelling at people unless I'm certain of who they are, because I look stupid enough of the time as it is, I really don't need to look stupid out on the race course. I wish now, though, that I'd have yelled. Like I said, Dan was in from Detroit, and though he's perfectly used to competing in foreign places (literally, foreign, he did duathlon worlds in Denmark in 2006), I still would've liked for him to have had a cheering section. In spite of not yelling for him, my observation was that he looked sweaty and determined and a little bit tired, and perhaps even a little bit nervous about his finish at that point. I can say this, because I saw the same look on a lot of faces.
And that was the beauty of the cheering stop in front of Tony's house. This was the point at which the marathon became The Marathon. Wiley still looked great, in fact, Wiley looked like he was having the time of his life, and that was incredibly gratifying, after all the guy has been through with respect to this distance. But Triscuit, though she perked up when she saw us, looked a little tired. As did most of the runners who passed by. We cheered for them, but I think even us cheerleaders started to get tired. It was awfully quiet out on that course, and there was a lot of pain in a lot of faces. People were stopping to stretch out cramps, folks were walking. We saw JJ, and he looked so miserable, it was like there was nothing in the world we could've said to put a smile on his face. In fact, of everyone we saw come through besides Wiley, Dionn was the only one who still had a smile to offer up freely. Nick tried, but he was starting to show signs of wear. Dave had to force it and so did Justin. We didn't see Michael at all.
I have to pause here and tell you, it is hard to see your friends suffer. These are the people you run with, you drink with, you bike with, you laugh with, you make completely inappropriate comments to, you piss off, you forgive, you love in spite of their quirks, but more than anything, you remember their smiles and their joys. So it's really hard to see them suffering, self-imposed or not. It's tough to watch them gut it out, and yet you're so proud of them for doing it. That stop in front of Tony's house, where nearly everyone--friends, acquaintances, total strangers--was reduced to the lowest common denominator of being purely human and nothing more...this is where the beauty of the marathon truly comes through. It is at this point that if you are watching these people, you wish you were out there, too, and at that same time, you're so grateful for the experience of being there as their support, as their cheerleaders, you're so appreciative for the opportunity to send them every last bit of positive energy you have in the hopes they can take it from you and get to the next mile and the next and the next. I think, if I ever go to cheer at another marathon (and I will), I will stand at mile 21 or 22 or whatever it was, and cheer there, because I think that's where the exchange between the runner and the person who is cheering for them is the most significant, the most equal in terms of what one gets from the other.
Anyway, moving on. We stayed at Tony's for as long as we could, and then we rode like crazy to get to the finish. We knew we'd miss Panther (and my friend Dan), but as spread out as everyone had become, we were worried we might miss Dionn, too.
We found a spot right in front of the Capitol, maybe 25 yards from the turn onto Congress, so, basically, mile 26. We were really worried we'd missed Dionn (we knew we'd missed Wiley and Triscuit), but it turns out we hadn't. There she was, in front of the 3:45 group, in fact. She looked as happy and fresh as if she'd just started the race. We expected to see Nick right behind. Or right with the 3:45 group when they actually did come through. Or with the 3:50 people. A short time later, there he was, but he looked tired. He seemed to brighten when he saw us, though, and it was good to know he was okay.
Eventually we saw Dave and Justin. We saw Gina and a bunch of other people. It turns out that Michael didn't finish, and that's too bad. I also didn't see my dad, but I later met up with him and my mom, and he finished in 5:26:51. He's not super happy with the time, but then, Austin is hillier than Dallas, and he was running 20 lbs. heavier this year. In other words, he'll be back. I should also mention, he's 68 years old going on 69. I'm super proud of him. As for my partner-from-work friend, Dan, he finished in 3:13:31. That's a PR for him. Considering he's 1) 46 years old; 2) didn't start running until he was 38 years old; 3) travels like a madman (think my schedule on steroids); and 4) was in a bike wreck in late July that left him with a broken shoulder blade, broken collar bone and 4 broken ribs (2 of which were literally cracked in two), plus a punctured lung, and it makes his PR yesterday all the more incredible.
I guess, after a posting that is too long, considering all I did yesterday was ride my bike around for fun, the point in all of this is that all of you who ran made my whole Sunday--my whole week, really--worthwhile. I've said it in email to many of you, but you were inspirational, you brought tears to my eyes, and I love you guys and respect you all the more for what you did yesterday (and that goes for you half-marathoners, too). As for the crew I rode around with all morning, I can't imagine a better group to spend a glorious Sunday morning with, and I'm grateful to you guys for being dorky and loud right along with me.
Congratulations, everyone!
Yesterday morning, running late as usual, I met Tim S., Carri, Kerry and Shorey at Barton Springs and Congress, just after the cannon went off marking the start of the marathon. I was remarkably calm in my tardiness--for once--and, accepting that I was too late to meet these four wonderful people at J&A's at the appointed time of 6:30 a.m., I took my time getting my bike off my car, checking my tires, putting on all my layers of clothing, figuring out which pocket would hold what stuff, etc. I took my time on this gorgeous morning, right up until I heard the cannon fire (holy shit was that loud!), and heard the fireworks going off, and then I wanted like nothing else in the world to be at the starting line, watching my friends, a wonderfully nice man I work with, and my dad take off from the starting line and head south along Congress to begin their 26.2 mile journey. I kicked it into high gear and hauled ass from J&A's to the Embassy Suites to meet up with the people I would ride around with on the course for the next four hours.
I was sad that I'd missed so many people crossing the bridge by the time I met up with my fellow cheerleaders, but I at least thought I might see my dad. His first marathon was Dallas in 2006. I was supposed to run it with him, but an IT band issue made that impossible, so I jumped into the race with him at mile 12 and did the last 14 with him--a fair amount of which was in the rain at 50 degrees or less--and I was so proud of him. His name (unfortunately, Dick) was on his bib and he had a special bib for being a first-timer, and I will never forget the people in Lakewood (a neighborhood I lived in when I first moved back to Dallas from grad school) cheering for my dad by name, and this one lady in particular, who said to him, "Today you are a marathoner." I started crying, I was so proud of him. On that day, in fact, my whole family became marathoners: my mom (2 prior marathons), my dad (1) and me (4). So fast forward to Austin, and here my dad would be making his second attempt at the distance. He did Dallas in 4:58. I knew he wouldn't run Austin as fast, so I knew I wouldn't see him out on the course, since our group cheerleader goal was to root our friends on, who are considerably faster than my dad (and he knew this was my strategy and encouraged it, so it's not like I'm the world's biggest asshole of a daughter), so I really, really hoped I'd see him at the start. Unfortunately, I didn't, but Tim, Carri, Kerry and Shorey were kind enough to stay for a good, long time, helping me look for him (Group: What does he look like? Me: A fatter, older, male version of me.).
Our next stop was city hall. We chose this spot because we figured we were well ahead of the runners, it being roughly mile six and all, and so this would afford us time for a bathroom break and a cup of coffee, neither of which happened, since both Austin Java and Joe's were closed (WTF?). However, to make up for it, we did get to ride our bikes across the 1st Street bridge, which was utterly devoid of traffic. I even rode on the wrong side of the road, and for as silly as that sounds, it was fun. Think about it: the sun is barely up, it's a chilly day but you feel so alive, you're outside, you're out to cheer for the people you love, and you're riding down the middle of a busy street that is, for once, not busy, and you just feel free. It's tough to get more beautiful than that.
We parked our bikes and stood there next to city hall on Lavaca and waited for the runners. It's thrilling, that wait. And then, there they were. At first it was a slow trickle, and I was happy to see Desiree. I don't know her except to say that once I talked with her at J&A's and she was really, really nice, and I know she has big dreams, so I always like to see her doing well and looking strong. Aside from her, I didn't recognize a soul, aside from the people I know, and even then, had I been on my own, I would have missed most of them--I think I need contacts or Lasik or something. Anyway, it was good to see so many people looking so strong, 10k in to this bad boy. But then, who doesn't look good...right?
Next came the task of getting to Exposition and Enfield. Holy God, this was harder than you might think! Long story short, we wound up on the course, riding alongside the runners as they turned off Cesar Chavez and onto the little road that winds around Austin High. Not good. Too narrow for well-meaning cyclists who are very definitely in the way of runners. The good news is, we managed to find a cut-through to get us out to Lake Austin Blvd., and none of the runners seemed to mind we were taking up part of their course--we kept saying we were sorry, and they kept telling us they were glad we were out there cheering. That felt good.
So, fast forward to Exposition and Westover. We had to struggle to get to this point on the course before our friends showed up. I can't remember if we got there in time to see Wiley and Triscuit come through (roughly 3:20 - 3:30 pace), but we definitely missed Panther (and my new partner-from-work friend, who was in from Detroit and is a much stronger runner than I thought). I know we saw Dionn and Nick, however, and they both looked strong. Dave and Michael were behind them, as was Justin. David looked okay, and so did Justin. Michael looked like he might have been struggling a tiny bit. But overall, everyone seemed to be holding it together. This was roughly mile 11...
The cheerleader group then high-tailed it to Hancock and Shoal Creek, which I think was about mile 14 (incidentally, thank you to Tim S., our fearless and infinitely patient map reader and navigator extraordinaire). We still missed the 3:00 group, which means we missed Panther and my work friend (Dan is his name, by the way). This was frustrating and a little disappointing, but we were still in plenty of time to see Wiley, Triscuit, Dionn and Nick, all of whom looked strong. Dave was fading just a tiny bit, Justin seemed in good spirits, but Michael didn't look happy at all. It is worth noting that by now, the sun was shining brightly, and it was starting to get a little warm (probably into the high 50's to low 60's by this point).
The next cheerleader stop was mile 20 or thereabouts. Finally we were ahead of the lead runners! We waited there for a little while. Tim helped a deaf girl who was riding the course figure out where she was. It was kind of sweet. When the runners began trickling in, we got out our cowbells and yelled for them. We kept looking for Panther. At one point, after we'd expected to see him and started getting nervous, we wondered if Audrey had gone into labor and Panther had left the race, but we figured we would have heard, and so we kept waiting. It wasn't that Panther was THAT slow, it's just that I think we all wanted him to smash his PR, and so we kept thinking he'd show up running, like, 2:40 pace or something, unrealistic as that absolutely was. We finally saw him coming up the hill (his form and his yellow shoes are unmistakeable), and we cheered stupidly and loudly for him. He looked like he'd long since stopped having fun. We waited around for a tiny bit longer, but we didn't stay to cheer much past Panther. I really thought I would've seen Dan by now, but having just met him in person the day before--clothed in a sweater and jeans and looking all showered and clean--it's tough to say what he would have looked like running. Turns out, I'm certain he ran right past us and I just failed to recognize him.
Anyway, we got back on our bikes and headed for Tony's house at 46th and Speedway. I have no idea what mile marker that was--22, maybe? Anyway, Tony was out front (for the first time that I'd ever witnessed, without a baseball cap). He was kind enough to let us use his restroom and park our bikes on his curb. And then we stood there for the longest of any stop. By now it was legitimately warm, at least for a marathon. We saw Panther coming and we cheered like maniacs. He came to the side of the road and told us he had started walking by 16. Still, he was making good time, even though he looked very unhappy and uncomfortable by this point. I am happy to report, I FINALLY saw partner-from-work Dan, my new friend. Only I didn't put it together in time that that was him. I hate yelling at people unless I'm certain of who they are, because I look stupid enough of the time as it is, I really don't need to look stupid out on the race course. I wish now, though, that I'd have yelled. Like I said, Dan was in from Detroit, and though he's perfectly used to competing in foreign places (literally, foreign, he did duathlon worlds in Denmark in 2006), I still would've liked for him to have had a cheering section. In spite of not yelling for him, my observation was that he looked sweaty and determined and a little bit tired, and perhaps even a little bit nervous about his finish at that point. I can say this, because I saw the same look on a lot of faces.
And that was the beauty of the cheering stop in front of Tony's house. This was the point at which the marathon became The Marathon. Wiley still looked great, in fact, Wiley looked like he was having the time of his life, and that was incredibly gratifying, after all the guy has been through with respect to this distance. But Triscuit, though she perked up when she saw us, looked a little tired. As did most of the runners who passed by. We cheered for them, but I think even us cheerleaders started to get tired. It was awfully quiet out on that course, and there was a lot of pain in a lot of faces. People were stopping to stretch out cramps, folks were walking. We saw JJ, and he looked so miserable, it was like there was nothing in the world we could've said to put a smile on his face. In fact, of everyone we saw come through besides Wiley, Dionn was the only one who still had a smile to offer up freely. Nick tried, but he was starting to show signs of wear. Dave had to force it and so did Justin. We didn't see Michael at all.
I have to pause here and tell you, it is hard to see your friends suffer. These are the people you run with, you drink with, you bike with, you laugh with, you make completely inappropriate comments to, you piss off, you forgive, you love in spite of their quirks, but more than anything, you remember their smiles and their joys. So it's really hard to see them suffering, self-imposed or not. It's tough to watch them gut it out, and yet you're so proud of them for doing it. That stop in front of Tony's house, where nearly everyone--friends, acquaintances, total strangers--was reduced to the lowest common denominator of being purely human and nothing more...this is where the beauty of the marathon truly comes through. It is at this point that if you are watching these people, you wish you were out there, too, and at that same time, you're so grateful for the experience of being there as their support, as their cheerleaders, you're so appreciative for the opportunity to send them every last bit of positive energy you have in the hopes they can take it from you and get to the next mile and the next and the next. I think, if I ever go to cheer at another marathon (and I will), I will stand at mile 21 or 22 or whatever it was, and cheer there, because I think that's where the exchange between the runner and the person who is cheering for them is the most significant, the most equal in terms of what one gets from the other.
Anyway, moving on. We stayed at Tony's for as long as we could, and then we rode like crazy to get to the finish. We knew we'd miss Panther (and my friend Dan), but as spread out as everyone had become, we were worried we might miss Dionn, too.
We found a spot right in front of the Capitol, maybe 25 yards from the turn onto Congress, so, basically, mile 26. We were really worried we'd missed Dionn (we knew we'd missed Wiley and Triscuit), but it turns out we hadn't. There she was, in front of the 3:45 group, in fact. She looked as happy and fresh as if she'd just started the race. We expected to see Nick right behind. Or right with the 3:45 group when they actually did come through. Or with the 3:50 people. A short time later, there he was, but he looked tired. He seemed to brighten when he saw us, though, and it was good to know he was okay.
Eventually we saw Dave and Justin. We saw Gina and a bunch of other people. It turns out that Michael didn't finish, and that's too bad. I also didn't see my dad, but I later met up with him and my mom, and he finished in 5:26:51. He's not super happy with the time, but then, Austin is hillier than Dallas, and he was running 20 lbs. heavier this year. In other words, he'll be back. I should also mention, he's 68 years old going on 69. I'm super proud of him. As for my partner-from-work friend, Dan, he finished in 3:13:31. That's a PR for him. Considering he's 1) 46 years old; 2) didn't start running until he was 38 years old; 3) travels like a madman (think my schedule on steroids); and 4) was in a bike wreck in late July that left him with a broken shoulder blade, broken collar bone and 4 broken ribs (2 of which were literally cracked in two), plus a punctured lung, and it makes his PR yesterday all the more incredible.
I guess, after a posting that is too long, considering all I did yesterday was ride my bike around for fun, the point in all of this is that all of you who ran made my whole Sunday--my whole week, really--worthwhile. I've said it in email to many of you, but you were inspirational, you brought tears to my eyes, and I love you guys and respect you all the more for what you did yesterday (and that goes for you half-marathoners, too). As for the crew I rode around with all morning, I can't imagine a better group to spend a glorious Sunday morning with, and I'm grateful to you guys for being dorky and loud right along with me.
Congratulations, everyone!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Redbud Trail Run
I had another fun run last night. Man, I hope this new found enjoyment of running lasts!
I worked from Jeff's office at Bee Caves and 360 yesterday. There's a big hill behind his building which is sort of a no man's land between the development on the northeast corner of Bee Caves and 360 (where the nursery with the pink flamingos is) and this neighborhood on the top of what turns out is a ridgeline. I assume someone owns this land, but for now, there's a swath of it you can walk through to get to the neighborhood on the top of the ridge. I did this yesterday--just followed what's basically a deer trail--up the hill, parallel to 360 (I could look down on 360), so that I could get to this neighborhood and start my run. I don't mean to make a big deal out of this little trail, it's just that it was so pretty. Lots of tall grass and rock and a few cedars and tiny little oaks, and off to my left I had a gorgeous view to the west. Even the fact that 360 was right there didn't bother me, as I have kind of a love affair going with that road--I like riding on it and for a major highway, it's offers awfully pretty views and little commercial development to mess up the aesthetics.
Anyway, I found the cul-de-sac to start my run from, it's a little street called Flintridge. There are houses on it, but they're sitting on nice, big lots and there are a lot of trees and landscaping to block the view of them from the road. I really liked the houses, because they weren't these big, pompous things--they were nice, but they weren't over the top. I think it was that they reminded me of neighborhoods near my house (note: I did not live in these neighborhoods, I just ran and rode my bike through them) when I lived in Illinois. Something about that was comforting.
I started running, slowly, once again--seems my legs are still not fully recovered from last Saturday (my butt and my calves and kind of my quads, in particular). I had mapped out this course on Google earlier in the day, so it's not like I had done the course and knew where I was going, though a few of the road names were familiar. So to keep from getting horribly lost, I wrote out the directions (I can't read a map) and I took them with me. My first turn off Flintridge was a left onto Redbud Trail (or Red Bud Trail, depending on which street sign you look at). I've driven Redbud Trail before--it's gorgeous and it's fun to drive on--but I'd never paid attention to it as a potential road to run on, though I knew it was too narrow to bike on safely. Turns out, it is also too narrow to run on safely. I know I startled the piss out of at least half a dozen drivers who were NOT expecting to see me. I almost bailed on the run a couple of times, because it was just too dangerous, but then I came to my first turn off of Redbud, Little Bend Road. No cars. Pretty trees, well, okay, cedars. Pretty houses. Little Bend becomes Circle-something-or-other Ledge, I think. I followed that back out to Redbud, and then terrorized more drivers until I hit my next turn.
The next turn was onto a street called Kennan, and once I made a left onto that, I was supposed to make a quick right onto Caravan Circle. Except Caravan Circle does not exist. Stupid Google maps. I ran down Kennan for a while, hoping Caravan Circle would appear, but it didn't, so I turned around. As I was about to turn back onto Redbud, I noted this cleared area where it looked like Caravan Circle should have been. I could see that it looked road-ish, though unpaved, but it narrowed to a footpath about 100 meters in. I figured that had to be it, so I took it.
I probably ran about a quarter mile through a pretty little (cedar) forest, along a ridge until I came out exactly where Google said I should, a road called Terrace Mountain Drive. Here I took a left, and I was to stay on this road almost to Westlake Drive, which was well over a mile.
Terrace Mountain Drive is my new favorite road in Austin. Maybe it was all the trees, maybe it was that you had amazing views on both sides of the road, maybe it was the time of day, with the sun starting to sink, maybe it was the fact that I saw two cars the entire time I was on that road, or that it was twisty and quiet, or that there were more pretty houses--some of which you could barely see, they were tucked so far into the side of the hill or back in the trees--or that the road appears to back up to a greenbelt, so the views weren't cluttered with a zillion buildings and houses, and it could have been that I actually forgot I was running in Austin and kind of felt like I was in southwestern Colorado (except I could breathe). I don't know, but it was such a nice run. Until I got to the end of Terrace Mountain Drive and couldn't find my next turn, a street called Cat Hollow Pass or Drive or Lane or something. At that point, I had two options. Either run on Westlake Drive back to Redbud Trail--which I wasn't even certain I could do--in rush hour traffic; or turn around and go back the way I came. I opted to go back the way I came.
The thing about Terrace Mountain Drive, and probably another reason I liked it, is that in the direction I was running it between Redbud and Westlake, it was either flat or downhill. Big downhills, Mt. Bonnell/Ladera Norte-sized downhills, only not as long. Well, now I had to run back up what I'd just come down. With a sore butt and sore calves. I made it, but on some of those little uphills I could have easily walked as fast as I was running.
Anyhow, I retraced my steps all the way back to Flintridge, the road I'd started on. I was about done when I saw a couple of deer on the side of the road. I slowed to a walk (not like there was a lot of slowing involved) because I didn't want to startle them. That and the fact that I always think I can get close enough to a deer if I do it just right so that it might let me pet it. Dumbest thing ever, I know, but I've always thought one day I'd be able to do that, you know, outside of a petting zoo. Well, it didn't happen yesterday. The deer, a doe, finally ambled across the road about 15 or 20 yards in front of me, and her doe-friend followed, and then came about four more deer, which all bolted across the street to the woods on the other side. I started running again, and maybe 50 yards later, there they all were again, this time waiting on the other side of the street to cross back over. Deer aren't very smart. Four bolted across in front of me, but two stayed in the woods on the other side. One was a doe, and she appeared to have an injured back leg, she was limping. I felt so bad for her. What do you do when you see an injured deer? I mean, I figured I wasn't going to catch her and if I did, then what? Whom do you call for back-up? But the neighborhood was awfully nice, and I don't think you can hunt deer in the city limits. I figured people were probably feeding the deer and no one was going to shoot her, so I let it go. The second deer that hadn't crossed the street was just standing there on the side of the road. He was this buck with little antlers about as long as my middle finger. He just stood there looking at me. What was so cool, besides the fact that he was really close, is that I could smell him. It's this musky, livestock-y smell. I mean, I wouldn't want an air freshener made out of it, but we get so city-fied living where we live, it was nice to be reminded that nature still exists.
So I got back to the end of the cul-de-sac, and by now the sun was right on the verge of setting. I stepped over the little guardrail at the end of the street and back onto the section of no man's land along 360. I was standing on this bald face of rock on one of those cliffs overlooking 360. Traffic aside, I cannot tell you how pretty it was. And then I saw this basset hound. He was whiter than most basset hounds, in that he didn't have as big of black markings. He had tags, I could see that, but he wouldn't let me get close to him. In fact, when I tried, he took off into the grass heading north, away from me. He was really cute, and he looked well taken care of. I hope he made it back to his family.
So it was a neat run, silly as that sounds (I obviously enjoyed it to have written so much about it). I think one of the best things about it was that I never once shut off my watch. In fact, when it was all over, I had been out there for an hour and four minutes, and it turns out I only covered 5.7 miles. I don't really care, though. This time of year, when the weather is nice and I don't have any big races weighing on my mind, I figure it's a good time to go slow and really enjoy these runs. That's a new concept for me. In fact, the whole concept of running--and I'm sure it'll translate to riding, too--for enjoyment instead of to hit some goal time or finishing place, is pretty amazing to me. I've never done it before, ever, but I like it so much better. I'm going to hang onto this while it lasts.
I worked from Jeff's office at Bee Caves and 360 yesterday. There's a big hill behind his building which is sort of a no man's land between the development on the northeast corner of Bee Caves and 360 (where the nursery with the pink flamingos is) and this neighborhood on the top of what turns out is a ridgeline. I assume someone owns this land, but for now, there's a swath of it you can walk through to get to the neighborhood on the top of the ridge. I did this yesterday--just followed what's basically a deer trail--up the hill, parallel to 360 (I could look down on 360), so that I could get to this neighborhood and start my run. I don't mean to make a big deal out of this little trail, it's just that it was so pretty. Lots of tall grass and rock and a few cedars and tiny little oaks, and off to my left I had a gorgeous view to the west. Even the fact that 360 was right there didn't bother me, as I have kind of a love affair going with that road--I like riding on it and for a major highway, it's offers awfully pretty views and little commercial development to mess up the aesthetics.
Anyway, I found the cul-de-sac to start my run from, it's a little street called Flintridge. There are houses on it, but they're sitting on nice, big lots and there are a lot of trees and landscaping to block the view of them from the road. I really liked the houses, because they weren't these big, pompous things--they were nice, but they weren't over the top. I think it was that they reminded me of neighborhoods near my house (note: I did not live in these neighborhoods, I just ran and rode my bike through them) when I lived in Illinois. Something about that was comforting.
I started running, slowly, once again--seems my legs are still not fully recovered from last Saturday (my butt and my calves and kind of my quads, in particular). I had mapped out this course on Google earlier in the day, so it's not like I had done the course and knew where I was going, though a few of the road names were familiar. So to keep from getting horribly lost, I wrote out the directions (I can't read a map) and I took them with me. My first turn off Flintridge was a left onto Redbud Trail (or Red Bud Trail, depending on which street sign you look at). I've driven Redbud Trail before--it's gorgeous and it's fun to drive on--but I'd never paid attention to it as a potential road to run on, though I knew it was too narrow to bike on safely. Turns out, it is also too narrow to run on safely. I know I startled the piss out of at least half a dozen drivers who were NOT expecting to see me. I almost bailed on the run a couple of times, because it was just too dangerous, but then I came to my first turn off of Redbud, Little Bend Road. No cars. Pretty trees, well, okay, cedars. Pretty houses. Little Bend becomes Circle-something-or-other Ledge, I think. I followed that back out to Redbud, and then terrorized more drivers until I hit my next turn.
The next turn was onto a street called Kennan, and once I made a left onto that, I was supposed to make a quick right onto Caravan Circle. Except Caravan Circle does not exist. Stupid Google maps. I ran down Kennan for a while, hoping Caravan Circle would appear, but it didn't, so I turned around. As I was about to turn back onto Redbud, I noted this cleared area where it looked like Caravan Circle should have been. I could see that it looked road-ish, though unpaved, but it narrowed to a footpath about 100 meters in. I figured that had to be it, so I took it.
I probably ran about a quarter mile through a pretty little (cedar) forest, along a ridge until I came out exactly where Google said I should, a road called Terrace Mountain Drive. Here I took a left, and I was to stay on this road almost to Westlake Drive, which was well over a mile.
Terrace Mountain Drive is my new favorite road in Austin. Maybe it was all the trees, maybe it was that you had amazing views on both sides of the road, maybe it was the time of day, with the sun starting to sink, maybe it was the fact that I saw two cars the entire time I was on that road, or that it was twisty and quiet, or that there were more pretty houses--some of which you could barely see, they were tucked so far into the side of the hill or back in the trees--or that the road appears to back up to a greenbelt, so the views weren't cluttered with a zillion buildings and houses, and it could have been that I actually forgot I was running in Austin and kind of felt like I was in southwestern Colorado (except I could breathe). I don't know, but it was such a nice run. Until I got to the end of Terrace Mountain Drive and couldn't find my next turn, a street called Cat Hollow Pass or Drive or Lane or something. At that point, I had two options. Either run on Westlake Drive back to Redbud Trail--which I wasn't even certain I could do--in rush hour traffic; or turn around and go back the way I came. I opted to go back the way I came.
The thing about Terrace Mountain Drive, and probably another reason I liked it, is that in the direction I was running it between Redbud and Westlake, it was either flat or downhill. Big downhills, Mt. Bonnell/Ladera Norte-sized downhills, only not as long. Well, now I had to run back up what I'd just come down. With a sore butt and sore calves. I made it, but on some of those little uphills I could have easily walked as fast as I was running.
Anyhow, I retraced my steps all the way back to Flintridge, the road I'd started on. I was about done when I saw a couple of deer on the side of the road. I slowed to a walk (not like there was a lot of slowing involved) because I didn't want to startle them. That and the fact that I always think I can get close enough to a deer if I do it just right so that it might let me pet it. Dumbest thing ever, I know, but I've always thought one day I'd be able to do that, you know, outside of a petting zoo. Well, it didn't happen yesterday. The deer, a doe, finally ambled across the road about 15 or 20 yards in front of me, and her doe-friend followed, and then came about four more deer, which all bolted across the street to the woods on the other side. I started running again, and maybe 50 yards later, there they all were again, this time waiting on the other side of the street to cross back over. Deer aren't very smart. Four bolted across in front of me, but two stayed in the woods on the other side. One was a doe, and she appeared to have an injured back leg, she was limping. I felt so bad for her. What do you do when you see an injured deer? I mean, I figured I wasn't going to catch her and if I did, then what? Whom do you call for back-up? But the neighborhood was awfully nice, and I don't think you can hunt deer in the city limits. I figured people were probably feeding the deer and no one was going to shoot her, so I let it go. The second deer that hadn't crossed the street was just standing there on the side of the road. He was this buck with little antlers about as long as my middle finger. He just stood there looking at me. What was so cool, besides the fact that he was really close, is that I could smell him. It's this musky, livestock-y smell. I mean, I wouldn't want an air freshener made out of it, but we get so city-fied living where we live, it was nice to be reminded that nature still exists.
So I got back to the end of the cul-de-sac, and by now the sun was right on the verge of setting. I stepped over the little guardrail at the end of the street and back onto the section of no man's land along 360. I was standing on this bald face of rock on one of those cliffs overlooking 360. Traffic aside, I cannot tell you how pretty it was. And then I saw this basset hound. He was whiter than most basset hounds, in that he didn't have as big of black markings. He had tags, I could see that, but he wouldn't let me get close to him. In fact, when I tried, he took off into the grass heading north, away from me. He was really cute, and he looked well taken care of. I hope he made it back to his family.
So it was a neat run, silly as that sounds (I obviously enjoyed it to have written so much about it). I think one of the best things about it was that I never once shut off my watch. In fact, when it was all over, I had been out there for an hour and four minutes, and it turns out I only covered 5.7 miles. I don't really care, though. This time of year, when the weather is nice and I don't have any big races weighing on my mind, I figure it's a good time to go slow and really enjoy these runs. That's a new concept for me. In fact, the whole concept of running--and I'm sure it'll translate to riding, too--for enjoyment instead of to hit some goal time or finishing place, is pretty amazing to me. I've never done it before, ever, but I like it so much better. I'm going to hang onto this while it lasts.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Five More Miles...Well, Close
I went running last night. I thought I was doing 5 miles, but I just mapped it and I only did 4.8 (4.7896, to be exact). Turns out I was running 9:33 pace. Huh. I stopped a few times without turning my watch off, but I don't think that had much impact. The fact is that my legs were STILL sore from Saturday. I was so glad no one was around when I left from RunTex to start my run. I was shuffling, and I didn't pick up much steam until I'd crossed the 1st Street bridge, and even then it took a while to speed up ("speed" may be too generous a word for it). Ultimately I went faster than Sunday, if my breathing was any indication, but not a whole lot faster. I'm a fan of this slow running thing, though, it makes for a very pleasant run and it makes me not dread heading out the door.
Anyway, the only thing notable that happened during the run was that a bird shit on me. Specifically, my nose. I guess you could say I got shitfaced.
Anyway, the only thing notable that happened during the run was that a bird shit on me. Specifically, my nose. I guess you could say I got shitfaced.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Oww, Part 3
With any luck, this will be the last of the "Oww" entries.
I did not spin this morning. My legs feel only marginally better than they did yesterday, although improvement is happening. To wit, at least now when I get a head of steam going, I can almost walk normally. That wasn't happening yesterday or the day before.
I also took a shower at lunch (again, things you can do when working from home), and by the time I got out, I felt normal enough to go running. Unfortunately, I had to get on a conference call, and now my legs are all gimpy again.
Still, I am sitting here at my computer in my running clothes, ready to get in the car in about an hour to hit Town Lake (or whatever we're calling it) for 5 slooowwww miles, followed by a stop at Aussie's. I can't wait, it's a beautiful day to be outside, and I've missed the waitresses at Aussie's who hate me and spit in my beer. Yay!
I did not spin this morning. My legs feel only marginally better than they did yesterday, although improvement is happening. To wit, at least now when I get a head of steam going, I can almost walk normally. That wasn't happening yesterday or the day before.
I also took a shower at lunch (again, things you can do when working from home), and by the time I got out, I felt normal enough to go running. Unfortunately, I had to get on a conference call, and now my legs are all gimpy again.
Still, I am sitting here at my computer in my running clothes, ready to get in the car in about an hour to hit Town Lake (or whatever we're calling it) for 5 slooowwww miles, followed by a stop at Aussie's. I can't wait, it's a beautiful day to be outside, and I've missed the waitresses at Aussie's who hate me and spit in my beer. Yay!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Oww, Part 2
There was no run today. I wanted to, especially when the sun finally came out. But what sealed the deal was when I couldn't get up off the floor (I was laying on the floor during a conference call because, well, you can when you work from home--duh). Anyway, I really couldn't get up in anything other than slow motion and incredible pain. It may be wishful thinking, but I think things started to improve around 6 p.m. By improvement, I mean that at least some of the pain that was in my quads found its way to my right tricep. That's fine. I can handle upper body pain if I could just get my legs to work.
Spin class has been moved to tomorrow at 8:45 a.m. We'll see how good I'm feeling. Five miles tomorrow night should be doable, however, assuming God stops hating me.
Spin class has been moved to tomorrow at 8:45 a.m. We'll see how good I'm feeling. Five miles tomorrow night should be doable, however, assuming God stops hating me.
Oww!!
On Saturday I went to Lifetime with Jeff. He had suggested doing what they call a "total conditioning" class. On a lark, I agreed. I hadn't run or ridden or lifted yet and it was pushing noon, so I figured it would be a good way to get some weights in, a little cardio, and then I could go run later.
Total conditioning class is really quite fun. It's also a total ass kicker, which I knew but had forgotten--it's been about a year since I last did one of these. It's 70 minutes of weights and push-ups and lunging and hopping around and stuff. You do three sets of three exercises, and every other set works upper body and then lower body. So, the first thing we had to do was three sets of three different types of push-ups (you get about a 10 or 15 second break between sets). The next thing we did was three sets of three different types of lunges. Then we went back to upper body, etc.
I can't move today.
I couldn't really move yesterday, either, but I still went out and ran 5 miles--very, very, very slooooowwwwly. It was one of the nicest runs I've done in a while (and one of the only runs, unfortunately). As slowly as I was going, I never felt like I was sucking air, as I sometimes do when I'm going a little faster. That was nice. It allowed me to look around and take in my surroundings. We have two greenbelt trails near my house, crushed granite, nice and wide, like the H&B. It was to nice so be out there on that trail with the sun shining and the air nice and warm. It smelled good, too. I always forget how pretty the air smells about the time we hit February--stuff starts blooming, and it starts to smell kind of sweet and clean. That was one of the very first things I noticed on my run, and it made me happy straight away. I need to remember that. I spend so much time indoors working, I forget how much I need the sun and the fresh air.
The other nice thing about accepting that my legs hurt so much they just would not turnover--and so, not trying to push it--was that I could get lost in thought, instead of focusing on how I felt physically. I'd fogotten how meditative running can be when you're not trying to push an artificial pace. It was like my mind finally let my body off the hook, and the two of them worked together instead of fighting with each other (not sure that makes sense to anyone but me--oh well). I spent some time reflecting on what I get from running, who I am when I'm running, and I decided that, yeah, this running thing works for me. I really ought to do it more often than I have been of late (especially with duathlon season coming).
Anyway, I woke up this morning in time to head to the gym for spin class, but I bailed. I could barely walk, I figured spin would be an absolute disaster. I think one more day of recovery is in order, but I feel better when I move, so I'm thinking a little 3- or 4-miler is in order this afternoon. Nice and slow. I'm looking forward to it.
Total conditioning class is really quite fun. It's also a total ass kicker, which I knew but had forgotten--it's been about a year since I last did one of these. It's 70 minutes of weights and push-ups and lunging and hopping around and stuff. You do three sets of three exercises, and every other set works upper body and then lower body. So, the first thing we had to do was three sets of three different types of push-ups (you get about a 10 or 15 second break between sets). The next thing we did was three sets of three different types of lunges. Then we went back to upper body, etc.
I can't move today.
I couldn't really move yesterday, either, but I still went out and ran 5 miles--very, very, very slooooowwwwly. It was one of the nicest runs I've done in a while (and one of the only runs, unfortunately). As slowly as I was going, I never felt like I was sucking air, as I sometimes do when I'm going a little faster. That was nice. It allowed me to look around and take in my surroundings. We have two greenbelt trails near my house, crushed granite, nice and wide, like the H&B. It was to nice so be out there on that trail with the sun shining and the air nice and warm. It smelled good, too. I always forget how pretty the air smells about the time we hit February--stuff starts blooming, and it starts to smell kind of sweet and clean. That was one of the very first things I noticed on my run, and it made me happy straight away. I need to remember that. I spend so much time indoors working, I forget how much I need the sun and the fresh air.
The other nice thing about accepting that my legs hurt so much they just would not turnover--and so, not trying to push it--was that I could get lost in thought, instead of focusing on how I felt physically. I'd fogotten how meditative running can be when you're not trying to push an artificial pace. It was like my mind finally let my body off the hook, and the two of them worked together instead of fighting with each other (not sure that makes sense to anyone but me--oh well). I spent some time reflecting on what I get from running, who I am when I'm running, and I decided that, yeah, this running thing works for me. I really ought to do it more often than I have been of late (especially with duathlon season coming).
Anyway, I woke up this morning in time to head to the gym for spin class, but I bailed. I could barely walk, I figured spin would be an absolute disaster. I think one more day of recovery is in order, but I feel better when I move, so I'm thinking a little 3- or 4-miler is in order this afternoon. Nice and slow. I'm looking forward to it.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Unhappy and Scared...Now What?
I'm unhappy. And scared. Unhappy and scared. There, I said it. I was driving home from Dallas this morning, and I had a little come-to-Jesus with myself in the car, and I finally got myself to admit that I am both of these things.
Here's the thing. I've been unhappy and scared my entire life. I'm sure it's because I didn't get the love I needed as a child, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. The point is that I've always figured I was trying very hard to outrun unhappiness (the fear has been all-consuming, all my life, so I've never run from it, so much as I've avoided any and every situation where pain might actually occur--it's practically pathological). Then this morning it dawned on me, I've never outrun unhappiness, it's not like it's nipping at my heels, it's there. I'm in the thick of it, and always have been. And it's not depression, it's something more fundamental than that. It was actually kind of a relief to realize nothing's chasing me, though it's a bummer to realize the thing I thought I was running from actually caught me and gobbled me up a long, long, long time ago.
So then I started asking myself why I'm unhappy and scared. I couldn't figure why I'm scared, though the thing that scares me most is pain in every form--emotional, mental, physical (and in this respect, running and cycling are quite therapeutic, because I have to force myself to face pain and push through it--still, I rarely push as hard as I think I could). So I left the fear thing alone and focused on why I'm unhappy. I couldn't figure that out right away, either, so instead I turned the question around and started thinking about what makes me happy (come on, even the unhappiest of people has a happy moment now and then, I'm not THAT far gone). The list of things that make me happy is very short, actually, so short I'm not even going to write it down. But what was more interesting to me was that some of the things I thought would be on the list of things that make me happy, weren't. There were three or four notable exclusions, but I only feel inclined to share two: my career and running. The career thing isn't all that surprising. I never dreamed of a career in business, it was a default choice, at the very, very bottom of the list of things I would have chosen to do with my college education. I was thinking about this yesterday. I want to make partner in my firm. But then what? I don't want to run the company. I don't even want to run my practice area. There are a couple of reasons I want to make partner, but the biggest and stupidest one is that it's logically next. I mean, seriously, what do I do for an encore, given that I don't want to run the company or my practice or even my office? I don't want to move to another firm after that or start my own business. I suppose I just want to make a pile of money so I can quit being a partner and go do something I might enjoy. How dumb is that??
Anyway, the career thing wasn't surprising, like I said. The running thing was. Someone asked me once why I run. It took me two and a half years to land on the answer. The answer is that when I run, I am the truest and best version of myself. I love me when I run, I love who I am when I'm out there. There are no defenses, no self-consciousness, no arrogance, no doubts, no shyness, no fear (except the thing about pain, but even that dissipates somewhat). In the moment, I am happy, not because I'm running, but because of who I become when I'm running. I become me.
But the act of running? I don't like it all that much. I don't like the measures of success, either--PRs, awards, how you finished in a race, what the clock says when you cross the line. I think I dislike all of these things, because I didn't choose to run. There's a boatload of psycho-babble behind this one, just suffice it to say, I didn't start running in junior high by choice, I didn't keep at it in high school by choice, and I sure as shit didn't do it in college by choice (I also didn't do it well, but that's another story...). Still, I'm glad I did it, I'm glad I found running, or maybe that running found me. It's through running that I understand better who I am at the deepest level, and it's through running that I find happiness--I mean real, genuine happiness.
But now I'm getting all syrupy about running when I don't mean to--especially given that I have kind of a love/hate relationship with it. I think the point, at least for today (getting back to the concept of being an unhappy and scared person) is that choice matters. At least to me. And there are an awful lot of things about my life, I'm realizing, that either I didn't choose, or else I chose by default or, worse, out of fear. This is a sucky epiphany to have, but I suppose I'm glad to have had it at all. I guess the next big question is, what the fuck do I do now?
Hmmm...
Here's the thing. I've been unhappy and scared my entire life. I'm sure it's because I didn't get the love I needed as a child, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. The point is that I've always figured I was trying very hard to outrun unhappiness (the fear has been all-consuming, all my life, so I've never run from it, so much as I've avoided any and every situation where pain might actually occur--it's practically pathological). Then this morning it dawned on me, I've never outrun unhappiness, it's not like it's nipping at my heels, it's there. I'm in the thick of it, and always have been. And it's not depression, it's something more fundamental than that. It was actually kind of a relief to realize nothing's chasing me, though it's a bummer to realize the thing I thought I was running from actually caught me and gobbled me up a long, long, long time ago.
So then I started asking myself why I'm unhappy and scared. I couldn't figure why I'm scared, though the thing that scares me most is pain in every form--emotional, mental, physical (and in this respect, running and cycling are quite therapeutic, because I have to force myself to face pain and push through it--still, I rarely push as hard as I think I could). So I left the fear thing alone and focused on why I'm unhappy. I couldn't figure that out right away, either, so instead I turned the question around and started thinking about what makes me happy (come on, even the unhappiest of people has a happy moment now and then, I'm not THAT far gone). The list of things that make me happy is very short, actually, so short I'm not even going to write it down. But what was more interesting to me was that some of the things I thought would be on the list of things that make me happy, weren't. There were three or four notable exclusions, but I only feel inclined to share two: my career and running. The career thing isn't all that surprising. I never dreamed of a career in business, it was a default choice, at the very, very bottom of the list of things I would have chosen to do with my college education. I was thinking about this yesterday. I want to make partner in my firm. But then what? I don't want to run the company. I don't even want to run my practice area. There are a couple of reasons I want to make partner, but the biggest and stupidest one is that it's logically next. I mean, seriously, what do I do for an encore, given that I don't want to run the company or my practice or even my office? I don't want to move to another firm after that or start my own business. I suppose I just want to make a pile of money so I can quit being a partner and go do something I might enjoy. How dumb is that??
Anyway, the career thing wasn't surprising, like I said. The running thing was. Someone asked me once why I run. It took me two and a half years to land on the answer. The answer is that when I run, I am the truest and best version of myself. I love me when I run, I love who I am when I'm out there. There are no defenses, no self-consciousness, no arrogance, no doubts, no shyness, no fear (except the thing about pain, but even that dissipates somewhat). In the moment, I am happy, not because I'm running, but because of who I become when I'm running. I become me.
But the act of running? I don't like it all that much. I don't like the measures of success, either--PRs, awards, how you finished in a race, what the clock says when you cross the line. I think I dislike all of these things, because I didn't choose to run. There's a boatload of psycho-babble behind this one, just suffice it to say, I didn't start running in junior high by choice, I didn't keep at it in high school by choice, and I sure as shit didn't do it in college by choice (I also didn't do it well, but that's another story...). Still, I'm glad I did it, I'm glad I found running, or maybe that running found me. It's through running that I understand better who I am at the deepest level, and it's through running that I find happiness--I mean real, genuine happiness.
But now I'm getting all syrupy about running when I don't mean to--especially given that I have kind of a love/hate relationship with it. I think the point, at least for today (getting back to the concept of being an unhappy and scared person) is that choice matters. At least to me. And there are an awful lot of things about my life, I'm realizing, that either I didn't choose, or else I chose by default or, worse, out of fear. This is a sucky epiphany to have, but I suppose I'm glad to have had it at all. I guess the next big question is, what the fuck do I do now?
Hmmm...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
