Get a Haircut, Cure Cancer

There are now 3 great ways to support my fundraising for cancer research at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. With so many options, there's sure to be something to appeal to you! Did I mention how attractive you look in that shirt? It really brings out the color in your eyes.

1. Get the personal satisfaction of living up to the altruistic sweetheart you know you are by clicking on that Sponsor Me button over there to go to my secure and straightforward DFMC donation site. You, too, could see your name (or "anonymous") on that 2008 Sponsors sidebar.

2. Visit my Cafe Press shop to buy running-themed schwag, like mugs, shirts, or hats. (While the entity of Cafe Press does not donate, sponsor, or host my Marathon Stuff store as a fundraiser, all of the money I make from sales of the stuff I designed goes to Dana-Farber.) Click on the mug on the right to see the stuff. Just think, every morning when you drink from your running mug, you'll feel better knowing you helped cure cancer.

3. Attend my annual salon fundraiser hosted by the outstanding folks at Indra Salon in Andover, MA. The owners and staff at Indra are an amazing and talented bunch. Voted Best of Boston 2007, this Aveda salon hosts a one-day event from which they donate ALL money from their services to cancer research. Not 10%. Not 50%. All of it. Here are the details:

Date: Sunday, March 2
Time: 12-6
Services: Cuts, color, and skincare

I highly recommend Amy and Jen, two goddesses with the color brush, scissors, and flat iron.

Please call Indra for your appointment and know you're helping to beat cancer!
978-470-8800

Children Should Not Be Late

Last April, when I was in the depths of my self-pity over my ITB injury and working out on the Arc Trainer while the team did their last run outside, I was fortunate to be next to Berta, another DFMC runner with an injury. The week prior, Berta's patient partner, 7-year-old Matty Dubuc, had lost his battle with a form of liver cancer. The entire team was reeling from the loss, Berta especially. It was a tragedy and a horror I could not fathom as a parent of a young child, and it knocked sense into me about my injury and general good healthy.

Yesterday, I was paging through the Dana-Farber 2007 Honor Roll of Donors that came in the mail, and I arrived at a picture of a bright and smiling girl wearing a bandanna at a lemonade stand, a Dana-Farber patient no doubt, so I read the caption, which referred to her as "the late Alexandra Scott, who helped raise money for childhood cancer research by hosting lemonade stands." Late.



Children should be late for school. They should be late for soccer practice. They should be staying up late at sleepovers. Children should not be late.

This photo and its caption remind me of why I donate and raise money for Dana-Farber. Because children should not be late. Because I have a vibrant and healthy child for whom I am ever so grateful. I do not know how I could cope with seeing my child endure the experience of cancer, of being chronically sick, of spending the night in the hospital. Since January 2000, nearly 1.7 million children have been diagnosed with cancer. This is a frightening thing.

So I give to Dana-Farber in gratitude for Henry and for my niece and for my nephew, all of whom are well. And I give to Dana-Farber in gratitude for the health of my friends' children, and yours. And I give to Dana-Farber in honor of those children and their families who are not so lucky. Who must endure the possibility that their children might one day be described as "late."

A donation to Dana-Farber through the Sponsor Me button on the right of this page goes directly to ensure the best patient care and a cure for this terrifying illness. If you've already given to my fundraising, I thank you, and I run in your honor, too. If you've pledged to donate but have not yet given, I hope you'll take a moment today to quickly make a donation of any amount that you can spare. If you hadn't considered donating before, I just ask that you think about the loss of your own children and then consider giving. I am not trying to exploit grief or be manipulative of your emotions; I just want you to consider how important cancer research is when it comes to actual people who must deal with real loss.

In gratitude for the brilliant children in your life.

In honor of the strong and beautiful children who have succumbed.

This run's for you.

Try to Make Me Go to Time-Out, I Said, "No, No, No"

On the way to school this morning, Amy Winehouse's song "You Know I'm No Good" came on the radio. Towards the end of the song, Henry asked, "What's that lady talking about?" Oh, dear. After stumbling around an explanation (I failed miserably when trying to explain Paris Hilton's prison term to him a while ago), I said, "She's just singing about being sad." He wasn't very satisfied with that, unfortunately, but we were at school by that point and I could redirect his attention to running down the ramp into the building.

It got me to thinking, though. What if it had been "Rehab?" I don't usually censor our music around him; I love the Weeds soundtrack, and Henry's favorite song is "Satan, Lend Me a Dollar," though he thinks it's about Santa. I don't generally believe in overprotecting children from the world's ills, but there are limits, as I don't think my 3-year-old should be singing along to a song about heroin addiction and the refusal to seek treatment.

On my run this morning, I tried to figure out ways I'd "translate" some of my favorite songs for him if he asked. Here's a sample of what I came up with:

"Rehab" by Amy Winehouse: It's about a girl whose dad wants to put her in time-out but she throws a tantrum and refuses to stay in her room.

"Hot in Herre" by Nelly: It's about the summertime when there's no air conditioning, and you just want to run around nakey.

"Ganja Babe" by Michael Franti: It's about really yummy treats that you're not supposed to have.


"Cocaine Blues" by Johnny Cash: It's about having too many sweets and acting naughty, and when you get caught, you run away to Mexico.

"Work It" by Missy Elliot: It's about crazy dancing with your best friend.

"Lady Marmalade" by Christina Aguilera, Mya, Pink, and Lil Kim: It's about ladies who get prizes for being really nice to people.

"Ramrod" by Bruce Springsteen: It's about penises.

Spinning My Heart Wheel

You'd think that since I started with the chi running that I've become all "hippy dippy," as my husband would say, but I'm as Type A/Virgo/OCD as I've ever been. Still, someone recommended I take up yoga to help stretch out my IT band, especially since I have a hard time getting it to stretch in the usual ways. Trouble is, since I had a baby and resumed running, I've lost all patience for slower, mindful, stretchy activities, and I get all antsy in a yoga class. I just can't breathe slowly anymore, no matter how hard I try, and lying in corpse pose is more torturous than any plank a yoga teacher might put me in. I just start thinking things like: "laundry, dishes, groceries, laundry, dishes, groceries,..." That, and any mention of concepts like "inner peace" or "spirit" make me feel silly. I totally believe in inner peace and spirits, but they just don't fit into my lifestyle, you know what I mean?

Anyway, I'll do anything for my IT band, so I got a yoga video, which is great for those of us who are multitaskers because you can do yoga with the DVD on your computer and still see your email notifier when someone sends you a message. Perfect! (I told you I was not a true yoga-type, didn't I?)

The video is called Yoga for Athletes, and it has different sessions for different muscle groups and sports. I've tried "General," "Hips," and "Legs" for runners, and despite the shirtless guy (he makes me uncomfortable with his little lycra bike shorts and protruding ribcage) in the Olin Mills studio, I recommend the video for anyone needing better discipline in stretching. When I try to stretch on my own, the required 30 seconds to get the full benefits usually ends up being 10-15 seconds of minimal effort. Using a yoga video forces you to hold a stretch (ok, no one's making you do it, but it helps to have someone telling me how long to hold a pose) and you can target whatever area needs work. After 15 miles yesterday, I woke up creaky with an IT band that politely suggested I take some Motrin and seek help. Shirtless Joe on Yoga for Athletes worked wonders, and this evening I have no tightness anywhere.

There are a lot of yoga videos for athletes, and I've only tried one, but my impression is that they try to hold back on the "hippy dippy" aspects for this particular audience. I've noticed there seem to be more recent editions of the version I have, so you might not be treated to the 1970s Olin Mills background. But, you'll probably still have to stifle a chuckle when instructed to "open your heart wheel," and if you're like me, you'll snap at the screen, "You can't open a wheel, lady." That's always fun. And whose heart wheel couldn't stand a bit more attention in this economy?

Ready for Nappin'

Our family is a quiet one. We frequently go entire weekends without any social engagements, and we all love to sleep. People marvel that Henry will still take 3 hour naps, and we all require at least 8 hours of sleep at night to be rested the next day.

Running marathons kind of puts a kink in this system, and having two parents training for long-distance races definitely challenges our hunker-down mentality in the winter. Yesterday we went to the Children's Museum in Boston, which would have been enough to call it a weekend and spend today reading books and snacking, but this morning I had a long group run, and Brian had to get his long run in, too. So we did the two-parent relay (and came in first in our age group) and decided to make it a biathlon of running and shoveling with the surprise snow that started early this morning. Not able to simply marinate in post-run refreshments all afternoon, we had a date with Elmo and the gang at Sesame Street Live at 4:30. By the end of the day, Henry was begging to suck his thumb, i.e., sleep, and we are ready for bed at 8 pm.

Here's how our crazy-making day went:

6 am: wake-up (everyone, much to Brian's chagrin)

7 am: Kristina shovels driveway to leave for group run

8:30 am: Kristina runs 15 miles in the snow

9 am: Brian rolls Henry into a yoga mat-burrito

10 am: Brian and Henry shovel driveway

12:30 pm: Kristina gets home, showers, and falls into bed for nap with Henry

12:45 pm: Brian shovels driveway

1:15 pm: Brian runs 10 miles

3 pm: Brian falls into bed for nap with Henry

3:10 pm: Kristina wakes up Henry and Brian for Sesame Street Live: Ready for Action

4:30 pm: Elmo implores the audience to get up and move

4:31 pm: Kristina and Brian exchange glances that convey something like: "Bite me, Elmo."

5:15 pm: Henry decides to run a lap around the theater at a 6:30 pace

5:16 pm: Kristina and Brian contemplate ditching the show at intermission

6:00 pm: Home for dinner

6:30 pm: Brian shovels the driveway ... again

7:30 pm: Henry asks to go to bed

8:00 pm: Brian wins Parent of the Day award

8:30 pm: All is quiet.

Good night.

Who Knew I Wielded Such Influence?

Presidential candidate Mike Huckabee will be running the 2008 Boston Marathon. For his sake, I hope my predictions of his performance don't turn out to be accurate. One down, folks, six to go. Shall I start a petition?

Spirit of the Marathon

For one night, gatherings of marathoners across the country got together to do an unlikely thing: sit on their asses and eat popcorn. In perhaps the largest group of ectomorphs outside a race and the most respectfully quiet movie audience I've ever been part of, Brian and I took in the one-night-only showing of Spirit of the Marathon, which follows the training of elite, experienced, and amateur runners who are preparing for the 2005 Chicago Marathon. Knowing how the 2007 Chicago Marathon turned out lent an added level of dimension to this outstanding documentary about the triumph and despair of marathon running. Thankfully, the film will be shown again on February 21 in movie theaters around the country if you couldn't get to the sold-out shows last night. You. Must. Go. Don't believe me? Get a taste (or a review of what you saw last night):



The PBS documentary NOVA Marathon Challenge that aired this past fall was a disappointing first attempt to trace the training path of first-time marathoners. I didn't really get invested in their stories, and I felt the filmmakers didn't capture significant moments in the training process (such as doing 20 for the first time) to full advantage. To me, Spirit of the Marathon, which earned accolades at Sundance, got it right, and I knew it would a better attempt when my eyes started tearing before the title even came on the screen. It probably helps that the film was directed and produced by a marathon runner--John Dunham--and the score was enough to make me want to do some strides in the back of the theater.

The poignant stories of the first-time runners gracefully captured the reasons and emotions behind why we get into this crazy scene in the first place, and following the training of elite runners Deena Kastor and Daniel Njenga was riveting. The juxtaposition of Njenga's life in Kenya and Japan (away from his family) with the luxury of the American running lifestyle, particularly the role his competition plays in helping his family cope with the gang violence in their lives, was a vivid reminder of the injustices of this world and the power of running to meet different needs in each of us. As he bluntly put it in the above clip, some people run to be thin, and he runs to make money. If nothing else, the film shows how the lustre of the marathon is in large part due to its capacity for filling voids--economic, spiritual, emotional, communal. As those of us who run for charity know, it can even satisfy all three needs for the same person.

Even if you've never run a marathon, Spirit illustrates the need we have for pushing further than our comfort levels to find the essence of our humanity and strength. For some of us, this is running. For others, it is found in creating art, writing, or baking the perfect brownie. If you know what's good for you, you'll find your Spirit on February 21. I might just go again.

These Feet Were Made for Sitting

Henry had his letters out this morning, back when I didn't know how to spell (or pronounce) the above diagnosis, which I received from lovely Dr. Downs of Chelmsford Podiatry. My feet hadn't actually been bothering me all that much in the last few weeks, and I've done several long runs and a slew of short runs without any heel pain. But, it took me a while to get the referral and an appointment with the specialist, so I figured as a marathoner in training, it would behoove me to consult a podiatrist about my shoes, my general overpronation, and the heel situation in case it returned. Good thing, too, because when he pushed on the spot where I'd felt the pain, I got a little surge, and not of the cute-doctor-pushing-on-my-foot sort, but in the damn-what'd-I-ever-do-to-you? kind of way.

If you're short on time, here's the brief version: See above photo.

If you'd like the fasciitis-inating details behind the title of this post, here's the long story:

1. I overpronate, i.e., roll my feet inward when I step. I knew this before the doctor said as much, but the combination of overpronation, running on the left side of the always sloped shoulder of the road, and the factors below have led to the very early stages of plantar fasciitis.

2. I have "hypermobile feet". This apparently does not mean that I'm active or constantly running in place. It means my feet are loosey-goosey at the ankle joint, such that when I strike the ground, there's not much in the way of stability at the ankle to brace my landing, thus worsening the effects of my overpronation.

3. I have an extra bone in both ankles, known as accessory navicular, which is a condition present in about 10% of the population. I actually already kind of knew this, too, because when I used to do ballet, I'd complain to my mother that I had ankle pain whenever I went on point. My mother is a former professional dancer, so her response was pretty much, "Uh, yeah. Walking around on the tips of your toes hurts. Get over it." But she took me for an x-ray anyway, and my teenage self said, "Ha! Told you so! I'm weird, and it hurts more for me! Lay off!" I kind of forgot about my "accessory," though, because I quit dancing (my mother was my teacher--'nuff said). Until I asked Dr. Downs about it today, and he said he could see my little bonus bone without an x-ray, and running a lot would force some tendon to rub against that bone more and more. The plantar fasciitis isn't really related to this issue, but it explains my ankle pain when I run really, really far (like 15+ miles), and a pair of orthotics would help this and the plantar thing.

Long story short, I'll be shelling over 3 Benjamins, a Jackson, and a Lincoln (it makes it easier to stomach to write it that way; and yes, I had to google each of those to find out the faces on the bills) for a pair of custom orthotics. I am far more interested in being proactive with running injuries than being reactive to my pain, so even though I don't have any pain while running, I don't want to get to March 15 and find myself resting for 4 weeks before the marathon. I've done that, and it didn't turn out so well, as we all know. True, Dr. Downs could have sold me a bridge in Brooklyn with his baby face smile, but I totally believe I did the right thing for my genetically disadvantaged feet.

So, this is not a sad or desperate post about an injury. It's all about prevention, and I'm not anxious about my heel at all. I'm glad I went, and not just because the doctor was a cutie-pie. Although, I laugh when I think back to telling Brian I'd be running Boston again this year. "I have all of the gear," I said. "It won't be as expensive; just shoes, jelly beans, and the entry fee." In three weeks, my feet will thank me, Sweetie. "Happy Valentine's Day, Kristina, hope you like your sexy shoe inserts."

Get Thee to a Runnery

Here's my running quote for today, given my return to running like a tortoise for the sake of injury prevention and general good sense:

"Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast"
-Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Four Under Thirty and Other Feats

I'm ba-ack... My week off from cooking, cleaning, and other maternal responsibilities is over, and can I say that I was so ready to come home? I had a great trip, but I love home. I love my bed. I love my slippers. I love my family. I love my blog (and my readers--Anne and Judith, thanks for your eloquent responses to my last post). Four things I went without for eight days. So nice to be home again with my little white laptop and my little blond boy.

Still, the trip wasn't without its glories. Drum roll...

Here's what I did on my trip:

4 MILES
under
30 MINUTES

(29:55 to be exact)

This was huge. Huger than huge. This was four sub-7:30 miles. This was shaving over a minute off my average time per mile. Am I feeling like hot stuff? Yes, ma'am. Did I strut (in a limping kind of way) back into the stitching room afterwards? Yes, siree bob. Did I suffer severe calf cramping for three days afterward? Yep. Will I try to best this time soon? Nope. It's back to 4 miles in 33 minutes for me.

After skipping town and leaving my blog in a state of cynicism, I needed to regain my mojo. Who knew that a diet of fried chicken, fried green tomatoes, and biscuits that were without a doubt made with lard could allow for such an accomplishment? By the way, if you wanna gain some weight, take a trip to Georgia. But apparently, you can run fast there, too. So, Atlanta ING marathoners, take note.

I also regained my stitching mojo after not picking up a needle for about six months, and I actually finished a project (such things rarely happen). So here's what else I accomplished on my trip:

The Reluctant Marathoner

Dear Abby,

Today was a long-run day, and for all of my love letters written to the sport of running, I need to say that I do not enjoy long runs over 13 miles. I love having done long runs, usually after the inevitable indigestion and a nap, but I do not love actually doing long runs. I dread them beginning on Friday afternoon, sleep poorly from anxiety the night before, and have a nervous stomach all morning before I hit the road. Once I'm running, I enjoy the camaraderie when I have company and usually feel good for the first 7 miles or so, then start to tire between 7 and 13, but I can usually tolerate it because I feel so good for having done it afterwards. But any distance longer than 13 is just plain brutal.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do we do this? Because I know I'm not the only one. I've had conversations with other runners--even very fast runners--who are equally compelled to do marathons despite not really enjoying long-distance running. One such friend is doing the Goofy Challenge this weekend--running a half-marathon and a full marathon in the same weekend at Disney World.

And at the start of a race recently, a different friend said, "Let's get this done; the sooner we get out there, the sooner we'll be done and get to have a latte." This same person--a very sensible and humble person--has run a half dozen marathons that ended with severe vomiting and ER visits. But she keeps coming back for more, and I would never question her need to do it. I regularly have the same attitude (albeit without the puke), which makes me wonder what is it about people like us, who endure hours of suffering voluntarily only to come back for more. I can't figure it out.

Significant others look at us incredulously, ask aloud why we do it, and even say things like, "You're nuts." And yet, I can't not do it. Today's run was difficult for all three of us who did it. We felt sluggish, achy, and winded. Don't get me wrong--we enjoyed each other's company and chatting about whatever, which no doubt made the run doable. And now that my measure of a good run is one that is completed and without injury, I'd even say it was good. Still, I'd venture that none of us really liked running 14 miles.

Maybe someone with the same perspective can help me figure out why I do this, why I like to do something I don't like. Life is suffering, yes, but don't we get enough suffering without adding marathon training to the mix? I know it's not the race t-shirts or medals; I got over those a while ago. And it isn't even the status of being a marathon runner because these days, we're a dime a dozen, and I feel no compulsion to push it to a 50k or further. I just can't put my finger on why there's a community of people who do this thing that has so much angst in it.

Signed,
The Reluctant Marathoner

All Natural Junk Food

A note to food manufacturers:

Slap a sticker that reads "All Natural" on your product, and I will buy it. I will not read the nutrition label. I will not question whether or not the food's color actually appears in nature. I will disregard the chemical-sounding names in the ingredients. If it has chocolate in it, looks like a cookie, or simply appears tasty, I will buy it and rationalize it with your "All Natural" sticker. Thank you for your time.

It's Coming...

...my annual defection from motherhood.

When: Sunday Jan 13 - Monday Jan 21
Where: Callaway School of Needlearts, Pine Mountain, Georgia
Hosted by: my mother and the Georgia chapter of the Embroiderer's Guild of America
Why: Southern cooking, seven hours a day of needlepoint, and a week of undisturbed sleep
How: an amazing husband, magnanimous mother, and a truly generous mother-in-law

Tips from a Copy Editor

I don't often blog about my job as an academic copy editor because, well, a manuscript on John Locke doesn't exactly elicit pithy observations from me. But, my good friend over at Ophelia Rising was kind enough to tag me with the Shameless Lions Writing Circle award, which requires the tag-ee to offer three writing tips to readers. It can be potentially dangerous to ask an editor and former professor to give writing tips, so I applaud my tagger for doing it. My authors usually appreciate my work, but on some level, I'm certain that they hate me. So, if you're a writer, you can take this editor's advice with a grain of salt, but I do generally think the three tips I have to give are useful. I totally concur with the advice that's been given by award recipients so far: find your voice, write every day, write what you know, etc. So as not to be redundant, here's an editor's take on writing tips:

1. "Put down the thesaurus." I had a college professor tell me this once, and it has been the most useful writing advice I've ever received.

2. Learn the difference between "its" and "it's." Seriously, this chafes me. Nothing alienates me as a reader more than a writer without a basic grasp of grammar. So, here it is, my gift to you:
It's = It is: A noun plus a verb, as in: It's really annoying when people write "your" when they really mean "you're." Like how I snuck that extra tip in there?
Its = a possessive pronoun. You wouldn't put an apostrophe in "his" or "hers," would you? Same deal with "its." As in: The typos in the manuscript drove its editor up the wall.

3. Always have evidence. As a grad student in the social sciences, I learned that taking a stand or making a powerful argument is not compelling to a reader unless you have something to back it up. Use your own life, or find a reputable source, but without some kind of support, no one will care about your opinion.

So there are my three not-very-inspiring tips. And now I tag my husband. Brian is an editor, too, but he's in acquisitions, not production, so authors hate him even more because he says things like "There's no market for your book. Try a vanity press." Knowing that his job is pretty much to mediate problems between authors and their publisher, I'm sure he has about 3,000 tips to offer, so carve out a good chunk of time to read them.

Let's Line 'Em Up in Hopkinton

With the primary just 10 miles to my north yesterday, I safely spent the day south of the border. But it was hard to escape the commentary this morning no matter where you live, and I was intrigued by all the marathon and running metaphors used by the candidates, their PR people, and the pundits. Which got me to thinking: what would it look like if the candidates ran the Boston Marathon to decide the presidency? Here's what I came up with:


(FYI: this in no way reflects my leanings when it comes to voting, so please don't barrage me with political comments for or against a certain candidate.)

John Edwards, while young and seemingly fit, wouldn't fare well because he'd lack corporate sponsorship to equip him with adequate gear. Plus, he'd be slow out of the gate, distracted as he'd be by covering up all the logos on his clothes with duck tape.

Mike Huckabee has run a marathon before and he'd be motivated by getting to the post-race buffet before they ran out of food. His faith would carry him through Heartbreak Hill, but taunted by the drunk students at BC, he'd lose his focus and lean too far to the Right, sending him off course and out of the race.

Rudy Giuliani would complete the race, too, but that big flag he decided to carry the whole way to honor the victims of 9/11 would slow him down considerably.


Mitt Romney, known for lacking sports acumen, would trail pretty behind much the whole way. In the end, he'd be disqualified for using an iPod to listen to the Olympic anthem as he ran.

Barack Obama would be the youngest and freshest competitor, so he'd cruise through the course, bolstered by the winds of change at his back. He'd lead through the half, but poor guy, all the groupies at Wellesley wanting kisses and hand-slaps would compel him to stop for some love from the fans, and he'd lose his lead.

John McCain endured torture as a prisoner of war, so the marathon would be a walk in the park. Plus, all that experience would serve him well. But Massachusetts is a blue state, after all, and he'd come in second, lacking the fan support received by the eventual winner.

Hillary Clinton would start the race injured by a bruised ego, but the woman's a fighter. She'd soak up the support at Wellesley, her alma mater, and pause for a moment to bang her head against a brick wall to distract herself from the pain, like my friend Judith did at the 2006 Chicago Marathon. With Bill pacing her in a golf cart along the entire course, she'd break the tape in triumph.

George Bush, not able to compete for a third term, would run as a bandit and be declared the ultimate victor by the Supreme Court.

Little Scooter Man

After two failed attempts to quit sucking his thumb over the past year, Henry has finally succeeded! He's still allowed to do it when he sleeps--for now--since we have little control over that, but the kid mustered all his will power and kicked his habit. I've never seen a 3-year-old with such discipline, frankly, and it was kind of inspiring.

Okay, so his motivation wasn't our potential savings on braces or a bigger feeling of maturity. The kid wanted a scooter. I told him he could have a scooter when he quit, and he went cold turkey with only a couple relapses. After we'd strung him along for a couple weeks on the scooter to make sure his non-calloused and wrinkly thumb truly stuck, Brian brought home a Kettler Thunder scooter for him last night.

Henry's reaction was better than Christmas, to be honest. The kid went berserk, though when I busted out the camera he said, "Ok, I'm going to get off the scooter so I can smile." Up and down the hall he went, and if it's warm again today, we'll work on his scootering outside.

Why I'm Very, Very Cranky

1. Overheard a mother at preschool telling the teacher, "I hate to take my Jaguar out when the weather is like this." Warm, no precipitation; I'd run naked on a day like this, not to mention take my Jag for a spin. Hope she didn't see me roll my eyes and snort at such a statement.

2. Was stood up at an appointment this morning and had a second meeting canceled on me at the last second.

3. Therefore missed an outside run on the first warm day in 8 weeks for absolutely no reason.

4. Forced to run on a treadmill on the first warm day in 8 weeks.

5. My Tread Hell still looks like this:


6. Found out that the not-very-comfortable 2130s come in a python print, which would be really wicked cool. Maybe the python print shoes would fit me better than the blue ones I tried on...


But at least I didn't drive over a purse holding my palm pilot, cell phone, and sunglasses, like my mother did yesterday.

Small Pleasures, Hidden Comfort

This morning I had to drive a half hour away for a meeting that didn't end up happening, thus blowing a chunk of time that I'd have spent running in this amazing thaw we're having, all of which left me a bit pissy. To make the trip to Andover a little worthwhile, I did what any good consumer would have done--I went into the nearest running store.

I wanted to try on the new Asics 2130s because I quite liked the 2120s, despite partially blaming them for my ITB injury. I hadn't planned on trying on shoes when I got dressed this morning, so I of course needed to buy running socks to do so. The 2130s were a bit awkward, unfortunately. You know how when you sit on a rocking chair and the gliders kind of force you into the rocking motion? That's what these shoes were like. Like standing on gliders that rock you forward, which made me feel like I'd fall, or at least feel forced into a running posture against my will. I didn't try them on the treadmill or anything, but I was disappointed that the 2120s has changed so much.

So the shoes were a bummer, but the socks! Oh, the socks! It's official: I am totally obsessed with socks. I know I waxed poetic about the aloe socks, but my incident with slipping and falling down the stairs made them a little less perfect. I grabbed a pair of Balega hidden comfort socks to try on the shoes, and they are like the Godiva of socks. They weren't cheap (about $8.50 per pair before the 15% discount that was given to me for no reason I can figure out), but so, so worth it. Made in South Africa, these socks are like a gift to my feet, which frankly deserve some lovin' after all I put them through. In fact, I think I might have heard my heel whisper "thank you" after I put them on. My poor heel took the 12 miles like a champ on Saturday, and yesterday it didn't feel too bad, but I could tell it was happy for the day off. (Do you anthropomorphize your feet, too?) The gift of these socks put me back in its good graces today, I'm hoping.

So these socks are the new love of my life. I once heard that lipstick sales go up during a recession because women allow themselves to buy the relatively inexpensive luxury when other indulgences aren't affordable. Socks are my lipstick. The post-Christmas January restraint from spending keeps me from buying most running gear, but I can swing $9 for a pair of socks. Especially these socks. Yummy.

The Life Athletic

I've kind of been procrastinating my post for today. I had a blast running with the DFMC group this morning, but my blog has become known enough by the team that I worried people wanted to see what I'd write about them and this morning's run through 12 miles of "runners' talk." There are things we say when running with others that might be censored in other situations, kind of like the things I tell my hair stylist before I remember that I don't even know her last name. So I've decided that what happens on the carriage road in Newton stays on the carriage road in Newton, as banal as the conversation might be. It's amazing, though, how easily 12 miles can pass when you have people to chat with, no matter what you're talking about, such as the legitimacy of organic meat, hot yoga, or whether or not there's a connection between Mike Huckabee and I Heart Huckabee, the movie (is there?). In order to guarantee their company on long runs the rest of the season, it's best I refrain from passing on what we talk about in any more detail.

I was feeling totally awesome for getting 12 in, especially after I'd talked myself down to 11 on the drive to the run. My heel held up, just feeling like stepping on a minor bruise as I was running--nowhere close to the pain of an ITB injury, so I handled it easily. Despite the wonky heel, my mileage on long runs is about twice what it was at the start of last year's training, so I'm feeling positive, knowing I'm still three months or so away from the big showdown with my marathon demons.

While I'm feeling strong in miles and muscles, I was completely zonked by the run today. I wasn't struggling in terms of stamina, but when I got home, I hopped in the shower while Henry itemized his stuffed animals for me in the bathroom (this is a new habit--bringing toys one by one from one room to another). Then we had a quick lunch and I practically dragged him into bed for a nap with me. I don't know how quickly he fell asleep because I read less than a page of my book (The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud) before I was asleep myself. Ninety minutes later, we were up and out the door for a birthday party.

Great to have a rare and treasured nap, but I can't believe how 12 miles totally wiped me out for the rest of the day. Now I'm watching The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou and my lingering fatigue makes the movie like an acid trip (or so I imagine). That is one weird flick.

A Resolution Against Pain and Suffering

I've been mulling over my resolutions for 2008 for about a week, which just makes the list longer, so I've truncated it to two.

1. Heed my pain. I will listen to my body when it hurts because if I don't, it will just scream louder. This morning, after downing 600 mg of ibuprofen and icing my heel (which cracked me up because my feet are always cold anyway), I layered up to run outside. I waited the eternity it takes my Garmin to find a satellite out here in the sticks and then set off. I stopped at a tenth of a mile because my heel felt particularly bruisy and walked back up the hill and inside. I have to come to accept that this will happen. It doesn't mean I am soft. It doesn't mean I am lazy. It doesn't mean I am looking for excuses. It just means I am smart about my training. I'll go on the group run tomorrow and aim for 12 miles, and I'll go to the doctor next week to figure out what's up.

2. Fix my Tread Hell. We have this fairly nice looking treadmill (as much as a treadmill can be) with a wooden reflex deck for Brian's knees (and mine, as it turns out), and it's in a windowless room off our garage. The torture chamber is smaller than Susan's running closet and tends to hold other miscellaneous stuff that we can't find a place for, like extension cords or that spice rack and old VCR that isn't even hooked up to the TV, which sits on top of a useless old kitchen cabinet. I vow to shape up this room as much as possible in 2008. I will paint. I will rehome the crap and maybe put a--gasp--poster or mirror on the wall. I will make it a place I dislike instead of hate. Tread Hell will become Tread Not So Bad. If I'm really feeling saucy, maybe I'll even vacuum in there.

Ideas for paint color? Nothing mauve, pea green, or peach.

Winner Funny Toys

It's cold, really cold. I don't need to run in this, so I won't. Apparently it's still not mitten weather, though, and I wonder how cold it has to get before Henry will put on mittens without a fight. His argument? "I can't hold my Cars cars with mittens on."

This Christmas was all about die-cast Cars cars, which was fine with me, because it was probably the cheapest Santa delivery we'll ever get away with. Besides, I like that they're his friends--vehicles with faces and personality--and they keep him from wanting characters with weapons.

Henry's best gift this year, though, was definitely a firetruck he received from a friend of mine. He's got enough firetrucks now to put out the Malibu fires, but this truck proved to be fun for the whole family. Check out the labels that came on the truck and its packaging. It is my sincere hope that this truck was manufactured overseas, where the translator slept through a few too many English classes.







There's nothing like a decent firetruck to wow a kid on Christmas morning.

"Winter Hates Us"

This is what my husband said as we drove into a snowstorm in northern Connecticut on our way home from our East Coast Holiday Tour 2007. Apparently, Connecticut hates us too, because we paid $3.22/gallon for a tank of gas before crossing into Massachusetts (that was the cheap gas; the station across the street was $3.29). Thankfully Henry was on his A game for the drive and played with Cars cars for about 5 hours without complaining (prior to which he watched Cars for two hours of the ride--the child is a tad infatuated with all things Radiator Springs). I believe Brian's words to him when we got home were, "You were so money, you don't even know it." Henry replied that he was proud of us for being so good on the drive, too.

Because I was indeed so good and ran four days/week while we were away, including two 10-milers, I indulged in the Arc Trainer today instead of running on the two new inches of snow we got yesterday. I was just not quite ready to face the slipping and wind burn again.

Much of the way home, I pondered a blog recap of 2007 because I've enjoyed reading other running bloggers year-end reviews. 2007 was both a remarkable and devastating year in terms of my running. I found this one true thing that I love to do and learned that it can be ripped away by no one other than myself for training unwisely or just for having a human body that sometimes breaks down despite me. Rather than go month by month, I'll just leave my recap at that.

I think it would be much more fun to recap the last two weeks in photos:

Henry and I flew together to visit my parents for a few days:


... and my mom, prepared for grandparent fun, threw caution to the confectionary wind and built a house of sugar with him:


Then, she taught him how to sew:


Henry dug through his grandfather's drawers to discover a pair of goggles that accessorized beautifully with a cheetah tail and a book light:


...and he learned to drive a tractor:

Yes, that's my 3-year-old steering a large piece of machinery toward the house.

This all took place before Christmas, when there was a lot of this going on:


Once we made it to Virginia and Christmas hit, it was mostly this:


...but there was some of this, too:

...which is how Brian and I managed to spend time together without having to tell Henry to stop chasing the cat, share his toys, or eat his dinner.

Then we went back to Pennsylvania for New Year's, but Grandparent Fatigue Syndrome had already set in, which led to this:

...but I hear that proximity to crossword puzzling can promote literacy, so it's all cool.

Now we're home again, and the grandparents can recover before Hurricane Henry hits again.

Happy 2008 to all. May this year bring you success, health, and new hope for our world.