People Under The Stairs - Acid Raindrops

MOTM~ People Under The Stairs (PUTS). A Run On Sentence About Music I Run To.

I know, I know it seems unlikely that I would choose (for the MOTM) the mellowest west coast hip~hop with the super~kind~deep rooted drum loops and heavy grooved rap with melodious movements lightly~mild~thinly~easy but committed to an R&B underpinning like the smooth hand groping under clothes, specifically the kind that moves my feet by way of my heart because the desire of melodious hip hop grooves is JUST that and not even JUST that because what I have discovered about these fellas lyrically (in their homonyms and homographs) is that there are phrases that are quite brilliant and strung together with marajuana, ammo and funky tracks and nickel sacks and reaching out so that I get what is referred to and why the lower ends of the mixes are riffs that take over vocals and the presentation of the song as a single structure becomes less structured and the components separate themselves from each other (a simple volume adjustment for the producer, who is an artist as well) , but giving in to that kind of listening allows the music to push itself through the space allowing us to breathe the intention of PUTS, in pleasurable ignorance.

Watch This Cool Trailer

MOTM~ Stewart Copeland/The Police

This run~on sentence is about listening to Stewart Copeland because he is my cat~in~the~hat when it comes to running; or, specifically I once compared The Police to Dr. Seuss saying that The Police are to rock-n-roll what Dr. Seuss is to children's literature: with that very unique sense of meter and rhyme, one that is timeless, madly creative and wildly intense with imaginative measures and the playful interludes found in syllabic explosions; The Police are elegant and with Mr. Stewart, it's like he's read my favorite Seuss 'To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street", because he knows how to wrap my feet with roto toms, honoring that they are the group I pull behind me in a wagon, and they are the ones that keep me coming back for more of everything I imagine about running while I am not doing it, just like the boy from that story.

One Sentence about a Runner's Tattooed Legs.

This runner was in the very fast 2000 corral at the Boston Marathon and I wasn't the only one who noticed because people were photographing his legs, except me and I regret that- both legs were tattooed with an entire musical composition beginning at the thighs and encircling, ending at the calves; A week later I determined his legs are to running what the conductor's arms are to the orchestra or, maybe it's that occult~like aspect to running, the ta eso, extending beyond pure reason that had gone looking for an alternative expression, the ta exo.

One Sentence about Running on Trails

Running on trails evokes a kind of listening that is similar to the sound of a lover's voice; it's in the birdsong, the breezy~blow through soft spring leaves, the electric~lush of fern and planting the foot on maple~memories that gave way to new.

MOTM: Phish

Well, what can I say, you saw this coming. IT was bound to happen. There, I said it, so let us move on.
Phish is one of the best bands on the planet to run to, to dance to, to sing to, to drive to, to raise kids to. It's no mystery that Phish is a high energy band; they are an improvisational strong arm that sets them head and shoulders above any other in the category. And, there is a category; Phish is a jam band. But long ago, far far away, there were a bunch of folks who listened and followed and grooved deeply without the category. Now there are many who follow in their footsteps, just as Phish has footsteps it follows; but, their legacy can never be eclipsed by another. I promise.
Phish has kept me coming back over the years and with good reason! The music is fresh, it's ultra~creative, genius, brilliant, composed with elements that make you smarter, and, not unlike any classical definition of a musical composition.
Their music is like a concerto, allowing and alternating between each, leading the rest, emerging slightly from the other three. You have the accompaniment and the soloist, there are counterpoints, there are modulations and monotones, there is the discretion of each of the guys as they work together, there is harmony, expression, intonation, inflection.
For me, as far as my rock-n-roll experience, both live and studio, these guys really have had my attention for many years; they will continue to have my attention even though the shows I'm not going to continue to pile up. Stepping off to the side is okay, too.
Good news!! I am flying to Telluride this summer to see two (very special) Phish shows. I am bringing my running shoes!! It will be fun to go for a run before the show. To have Phish in my ear buds maybe playing a selection that will surface later that night. Maybe what I hear in my headphones will become 'my call' for the evening as we discuss sets lists and what they haven't played in a while. Or, what has been in heavy rotation. Or, what soundcheck revealed while running by.
One thing is for sure, whirling around in this dizzying inspiring concerto I call Phish, there is Jon Fishman. He really is what makes this great running music. I so totally dial into his hi-hat or maybe the ride to the far right. My feet found a home there in the eccentric end of his rhythm. YOu'd think it is the kick. But it isn't. Or, maybe the snare as it sharply thrusts through the other fella's instruments. Not. Instead, it's the lively and even~tempered repetitions of the consistent beat; the beat that the other sounds situate themselves in within the percussive measure; this becomes almost a template for Fishman as he scans, organizes and displays the elements of his kit.
I once had the very awesome privilege of reading Fishman's senior thesis from Goddard College (The Vault) entitled "A Self Teaching Guide To Drumming Written In Retrospect". In this thesis, Fishman deconstructs the techniques and methods used for jazz drumming, cultural stylings of African drumming and really a variety of techniques. I was convinced after reading his paper, that there is a very intellectual side to the jazz drummer and to hear this training in his technique distinguishes him as a rock-n-roll drummer and pushes him instantly to an all new level of badass. The listener isn't always able to pick of the finesse of a jazz trained musician and, really this says nothing about either participant. What it does show, however, is the ability for a musician to use his training, in Fishman's case, as part of an intelligent network of communication, a system devised by the band that includes me and makes me feel welcomed~regardless of what I bring to the event. But this I know, Fishman has personally powered me through workouts, whether a MOMA, Julius, Carini or the classic standards for running: Antelope, Tweezer, Weekapaug and YEM, for me the guy has ceaseless talent and I am stoked that we graduated from the same college!!! I can't wait to find out what is on the horizon me this summer in Colorado. Time to focus and make lists!
Keep Running!
And, I certainly wish the guys a great summer on the road! (Uncle Pen in Telluride, encore the first night, and maybe a lovin cup thrown in there for good measure. am I right, John?)

I Shamrocked this race!

Virginia Beach, Shamrock Marathon, March 21, 2010

That is what the finisher's shirt says on it. "I Shamrocked this race". Gladly this is a term that no one understands, so, when I say that I shamrocked this race, you will have to believe me without question, or doubt or suspicion.
Road races are for good causes. This particular race ended up donating $500,000 to the American Cancer Society; a killer nationwide community based voluntary agency dedicated to cancer research, education and beating it down so it's not the evil killer that it is. This is very close to me; my mother has had cancer 4 times. Mom's cancer makes her a person of interest to the bright folks at Dana Farber Institute where they study people like mom who fly under a radar that has been aggressively chasing her down since she was 38 years old. I am 38 years old. So, I've decided to run away, more than a metaphor, from all things cancerous. We shall see if I've bettered my chances or if the cancer gene is indeed stuck to my double helix; the cancer gene is best compared to an Improvised Explosive Device (IED), I only mean to suggest that there is a finite amount of time till it rears its head and the body becomes the battle ground. I've willed other things away and I shall will this, too.
One would think the marathon is the premier event! Not the case here, or, at least the number of participants, as compared with the other events that weekend, did not reflect it as the premier event. Less than 2700 were in the 38th running of the Shamrock marathon. The other races, in VA Beach that weekend, had more than 10,000 participants. No worries.
There were 177 women running in my division which is women's 35-39 years. There were 1043 women in total. I placed 29th in my division and I placed 224th out of the women.
My age-graded result was 56.2% which is an interesting calculation gauging how the runner fits into gender/age; it's the runner's overall performance grade for the race. Whatever. Could be useful information someday, it's there if I ever give a crap.
Races are usually sponsored by beer. Yeungling, for this race. This was my first time drinking the lager; it is very tasty with excellent, rich amber color, round finish, resembling an ale in many ways but, when super chilled has epic notes of a light malt on the front & a bright hoppy punch to the back but it's quick like a stable lager. I drank 7 Yeunglings after my race. Yes. Beer is to the road race what butter is to lobster. Sorry dear New England friends!

75 degrees, clear skies, bright sun.

D Tag attached, check! Two GU's, check! Laces double tied, check! Calm?, Check! Elijah has two GU's for the split, check!

At the second split, the most important one and exactly on time, this was at 13.1 miles. 1:51, exactly an 8:38 pace. I wrote the times on my legs so I could be reminded. But, anyway, I got there perfectly. oh, I saw a NH girl at mile 7. I ran next to her for a bit as we talked about Reach The Beach (her shirt), a relay similar to Hood To Coast. It's possible that I will be joining a team for this race and I told the girl about that. She said some things (I was passing her and she was real nice) and then I was gone. Never saw her again.


I smelled no aftershave. Thank you marathoners! They must have read that blog AHEM! about synthetic pheromones and their negative affects on neighboring runners.
Running on the shoulder was a new technique of mine. Finding comfort and participating in an extended warranty for my R achilles, the treadmill has become a new vice of mine. I love the road, but the pounding is covered by credit and when it's time to pay up, you get bent over coughing up double. So, the shoulder. You could find me there. And, for miles I passed people there. FEeling the sand give a bit was just what I needed.

There were about 2 minutes that passed before my section of folks hit the start and clicked on the d tag. The openness at that moment called for a lengthy stride, followed by another one similar, a shortened one more closely resembling me and then we're off, i hit my pace, sat back and focused and listened to the music.
You know you're running a marathon when: there are empty GU vessels ALL OVER the road for 26 miles, when there are people laying in the grass of the final 10 kilometers. And, you know it when your body turns off all pain receptors, locks down, closes up and gets to work with a determination not yet accessed. And, you know it when there is a definitive point where there is no more energy, just a will that emerges ex nihilo.

I ran out of energy, but listen, it's not all that bad. I have a ton of endurance (okay there may be a difference and I'll explore that and report back-diff. between energy and endurance). At the final split, with 10 kilometers to go, i saw the clock 3:01:27. I remember squinting at the clock through the sun, shiny spikes of light darting from my squint through damp eyelashes, making an effort to accurately register the time in my head, this took effort, actually. I quickly ran some foggy calculations. Let's see...at 4:30 in the morning, I jump on the treadmill and run 4 miles in about 33 minutes. If I run 7 miles, I'm done in an about in hour. Boston was out of reach! I trained enough in the chilly New England winter. running 3 twenty milers during the 5 weeks leading up to race day and was keeping an average of about 40-50 miles a week.
For the folks on the the side of the road with the EMT's, perhaps their training was inadequate. I don't know. When I said I ran out of energy, this just means that my cruising pace of 8:38 for the final 10k lapsed into a 9 and some change. I was OK about. Reconciled it. REalized, for real, that marathon miles are exponential (tested using scientific theory, exponential as quantifiable property) and that a 10 k right then, is not a 10 k in it's simplest understanding, or how I was used to them feeling.
Glycogen Debt (observable phenomena- the second part of scientific theory:):
I love using money or financial reference as the metric for most things. It speaks to my kids. Their main currency is surprisingly not the TV or the PS2, it's the rattling contents of the piggy bank. And, I've a fine for most bad behaviors. So, to avoid being totally cruel, they can earn it back, too.
Anyway, I've been doing lots of research of glycogen. Let me just say this and then I will blog about the stuff because I think it's way cool. My muscles started to pretty much use themselves as energy toward the end of the race. This glycogen, the energy in the muscles that, once depleted, causes the muscles to break down. Now that I have very little fat on my body, I can see how key carbo replacement is. There was a time when carbohydrates were the enemy. Now I cannot build my muscle and stay energised at the workout, without significant portions. Craziness. I will do some more studying about this and get back to you.
Legs froze after I crossed the finish. I got the d tag over the finish and walked. Calves very tight. Ankles stiff. Bananas, pretzels, cookie, water, 3 waters, 6 bananas, 2 cookies, gatorade, finisher's shirt, finisher's medal, finisher's ball cap. Glycogen at an all new low. More later on that and perhaps some tips on avoiding it.
I'll need to figure something out. I'm running a 50k race Memorial Day weekend in Maine. That's 31 miles, and I have no business sapping the glycogen out at the 20 mile mark.
Finished my first marathon: 4:08
Keep Running!
(still waiting for photographs from mother in law, stay tooned)

Beck: MOTM (Musician of the Month)

Each day I post some basic information about my daily workout, including the song that most inspired me, on Facebook. SOTD is an acronym for song (S) of (O) the (T) day (D). How this relates to my workout is really important, it is the reason I workout, it's the runner's high, the endorphins firing off, the dopamine produced by the brain surging/pumping positivity throughout my body.
Those things are what makes a workout a good workout. Each day my road running, my workouts on the treadmill and/or my weight training provide much satisfaction for me, and if I'm honest, the music is not incidental to this.
I ran a 13 miler on Wednesday and turned off the music for about a mile, this was a test. First, the sounds of my shoes on the road is rhythmic; breathing in and out is audible and, maybe was in 4 time. One breath in and one out, completing a full cycle included 4 shoe strikes on the shoulder. Just like that! This cycle repeated itself in the same pattern, after a significant warm up, of course. Next came the sounds of the cars going by at like 40 mph; because I live in the country, the erratic presence of cars made this annoying actually. Other runners assert that running without the msuic is an organic experience. So I gave it a shot and besides my breathing and foot strikes which are quite rhythmic, thus resembling music in my hear, I'll stick with music--it gives me something to write about.
So, this is a new thing I'm going to start doing each month: MOTM. This is another acronym: Musician(M) Of(O) The(T) Month(M). This new thing probably requires little more than that as an introduction, but, I want readers (if they exist) to understand that there is more going on in my heart about the workout. To be sure, I'm not trying to come off like I work for Rolling Stone (that being said, I'm open to them thinking I have a natural talent, and, maybe there's an opening or something?; I will need a pink treadmill in my office and a cute boy to massage my feet).
Since the new year I've been listening to lots of Beck (see fig 4.3). His music has revitalized the workout for me, more to the point, it has been key to the indoor workout, the gym workout. Which, btw, is radically different than running miles on the road, it takes more concentration than I thought I had.
I am listening to 2 records, Odelay and Mellow Gold. Odelay, omg. Beck's songs are highly percussive with the space in between that makes me deeply attached to what (and aware of what) has influenced him musically. First listen gives way to classic punk rock styling- but his beat--it's like real grungy, classic punk stuff...but I trail off from here because the guy is really hard to categorize (RS, don't hold it against me, I'm a newbie).
Hotwax is such a great song. Commercial break: I am headphone person. I can't run with a boom box (that would be so cool, so old school, but, so fully inorganic in my own category of inorganicness and kind of bulky.) I have the headphones. Alright gear heads, I have pink earbuds by JVC. Pink.
Back to Hotwax, I can tell the song in the first few notes. The twang of a very southern-maybe slide-maybe an open body jazz guitar with extra special attention being paid to the texture of the lower strings. Strings played confidently with lots of stress put on them, can sense his ear through this technique. I immediately move my posture differently, like sitting back into a cruising pace with cadence very aware of the sound in the earbud. The bridges come without warning and back to that deep percussive movement that is my Beck.
There are changes in a workout, similar to those that happen in Becks songs. Ebbs and flows. His music empties out in the bridges. This empowers the percussiveness at the change. It power boosts it. The synthesized elements are what makes this category of music strictly his own; it reminds the listener that Beck is weird. Let us not forget. His ingenuity is stunning, like Dr. Seuss meets a cubist at a bar in NYC where they crank late 70's punk, do some recycling, toke with Beeker, while GG Allen salts the fries. Yeah, I don't know if they'll hire me anymore.
Workouts work similarly. When it empties, it's called the bonk. You can hyper do it if you're not eating enuff or you're not into what you're doing. Bonking and being apathetic are both bad and must be avoided. Music is not a device just to motor one through or artificially increase physical response to the intensity of the workout. Not!
Though a device, our physical response is first to the music thus springing out of our bodies through feet and hands, whether moving the ground beneath the feet or pulling 20 pounds up with the left obliques or 25 pound curls under the stress of the repetitions. It can be quite magical actually.
The runner's high; we know that we must be super synced with ourselves to have it. Euphoria. Imagine that feeling accompanied by some really killer music. Sometimes I feel like I'm dancing in my running shoes (the 769's, for the road, or the Free's for the gym) and tights. Maybe I should blog about FILA. A brand that makes me look good if I get to dancing a little while I'm running.

Ice Skating With My Boys

There isn't a more joyous time for me. Being with my children and skating on the ice is something that brings me such happiness. I can see the happiness in the kids' faces, and that makes me even more super happy!
And, I? I feel like a kid, for sure. Alpine skiing is fun, yes, but skating is ultra fun. My earliest wintry memory is of playing hockey in tiny, girly, white hockey skates with my dad and brother.
Now with the conditions as they are, my entire front yard is available for some of the best skating around. 100 acres of open skating!
Elijah and Levi actually let me hold their hands, today, as we coasted making large circles with our blades--carving white tracks atop the smooth ice. The sounds of it heaving and sighing under our weight doesn't bother us. We are New Englanders. We know ice. And, starting at a very young age, we learn how to glide on it. We learn how to gain speed pushing our blades out and to the side and the turn, with arms outstretched with a gentle motion we glide backwards, staggering the blades and leaning in to make an easy semi- circular turn. The ice looks like a massive diamond that's not yet cut to sparkle in that way, especially at twilight with the epic reflect-ioning glimmer coming in at us from the West. See fig. 4.3
It's best to skate due West at twilight...the remainder of daylight illuminates cracks that have potential to reach up and grab the blade taking us down or causing an explosion of posture and appendage as we attempt to recover, removing any signs of grace and control from the event.
But, holding Elijah's hand... I'm pretty sure I will think of that moment a thousand times. Skating with him and having him rely on me in a very real and tangible way, and, my being able to do that for him in a real and tangible way, best demonstrates, in a real way, my desires and wishes for him as his mother. I'm willing to bet Levi will always remember skating as a young kid and licking the ice and chipping away at it and being with mom (the boys think I'm a professional skater :)
It is so important for me to be fully present for the ice skating. So many minutes get pushed toward the routine. I need to find a way to hold my boys' hands this summer.... or else I'll just be dreaming of winter.

A Snowy Walk in New Hampshire

Today was basically the quintessential winter day in New Hampshire. It snowed lightly all day, laying down about 4 or 5 inches of snow that is sticky for snowpersons. It was beautiful outside, everything looking clean and fresh. The temperature was hovering around 27 or 28, so, it was warm.
Levi, who is my 3 year old son, likes to ride on the sled to the bus stop to get his older brother, so off we went.
I saw a tree.
A pretty and small tree that was skinny on the bottom and twiggy on the top. The snow was stuck to it and it looked beautiful. (see fig. 4.3)
"Levi, look at the tree," I said, pointing to the tree, "It's pretty, isn't it?"
"No." he said.
"What?" I asked.
"No." he said.
"What?" I asked.
"No." he said.
"What?" I asked.
"No." he said.
"What?" I asked.
"No." he said, "It's not pretty."
"Pfffft. Okay." I said, as I started off toward the bus stop again, pulling the sled behind me.
I turned to give him a wink and a smile, and you know what? He was looking back at that pretty and small tree that was skinny on the bottom and twiggy on the top!
Although a child can't really acknowledge that his scope of the world emerges largely from his parent, the fact that levi gave the tree that second look reassures me that he is listening and exploring and (not just) pushing against me. I'm okay with all of those things because I love him (and, he does enjoy what snow can do to a small tree).

Holi-Blog: Blue and Green

I'm sorry this blog is so confusing. I'm kind of in a rush, holiday style.
I've always been real nostalgic during the holidays. Christmas, in particular, makes me feel warm and makes me bake (more than the usual) cookies and makes me love loving. I love the tiny glow of tiny lights and the fresh smell of artificial balsam and even the uneven cuts of wrap.
I especially love the color blue at Christmas. Partly because blue is really unexpected during the holiday season. Whether there are sparkles in the Christmas blue or not, it certainly does shine differently than during the rest of the year. Especially when that blue is smartly interrupted by cartooned Santa's and Frosty's or, dressed handsomely with the classic wreath, soft red velvet bows, and vintage-y, cheesy, Kinkade-y scenes with horses, cabins, perennially fresh trees, carols, soft glows and, ghosts. I love all that nonsense.

I also totally love my version of mediocrity, especially at Christmastime (okay, I'm of nihilist persuasion). I love the blue, especially because it secularizes everything in one fell swoop. Now that I'm thinking of it, I haven't time for exaggerated emotions or schmaltzy overtures and epilogues to my everyday. It's okay to be mediocre. So what if Christmas for me is all about the presents? Christmas cards? And, divvying up evenly on behalf of Santa? Then kicking back with some egg nog and roasting chestnuts?
Unexpected segue:
Having opportunities to know you (the many you(s) is really the important measurable gift I find under the all-year-round-tree
Did you know I have a pear tree in my yard? It's green and, I bought it, while green on Earth Day just two years ago. Green things [that grow, or so they claim], requiring watering regularly and the occasional fertilizer stake, are rarely successful for me!
But, there is satisfaction found in stuff that grows. There is a finesse, too, a know-how, a delicacy needed to observe the difference between that thing which grows because it can and the one that grows because it wants--green and otherwise.
Oh crap... now I've done it:
Here's the thing, the more blue you have around at Christmas, the better, and, I don't mean the little pink trees (though, they are fabulous!).
We all know Christmas is in an open relationship with the mediocre, and, this is good news for some of us.

So, remember to cruise through Christmas, right into New Year's where some important stuff can happen if you want it to. Deciding not to be mediocre (or, how we display our varying levels of mediocrity) has nothing to do how we deck the halls; it's really about who and how we are each and everyday. Being brave and looking forward to New Year's with an awakened commitment to self and loved ones, reinventing, rediscovery and reworking, moving to the core of a new sense of humanness, and, loving/being in a better, more effective way, is the right answer for the mediocre.

Happy New Year to you!
Love,
Sarah

The Night I Ran Wicked Fast

This post is welling up inside me. I've been waiting patiently for a subject to hit me just right. THE boots, I thought, had it all. I should probably wear THE boots while throwing down the lines in this post, but I'm too tired to get up.
It took all day to run on December 8. A quick and casual change in the schedule had me pacing the floors for hours and, ahem, scrubbing the baseboards? This is a job that is not sexy. Imagine choosing to clean something that no one will ever know got cleaned? What is the reward in that? Well, for starters, I knew I cleaned it and I felt good about it; the nice thing about a blog is having a format where I can mention the things I've cleaned and get a little recognition. So there you go, I cleaned the baseboards in my kitchen.
That day I got a lot of baking done and was readying the house for company. I played with legos in a way that I like to occasionally. I prefer my brother's legos from the 80's. The pieces are mostly gray and spacey-with that intergalactic ring and speed of light and shit. I'm also partial to wheels. I have constructed some of the most intense lunar rovers complete with key boards, missile launchers (although, at once, we come in peace), steering wheels, windows, stealth windshields and roof shingles that came from the farm set.
I knew I could head out on my run at 4:30. Around 3 pm, I started getting ready. This is not typical to have this much time. I was not rushed but I thought about running the run....and didn't think about route or distance--no specifics. I was actually distracted by the fact that it was going to be dark and I needed to be prepared in two ways: 1, dressed for chillier temps and 2, lit up, easily detected, reflecting, etc.
The light I chose, I bought at a Dollar Tree on Hawthorne Blvd. Back in August while in Oregon for the Hood To Coast Relay. This was actually the last time I used it for the purpose of running. Levi likes to take it and shine it at Elijah and say, "I'm gonna punch you in your ffface". He's just trying to survive.
And I wear my compression socks on my arms. This is excellent!
I like the fact that my arms can be warm without stacking another layer on my core.
On goes the arm band and i pod. In goes the braid, uniform and snug. And I exit an excited, loud and noisy household ready for the reprieve. I head out left at the end of my dirt road and see that traffic is backed up to the traffic circle. Bonus!
I get to chase cars/race cars!
When I'm hauling close to them, the cars will purposefully drive along side to clock, it's kind of fun for me so I gave them something to shoot for...this was when my fastest mile was achieved.
I love approaching the outside turn of the traffic circle. I stay close to the line and it's raked slightly downward so I can accelerate and move quickly through. It's almost like going through a check point or running a track...I need to get through it quickly so I don't cause any problems for motorists. I know running into the circle is not ideal, but it's part of a killer loop and I'm only in it for an 1/8 of it.
But I was off to a great start. Sometimes, on certain days, running is for me, then, there are other days when running is not for me. I wonder if that half marathon was not the right day for me to run. That almost every other day could've been better for some reason.
Once I was told that racing ruins everything about running...this is probably likely. But I love running too much not to try racing occasionally.
I waited ALL day to run. When I got into traffic and moved fast through the circle, I started a climb that goes on for about 3 tenths of a mile. I climbed and climbed without dropping pace or breathing quickly. At the top of the hill I turned right onto a dirt road...quiet. And I kept the pace steadily. Sometimes I'm just so happy to be out of the house, away from all the chaos of raising 2 boys, who are hardcore boys (will the fighting ever end?).
Someone once told me if you raise 3 boys, you can do anything. I'm hoping some of that can be reserved me as I am raising 2 boys. Oh, and I'm not going to have a third boy just so I can qualify for the 'anything'. I'll gladly do 33.333% less of 'anything', because I don't think I could handle 1/3 more noise, dirt and gas in the house.
Anyway, the run that night was speedy overall, most likely because I was itchy from being cooped up all day and because I thought about it all day, and because I am so grateful for my time alone and because I love my athletic self that I'm amazed daily and, finally, I wanted to get home and out of the dark as fast as possible.

Sarah Eaton ran 6.5 mi PACE 7:20 SOTD Ramble On - Led Zeppelin gotta find the queen of all my dreams
New PR for the mile: 6:45

The Importance of Fantastic Boots

Today, while shopping, I found THE boots.
Brown? yes. Wooden heel? yes. Slouch? yes! Not too ornamental? yes. Good price? yes! Smart looking? Yes! Yes! Yes!
Want to know how I knew they were THE boots? First, my heart rate went up a bit when I saw them.
Easily this can be measured. It's not something I'm making up about our physical response to something that strikes us just that right way.
Second, as I scanned the boxes for the right size, I felt a really warm surge come over me, like that moment just before you sip the second cocktail and everything in your body just smooths over.
Yeah, so those boots were in my size.
I was psyched when I opened the box and discovered that the insides of the box remained undisturbed since leaving the manufacturer. Even more awesome!
I lifted the paper and saw the left boot and knew right away the task that awaited me. I needed to extract the cardboard stabilizers from inside.
Being versed in the process of readying a new boot, I reached deep inside and drew out the tissue used to stabilize the toe, as well. All systems go!
Grasping the boot by the top of the shaft, I slid my foot in. At any moment this attempt can be sabotaged by an ill cut waist of the boot that prevents the glide of my foot. BUT it went easily, unlike the first pair. Whew!
The first pair was an ankle boot with a two inch heel. That boot really lacked at the waist and so while trying to get my foot in there, because what was intended to be one fluid motion was sadly brought to an abrupt halt, I lost my balance, hobbled, bounced, jumped a bit, kickin' up dust and causing a silly scene (and causing my toddler to laugh at me, which is hardly ever a good thing).
BUT something should be said about the ease of putting on a boot...this could be hot or not hot. The better fitting boot can be determined as to how good you look getting it on. I need practice. I will work on this over the next couple of weeks. This is not unlike perfecting any craft like folding fancy napkins for the 5 star restaurant (the candle roll or the fan fold) or painting using stencils or making a jig saw an extension of your hands, or perhaps it is more similar to tying a necktie for your lover.
I couldn't get out of the store fast enough. I wanted to go home and wear them while I baked a batch of cookies or watched my bread dough rise. See? Sometimes the right boots can make even your cookies taste better!

To wrap this nonsense up here is a fun little quote by a woman whose book I think I should read titled The Female Eunuch:

“Yet if a woman never lets herself go,
how will she ever know how far she might have got?
If she never takes off her high-heeled shoes,
how will she ever know how far she could walk or how fast she could run?”
Germaine Greer

Gobble It Up--Don't REad!!

It's a cryin' shame that I have to write this without committing to a larger point to umbrella a smaller one. My technique is becoming quite predictable. Though a smattering of stuff could disrupt the norm, thus I must submit to a stream.

1. Curt and I are embarking into the holiday season with a toddler who seems to 'get it" and who happens to really dig Santa (which is entirely foreign to us as Eli has been known to hide behind the fake trees in the mall to avoid eye contact with the big man). And when we saw him the other day in Portsmouth, NH at the Urban Forestry Center, Levi immediately got to work on getting out "I want a Nerf Blaster". Now that seems like a fairly simple task but LEvi gets to stuttering when he's amped up and anxious and feels like Elijah might start bullying him for air time.
But he got it out and between Mr. and Mrs. Claus and the list of kids from NH, they were able to determine that both my boys are on the 'Good List". Which made me deeply question the Claus' criteria for all things good and bad, not the philosophical juxtoposition between good vs. evil-though I often have to play that card at home to settle disputes amongst the natives, but since nothing is purely BAD I knew my guys would be on some list higher up on the ranking...thus siding with Eli that indeed Sir and Ms. Claus tell all the children the same thing about their presence on the good list. I'm thankful that I don't have to maintain the facade with at least one of my children, in due time Levi will also see through or past the pillowed tummy.

2. When J. Lo fell at the AMA's, I laughed pretty hard.

3. I think that Vodka has a psychedelic property to it but not without the alignment of certain other things, like food in the stomach, rest, weight, experience and hydration efforts.

4. Lady GaGa is pretty much a mess.

41/2. Alicia Keys and Mary J. Blige did well.

5. I love that Robin Quivers has a super huge wine cellar containing many varietals, thousands of bottles.

6. Does anyone need 32 ounces of Nutella? Ever?

7. If you're fat, you should be equally concerned about your aesthetic and your aes (ass). Don't be mad, I used to weigh 298 pounds.

8. It is with great sadness that I report the origin of my achilles injury. Turns out pretty pink 769's are the culprit. MOst likely
I did a reckless job sizing and fitting myself. I am back to my Nike's (with minimal overlay's, low ankle rise, and exceptional cushion, they are epic and my achilles has been on the mend while at work) Praise be.

9. To earn my yams, I shall run 20 miles on Thanksgiving morning. Sadly I'll miss the highly anticipated, over the top, energetic three hour commercial ad also known as the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Too bad.

10. Watch out for people who piss in your ears.

11. Jermaine, Jaffar, JerMajesty and Tim. It's okay to wonder about that.

12. Phish in Albany and Portland, here we come!!!!!! and possibly Phila tomorrow!!!

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!! Happy Birthday, Becca!!!!
Love,
Sarah

10 days/100 miles DAY TEN

Written Saturday PM:

I'm glad I'm done.
I'm glad I got a text from Toni this morning wanting to run the last 10 with me.
I'm glad she took me a different route. I ran the same route 9 times and ended up getting the scotch tape. There is something to doing a repeat route 9 days in a row. I ended up feeling like an automaton. But I think that was the whole idea of being on repeat and taking out the romance and reducing the mission to an effort. It was hard to watch the love for the sport dwindle to a series of motions but it was seriously necessary.
I'm glad I suffered through the achilles. Overuse is stupid. And overuse should never make you stop. Neglect can come in two forms, one is overuse and the other, underuse.
I'm glad my injury is due to overuse, though, because
I'm glad I don't have an injury caused by underuse. Underuse is stupid. Underuse will kill you. Disease is the voice of underuse.
I'm glad I'm done.

The biggest thing I take from this experiment is just knowing that I am really fit. And, yes, I believe my fitness has increased during these 10 days. I think I could run additional mileage on a single run with a day in between for recovery. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not worried about losing fitness as I address this tendon.
I am planning on making Thanksgiving morning my next long run, 20 miles to mom and dads before the heady meal.
Exhausted is how I feel. I've drifted off yesterday and today and I NEVER nap. And especially today, I cannot resist.
Baking a vegan carrot cake for my dad for his birthday. I will eat cake. And I will dance tonight. Today is a show day and all I want to do is dance. I'll run soon.
Thanks for reading! and for those of you out there who run, you know who you are, keep going!
Love,
Sarah

Bungee Cords, Banana PEels and Puke

In the title of this blog are just some examples of things I discover on the shoulder of the busier roads where I run. Please note that really none of these items are actually pleasant.
In fact, it is fair to say that I am sort of an authority on [all things worthy of the side of the road] 'side of the road' things (and I purposefully structured the sentence that way). I travel the roads frequently and pay a good amount of attention to things along my path and it is also fair to report that there is NOTHING pleasant on the side of the road, EVER. I have tried to keep track of some of the items to share with you, let's see: scotch tape (hardly used and I'm tempted to retrieve it with the holidays quickly approaching, but still, this is not pleasant), the innards of a pillow (looks more like dirty snow), empty and bent red bull cans, a paper market bag with a bottle of bleach sticking out of it, a halloween devils cape all mangled (like that devil might have lost a battle with something equal and opposite), a fun size Snickers bar that has been run over like 300 times, a empty GU package (oops, that's mine and I"ll get it tomorrow), a Wendy's bag wtih the contents strewn for 20 feet beyond it (french fry thingy, hamburger wrapper, soda cup, straw, lid, napkins, BBQ sauce and several (5) exploded ketchups), oh and there was the other battle lost between someone's egregious intoxication and finally succumbing to the inevitable purge (which no longer smells, but it has been driven through and tracked for a good 15 feet or so) that's about it, oh yeah there was this tiny chipmunk that has been run over so many times, it now resembles a slice of a medium sized garden tomato (i committed that to memory today so I wouldn't forget to tell you), and there is a single glove near campus and a single glove near the farm, though these would not make a set, they are both left handed (and one is blue).
So there you have it!
These are other examples of roadkill. I am fascinated by the real roadkill. But I am also finding this other kind of roadkill interesting. Sometimes, and only for a very few seconds, I consider what was happening at the time this kind of manmade roadkill occurred. Like take for instance the scotch tape. I mean, what the hell? The red bull can...this is not a mystery in the same way the scotch tape is a mystery. My initial thought was that the woman, that's right I assumed she was a female, was on her way to a party but running a tick late and she pulled off onto the shoulder. She stepped out of the driver's and moved quickly around the front of the car. She the opened the back seat passenger side and retrieved the gift and the wrap. Moving as fast as she could she creased the paper to tear (she forgot the scissors!) and started to fold and tape with moderate precision considering improper wrapping location and, sheeesh, if you don't have the right tools, you might as well go home, take off your party dress and devour a pint of Cherry Garcia. But not this girl; this girl is cool. She did what she could with what she had remembering the sentiment that it's the thought that matters and she tossed the gift on the front seat. Meanwhile, what she didn't know is that the tape had gotten stuck to the cuff of her pea coat and dangled there precariously and if you can imagine when she tossed the gift onto the front seat, it dropped or actually flew a bit and struck the guard rail behind her, to add insult to injury, a W. B. Mason truck happened to pass at the exact same moment making her unaware of the loss (and the littering).
Wow, telling that story kinda made me feel winded.
So probably you know what I've been doing. Toni and talked about a 100 mile ultra marathon and it is obvious that surviving mileage like that takes several weeks or even months actually. There is so much damage done to the muscles that recovery time is absolutely necessary (oh and the fastest guy can usually complete a race like that in 17+ hours or something) so that is a lot of joggin'. Compare that to what I'd like to run my marathon in (26.2 miles) and the time to qualify for Boston is like 3:40 roughly. So there it is. OK. Then we thought that spreading out 100 miles into 10 consecutive days is not as damaging as a 100 mile race. Now there you go, you have the skinny on the experiment. But I will say that there is damage. The overnight of rest doesn't do the trick. My knees are starting to get beat up and where the legs are connected and the groin? They're all set with the miles. I've got aches in my mid back and in my gut. My form is very conservative and is starting to go rigid a bit and I feel like I"m just trying to complete the effort. You know, the romance is gone. I go through the same thing with new songs I really love. If I love a song enough, I'll play it over and over again until I fully understand/get/dig/deconstruct every measure of it. And then I'm done. I've almost done that with running.

Here are my paces from the 8 days I've run 10 milers:

11-5: 8:24
11-6: 8:21---20 mile mark
11-7: 8:42
11-8: 8:35
11-9: 8:24----50 mile mark
11-10: 8:53
11-11: 8:19
11-12: 8:30----80 mile mark
11-13: 8:07----90 mile mark (just added)
11-14: 8:18----100 miles in 10 days.


It's clear that the mental stuff got to me on 11-10, I knew I was halfway and the thinking got heavy about the rest of the miles. I liken it to how I felt when I reached the half way point of my half marathon. I DON'T LIKE MID WAY POINTS. I'm going to have to work on that. BUt the pace was great on the 11th. Maybe I'll try and speed it up a bit tomorrow. I'm feeling fatigued, to be honest, and well, Ms. Achilles is behaving like a 3 year old. I hate that I feel tired. That's one of the reasons I wanted to test this out, see how far I can go and a long run one day is coming and then I will really know what I'm capable of. I am going to run to my mom's house on Thanksgiving. That is about 20 miles. BUt I think I'd like to run for maybe 4 or 5 hours and see what happens.
Does anyone want to do that with me? Seriously. Someone I know who lives around here needs to start running so we can do long runs together and some long races ... think about it.

Half Way: 50 Miles Done, 50 To Go

This is one of the hardest things I've done. Running 100 miles in 10 days with no days of rest. Just some time to recoup some strength overnight letting the muscles repair only slightly. Having completed half of this mission, the changes in my style of running are easily recognizable. Being that it's only day five, the lions share is ahead of me.
I love looking steady and controlled. I saw some college girls running today and that's great! you know, but their ponytails were swishing back and forth like a horse's tail on hot, dusty, especially buggy summer afternoon. Or, if you can imagine it for the brunette, it looked like she had a helicopter blade on the back of her head just flying around crazily like it may eventually be released by her scalp and come whizzing across the street, striking me and knocking me to the ground. I was relieved once we passed each other.
Such long shadows at 9 and 10 am. THe sun so low in the sky. 40-ish degrees is perfect running weather for tights and a long sleeve with a short sleeve over top and pink mittens and my pink doo rag to absorb the perspiration.
My left leg (which I'm in love with) is compensating for the misbehavior and "acting like a queen" attitude displayed by my R achilles tendon. OK ALREADY, I want to holler, YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I can't do shit without these little lengths of material in my body being in good moods. It must be that time of the month for my achilles. OOPS, my bad, since there is no longer a diagnosis called tendonitis, we now have tendonosis and I'm getting yelled at by a Czech sports med guy over on the Running page on Facebook that I am rolling the dangerous dice with this injury.
I insist that I will run till I drop to my knees, losing the battle with this injury, testing my resolve and how long I can delude myself with this false sense of security or tolerate it or be bigger than it and braver than I've ever been or even slightly more stupid than letting go of the plane while every bit of instinct told me that I should do precisely the opposite from that or my hill opens and I can slide my fucked up tendon into a ski boot for a month or two and let it be.
I didn't want to let go of the plane. Even having a door open at 15,000 feet above the ground felt so wrong, so counter intuitive to anything I've known about me, the earth, the sky, having the heart of a bird but reconciling that daily with the inarguable tenacity of gravity and mass and a universe that embraces me each day but only for my overall lack of a carbon footprint.
For all intents and purposes, I flew that day. I had a brief argument with the tips of my fingers which were locked in a death grip above my head on the last bit of the plane's interior, that last bit was all that was keeping me from falling fast and hard toward earth.
The argument was brief and my fingers lost because there are times in your life where you just BREATHE in a big way and you just say FUCK IT and giving yourself fully to nothing familiar is the result ... goodbye plane. ANd there isn't anything as scary as that. It's a complete loss of control. It's totally graceful, romantic and merciless and I will never do it again so long as I live.
As we left the plane, the instructor guided our bodies upward so I could look into the sun falling backward to earth. I saw the plane above my head. The sensation was sickening. The plane vanished from above me like a magic trick. You know the kind. Where you think you know how they did that but it was a good magic trick so you don't really know and they'll never tell you because it's a keeper. He rolled me over now facing the direction of our fall and I saw the end of our flight (that would be earth) and I had to reorient myself while he drew my arms out straight, grasping my hands and holding them in front of me like I could have been super girl (with the cape and the sexy boots and that belt that, in my case, would double as a survival kit carrying dark chocolate, pink 452 lipstick, a clip for my hair and a Phish show with Giant Country Horns from 1989). With arms stretched, the speed was insane! He wrapped his legs around my legs and pulled them so I would stretch out long and lean like in an epic dive. I thought I was going to die and I said aloud but quietly, "Elijah Needs me". I could have died and I wouldn't have been surprised.
He then brought my arms back to my sides, keeping one arm around my waist he readied me into a feet first drop and in the next frame the chute was noisily unravelling with the pull of the release and our bodies went from about 120 mph to 10 mph, the straps around our chest and groin absorbing the throwing on of the brakes. Then everything went quiet.
"You OK?"
he asked. Indeed I was and this easy coasting to the ground is my reward for the insanity and depravity of the free fall.
I knew I was going be a better mother.
The ground came up to my feet not a moment other than what I was hoping for. It was awkward syncing up the steps with the instructor and we stumbled slightly but managed the ground. It almost felt like relearning. It didn't take long for me to realize I had forgotten a lot about what I thought I knew in those minutes. My most favorite philosopher taught me that traveling decenters a person opening up to allow for a spirit of new, an acceptance of otherness and a respect for difference. I should say that traveling through air does the same.
Day 6 tomorrow.
love,
Sarah

10 days/100 miles DAY THREE

Today was day 3 and I think I'll blog about this challenge occasionally.
The challenge 10 miles a day for 10 consecutive days. 30 miles done thus far.
When the door opened, the cold air hit me pretty good. I could only postpone this for so long; going out and getting this run started in this chilly weather (31 degrees is nothing, just wait till there are ice droplets on my eye lashes and my bandana freezes to my dread locks). Cold is going to take some getting used to. But whatev. So.
There is something organic going on with my posture and stride that I didn't anticipate, but now seems obvious. I'm a better runner.
During this challenge, I'm not concerned about paces because I am less interested in speed work and more in tuning my body and mind to a higher freq. of endurance. SO the organic aspect that I mentioned earlier has really nothing to do with my head, and that is the part I love the best.
I have a feeling, and I'll know more about it as I continue, that the body is built for running, I mean, what the hell are long legs for anyway, huh? AND, there is innate ability to reasonably conserve what's in the tank and run for a long time. The tank, however, needs to be able to take on calories and the mind needs to let the body do it's thing and if all that is synced up, then the running is easy.
My body hardly moves during the strides. My legs are working at a high level & efficiently though my upper body and arms are, while relaxed, quite motionless, actually I'll call it STEADY, considering the cardio activity I'm doing. I am not trying to do this. I feel like my body has adapted to this work load and wants to conserve because I rarely feed it and water it and it knows that. IF the body can be trained to go faster, than it can be trained to be minimally fed (during the run).
The body will do what it has to do to move down the road for as long as I need it to without bitching and requiring nourishment. My whole grains each evening provide the fuel.
To be sure, I'd take something with me if going longer than 10 miles, btw. I"m not trying to be sadistic or anything.
I eat some gel, whole grain bread with a nut butter and brown rice gel and drink some coffee and head out the door, this is plenty of fuel. Check it though: if I am able to strike a balance with my body between food and water and it running as efficiently as possible, than that is what is ultimate. Often if there is too much in my gut, It can be a bit of a downer and I don't like my thoughts to go to my gut, ever.
I have tendonitis in my R achilles tendon. This is SO lame. I massage it and ice it and put the ibuprophen gel on it and so forth, but i'm working with it. On day two I thought about how I birthed two children naturally, with no interventions, and I thought about nursing those boys and how the pain was so searing that I could taste metal, then I thought how I jumped out of an airplane (quite literally the scariest stupidest thing I've ever done), and then I thought about how I cracked my rib in the moguls last winter skiing and then continuing to run anyway. And I thought about how it sucks so much to hurt when all you want to do is breathe.
And actually sometimes it still hurts to breathe, but not because of the rib. Because sometimes my body wants to rebel against me and act like a queen who wants to rest and be pampered. Physical Sarah would rather enjoy things fine or otherwise and not put the time in or the effort. That's where the mind immediately plays a key role. There is an ongoing dialogue between that physical self and the spirit and there are times where one is the more dominant, right? And there are times where they hit that freq., that runner's ^. And people see it. You don't even have to look like you're smokin fast, you've just dialed the numbers baby and the call is going thru. :) hahaha Clearly I can't wait to run tomorrow. I'll blog again at the half way point.
Later.

Legend Has It: Fifteen Years of Sand

About the time when school started up, my morning jogs were interrupted regularly by very consistent comings and goings of dump trucks. I soon discovered their destination (and contents) and was pleasantly surprised to find that the town had made a cost effective purchase of sand to manage the varying conditions of a solid active stretch of New England winter, cheaply. I was happy with the fact that someone in our town is negotiating with our tax dollars instead of hemorrhaging out the cash to save time or salvage old contracts with old buddies or new bids from new buddies or however the story goes.
So the town secretary gave me the skinny on the purchase. As it turns out, the town of Lee, New Hampshire (Est. 1766), had a VERY special opportunity to purchase, get this, Fifteen years of sand (I even capitalized it). I know! Fifteen years of sand! Her delight was so infectious, I had to keep myself from moving her desk aside to gather her up in a firm embrace, wrapping both arms about her with a squeeze that let her know I, too found a reason to celebrate!
Driving out of there, I got to thinking out this "fifteen years" of sand. I thought it was funny that all of a sudden, on a random day in September, a new unit of measurement was taught to me. Though I felt a bit unclear as to exactly what 15 years of sand is, so I thought taking a look at it might be helpful.
Upon arrival I saw 4 great big massive piles of sand each about 3 stories high. And I thought about each pile maybe being 3 years of sand roughly, which brought it up to 12 years of sand presently in front of me. I then tried to visually divide each pile and wanted to imagine how many truck loads it took to carry one year of sand. Then I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to demand to see a one year increment of sand! I think it should be dumped near the center of town so the townspeople can all come out and gaze upon this collective purchase we've made. Surely if you've purchased 15 years of sand, there must be 1. And since the company from whom we've purchased the sand devised this unit of measurement, then it must be a definitive unit of measurement, one that has been examined by the persons who chose to make this purchase on behalf of the town.
And let's say there is someone in the town monitoring the purchase of the 15 years. What does she have to do in terms of keeping track of how many years have been dropped off? Was she there when the first month arrived? Did she know when we had 6 months stashed near the back of this now storage lot of sand? Yes! The first six months of the sand has arrived, you now are awaiting delivery on the remaining 14 and a half years of sand.
Units of measurements. As I get older, I realize there are more and more units of measurements relating to lots
of things I know nothing about. Let's start with electricity. Watts measure total electrical power based on the variables of volt, amperes (amps), and ohms. I stole this from my husband who is an electrician on nuclear submarines. I have no friggin clue what these are. I Just know when I turn stuff on in the house, I want it on.
Then there are units of dry measurement, again things I don't understand. Things like a bushel or a peck. And it makes sense not to order, say the equivalent of 15 years of sand in a bushel, because a bushel is a bit over a cubic foot and this would be a rather daunting task to measure.
Of course there are other units of volume to consider. But there are also units of mass, length and area. Perhaps an appropriate unit of measurement for the sand could be MILE. LEt's break it down. One year or let us say 6 months of sand
is this much, now how many times can you run that truck up and down the George Bennett Road, out on to Mast Way taking a left there at Orion's Tree Service, then a left onto Steppingstone and back out heading south onto route 125 (which is 5.5 miles)?
Perhaps as the project manager, I would have inquired as to what if one winter was especially difficult and one especially calm. What about those winters where we just get hammered and get like 115 inches of snow? (I hope that's this year or that we get even more than 10 feet of snow)
Then I thought, what if 15 years of sand meant that the town has unlimited access to the sand they need for 15 years!? Nah, that doesn't seem right. So would that mean we can, ahem, sand a bit heavier than usual? Or maybe we could, ahem, sand more frequently than we would normally? and when those piles were gone, the sand company would come and replenish our stash with more sand?
And this cycle would continue for 15 years!!?
The trucks have stopped coming up and down the road now; and for some time my jogs have been quiet and the road less stuffy.
Today I pictured the final delivery of sand. I thought of the driver of that truck and how good he must have felt being the last drop, completing the order, needing a signature, shaking the hand and participating in a friendly exchange in a vocal tone a bit higher than his normal tone (expressing kindness and relief, though undetected by the listener).
I wonder, when the last year of sand arrived, did the management of the sand company and the town officials do a walk through, take a look-see, and double check making sure a couple of months didn't blow out while en route.
"OK, Well, there you have it. We've got 8 years in the back, these piles here bring it to 12 and just over there by the entrance, those there are the first years you'll use, um 13, 14 and 15..." BUt technically they're years of sand 1, 2 and 3, in the order used, but in the tallied years, they're last. Gosh, It doesn't matter.
I know I'll never forget the year my town bought 15 years of sand. So in the year 2024, or rather the winter of 24-25, we will need sand. I'll be 53 years old. Elijah will be 23 years old (and hopefully out of the house). Levi will be 18 years old (and hopefully out of the house).
But one thing is for sure, I am going to watch these sand piles and then maybe I'll devise my own unit of measurement as related very dark (85%) organic chocolate. Does anyone know what a lifetime supply looks like?

The Dry Run

My boys wanted to flip their grilled cheese sandwiches last night. I let them, too. They were grilled to perfection! Crispy golden on the outside and the cheese thoroughly melted and trying to escape only minimally. I sliced one on the diagonal and one straight away using the spatula. I remember being asked to consider ways to cut a child's grilled cheese once while babysitting for a wealthy family out on the boulevard in Rye, NH. To me it made sense to cut it in fourths and the shapes would be either square or triangular and the mother of that child thought it best that I offer the child the choice of which shape she'd like. So I thought of this last night while slicing the sandwiches and I laughed a little bit because i recalled conversation with that mom years ago and I wanted to be a smart ass so bad and say "as long as your daughter doesn't want circles, I'm cool". I was tempted to cut Levi's into circles but I am trying to encourage him to eat the crusts. There just comes a time in every child's life when they must start eating crusts! I suppose there is an endless list of things that children must learn to do and not all result necessarily in increased independence; this list of things they must learn are just behaviors we consider to be normal and acceptable. There comes a time when they must learn to tie their shoes and going to sleep without milk and ditching the sippy cup and quit running through the parking lot and no screaming at the toy store and no eating boogers and no pressing all the buttons in the elevator or dumping out the entire contents of board games on the floor and carrying the guinea pig not by the head and keeping your tips together while skiing and solving disputes with your brother without punching and saying excuse me after a variety of noises escape the body and no rummaging through mommy's stuff and quit referring to girls as crummy.
The boys both touched the side of pan for a nano second, nothing major. But I mean it's awkward to flip, in Levi's case, your first sandwich! I kinda remember doing it or at least it's not difficult for me to imagine how tricky it feels until you grow accustomed to the 'it's all in the wrist' motion. The little bit of stress when it's just about to flip, the singular sweeping motion and the sandwich is in flight and it looks like a tracer and it's not floating in slo mo. It's fast! And you almost have to close your eyes, like in a sneeze, and hope that it will work out in the end, that when your eyes open it will be flat in the pan and not up the side a bit or goddess forbid on one of yours shoes down below, or adjacent.
It hurts to touch the pan. It doesn't feel good. Not like how getting a little jolt of electricity feels good. You know that first surge of power followed by the ticking vibration and then the numbness and then, well, feeling ill. There is just all pain with the burn, plus it worsens exactly at the same rate as you realize what just happened. Poor guys. The only thing good that can come out of this, at least for Levi, is knowing what mom means now when she's says "be careful. it's hot." He got schooled in "it's hot" last night and will never forget.
For Elijah, his experience is a little different. His desire is to avoid the burn by perfecting the motion. To aid in this process, I will make him a pb & j and let him flip it in a cool pan until he builds his confidence. Because you really only have once chance to get the fated grilled cheese flip right. The dry run. He recognizes the benefits of practice! Being willing to practice is a wonderful attribute in a child who is growing and gaining knowledge and loving learning.
Yes, it's true. I have an achilles injury. I'm scared to even think about it really. BUt if you've gotten this far in my blog, then maybe you'll keep reading for the hell of it. Oh, today is day three without a run.
I added a lot of mileage last week after the half marathon, covered almost 60 miles throughout the week. I'm getting ready for my 10 days/One hundred miles challenge that I created in my head for myself. This challenge is part of the training I need for ultra marathon running. I figure if I can do that much damage to my muscles in those 10 days and continue to walk and feel good and reach a new level of fitness, then I can run an ultra. Plus it would be fantastic to run the Shamrock Marathon in March and have it be almost easy.
But the achilles.... I deserve the time off from running, this is what I tell myself. And I am learning to take cues from my body and make smart choices so that, in the long run, I am actively doing what I love the most and that is being in the run. If I weren't injured, I wouldn't be taking the time off like I wanted to after the half marathon was over. So here I am.
RICE, same old same old. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. only except there are two I s. Ibuprophen is the other and I have it in the gel and the tablet. This time I know with confidence that I am not losing fitness and this is because I've done this before.
Just like Elijah and Levi with their sandwich flipping skills, I too have practice in negotiating an injury.
I'm not going to be too sad. I'll be back at it soon. I'll also be skiing soon, too, and this just makes my heart sing.
Love to you,
Sarah

The Windy White Mtn. Milers Half Marathon

The night before, I just wanted to get to sleep at a regular time. I thought it would disturb me to get in some kind of "zone" or whatever. So I kept it casual.

We went out to the bar and I got hit on by this wookie that I think is super hot, seriously he is fine (I see him all around). SO that felt really good but I knew I couldn't drink too much so we left and tried to get some dancing in, but the bouncers carried 3 loud obnoxious drunk ladies out of the bar and literally threw them through the door! So I was outta there, I did not want to get stepped on by these girls who were pretty large and pretty hammered. So we headed home, ate some hummus and crashed. It was 10:30 pm. I woke up to the alarm at 5:45, got on my running duds and jumped in the Toyota munching almonds and drinking coffee.

The ride up was pleasant. Once the sun came up, the colors of the deciduous trees were gorgeous. Perhaps up north did not get as much rain as us the previous day because in southern NH we barely had leaves left.

It was gusty when we arrived. I accidentally grabbed the wrong headphones, one earbud was a little rattly in my ear. I had Cypress Hill "I Ain't goin out like that" on repeat. It reminded me to keep it tempo and easy for the first third of the race (my dad and I devised a plan the day before so I organized the race in thirds).

I was pretty happy and not nervous. I was looking at the other runners. They were looking at me, probably because the dreads were poking out and bouncing around and it might be funny for some, who knows.

The leaves were blowing hard out of this tree in front of the hotel. I told Curtis that it was likely that by the time I finished the race there may not be one leaf left in that tree. They were coming off and flying off, they were not hitting the ground in that special way that only leaves can.

The lining up was pretty casual. I wasn't exactly sure where the actual start was but I noticed people in running clothes facing a general direction. So I got my photo snapped while I was lined up. Funny those two men looking at me. I think they are digging those candy skull bracelets I'm wearing on my right wrist. I mean for $ .99 you can get pure maltodextrin pills on an attractive trendy accessory. I was proud of myself for this. And a cute girl next to me loved them and as long as she thought I was dope, then all was right.

So I was munching on the pills and the same cute girl, who was standing with her especially cute boyfriend (who sadly wasn't running), asked me if I was wearing headphones. And since I was, and while this seemed obvious because of the white buds in my ears and the miles of cable across my chest and the simply fabulous pink ipod affixed to my upper arm THAT didn't really require a response except that perhaps for once I was feeling super polite and stoked that she dug my bracelets so I said that indeed, "Yes." I was wearing headphones.

And so the man who was in charge of getting this thing going started to say that he was just going to say "Ready, set, go!" and that at which point we are to start running up the street. And the same girl says to me, "Do you know if we're allowed to wear headphones because I'm going to wear them too and I just didn't know if you knew for sure...." so I glance over at her now feeling about 30% less polite than I did about 13 seconds earlier and and her boyfriend says to her, "You know, that's okay, just wear your headphones." So I take another bite of my malto pills and hear "Ready, set, go!"

And just like in the Lore of Running, I take three normal steps, next I take a regular running stride followed by one that is steady and easy and another and then I find myself immediately at an 8:10 pace and passing all kinds of people. I was on the outside of this pack that seemed to be about 15 folks wide. Then it narrowed down to 2 or three quickly and we were off. I breathed deeply through my nose, passed over the river and was quickly at the mile one marker with a time of 8:12. Right on target.

Next marker I found myself at was mile 5. HOLY SHIT! The first third of the race and then some was over and I needed to do what dad and I talked about, he wanted me to hit a 7:30 till mile 9. ummm...sorry dad.

I ran with a guy for a couple of miles. This was distracting. I got passed by men. Several times I got passed by guys who were wearing aftershave. NOT COOL! I am serious, do you really think you need to douse yourself with this crap because you may meet the girl of your dreams and you don't want to smell like you've been at the gym for 2 hours? I won't tell you that these guys didn't look good running in front of me, that's not the point, I actually gagged on their horribly over-manufactured poor excuse for pheromones which triggered only one single natural response in me and that was the desire to hurl directly on their Asics.

Let me say something about the course real quick so you can follow what happens next. It's shaped like a Dum-Dum. You know those meager yet oddly complexly flavored lolli's that have a stick that seems not to scale with the thing, well that is a simplified visual for the course.

You go down the stick, you go around the small dum-dum and you come back up the stick, pretty simple.

Well, just as I got to the dum-dum, I saw the lead guy coming out of the dum-dum and heading back home down the stick to the finish. Then there was this handsome kid about twenty seconds behind him, that's the second place runner! I thought to myself, and I got all giddy and hollered, Pour it on! Pour it on! and he ended up winning, btw. :)

So around the loop I went and there was a sign that said half-way mark. Holy crap. I seriously could have crawled into someone's car right then and there. There was something super mental for me about hitting that loop, and having been informed of the fact that I was going to have to forge my way back up that SAME exact route for almost 7 more miles(?)!

About the time I completed that thought, I had also completed the turn and now heading in a Northerly direction, the windy Northerly direction (no seriously, I mean it) BOOM! There was the wind!!! You know, that wind that I saw at the start but thought no more about? The wind was to my back for the first half and I didn't even register it. It flew by and I could tell because mile one was perfect and up to mile five was effortless and now this... It immediately felt like I was pushing Levi in a jogger.

I stayed intent on focusing on my stride and on my posture but I knew that the mental shit was already in full swing because of that person's mini van and the cushioned captain's chair and climate control and the overall comfortable ride/performance it promised and probably guaranteed, even if it were just a Ford.

Mile 9, the one I had big plans for? the one that dad said, if you have anything left, this is the time to use it up. Right now. It's mile 9. So my mind went somewhere else. I imagined faces of people who I thought maybe would inspire me or would be proud or would smile spontaneously or maybe would nod in that like knowingly kind of way. And then I thought of that wookie and how sexy he is. And then I thought about hell and how maybe I would like to sometime slice off my quads and seer them in the firey pits till the juices run clear.

And then, when I saw that dude run by me on the tar with the bare feet, I turned around and me and this guy I just passed laughed together and then I said to the barefoot dude "You, my dear, are an animal". And so we all laughed for a second while the barefooted dude whizzed by like a a hungry gazelle in his prime, yeah, hahaha. Byeeeeee. Now where was I?

Oh yeah, hell.

Okay so I realized that I had a half eaten GU in my right hand since like mile 7 and that I had been tugging it like it was a single ounce of a fine scotch. My mouth was sticky and the malto pills were melting against my skin so I thought it was cool that I was absorbing some calories through my skin and that made me laugh.

And then there he is! oh my god! Where you been! There is that woman's husband again. I've seen him about every mile, since the thing began, dutifully cheering her on like a faithful friend offering sips of this and that and a variety of clif bloks, whatever she needed, especially a brief applause and some words of super genuine encouragement.

Except for the treats, I began to rely on him. I started to look for him and would pull an ear bud out so I could re-up on his good vibes. He was handsome, too. She didn't beat me even though she looked so evenly paced and so dialed in. I ran directly on her right heel from 9 through mile 11.5 and then I never saw her again.

Then I wanted my inhaler. This happened to me last fall too with the seasonal change, not sure what it is about that. But then that didn't end up being too serious. The quads though...there I was back to my visualization.

Why are half marathons 13.1 miles? Why does this seem longer than other longer runs I've done? Is this really 13 miles? Is there someone I can talk to about the methods they use for determining distance? Where's the manager? Do you know who's in charge here?

Okay, Soulfly. I am struggling here.

Another male runner passes he says something and it seemed nice but I can't hear very well but but I detect a pleasant tone and for a moment I imagine he was supportive. I'm over the bridge around the corner. Okay, Trey, OMG I have Phish tickets! I turn and see people. I see an arm go up and I hear "Here comes # 315 from Lee, NH Sarah Eaton, this is Sarah Eaton 38 years old from Lee, nh .....WAIT, TELL ME THAT DUDE DID NOT JUST ANNOUNCE MY AGE?????

And like that, I was done.

Number 122 overall. Finished 4th out of 20 in my division.

Sarah Eaton ran 13.1 miles PACE 8.23 SOTD Around the World (Daft Punk)-->Push on

Till The Day (Trey Anastasio)

I am planning on running a 5k this saturday in Exeter. We shall see.

13.1

My race is in exactly 48 hours or Sunday morning, October 25, 2009, up in North Conway, New Hampshire.

I chose this race for several reasons. First, I chose it because it's pretty close to where I live and it's going to be a pretty busy day for us, the race, then Tony Hawk in Rye and Jackie's (Jon's) 40th in Manchester that night. Second, I chose it because the fall colors are peaking in New England now throughout the weekend and it should be quite scenic. The third reason is because my father has run this half many consecutive years and it's nice to follow in his footsteps; he is not, however, running this year. And my final reason for running this race is because the shirt given is a long sleeve performance tee, which I'm thrilled to add to my winter running collection of kind, lightweight, breathable, sweat wicking threads.

I'm already being pretty snotty about what races I will run based on the shirt provided... cotton tees are totally lame, I mean who would ever dream of running in cotton anyway?

The race is at 9 am in the morning in front of the Eastern Slope Inn. It's named the White Mountain Milers Half Marathon and Relay. I'm running it solo. I've been getting ready for this race since I've been back from Oregon. I've thankfully been able to add mileage to my workouts, this is my indulgence!

Let us not forget the injured hamstring. This was kinda a stress injury...pushing too hard, working the same muscle without proper stretching, not warming up adequately, the stride opening too much and yanking that spot inside my knee over and over, until boom! it's just got pissed at me (that's what the sport med. guy said). In the last 3 weeks, I've also felt other stresses and aches in my neck and upper back, in my groin, and my right achilles, bottoms of both feet and even my gut.

I've been getting lots of advice from my friend Toni who just ran a NH marathon and qualified for Boston 2010 two weeks ago! She and I ran 4 or so miles together last weekend while on my 16 mile run and we talked a lot about what this marathon running is all about. I understand intellectually that marathon is at basic, not cumulative mileage, but actually exponential mileage. She agreed with me there, and as an accountant and business school instructor at a low residency program in Seattle, she has a pretty good understanding of the terms and how they relate to running distances, especially with a qualifying speed in mind. Toni has this achievement under her belt and now it's going to be my turn. We have also been working on the efficiency of my stride/gait and this will help tons in the long run.

Right now everything feels pretty loose except the neck. I am going to have to keep the icy hot and ibu gel on it and see if I can work this kink out (trying to avoid ice because of the disaster I made of my knee with the frostbite). But as far as motoring down the road, my kicks are in place and everything is ready.

I feel pretty confident that I can come in well under my 10k time from Oregon which fluctuated but seemed to hit around the 8:20 mark. The fluctuation was due to leg distances, lack of sleep, improper nutrition, leg difficulty (which seem to increase as the race went along for me) and my overall performance was just at a different pace; and these fluctuations will not be an issue here. Elijah is right now two feet away from me watching me type this and crunching SUPER LOUDLY on an apple, holy crap it's annoying OMG. (he just read that and is laughing hard now and spraying me with apple spray from his crazy mouth eeeeeew).

I have sort of a tactical plan I'm working on for this race. The key component is not coming out too fast. Unlike in 5k's and 10k's where there really isn't a ton of time to execute plan. For this longer race, I have to think about the start specifically. I've been doing lots of longer runs lately and I feel pretty confident that I will not tire. HOWEVER, I need to temper the first 4-6 miles and keep it at an easy pace, maybe 8:15- 8:20 so when the people in front of me start to feel the burn at mile 9, I can plow right over them and get me some roadkill lined up for the final 10 kilometers of the thing, like a 7:45 (?).

Or it could be possible I might suck. But I'm going to try not to. This race is part of a mission I'm on to complete the races in sequential order all the way up to something really long. So I had a 5k in Aug. in Portsmouth, then three 10k's in Oregon, now the half in Conway and then the Marathon in VA Beach in March. What's left after that? Maybe running a 50k race, who knows. I am just thoroughly enjoying my fresh air self and loving the many benefits of a healthy, fit body.

And I can't wait to see Sue LeBlanc Sydnor up there, it's been exactly many years!

Love to everyone,

Sarah

Running That Loop

I saw you again yesterday running that loop. We pass each other twice because we are heading in opposite directions, but I think I'm faster than you, except I had to pee at mile 8 and that took several minutes because of my hydration pack. I'm faster after I pee. If we talk sometime, I'd tell you that drinking coffee may not be the best just before a long run because it's a diuretic and makes you pee. I like your gloves. In the marathon, if I have to pee, I will not stop and head for a squat, I will go on myself. I like that you smile at me. Hey, so today I am aware of all my muscles from the groin down, the quads feel tough. I think you're cute, actually. And you move well.

For once I really love something because it's quiet and singular, what interests me the most about running is being alone and being powered by my own spirit. Maybe it's just because people can be cute.

Running these miles means more to me now than it did while in the process of changing. That girl is gone now. From here on out it is about fine tuning my brain to deal with longer and longer harder runs. There is a program for my head that I'm working on. Knocking down miles and processing kilometers in my head. 5k, 8k, 10, 12k, [30k, 40k+] are just stages that I will watch pass by and those moments will pass me by (hopefully quickly) and I will watch my pace and listen to my head and hunt down anyone I see in front of me.

Do you run that same loop every Wednesday? I usually have a different Wednesday loop, with a total uphill time of just over thirty minutes. Yeah, I know, me too.