Pacing

I got roped into pacing for the Seattle Marathon again this year. (Don't you dare roll your eyes at this post and ask, "How does one get 'roped' into anything?" YOU weren't there.)

What's worse is that in the past, we've gotten some schwag for our efforts...so, at least running 13 miles on the Sunday after Thanksgiving in shitty weather while holding a fucking sign for 2 hours and 22 minutes was worth a pair of Asics. This year...THIS YEAR...we get nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada. (Don't you dare roll your eyes at this post and ask, "How does one get 'roped' into pacing without getting anything out of it?" YOU weren't there.)

I resisted responding to the call for pacers this year--especially just having run Portland; but when I was at track a few weeks ago, I overheard that someone who had committed to pacing a leg of the 4:45 needed surgery, and so the group was short a pacer. I agreed to do it because I only need to run 6-8 miles of it, instead of the usual 13.

I guess I can look at the bright side: Maybe this will bring good karma!?

4:30

Someone from our running group has a dad who just ran the NYC Marathon and qualified for Boston. He's 69. I can't tell you how inspiring that is. I mean--G-ack!--the last thing I want to think about is getting older; but let me just say that I'd rather be a 69 year-old Boston qualifier than to never have tried.

Blogger, Interrupted

This has been an incredibly wacky fall, beginning with my big brother's need to surf on our basement couch for 9 weeks. Yes, 9 weeks--the beginning of which I had just accepted a part time job, thinking this would be the perfect time to do it, with La La going to preschool four days a week for four hours a day. Sadly, much of that time was soaked up by the aforementioned couch-surfing sibling; but somewhere in the middle of it all, I ran in the Portland Marathon--my first full marathon in three years. How'd I do? I sucked, thanks. I had planned to finish in 4:30 and I finished 20 minutes later. I blame the rain that wouldn't stop; I blame the shoelace that mysteriously worked itself out of a double-knot after mile 21; I blame the cramp in my knee; and I blame the MAX light rail track I somehow managed to stumble over and roll my ankle at mile 24. So what's next? Eugene on May 1. My splits in Portland were too frickin' good for 21.5 miles for me to be happy with my finish time.

The bright side to all of this is that I HAVE been writing! Every single day, just--not here. It's been a good little writing gig, so far, though it's hard for me to muster up enthusiasm for senior center announcements. I still manage to have some fun with it.

My brother left on Friday and I think the whole household breathed a sigh of relief. So, for me, it means I can focus on the dozen or so things I'm supposed to focus on, and not the one that takes up most of my time and emotions. Maybe, too, this means I'll be making more regular appearances here on Canned Goods. It would seem such a shame to discontinue the same blog I've had for the last six years.