tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51389331353814967282024-02-18T22:38:34.721-05:00Running [My Mouth]Oh, the things that run through my mind...Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.comBlogger506125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-48227276698145034652018-03-15T20:19:00.000-04:002018-03-15T20:19:01.556-04:00Forty-four Never Things<br />Tomorrow’s my birthday. I know, I know. You feel terrible because you didn’t get me anything It’s all good. I sure as heck didn’t get you anything for your birthday.<div>
<br />But as birthdays are wont to do, this one’s got me thinking a little about Big Things. Like what I Am and what I Am Not. The good news is, I’m pretty satisfied with both columns. But I should step back...</div>
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A few weeks ago I was walking into my office and out of the blue started thinking about a necklace I had seen on a friend’s <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Lorelei-Eurto-Jewelry-103620249751467/?pnref=lhc">Facebook</a> page. (Check it out. She’s very talented!) I thought to myself, “That was a nice necklace. It seems like me. I should buy that.” </div>
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I literally stopped in my tracks.“How could that seem like me? I never, ever, EVER wear jewelry.”</div>
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No coworkers having arrived yet, this exceptionally deep conversation with myself was able to continue uninterrupted.</div>
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“That’s true. I wonder when I’ll be the kind of person who cares about jewelry?”</div>
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“Uh, I’m almost 44 years old. Don’t I think if I was going to care about jewelry I would have done it by now?”</div>
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“Well, maybe. I mean I could see myself wearing…”</div>
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“Nope. Never. I will NEVER care enough about jewelry to actually wear. Not ever.”</div>
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“Whoa. Hold the phone. You mean I’m past the age where I’m going to start becoming and doing and enjoying the things that as a kid I always assumed I would someday just adult my way into becoming, doing, and enjoying?”</div>
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Reader, I have to tell you, this was Some News to from Me to Me. </div>
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I’ve been chewing on it ever since. And yes, it’s a little late in the game for a midlife crisis, I’ll admit, but apparently my existential calendar is delayed. I got thinking about my younger-self’s idea of me. So many things I just assumed about Future Phoebe. The prospect of another trip around the sun being complete had me feeling at once wistful for Younger Phoebe’s anticipated life and relieved that Current Phoebe is pretty close to out of F___s to Give. One of the benefits of the 40s is you’re almost invisible to the world and you can really, truly, do what you want. (H/T to SBS and Molly of <a href="https://anothermotherrunner.com/">Another Mother Runner</a> for this insight in a recent podcast.)</div>
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So, in honor of my forty-fourth birthday, here’s a completely incomplete and mostly-sincere-but-maybe-snarky-in-places list of Forty Four Things I’ll Never Be.</div>
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I will never be a person who cares about...</div>
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1. Jewelry</div>
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2. Real Housewives</div>
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<img height="150" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/91ot-SDzm8L._RI_.jpg" width="200" /> </div>
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<i>#gross </i></div>
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3. The Grammys</div>
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4. The VMAs</div>
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5. Manicures</div>
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6. Pedicures</div>
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7. Ironing</div>
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8. Purses</div>
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9. Shoes (that are not for running)</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">THESE kicks matter </span></i></div>
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10. Cars</div>
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Nor will I ever be a person who regularly....</div>
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11. Sends thank you notes</div>
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12. Remembers birthdays (without Facebook reminders)</div>
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13. Says “no, thanks” to dessert</div>
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14. Drinks enough water</div>
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15. Eats enough leafy greens</div>
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16. Insists her children intake enough leafy greens</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not one of my kids. </span></i></div>
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17. Can find the scotch tape</div>
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18. Buys a birthday present NOT on the way to a child’s party</div>
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19. Has the right sized gift bag on-hand</div>
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20. Does NOT want a shoulder massage</div>
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It’s not technically too late for many of these things, too, but let’s face it, I’ll never be a person who has....</div>
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21. Gone skydiving</div>
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22. Backpacked through Europe</div>
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<img height="200" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/88/Urban_backpacking.jpg" width="166" /> </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">It would be the lack of showers that would do me in, I think. </span></i></div>
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23. Eaten snails</div>
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24. Read <i>Game of Thrones</i></div>
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25. Become fluent in a foreign language</div>
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26. Grasped Calculus </div>
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27. Had a daughter </div>
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28. Tolerated (non-obfuscated with chocolate) coffee</div>
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29. Been the youngest {anything} in history</div>
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30. Smoked anything (NERD!) </div>
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Some things you <i>think </i>you’ll possess someday. Lies. I know I will never be a person who has....</div>
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31. A good bladder</div>
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32. Insightful thoughts about your style choices</div>
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33. Calm amidst stressful driving situations</div>
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34. Swimming skills above “avoid drowning”</div>
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35. Model flossing habits</div>
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36. A really, truly, mother-in-law-level clean house</div>
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37. Unblemished skin</div>
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38. Freshly shaved legs without at least one hairy patch</div>
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39. Packed the right amount for any trip</div>
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40. Done enough core work </div>
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And, the final four things I will never be are....</div>
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41. A consistent blogger with legions of readers</div>
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42. Worthy of you reading this far</div>
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43. Tired of my own lame jokes</div>
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44. Any younger</div>
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<img height="240" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/4/3076/2656467632_1f6b2afe75_z.jpg?zz=1" width="320" /> </div>
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<i>Because of the not smoking things, I can totally blow these out. </i></div>
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Whether you are palindromic-ly 11 or 99 or anywhere in between, I hope you feel comfortable with what you are and what you are not. As for me, I’m going to enjoy my Obama year (#44th) because God knows what <strike>chaos</strike> great energy awaits me when I’m 45!</div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-31489602633512712842018-01-11T08:02:00.003-05:002018-01-11T08:17:06.165-05:00I'll Be There For You; Or, I came back to the blog for THIS?<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="2hop5" data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">This was going to be a Tweet. But it was too long. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Then it was going to be an FB post. But again: too long.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">It's not important. </span></div>
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It's not insightful. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">It's just a thing that happened and I was thinking about.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">So. Here it is. A blog post about nothing.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="3j076-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Spent about 75 minutes at the gym this morning. Through my headphones (on which I was listening to Old Lady Podcast Stuff) I could hear them playing Bon Jovi. Like, a LOT of Bon Jovi. All the Bon Jovis. The puzzle is thus:</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="1tunl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">How do I know EVERY WORD to EVERY Bon Jovi song? I never owned an album. I never went out of my way to listen to them. I mean, they were fine but not my particular taste. I had not heard some of these deep cuts since the early 90s. And yet... Every. Word. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="4mk8j-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Surely it's down to demographics and geography and long bus rides to volleyball games and track meets and HS dances. But how did they get in there? And how did they STAY in there?! </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="rr9b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">More importantly, how can I swap this useless information out for things that I ought to actually remember?! Science nerds, please get on that.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="rr9b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">What are the songs or things you inexplicably remember, despite decades of not caring nor thinking about them? Phone numbers of childhood friends? (Me? Yes, not that I know any CURRENT phone numbers I might require). Locker combinations? (Yup. Locker 804. 30-32-16). </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="rr9b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">What am I forgetting that I remember?.... </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="rr9b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. Remember when I used to run? It's been about 4 months. Maybe a blog post about that eventually.</span></div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-39398825395407593072017-04-24T20:08:00.000-04:002017-04-24T20:23:46.636-04:00Muddy Moose 2017<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me catch you up:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">New job, blah blah blah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kids growing up and doing funny things and saying funny things, blah blah blah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kids growing up and doing infuriating and saying infuriating things, blah blah blah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Theater stuff. Funny clips on the internet. Netflix shows you should DEFINITELY watch. Podcasts that if you don't listen to I'm not even sure I can ever talk to you again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><strike>Political stuff</strike> (removes cyanide pill from hand, places on counter).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Blah. Blah. Blah blah blah blah.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Okay. Cool. Now you know everything about my life since last August.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now, Muddy Moose. This is a race I've been itching to do since we moved to this area. Every year it happens in late April and every year, I am either in Florida courtesy of my in-laws or pregnant or recovering from childbirth. (Those last couple only happened 3 times, but pretty much everything lines up that way since 2001).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year it's a mixed blessing, to say the least, that I am in town for the race (and NOT pre- or post-partum!) My hubs and the fellas are in Florida for the school vacation week but I don't even have a smidgen of the time off accrued to make the trip. So, here I am alone in my house for a week. It's amazing... Everything is so quiet! And clean! But, I'm sure their trip will feel about four days too long cuz I already get the sense that I'm gonna miss them a big chunk. (Shut up! No YOU'RE watching Pokemon episodes and leaving dirty socks in the living room!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, <a href="http://trailrunner.com/event/muddy-moose-trail-races/">Muddy Moose</a> is a trail race. Runners can choose between the 4 mile and 13-ish mile races. Each year the race varies greatly, not because the course necessarily changes (though I think the longer one does) but because the course conditions go 1 - 10 on the mud scale. This year was a 8 or 9 out of 10. It. Was. INSANE! And amazing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My amazing started the afternoon before because Lauren, my best running friend, made the trek from Burlington, VT. She stayed with me and we got to hang out - JUST US! - to talk jobs and kids and running and family and eat yummy food and watch Kimmy Scmidt on The Netflix and GO TO BED SUPER EARLY!! I mean, c'mon!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sunday morning proved to offer up perfect weather. We are still pre-black fly season by a couple of weeks so the blue skies and 50-ish degree start was fabulous with no asterisks or explanatory footnotes. I won't go into many details about the race itself because I'm not sure I can sound sincere - it was THAT good an experience. That good, despite, I have to say, the fall (trip?) Lauren took right at the start - splat flat on her face onto the pavement. And I had my own drama when I turned my left ankle at mile 2 in that way that takes you a couple of minutes to assess how well you're going to be able to shake it off. It was OK but today it is pretty ouchy and, oddly enough, my right side is super sore from my shoulders all the way down to my calves. I have to assume I overcompensated to favor the ankle...? Whatev, Bev, we were and are Warriors so it's fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When not falling or almost falling, we enjoyed some hilarious scrambles and even a couple of miles on dirt roads that were a decent pace. There were literally places where we had to cross in crotch-level water. Lauren was millimeters away from losing her shoe in one pond but she managed to bring it up with her foot. That would have been a fun scavenger hunt! On one descent, in fact, I crab walked it because I (wisely) wore pretty crappy shoes and I could NOT get my feet to grip the ground. It was hilarious and only mildly terrifying. We stopped at water stations and chatted with the volunteers. Truly no reason to drink and run. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One universal truth, no matter the pace among all the runners: SUPER hungry after the race. Sounds dumb, because, of course you would need to refuel after that kind of race, but this was like a SPECIAL kind of starving. And other runners mentioned the same phenomenon. We had eaten a good breakfast and taken in gummies on the course, but something about that challenge really got to us - and everyone - in the belly. So, after hosing off we went into town and did some serious damage on breakfast AND dessert foods. No regrets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These pics - not QUITE in the muddiest or wettest spots on course - were taken by the great and generous Josh Spaulding reflect exactly the feeling we had on the trail on this amazing day. Here is his <a href="http://www.nhfrontpage.com/Articles-Granite-State-News-c-2017-04-24-163301.113119-The-muddiest-Muddy-Moose.html">write up</a> but I must pull the quote that expresses my performance:<i> "....<span style="background-color: white;"> </span></i><span style="background-color: white;"><i>and Phoebe VanScoy-Giessler of Tuftonboro placed 62nd in a time of 2:56:03 to round out the official finishers from the local communities</i>." I came in LAST! Well, not literally, but last of anyone who lives any where near here. I feel weird about not feeling weird about that. Honestly, though, anyone who got through that course in ANY time at all was pretty bad ass. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thanks for the pics, Josh!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq_c62W5wotMWj2hJtE5ArOETc0bQHok6lZ3B9x5mbT1xOYD2ghuHxQXTovT_RTR4t0rEeYB-BP71XTJE1ZJzI0f7gO0HOxFl_-Z-8pGHWgt5SOTPZsRgjduBWMVUEFCqXyOSA9dJcHMU/s1600/Muddy+Moose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Josh was LITERALLY at on Oriole's game IN Baltimore the night before this race. He made the planes, trains and automobiles all the way back to Wolfeboro to cover this race. And maybe he had other reasons, but, ya know, still!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lauren is training to pace a friend in a fast marathon over Memorial Day Weekend and she was coming off of a 40+ mile week of training - BEFORE this race. And she still, of course, crushed the course... once she faced facts and tramped the through mud instead of trying to avoid it!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you've lost that lovin' feeling for running, I highly recommend a trail race. Hell, if you HAVEN'T lost that lovin' feeling for running, I STILL recommend a trail race. Egos need not apply.</span><br />
<br />Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-86578954454730294022016-08-31T11:51:00.000-04:002016-08-31T11:51:13.209-04:00A change in the programFor me, there's something about leap years. Maybe it's that extra day. Maybe it's the excitement and energy of the Summer Games. Maybe it's the intensity/insanity of a Presidential campaign.<br />
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Or maybe it's just that every four years I am ready for something new. A brief history:<br />
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2004 - I became an elementary school classroom teacher.<br />
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2008 - I left teaching to run an in-home daycare.<br />
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2012 - I left in-home daycare-ing to return to an elementary school - this time as a JV Librarian. (Oh, yeah. I had a baby in 2012, too, but we aren't focusing on that right now.)<br />
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And now...<br />
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2016 - I am leaving the library to work in the administrative offices of <a href="http://lrcs.org/">Lakes Region Community Services</a>.<br />
<br />
And while a change in my occupation comes along at <i>very</i> even intervals, this is by far the biggest change I've made since I left Los Angeles for New Hampshire. And the enormity of the changes affect my husband and kids almost as much as they affect me. Maybe more. A brief list of how this new job will turn out world upside down:<br />
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1. Elliott will go to a new elementary school.<br />
2. Gabe will go to a new preschool/child care facility.<br />
3. After 12 years of me being the keeper of kids' schedules and notebooks and mittens and homework, Scott will be carrying the load of transporting all the kids to and from school/daycare. (Tom is going to a new school, too, but it's middle school and that would have transpired no matter what happened with my worklife).<br />
4. I will go from a 30 minute commute with 3 kids in the car to a 50 minute commute solo.<br />
5. I will not have summer vacation.<br />
6. I am not sure when or how I will train for races. In fact, there are currently ZERO races on my calendar.<br />
7. I have not auditioned and will not audition for any plays or musicals for the bunch of months.<br />
<br />
All of the fellas at my life - as well as all of the people in my life in general - have been complete rock stars about all of this. My husband is ready to juggle the life of the primary point person for the kids during the school day. He is so happy for me because my 'career' in the last 16 years has not been what I dreamed it would be. (LOVE kids and LOVE the people I work with in education ,but it is just not my calling.) In fact this job seems to be very similar to the nonprofit gig I had in Los Angeles before our big move. And I REALLY loved that job and was not entirely ready to let it go when it was time to go.<br />
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Elliott in particular, who faces maybe the most drastic/unexpected change, is just AMAZING. I know he's sad and nervous, but he was dancing around almost as much I was when I got the call about the job. I swear I do not know how we managed to have such a sweet and empathetic child.<br />
<br />
In a few short minutes I will be heading out for an afternoon of HR orientation. I have lots of questions for them about policies and culture of the organization. (For example, I have been offered the opportunity to squeeze in the 37.5 hours into 4 days a week instead of 5 and this is HUGE. Imagine, a day during the week to keep Gabe home, do the grunt work of the weekend, and prepare to have a relaxing time on Saturday and Sunday... ) And although I know some of the work I'll be doing includes fundraising, donor data base maintanence, correspondence, grant applications, publicity, events.... I really don't know the scope of everything I'll be doing. That will become more clear when I start the job in earnest on Tuesday, Sept. 6. Coincidentally, the boys' first day of school, too!<br />
<br />
Finally, I now have a FABULOUS story to tell if I ever got on stage at <a href="http://themoth.org/">The Moth</a>. I can't do it justice in the seconds I have left here, but I will share it. Maybe I'll make Scott video tape me telling it... It's a doozy!Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-84633874887818429912016-08-05T11:59:00.000-04:002016-08-05T12:17:22.828-04:00For the sake of their teachers, please don't spank your kids<div data-contents="true">
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<span data-offset-key="7vtnk-0-0"><span data-text="true">I know this is not universally true... BUT... A can of worms is begging to be opened.</span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="7g035-0-0"><span data-text="true">Do parents who spank their kids understand that in many cases this is the ONLY thing to which their kids respond? In other words, adults (teachers, daycare, camp counselors, other relatives, family friends) who don't spank because they cannot (legally) or will not (philosophically/morally) have almost no opportunity to effectively discipline (read: teach) your kids. These adults, who really want to connect and love your kids, are put in an almost impossible position.</span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="aqqdf-0-0"><span data-text="true">The most recent example comes from my DH who had to send a camper home early because there was no progress in getting this kiddo to behave appropriately. When I saw the behavior I said, "I bet his parents spank him and I bet there's no way you can get through to him because he knows he won't get hit here." Sorry to say that the spanking was confirmed by the kid's dad and, guess what? He has a hard time behaving in school, too. Will wonders never cease?</span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="emct2-0-0"><span data-text="true">You choose how to raise your kid, by all means. But remember (s)he has to function in the rest of the world, too. And the thing is, there's no way to know when your child is wee if they will be the kind who gets a couple of whaps at home and then learns how to be a functioning human or if those whaps are the only thing to which they are going to respond.</span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="emct2-0-0"><span data-text="true">And just in case you think the view from my high horse is obnoxious, I DID spank one of my kids once. It was completely ineffective and only made the situation way worse. I understand there are philosophies and cultures in which this is acceptable. I'm just saying... please think twice Or three or 10 or 1,000 times. </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="emct2-0-0"><span data-text="true">If not for your child's sake, for the sake of the people in your village that have to help raise him.</span></span></div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-47216501405192753032016-07-10T11:03:00.001-04:002016-07-10T11:09:24.799-04:00And the answer to everything is... $<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Several years ago, usually as we were driving the half-hour to or from school, my kids started asking me questions. Questions like:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"If their food is so bad for people, why does McDonald's keep making it? And why do people keep eating it?" </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or, "Why doesn't our school have such-and-such an activity when some other schools have it?” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="230" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Qwmvtqn1lZQK970moRR2AS_9QXaj98hiUiBa3GJkUpQt_rfAcpcNslwoqV-Ls5FtMFT9BXhIgmR6F94rQ_3S2zYQgNYEkddIZ2JnCSqS5D5SUMBhGFxdNgT03v7pjSul5adOqmG0" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="230" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Smarty-farties despite their Mama.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My answer to all of these questions always boiled down to, of course, money. And so, we began to realize that the answer to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">most</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> big questions about why the world works the way that it does is just that: Money. Cash. Dinero. Greenbacks. In fact nowadays my 10- and 12- year-olds will frequently start their ‘big picture’ questions to me like this, “I know that somehow the answer is money, but why…..?” (God, I love these kids!)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Now that we have the soundtrack and Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Hamiltome” book the questions have changed a bit so sometimes the answer to my kids' questions is "ask the book".... but mostly the answer is still $$).</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So these past, present and future conversations are in the back of my mind as I grapple with the horrifying events of last week in Louisiana, Minnesota and Texas. I listened to a lot of great podcasts and radio reporting (NPR’s </span><a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Code Switch</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><a href="http://www.npr.org/podcasts/510310/npr-politics-podcast" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Politics</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Slate’s </span><a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/podcasts/gist/2016/07/author_justin_peters_discusses_his_book_the_idealist.html" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Gist</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/podcasts/gabfest.html" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Political Gabfest</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><a href="http://www.npr.org/programs/all-things-considered/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All Things Considered Saturday</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) about the tragedies. I had a lot of good thinking time doing yoga and running. I had lots of conversation and consternation with my friend as we drove to and from a Black Lives Matter vigil last night. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="250" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/97sTIKduH74HwmW1B9Vt8ZvIGBdtPnENFdSiFGT5rN8MNHtPNOnqJdvVB392gGo3jQNLBlCSx6eLOdY-dib1Cj7RrC6YZTOd1trxtYsuSgZU5bI0TjQ_BS7OucFKS-YY9Amse8ZX" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="334" /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still dry.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="398" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/uyBhYKXyxql5ssmutV6J85f0BOlKW0E1USTKKtQ15pcEVyanmjt1W7d246ulsuAx1GUy-DAlFcghOW29qMPsUeffYVftNWPxgn7IEkN4YLfR5gXDg3-Bu3T6S8ZBKvKtxsNLAWhB" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="298" /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not-so-dry.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(BTW - a freaking MONSOON ensued so it was less vigil-y and more good-hearted-people-standing-around-getting-soaking-wet-and-meaning-well-y. But, still, it was a lovely, if squishy….) </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Surprisingly, my attendance at said event, my conversations, and my podcast/radio listening did not solve the world’s ills. Huh.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But again, I keep coming back to money. Okay, okay, we need to change the “hearts and souls” of the perpetrators of violence. Yup. Sure do. But when’s the last time you tried to convince a notorious asshat in your life to stop being a d-bag? How’d that go?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, consider if you sweetened the offer to the jerk? What if you said, “Say, Cousin Harry, if you can refrain from using misogynistic language in the workplace for an entire week, we will give you a bonus in your paycheck.” Find the right dollar amount and I bet Cousin Harry might try it without making the company go bankrupt. Bonus: women and other humans with any sort of soul can go a week without having to listen to Cousin Harry being horrible.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know. This is a very simplified example. And I know. Ideally Cousin Harry would stop having such a terrible view on women. But, dammit, if Cousin Harry would shut the heck up about it for a week, then two, and eventually maybe a few months, maybe he would start to feel differently. And, again, everybody else's lives would be vastly improved.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know change comes from within…. Mostly. But I honestly believe that sometimes change comes from without. (Is that a thing? I don’t know.) </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know exactly how this would translate to police officers and minorities. I think the incentive would have to go toward both parties. Maybe at every interaction where the brown person and a cop get through the process with respectful language and dignity, they both get $50. Maybe that’s discriminatory because it doesn’t apply to not-brown people. Can we figure out a way to make this a universal policy for all people? Obviously there are some kinks to work out....</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish the problem was, like, Big Bad Corporation or something. We could boycott that. But you can’t boycott the police. (Well, I guess you could, but that would go badly, I think). And you can’t boycott the angry, agitated African American. (S)he needs more of a voice and empowerment, not less.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t know. I’m just spitballing. I think this thing has legs. So, somebody give Obama my cell number and tell him to text me. (I’d talk to Michelle, too, if he’s busy. She’s pretty cool and I could use some tips on her arm workout regimen.)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'll keep my phone charged. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From one of the whitest states and from one of the whitest ladies, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">* "I have honor to be your obedient servant,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">P. Van (Scoy-Giessler)"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">* It's a Hamilton reference. Honestly if you don't listen to that soundtrack you are not gonna understand ANYTHING I say for the next, oh, 100 years</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></i></div>
Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-52912495359120093902016-07-08T09:23:00.000-04:002016-07-08T09:33:49.887-04:00All the bad things<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What do you say when there's nothing left to say? When you’re me, apparently that’s when you start talking.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6b7a09f3-caa4-f4ea-a6b8-c5ed8b7d6734" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I realize that since my blog has been on radio silence forever (that’s metric, more like months-and-months-and-months in American) it’s a bit strange that I would start my re-boot this way. I haven’t SAID anything in a long time. But this morning I just can’t not mark the day. Here’s what I know:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of our candidates for president is a vile racist (or maybe race-ish’d, since it’s not clear if he truly believes the vile things he says/retweets/implies or if he just knows it serves his candidacy to make sure certain segments think he does believe it). He’s a misogynist. He mocks the handicapped. He thinks that stating something as fact makes it so. His favorite source for information is “Some people are saying….” He has, it seems, no capacity for empathy. And though I applaud leaders who are capable of taking a stand, assessing the facts, and then changing their mind on an issue, this particular candidate has been on almost every side of every issue from moment to moment. (Except Obama. He’s always hated Obama. Gotta give him that…) </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This candidate makes me SO ANGRY and disappointed in humanity that my head hurts.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The other one of our candidates for president has so much excess baggage she wouldn’t have the credit on her Am Ex card to pay the fees to get on a Southwest flight. Her self-fulling prophecy seems to be “I can’t trust anyone so I better skirt the standards and protocols of my position which makes me untrustworthy and gives people ammunition so I can’t trust anyone….” Back in the 1990s her husband broke my heart (not literally, I interned at “Fresh Air”… ba-dum-dum) but he made it up to me by being an engaged, thoughtful, pro-human ex-President. And she was part of the renewed good feeling. Now, it seems, she’s doing her darndest to finish off my last gasp of youthful, 90s exuberance. Even though I agree with her on most of the issues, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">this candidate makes me SO SAD and disappointed that it hurts my heart.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s what else I know:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last night police officers in Dallas were targeted and murdered as they were doing their jobs. And it serves to mention in this time of nationwide questionable tactics, Dallas has been ROCKING police reform. They, it seems, were doing their jobs WELL and RESPONSIBLY. Shooting any cop, even a d-bag racist, is bad, but these particular cops being targeted is just devastating.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day before a 32-year-old man in Minnesota was doing his best to follow police instructions, inform the officer of his weapon and HIS RIGHT TO HAVE SAID weapon. Reached for his ID. And he’s dead. Because broken headlight.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A man in Louisiana was taken to the ground, taze’d, and THEN shot several times by police. Because selling illegal CDs (and possibly being kind of a dick about it).</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All of this makes me so distraught that it hurts my soul.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Other things I know:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People I know and love make choices I don’t understand. These choices are objectively and obviously horrible and have negative impact on those closest to them. From their point of view I have to believe the choices seem to be the only reasonable ones… but I can’t even. I don’t even. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And that’s the thing: I DON’T even speak up. Try to start the conversation. Make an effort. I don’t because it’s far more comfortable to shake my head and tsk, tsk, tsk and worry. Also, I’m a wuss and maybe it’s not REALLY my business because it doesn’t affect my day-to-day. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">NONE of the stuff I talk about here affects my day-to-day. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not black. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not gay. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not handicapped.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not sending emails of any kind to Secretary Clinton, let alone classified ones.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not a cop. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not being taken advantage of financially or emotionally by a family member. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I woke up this morning, clicked on Twitter and my public radio app, heard the horrible news, sighed and fretted... and then got out of bed to make oatmeal for my kids. I had the luxury to consider my thoughts. I had to the luxury to decide that I might want to write something down. And I listen to NPR coverage as I type. As I type SAFELY in my home.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meanwhile, my kids play inside and outside of my house. Free of fear, free of hunger, free of emotional want - as it should be - but as it is NOT for so many kids.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What’s it all mean? What do I want? Specifically, what do I want TO DO?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My guess is there are many more like me who are wide-eyed, shocked, and sad about this stuff. Are you a middle income white lady with no official skin in the game but feeling completely out of sorts about all of this? </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Please please please tell me what you are DOING? ACTION is what I'm talkin' about. </b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(And yes, "pray” is great but we are so far beyond that).</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will end with the wise Facebook words of my sister, Heather. She is referring to our annual week-ish-long gathering of my siblings and their offspring and then some. As usual, she says in a few sentences what I couldn't' figure out how to say in a blathering blog post.:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you want an example of how this society could work, spend a day at Camp Gungah. Trust me, you'll be equally annoyed by, entertained by, loved by, given a wedgie by ALL of us.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">White semi-racists, white ultra liberals, immigrants, blacks, in laws, out laws, ex spouses of in laws, Asians, Hill Billies, suburbanites, fat people, skinny people, shack in laws, shack in laws' children, young, old, engineers, teachers, homemakers, librarians, country music fans, functional alcoholics....</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 5pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And we've never shot anyone.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="300" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/oVm20FR2EAe-FdJ7RL3-dKDVaRhb1NGDU1G3eU83WXQfMDfAgorzPjVkkKkU5bWglqdKePh4piQdeZJ7rFwfhMxnKGJo4ukuqNxyC9nGmdyizkQQVSxb_1qU7-rWD0Y-3C2nGvGc" style="border: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is only a fraction of the Camp Gungah contingent. But... none have shot any other. Not that there isn't cause in some instances.....</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-57707330713045466622016-02-07T19:42:00.001-05:002016-02-07T19:42:59.226-05:00Running [My Mouth]: the Vlog - Downton Phoebe<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e9fb6E9-MkI" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
<br /><br />
My husband is doing a half marathon with me... sort of....<br /><br />
<br /><br />
Also, it took a LOT of fancy editing to make my mouth not line up with my words. Yeaaaahhhh, let's say that.<br /><br />
<br /><br />
vermontcitymarathon.org<br /><br />
<br /><br />
mountwashingtonroadrace.com<br /><br />
<br /><br />
"The World of Downton Abbey" by Jessica FellowesScott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-11410573689110584292016-01-31T20:42:00.001-05:002016-01-31T20:42:26.583-05:00Running [My Mouth]: the Vlog - Hurried and harried and blue<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/47f_cHx2jDc" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
<br /><br />
Sorry... But keeping to my schedule, at least.Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-23399829443418385242016-01-24T18:21:00.001-05:002016-01-24T18:21:24.686-05:00Vlog: 13.1 Train starts tomorrow<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dbEJ6L3dieI" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="http://trainlikeamother.club/">trainlikeamother.club</a><br /><br />
<br /><br />
Out of My Mind - Sharon M. Draper<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oq7JxwBFJxM">The Tide is Rising written by Rabbi Shoshana Meira Friedman/performed by Annie Patterson</a><br /><br />
<div><br /></div>Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-26683109492299453912016-01-17T18:45:00.001-05:002016-01-17T18:45:52.477-05:00Running [My Mouth]: the Vlog - I've got dead butt and I cannot lie<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OK5Y07fomcM" width="459"></iframe><br /><br />
<br /><br />
Come for the running talk, stay for the blunders.<br /><br />
<br /><br />
Piriformis Syndrome / Sciatica & How To Get Rid Of This Pain In the Butt Once And For All:<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynQgMFH5Umg]">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynQgMFH5Umg]</a><br /><br />
<br /><br />
The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt<br /><br />
<br /><br />
The Casual Vacancy - JK Rowling<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/podcasts/gist.html">The Gist from Slate</a>Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-3489646463434519182016-01-11T10:42:00.001-05:002016-01-11T10:43:43.058-05:00"Ummm" 2016 Race Plan<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KjDjBTkJsII" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Inwhich I briefly review a good book, make a race plan for the first 1/2 of 2016, and recommend a great podcast. Also, I say UMMMM so very very much.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The Marvels - <a href="http://www.theinventionofhugocabret.com/about_brian_bio.htm">Brian Selznik</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://trainlikeamother.club/">trainlikeamother.club</a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1566554920"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.greatbayhalf.com/">www.greatbayhalf.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://biglakehalfmarathon.com/">biglakehalfmarathon.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://mountwashingtonroadrace.com/">mountwashingtonroadrace.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.vermontcitymarathon.org/">www.vermontcitymarathon.org</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.npr.org/programs/ask-me-another/462156859/david-cross-increasingly-poor-decisions">Ask Me Another</a><br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-6263671808189662102016-01-03T21:58:00.000-05:002016-01-03T21:58:58.355-05:00Vlog 2: Meet Me at the Library!<a href="https://youtu.be/IAinpUVEm5g" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #167ac6; cursor: pointer; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14.3px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/IAinpUVEm5g</a><br />
<br />
Books books books books! And are you getting and giving all the love you should to your local library?<br />
<br />
Running out of Night - Sharon Lovejoy<br />
The Honest Truth - Dan Gemeinhart<br />
Kinda Like Brothers - Coe Booth<br />
I am Malala - Malala Yousafzai<br />
The Goldfinch - Donna Tart<br />
Born to Run - Christopher McDougall<br />
Between the World and Me - Ta-Nehisi Coates<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-88455730789634814522016-01-01T22:42:00.002-05:002016-01-01T22:42:33.703-05:00Vlog it Out in 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Here's a new project. Happy new year!!<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbKyiTKx-Ao&feature=youtu.be">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbKyiTKx-Ao&feature=youtu.be</a>Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-63527286488062656202015-10-05T20:26:00.000-04:002015-10-05T20:26:45.817-04:00Vermont 50 race reportI hope you took you Claritin or Zyrtec.The dust coming off of this blog has to be horrifying. I would apologize but obviously I'm not REALLY sorry because, well, if I really was I would blog more.<br />
<br />
BUT... just over a week ago there was a blog-worthy event and I've had a few requests to share more info. I ran my very first ultra race, the <a href="http://vermont50.blogspot.com/">Vermont 50</a>. That 50 stands for Miles... and Kilometers. And you better believe that I ran the K, not the M! I thought I might get to 40 miles in 24 hours but the 3 I ran the day before only took me to 34. And I didn't run 6 more miles after the finish line. Oh well.<br />
<br />
Much of the race was so amazing it seemed fake. Vermont was SOOO Vermont in the very best Vermonty way. The weather was SOOO late September in New England in the very best late September in New England-y way. The Best Running Friend was SOOO badass and fierce and supportive in only way my BRF knows how to be.<br />
<br />
This was my first trail race. My first ultra. My first true post-Boston challenge. I had a training schedule that I did a mostly good job of following. The actual mileage I ran each week was not much different than training for 26.2 (a 50K is 31 miles... "only 10 5Ks!") The most I ran in a week was maybe 45 miles. The difference was that I tried to get out on trails as much as possible and all of my 'speed' work was spent going up hills and (carefully) down to prepare for the climbs and descents. I also ran long on Saturday and with a moderately paced hour long run on Sunday to get used to working on tired legs. Tuesdays and Thursdays were always 'short' (45 minute to 90 minutes) easy runs and Wednesdays were the hills. I over did some trails along the way and had to cut back some now and again but overall, the mileage was there.<br />
<br />
Granted, if the called for a run between an hour and fifteen - an hour forty-five I ALWAYS did 1:15. And when it called for strength training on low mileage days I always did it... for the first few weeks. But my great intentions were once again thwarted by the reality of my life: I can strength train OR I can train for a marathon +. There's just no scenario where I'm gonna do both.<br />
<br />
Lauren, my dearest BRF, had sort of the opposite situation. She now works for a company which promotes health and wellness. They offer many fitness classes to their employees. She very wisely takes full advantage of the strength and agility programs. Let me tell you, she looks amazing... do NOT challenge her to arm wrestling, kids! But, she told me she had not put in the mileage she should have before this race. She was pretty worried and told me after the race, fairly certain she would not finish. (Spoiler alert: she finished and was strong as hell!)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7uD-mEPGbSVBIWdcqbBkshTsFkShzqmd3GdU2rwKqC26cds6OlxaRyrdLxWWgnswlJ80u7NBn3DzY1Gwpc1Uy1KcNqHgk-50EbL_PFcIQE93WclOyJi5GvQHmVF6fXBeJ0nUMGzIr4Y/s1600/pre+race+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7uD-mEPGbSVBIWdcqbBkshTsFkShzqmd3GdU2rwKqC26cds6OlxaRyrdLxWWgnswlJ80u7NBn3DzY1Gwpc1Uy1KcNqHgk-50EbL_PFcIQE93WclOyJi5GvQHmVF6fXBeJ0nUMGzIr4Y/s320/pre+race+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Horrifying before pic in car. The phone didn't come w me on the trail, which means I missed a lot of amazing pics.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have of course almost completely forgotten the details of the race. I will mention the only negative from my POV: the mountain bikers were terrorizing. Though I'm quite certain they didn't mean to be. This race started as a 50M bike race so even though they started in waves at 6AM, they were out on the course, too. A very large chunk of the course was 'single track' and so we spent many miles watching our backs and leaping into the bushes/trees/rocky hedges/etc. out of their way. Maybe the least ideal aspect of the whole thing. We even had one young rider who I think was German-speaking fall over right in front of us. I was really worried about her for a minute but she leaped right up pretty quickly. I'm guessing we lost several minutes because of the need to take shelter on the side of the course. But unlike famous (in my head) ultrarunner/singer Meghan Trainor, I am not "All About The Pace" when it comes to this race.<br />
<br />
The best part of the race was the course. A little bit of dirt road, a little bit of grassy fields, and a LOT of true trail running, much of it single-track. We used the wisdom of the crowd and - especially in the first half of the race - walked up the steep hills we saw others walking up. By the second half we had a better sense of what we could handle and did quite a bit of passing on the hills. There were many miles of switch backs up and down the trails and I found that to be just way cool. Parts of the course were mildly nerve wracking due to the drop offs and the footing. (If I had been one of the people on a bike I literally would have DIED, because my nerves would have led me straight over the edge of one of the cliffs!) We were super lucky that the weather had been dry for a few weeks because in the past the runners and bikers have faced some really unfortunate shoes-going-into-muddy-bogs-but-not-coming-out-with-the-owners-foot situations. We definitely lucked out on that score!<br />
<br />
Oddly enough our least favorite part of the course was the road stretches. Don't get me wrong, they were top notch rural gorgeous-ness... but despite our self reminders, something about the relative flat and wide stretches made us want to up the pace. Which we did. Which was just NOT the way to go on such a gorgeous Sunday meant for long, slow ascents and descents.<br />
<br />
A word about aid stations: YUM! The variety and deliciousness offered at each spot was fabulous. I indulged in everything from boiled potatoes (chopped into small pieces which I dipped in salt) to peanut butter cups, to watermelon (never has such an amazing fruit existed than a watermelon during an ultra race!), coke, pb and j... and I'm sure the I had some M and Ms. Lauren was the Gummy Bear queen. The volunteers happily and helpfully filled our water bottles if we were carrying them. As you approached each station you could almost convince yourself it was the finish line, such was the enthusiasm of the assembled crowd. Many of the stations had a section for runner drop bags. I had placed mine at mile 13.4-ish. It had spare socks and shirts and Tylenol and band aids and Vaseline and chapstick and.... NOT the ONE thing Lauren asked me to have: home made peanut butter 'protein bites'. (I had them but left them in the car. OOPS!) Because the weather so epic-ly perfect, we didn't need to change our shirts or socks.<br />
<br />
The final aid station was just a 5K from the finish. We were feeling really strong and pushed ourselves to get there 'fast' to finish under 7 hours. I did not have my GPS app running because I knew coverage would be so sketchy, but Lauren's Garmin was handling the remote area just fine. As we bombed past lots of folks (and once even literally bursting out into "THE HILLLSSS ARE ALLLIIIIVEEEE" because out of the woods and into a meadow it was that.freaking.spectacular!) I always find myself to be highly amusing but after running for more than 26 or so miles I am the most hilarious creature that has ever strode the earth. Just ask me. So, we were feeling amazing and passing all kinds folks who were decidedly NOT feeling amazing and I began singing that well known ballad/drinking song "The Legend of Lauren and Phoebe". I wish I could remember the words but believe-you-me, it was something George Gershwin and Carol King and Taylor Swift WISH they had written.<br />
<br />
Maybe inspired by my singing (but probably in an effort to be DONE with it) Lauren really turned on the overdrive at this point. We had been passing people before this but at this point she was Goucher-esque in her speedy splendor.<br />
<br />
Lauren: All we have to do is 15 minute miles and we'll finish in under 7 hours. And we are under that now.<br />
<br />
Phoebe: You mean we are faster than that, right?<br />
<br />
Lauren: No. We are slower than that.<br />
<br />
WHAT!?!!? This was the saddest/funniest moment of the race. I truly felt like we were FLYYYING over these trails and yet in reality were going s.............l.............o..............w...............! <br />
<br />
It's all relative.<br />
<br />
In the end, we DID manage to get our under-7 hour finish. Lauren had run one 50K before this and we managed to get her a PR, so that's cool.<br />
<br />
Post race we decided to skip the ice cold (but free) showers and just get our food, which was amazing. The only missing element was beer. Rats!<br />
<br />
It was a great race. I am not in a hurry to train for that distance again but I am definitely going to stick with trail races if I can help it. Who needs 8 minute pace when you are getting passed when you can do 15 minute pace and feel like an Olympian?!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqEn4qlT2ai6C-jPxUGr-2fpa9qHzsX6i7ol13I1z8Pq5R1o0GL8NsiaSZgs8EWfAlGV77RctJW40fJtcFs4sO7EM8-rK4FG6qTOFGt32UTJJctbygpujUAjAo_96ZWFb69OVEsbY5GA/s1600/post+done.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqEn4qlT2ai6C-jPxUGr-2fpa9qHzsX6i7ol13I1z8Pq5R1o0GL8NsiaSZgs8EWfAlGV77RctJW40fJtcFs4sO7EM8-rK4FG6qTOFGt32UTJJctbygpujUAjAo_96ZWFb69OVEsbY5GA/s320/post+done.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">After, before food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjop22ny-mLRW_ztlsOU0AMpYEnc9FfUpWJsp_EmTtrU2HxENeoqfrvu6-70tKfgOyt45bBIfGvN4DCp5YgEb8Kf-BE82NvpEuEUyge7dRt_s5M34d0dspt7-4vgdmWu04EkmiLpMSXI/s1600/chili.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjop22ny-mLRW_ztlsOU0AMpYEnc9FfUpWJsp_EmTtrU2HxENeoqfrvu6-70tKfgOyt45bBIfGvN4DCp5YgEb8Kf-BE82NvpEuEUyge7dRt_s5M34d0dspt7-4vgdmWu04EkmiLpMSXI/s320/chili.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I liked the chili.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLPtbf-YeZLYHv8djou3MDxjWjTHz1iY6qNTI7lVDHMIAco0oqExwtNC4Rp20f_BLhEp40FN7EA3q95gUleOtEKhi-4JpQuv4srPlESp2FANxTKiGbG00EyUAAqf5qx2_a1-OE8f3D1A/s1600/post+food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLPtbf-YeZLYHv8djou3MDxjWjTHz1iY6qNTI7lVDHMIAco0oqExwtNC4Rp20f_BLhEp40FN7EA3q95gUleOtEKhi-4JpQuv4srPlESp2FANxTKiGbG00EyUAAqf5qx2_a1-OE8f3D1A/s320/post+food.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG the food was soooo good!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RJ4gcIbf14I3s3wiUDFI0eAHhNvD8ZyN566-iw0mIqt6az1_3GmlKg1HBTbTBWa4Ne23lPJyVcVn1-XI0zzPbRQ0NfMjLeqeJxu1XZ5qh-9Fywn2igMtbf0m99Xjth7tRk1iy6Zra5Q/s1600/post+medals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RJ4gcIbf14I3s3wiUDFI0eAHhNvD8ZyN566-iw0mIqt6az1_3GmlKg1HBTbTBWa4Ne23lPJyVcVn1-XI0zzPbRQ0NfMjLeqeJxu1XZ5qh-9Fywn2igMtbf0m99Xjth7tRk1iy6Zra5Q/s320/post+medals.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After w medals. Lauren got cleaned up and I said, "feh... I'm driving home solo so I"ll stink if I want to."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<br />Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-65639389330736735442015-04-24T10:56:00.004-04:002015-04-24T10:57:24.002-04:00Perfect. Part 3: Return of the Jedi (Or, Beyond the finish line)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<o:p> I</o:p>f you if missed <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2015/04/perfect-part-i.html">Part 1</a> (leading up to the race) or <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2015/04/perfect-part-2-race-day.html">Part 2</a>
(race day through the finish line), and you want the full experience, click
these links.</div>
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The main thing you need to know about life after we crossed
the finish line is that the weather became a factor. Despite the cold rain and
wind through the course, it was mostly a nuisance but never a real problem. One
detail I left out of Part 2 was that I lost one of my gloves during the
port-o-potty stop – my full proof plan of stuffing them in my bra was
not-so-full proof after all, I guess. After that I had to keep switching the
remaining glove back and forth between hands, which was kind of a pain but not
overwhelmingly so. Mostly it was just my hands that felt it during the run, and
never too badly.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So. Cold. We took a quick selfie, got our medals, got a
couple of pics with the official photographer and a random photographer asked
to take a pic of my bib number because he had taken a picture of the sign I was
wearing on my back and wanted to be able to identify me later. (This comes into
play later…) then shuffled to the table where the Merciful, Amazing, Generous,
Lifesaving Volunteers were literally dressing people in the ‘space blankets’.
This was fantastic but it was also just not enough for me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Meanwhile I had called Scott to check in and received a call
from a teacher at my school. I could not hear what she was saying but I assumed
it was not “Hey, we can’t get the printer to work!” (I was right. They were
calling to say they saw my finish and give me a big cheer. Yay!) . I was
incapable of dialing or maneuvering my
phone in anyway at that point. Lauren
used the phone to call Mike, who you may recall was near the finish line and we
eventually shuffled our way to where he and their 11-year-old twins were
waiting. Sometime in between all of that, my phone went dead.</div>
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Again. Cold. Both Lauren and I were shivering and a little
brain dead by the time we found Mike. One volunteer looked at me skeptically and
asked “Do you need help?” I guess I looked like a felt. I knew that I was not
in a great shape, but I knew that help was nearby, so I said “no thanks”. Mike
and the kids, now located, shuffled us inside a very crowded Dunkin Donuts.
Now, I don’t hate Dunkin Donuts. But I do think most of their food is not very
good for us and I try to avoid going there if I have other options. In this
case, however, Dunkin Donuts was Shangri-La. Heaven on Earth. It saved me from
the med tent and possibly hours of getting cleared for exit. </div>
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Another detail I left out of yesterday’s post was that
somewhere between the hotel lobby and the car we took to Athletes’ Village, my ‘emergency’
$20 bill got lost. The Cadys saved my bacon (ironic for a vegetarian, eh?) by
buying me a hot chocolate/coffee at Shangri-La. I mean Dunkies. They also all decided that I was in worse
shape than Lauren and so I would get the down jacket that Mike had carried
around for Lauren all day. Bacon Double Saved! We spent a good 20 or so minutes
in there (I threw away the nasty single glove/snot wiper I was still carrying) and
then decided it was time to walk to the T.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The Green Line, which was closest to us, promised to be
complete chaos so despite the longer walk, we chose to head to the Red Line. It
was not exactly a pleasant stroll but it was really good for our bodies to walk
for a while and I was definitely no longer in danger. I did, however , really really have to (you’ll
never guess…) PEE. So, we headed into a Peet’s Coffee shop on Newbury Street. I
had no compunction about heading in,
going, and heading out without being a paying customer. (Rules of etiquette fly out the window when you are have just run
really, really far). Mike, however, is a better human than I am so he bought a
drink for himself and Ali so we were legit costumers. Thrice, bacon salvaged!</div>
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Finally, we made it to the Red line and took the train out
to the Cady’s car and they drove me to the hotel where my family was waiting
for me. I said good bye to the Cadys (have I mentioned how grateful I am to
them?) and headed to Mom and Dad’s room. They were staying over another night so I got the chance to take a Top 10
shower of my life. Post-marathon showers are up there with post childbirth
showers, in case you are looking for where they are on the scale of
amazing-ness. (Only a mild amount of chafing, so it was all pleasure and no
pain, thank goodness!) </div>
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<br /></div>
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(In another "d'oh!" moment, when I was getting undressed for the shower, the glove that I 'lost' during my port-o-potty stop fell to the ground. Who knew it could get lost in my very-modestly-sized bra?!?!)</div>
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It was about 6PM when we were ready to go. The boys and Scott had eaten a very late lunch so we got in
the car and just headed toward home. The ride seemed long but it wasn’t. We were
home around 8PM, got the kids in bed, unpacked ‘enough’ and finally, around
9PM. I sat down with a plate of nachos. And then I had another plate of nachos.
And if I weren’t so darn tired, I would have had a THIRD plate. So YUMMY!</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
During all of this eating and unpacking, I was, naturally
checking social media to let people know how things went and accept generous
mountains of good wishes and support. Then, unexpectedly, I saw a FB post from Kevin
Sperling, a runner friend who now lives in Oregon, letting me know that I “made
<a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/photos/scenes-from-the-2015-boston-marathon">Runner’s World</a>”. WHAT? Turns out that photographer who took the pic of my back at the
finish line was actually from Reuters. The picture went through the wire
services and, apparently, Runners World dug it. The sign said, “Stick with me.
I’m gonna finish the top 30!! (Thousand….)” A few folks chatted with me on the
course about it and I was happy it lifted some spirits. But I was flabbergasted
the Runners World had it on their site. I went to bed feeling pretty awesome.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning I woke up to see a Facebook post from my
friend, Josh Spaulding (local sports reporter and theater pal) that said I had
made the front page of the <a href="http://www.unionleader.com/">Manchester Union Leader</a>. </div>
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WHAAATTTT????</div>
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Later I found that the picture was the second in a series of
85 on <a href="http://www.boston.com/sports/marathon/2015/04/20/photos-from-the-boston-marathon/P8GKthGf2Ad6SvYWkH3VpK/pictures.html?p1=Must_Reads#slide-2">Boston.com</a>’s photo gallery of the race. <a href="https://twitter.com/AdamMKaufman">Adam Kaufman</a>, a sports writer for
Boston.com (and many other media outlets) also mentioned me in his commentary of the race. "(Thank you ) You, with the paper on your back reading, “Stick
w/ME. I’m gonna finish in the top 30!!! (Thousand…) </div>
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WHAT WHAT WHAT?!?!?!?</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was great to transition back into real life while still
having trickles of this ‘celebrity’ hitting me. It may not be obvious from my
posts but I am not exactly afraid of attention from strangers. </div>
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So, here’s The Big Lesson I learned from this race, the
lesson that can be applied to most of life, is thus:</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>“If you can’t be first, try to be funny.”</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_TwxQXD_lLvxGyCe8cZGn3lLKy1zCOGPGZIhNWdmbdlrvdUhI2cNQMoCal4VD3Cf-CPP_mwtGi_8KeG7L01DlG5-i5E3WXklYW27sUnCnHhyphenhyphenQR6RJJOp7UdLYQeI4qzpbA4xEyC9PzM/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_TwxQXD_lLvxGyCe8cZGn3lLKy1zCOGPGZIhNWdmbdlrvdUhI2cNQMoCal4VD3Cf-CPP_mwtGi_8KeG7L01DlG5-i5E3WXklYW27sUnCnHhyphenhyphenQR6RJJOp7UdLYQeI4qzpbA4xEyC9PzM/s1600/Sign.jpg" height="400" width="292" /></a></div>
Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-75709290489999137182015-04-23T22:23:00.003-04:002015-04-23T22:23:28.375-04:00Perfect. Part 2: Race Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
To hear about the couple of practically perfect days we made prior to Marathon Monday, check out <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2015/04/perfect-part-i.html">Part 1</a> of this post. Here, we begin with the Big Day.</div>
<br />
After two beautiful Boston days with cool-but-not-cold temps and delicious sunshine, race day dawned blustery and cold, as forecast. Lauren spent a hilarious amount of time deciding between wearing running tights or shorts. She decided on the tights. Definitely the tights. Until she changed her mind and it was obvious that she should wear the shorts. But then again, tights might be better... Spoiler alert: she wore the shorts and it was the right call.<br />
<br />
I had not prepared for the windy, raw weather in my packing so I made an impulse buy at (Won't You Take Me To...) NIKETOWN on Sunday. I was aghast at the $110 price tag for women's tights... and then I went upstairs and found the girls' section. Not quite as high quality, maybe, but I scored a pair of size large capri tights for $30. Coulda been cheaper at Target or Kohls, but I was not in a Kohls-adjacent vicinity. And I will wear them a million times more.<br />
<br />
Lauren snapped a pic of me so my friends and family could try to spot me on the live finish line webcam. You will note the pink, which is in honor of my cousin, Polly and the many other breast cancer patients we have known and loved. You can see the pink boxing glove hanging off my bib number. It's from a "Fight Like a Girl" party that was held for Polly after she told her cancer had returned.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_HLeov4dK6JhPsjtD1-32DeWV3oBmm06X_MTegTO7yjEXb9ug1WS6EyoFlM5SlMvD8r-iS6Fb9s_aKW94EHrFnJZ0BE-FTxSQ-NQo7ZKGHb6R-lP_xICy0QySKKu6Y_VkHXDW8Q4hXsU/s1600/017adce1cecd1f5c53e98f824b1f755edc546316e4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_HLeov4dK6JhPsjtD1-32DeWV3oBmm06X_MTegTO7yjEXb9ug1WS6EyoFlM5SlMvD8r-iS6Fb9s_aKW94EHrFnJZ0BE-FTxSQ-NQo7ZKGHb6R-lP_xICy0QySKKu6Y_VkHXDW8Q4hXsU/s1600/017adce1cecd1f5c53e98f824b1f755edc546316e4.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The shirt is Lauren's and it is Team in Training, a fundraising marathon training group. They do great work.... I felt like a tool on the race course bc many people cheered for me because of the shirt. Gah! I am a fraud!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We had breakfast in the hotel. It was a buffet-breakfast-comes-with-the-room-but-we-are-going-to-bill-you-for-it-and-see-if-you-notice situation. Really delicious stuff, actually, but kind scummy/scammy IMHO.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYXBwWZGMjqsxi3NWxfgfWmPRYHV1CJIumZY52YXTrEIRoSnZ9SlERkJGhCezjnHr6z51yE0NlvK6V_DyfHawNvNoc3AKq8tWkSlFX3S8hZt_iB69hgSp_pfpNiLdBoxbYQX3v8YImOI/s1600/0135e37cf51f0736f4549bfa98ebe8883e0fdcc77a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYXBwWZGMjqsxi3NWxfgfWmPRYHV1CJIumZY52YXTrEIRoSnZ9SlERkJGhCezjnHr6z51yE0NlvK6V_DyfHawNvNoc3AKq8tWkSlFX3S8hZt_iB69hgSp_pfpNiLdBoxbYQX3v8YImOI/s1600/0135e37cf51f0736f4549bfa98ebe8883e0fdcc77a.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final 'click' before we hit the shuttle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHy6yGZPOl8PaHLiGRVzksEOIo84e544ODJRZJAEtY5yjcPlvouN0nOvFWNE1aMImxslrnDMboyeEx2dcyl4VimswYef5XV13KXIhreElfeV1KASJjzW46_FV9mgBCTvksImEhEyqSqSQ/s1600/0138a62b59c1d9e6c236c62d80acef8dc29c8164ac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHy6yGZPOl8PaHLiGRVzksEOIo84e544ODJRZJAEtY5yjcPlvouN0nOvFWNE1aMImxslrnDMboyeEx2dcyl4VimswYef5XV13KXIhreElfeV1KASJjzW46_FV9mgBCTvksImEhEyqSqSQ/s1600/0138a62b59c1d9e6c236c62d80acef8dc29c8164ac.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caught up with the boys & Scott briefly before we headed out. Sweet, sweet boys!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUdkp6iSI-oxLasBJSFGX6nnChXxHJ3u2rHsuHeA_bxLtZu2i9rxvBWWvFN19gmO6-Qjz9IwlioVw14qL6GwrshXEd3FTv7UCE4sH8Qdiold11e0YOBYSj9gl5TNKoLfEIpRVvsnlI8A/s1600/013c0661bbc51bd427fc1e7bee76470fc8667e84ef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUdkp6iSI-oxLasBJSFGX6nnChXxHJ3u2rHsuHeA_bxLtZu2i9rxvBWWvFN19gmO6-Qjz9IwlioVw14qL6GwrshXEd3FTv7UCE4sH8Qdiold11e0YOBYSj9gl5TNKoLfEIpRVvsnlI8A/s1600/013c0661bbc51bd427fc1e7bee76470fc8667e84ef.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Sweet, sweet husband.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With plenty of extra layers for tossing, we headed to the lobby where we had signed up for the shuttle to the starting line. It was well worth the $20 because it meant we didn't need to take the long T ride into Boston, board a school bus, and then take the REALLY long bus ride back out to Hopkinton. Some nice chatter with other runners of various ages, goals and talkativeness. (I was NOT the most yackity on the ride, believe it or not!)<br />
<br />
One wrinkle was that the driver was not able to get us to Athletes' Village. Like, not even CLOSE. Like, over a MILE away. This would have been OK because we had plenty of time, but Lauren and I HAD. TO. PEE! We seriously thought about making pals with a friendly neighborhood tree or shrub, when we came upon this beauty:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gImkoZl-bP-fnckDtc-4j0AcQDT8-AOPHM2SwJ8wY59si7rPiehrHAo-iMzXYa8giUs-U3KCzIIa0sJp_gjTRKPvZ4ydrMoaKlIUa9sxJ-NY5P-vkF5dBZnee_a4onzwwBD7kJKgdDU/s1600/01c9c97c227bf71d5fbe15f4f38be214a2e93ab543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gImkoZl-bP-fnckDtc-4j0AcQDT8-AOPHM2SwJ8wY59si7rPiehrHAo-iMzXYa8giUs-U3KCzIIa0sJp_gjTRKPvZ4ydrMoaKlIUa9sxJ-NY5P-vkF5dBZnee_a4onzwwBD7kJKgdDU/s1600/01c9c97c227bf71d5fbe15f4f38be214a2e93ab543.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was kind of like a locally owned Whole Foods. Totally clean. Totally empty of customers. Totally no questions asked . It was PERFECT and made the rest of the long walk much more bearable. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Empty of bladder, we made the rest of the walk to Athletes' Village quite happily. We went through security, paused for pics, and headed straight for... the portapotty line. Where we waited in line for slightly longer than forever and Lauren said something like, "I just hope it doesn't start raining until we get to the starting line." (FORESHADOWING!) We pee'd and then... got RIGHT back into the portapotty line. Yes, that seems like a lot of peeing but believe it or not, by the time we got to the front, we had to go AGAIN. It 's a very special super power. Don't question it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RhJbmNZh6Zg9bKm69z0X98oJDMnnTNQ2lMv52P3kmICLeT6LXnJK281c_oSzhDHvKLr7awsUJRiSf0bRqPa-SB7ZVbEAeXBtqL9NRhai53HHJFDvc8vYt6TfKwyQY33_1mW0zM9lBLw/s1600/0153a93a505758bf443de3bc1c2749b09093f6c731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RhJbmNZh6Zg9bKm69z0X98oJDMnnTNQ2lMv52P3kmICLeT6LXnJK281c_oSzhDHvKLr7awsUJRiSf0bRqPa-SB7ZVbEAeXBtqL9NRhai53HHJFDvc8vYt6TfKwyQY33_1mW0zM9lBLw/s1600/0153a93a505758bf443de3bc1c2749b09093f6c731.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Set Your Dorkness to 11.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7dJwlzw1-TeZfa7Ddty3Xr1vTAeRAuh3kcjFPz1LuiY1L_e9ebQ5d6BhENhUsmWwt1cB0YpGlSpomxIJQiUmvFfnUEsu3sMUaegpfTTJg22PIXCbjnaXC1quxFYzOQA7ZI9KxGP4ekg/s1600/0157b4175af862b640e0d2169b8551590e2b5cd88a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7dJwlzw1-TeZfa7Ddty3Xr1vTAeRAuh3kcjFPz1LuiY1L_e9ebQ5d6BhENhUsmWwt1cB0YpGlSpomxIJQiUmvFfnUEsu3sMUaegpfTTJg22PIXCbjnaXC1quxFYzOQA7ZI9KxGP4ekg/s1600/0157b4175af862b640e0d2169b8551590e2b5cd88a.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Final Prerace Selfie. Who's worried?</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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When our Wave (3) was called to the starting line, I was startled and delighted by how many folks from the neighborhood were out and cheering for us... and we were JUST walking to the start. The volunteers were just as positive, offering to take any clothes were ready to ditch (they collect them for donation). Before we knew it, it was raining (See: FORESHADOWING) and Lauren and I were both cursing her previous comment. <div>
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And then, we started. </div>
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Much has been said about the Boston Marathon course. Mostly, as far as runners are concerned, are Heartbreak Hill and "It starts off with a lot of downhills so you have to hold yourself back a little.</div>
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I'll get to the former thought later, but about the latter, I gotta say - never, ever, did I feel like I was holding myself back. I had a nice taper of 3 or so weeks so I should have felt like my horses were jumping to get out of the gates. I didn't. I didn't exactly feel like I was pushing it, but I also did not feel like I wanted to go faster.</div>
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Truth be told, I think I had two opposite things happening as the gun went off. I was the most psychologically and emotionally ready for the this marathon than any other I had done. IT was the Big Thing. IT was the dessert I got to enjoy after working so hard to qualify (again)... to recover from <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2014/02/pay-it-40-ward-fall.html">The Fall</a>... to survive the Bastard Known As Winter 2014-15. I just wanted to get on the course with the other athlete's and live the race at long last.</div>
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But, I was also the least physically fit I had ever been before a marathon. I knew I could get through the course, that was not a concern, but I also knew this was not going to be a speedy effort. All of the issues from the above paragraph pretty straight-forwardly explain why I maybe wasn't my tip-top best. I am not sad or annoyed with myself about this. I don't think I had a lot of better options for getting myself in PR shape. I'm just, ya know, sayin'....</div>
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Anyway, the race goes off and sometime in the first mile Lauren and I dare to maneuver ourselves out of our extra clothes and get them over to the side for charity collection. I immediately realize I have to pee. Great. A few miles tick by. I am noticing plenty of the downhills people talk about, but I'm also noticing that there's no lack of uphills either. Huh. Also I am noticing that it never completely stops raining and neither does the wind ever really stop blowing.</div>
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I pretty much did exactly what I had set out to do: soak it in. The first mile of the marathon alone had more spectators and energy than any other race I have ever done. Like, all 26.2 miles of any other race. It was a feeling of triumph and joy</div>
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The mass of heads going East in down the road is just breathtaking. I've seen pictures of it but there's nothing like seeing it in real life. I know it wasn't a million people, but honestly, if you had asked me and I had know idea that there were "only" 7,000 or so people in that wave, I would have guessed the number to be in the hundreds of thousands. Like Barbie said, "Math is hard."</div>
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Lots of the early part of the course goes through towns where people are already up and partying. Biker bars, front lawns, churches... it's amazing. There are plenty of less populated areas, too, which make a girl strongly consider finding a shrub to squat behind. </div>
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I asked Lauren a couple of times what our pace was and she said we were at 8:45 or 9:00 or whatever. I still really had to pee. I was still loving all the humanity around me (guy dressed as Olaf; guy who was running the course for the 26th time, and oh, this was his second time THAT day because he started at 4AM at the finish line, turned around and was not heading back; mobility impaired runners with their guides....), the chatter from runners and spectators (including Santa Claus and a very inebriated dude carrying a beer down the street and trying to give a pep talk to a runner who was clearly having a very had day out there), the little kids looking for high fives and giving their count as they competed with their friends to score them. But, I still really really had to pee!</div>
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Finally... finally!... around mile 9 or so there were a row of port-o-potties that didn't seem to be all occupied. By then Lauren said she would like to go too, so we scooted off the road and there, like an Angel from Heaven, was a volunteer pointing out to runners which johns were unoccupied. (Whoever she is, she might be my favorite person on earth. She definitely was at that moment!)</div>
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Our strategy to take in energy gels every 5 miles went well. I discovered along the way that I could not deal with whatever flavor of Gatorade they were serving (Buuurp with a little barf. Nice!) so I stuck with water after that. Nothing hurt too much. The Wellesley 'scream' was fantastic and I blew kisses to lots of young ladies whose mothers would not at all like the suggestive signs they were holding up. Tsk tsk. (Titter, titter). But this whole time I was only thinking of mile 17, cuz that's where where my family would be. And there they were!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MKi__1RAezVNQD7-1y1ICikcRb1Q1HG9ghvilWOeITzMe5K9-u6c4NZqNlbEoy7ffqeujm-y6ozcv5i1RD2zYAVYI5Wen8SPLfgb__6KqMS24S3hF-A4cNJD7jLaOXRCUHd9VPw0IpQ/s1600/Scott+and+Gabe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MKi__1RAezVNQD7-1y1ICikcRb1Q1HG9ghvilWOeITzMe5K9-u6c4NZqNlbEoy7ffqeujm-y6ozcv5i1RD2zYAVYI5Wen8SPLfgb__6KqMS24S3hF-A4cNJD7jLaOXRCUHd9VPw0IpQ/s1600/Scott+and+Gabe.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor Gabe. It was so wet and so cold. He was a trooper. His dad was a straight up Miracle Worker. (Mom took these pics, not me... in case you were confused...)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqDUamPhQdmBslzY9gANYCop3Yiz-eH11fCaIy5qFvlVB9qviFeCbAlRJ6CGuA5__q0GYaucIf76-r1EhSOF5LPsCI3u6VcwSEMgmyWeFLnPIe6jpPaa-EJhn27Lbpc7Uqn0IlylX3VI/s1600/Tom+and+El.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqDUamPhQdmBslzY9gANYCop3Yiz-eH11fCaIy5qFvlVB9qviFeCbAlRJ6CGuA5__q0GYaucIf76-r1EhSOF5LPsCI3u6VcwSEMgmyWeFLnPIe6jpPaa-EJhn27Lbpc7Uqn0IlylX3VI/s1600/Tom+and+El.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I asked for a banana. They came bearing bananas. Four of them, actually!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKAQElzXaafDrV9HvjHmoxEFp3Q626t20sl4V_Mh81DkeTYQXGbeVUqyatzmzcHd0AKu6qYpDQZ4xUAu7e8sNrEMN-bYMUpV8NO1f1twB4VluTtTHIExlouezLpTL3qNp_TxP-VXNfhc/s1600/Mile+17+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKAQElzXaafDrV9HvjHmoxEFp3Q626t20sl4V_Mh81DkeTYQXGbeVUqyatzmzcHd0AKu6qYpDQZ4xUAu7e8sNrEMN-bYMUpV8NO1f1twB4VluTtTHIExlouezLpTL3qNp_TxP-VXNfhc/s1600/Mile+17+1.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad were down the road a bit from Scott and the boys so I am searching for them here, while trying to eat a banana.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRO_ow9oeZLDNAJpfbXBauHg0mqkmcy8x7cmAfZlcYNtZXRS0ILmHDqptxmDLX5CIox1ojbNDrV-hoQAS2UMDg6Z2fCgyWW8gIhPEDWXEz54b-qQRqrpUk4LFU3BtbGhyFOKlOg_m3Xo/s1600/Mile+17+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRO_ow9oeZLDNAJpfbXBauHg0mqkmcy8x7cmAfZlcYNtZXRS0ILmHDqptxmDLX5CIox1ojbNDrV-hoQAS2UMDg6Z2fCgyWW8gIhPEDWXEz54b-qQRqrpUk4LFU3BtbGhyFOKlOg_m3Xo/s1600/Mile+17+2.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a barrier but I wanted at least grab my parents hands to connect with them. mission accomplished! </td></tr>
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That encounter gave me a great boost, but things don't get much easier in a marathon after mile 17. They get harder. And of course, this is where the Real Hills began. Thankfully, this is also where living in a very hilly region of our fine nation really pays off. There's no such thing as a training run around here that is not also a hill run. The Newton Hills were no joke, but Lauren and I pounded up each one, focused and passing folks all over the place. And remember, we were passing people who started the race around the same time we did, which means they had a qualifying time about the same or better than ours. POW! It was super hard but super motivating to never, ever stop.<br />
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Among the hills I was also looking forward to mile 20 where I knew another friend would be. Ellie is a lifelong family friend (formerly my babysitter, poor dear). She has been a Boston Regular for (sommmme??) years in order to support a friends who raises money (I THINK for Mass General, but I'm not sure...) through the race. She always cheers at mile 20. She is a music therapist with a theater streak a mile long so I heard her LOUD AND CLEAR when I came upon her. I even managed to scoot over to her and say "THIS IS OUR MOMENT!" because I promised her I wasn't gunning for a great time and I would try to get in a squeeze. Yay!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sk8ksFoU1_VpVf84fhsFsdj1ZmsnsWNimREaQKoPRsR9AhyphenhyphenKNVFR3miXUk05Rkgo5e2W8quCpsyeJwjVv_vY4yVdEGs3x9slq1TtTSMzokijdb5h1MNzcJ1uaD66NScyduB3DPM3ErE/s1600/Ellie's.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sk8ksFoU1_VpVf84fhsFsdj1ZmsnsWNimREaQKoPRsR9AhyphenhyphenKNVFR3miXUk05Rkgo5e2W8quCpsyeJwjVv_vY4yVdEGs3x9slq1TtTSMzokijdb5h1MNzcJ1uaD66NScyduB3DPM3ErE/s1600/Ellie's.jpg" height="181" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I see Ellie!"</td></tr>
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And then, guess what? The hills continued! And we continued to rock up them pretty well. Our running joke through the course was about how many miles we had left to run. At mile 13, for example, "Hey, Phoebe, you wanna do a half marathon today?" "Sure, just let me do a .1 mile warm up and we'll start." We cracked ourselves up with this many many times. When we hit mile 23, however, neither of us joked about having a 5K left. Neither of us found it amusing. We both HATE 5Ks because they are just hard hard hard all the way from start to finish. Nope. No 5K joke. We were not in a good place. I was, frankly, thinking, "Screw it. There's no reason to run faster. I'm gonna finish when I finish." But I also kept thinking of the kids at school waiting to watch me on the webcam. If I didn't cross before 3:15 or so they would not see me. I would be a tool!<br />
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But then, we hit Boston. And the crowds were getting more and more excited. And someone in the crowd said something I really needed hear: "YOU DIDN'T TRAIN YOUR ASS OFF THROUGH THIS CRAP WINTER JUST TO GIVE UP NOW!"<br />
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That did it. I focused and brought everything I had to the finish. Well, some of my energy went to the spectators, who I grinned at and fist pumped to get them cheering for me. We continued to pass lots of people at this point. We got to the mile to go mark and I felt like a rock star. (Okay, a tired, sweaty, stinky rock star. But a rock star none the less.) We got to Hereford, took that famous right turn and I started to get emotional. I am not really a crier, but I was just overwhelmed. We took the left on Boyleston and the finish line was in sight. WHAT??!?!? At that moment, Lauren heard her name called in the crowd. It was her husband and kids!! She did not know they would be there. A beautiful surprise... and she almost turned back to talk to them - but we went on.<br />
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We were then just 30 or so yards from the finish line, realizing we made it in under 4 hours, when the announcer asked for... a moment of silence in honor of the victims from 2013.<br />
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Okay. I'll admit, my first thought was, WAIT! I want to whoop and be excited. This is not what I wanted at ALL!<br />
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Then I remembered when 2013 happened I said to anyone who would listen that the time the bombs went off would have been almost certainly the time I would have been crossing the finish line. I was right. They had the moment of silence at the exact times the bombs went off. I was crossing the finish line. Whoa. Goosebumps.<br />
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My confused/deflated feeling quickly subsided because literally when we were 1 step away from the line the announcer said, "And now let's hear a mighty roar" (or something like that, because what I heard was "Let's hear it for Phoebe & Lauren rocking this freakin' marathon and passing like a jillion people in the last 6 miles!!!!"<br />
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Yeah, pretty sure he said that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3:57:20. Finish line photo. Jay Leno, you can have your chin back now....</td></tr>
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I promised you a two-parter. And here I am way past my bedtime and I'm just getting to the end of the race. There's SO MUCH MORE to tell. So, Much. MORE!</div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-27357625523509124482015-04-22T21:25:00.000-04:002015-04-22T21:25:06.216-04:00Perfect, Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Outside of, say, Nadia Comaneci (millennial kids: look it up) I know that there's no such thing as perfect.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBV23iNOFEjGQxzwIVi1YUiMZ6XwtQKkC0GasjULGtPllmuUnuz17cUJBFSYDd-SaXjy-MpTOsGH7jU7Gl2hgu8g5C19C_3iJ5ZuiuKAkUK4iHM9_Y_hLTk3Rb1PvBTPg_A8jS5hqzvao/s1600/Nadia-Comaneci.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBV23iNOFEjGQxzwIVi1YUiMZ6XwtQKkC0GasjULGtPllmuUnuz17cUJBFSYDd-SaXjy-MpTOsGH7jU7Gl2hgu8g5C19C_3iJ5ZuiuKAkUK4iHM9_Y_hLTk3Rb1PvBTPg_A8jS5hqzvao/s1600/Nadia-Comaneci.gif" height="256" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Next to "perfect" in the dictionary you may find her pic or pics of my Boston Marathon weekend.</td></tr>
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Everyone... everything... every moment has flaws.But last Saturday - Monday were possibly the most perfect series of events I could ever have dreamed up. It's hard now to recall what I expected ahead of time. As with any highly anticipated event that I try to imagine a million times ahead of the Big Thing, I can never remember afterward what I thought it was going to be like. If I were to do the weekend justice, it would take 30 blog entries. I'm going to try to hit the highlights thru pictures.</div>
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Night before:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8CGGvcI_WbU8KGoeOdwOKLirv4RjPB0hdNFOjob_2jRXI0Eu9rM8rS4CovZ0UhlZa0Feo7aP_8YcwpYnSM-0wCUVGec2dp-wIHWP4Jh0R4a73683n4ErkDk1LAqGXRmILeXw7TTzeDE/s1600/019ef916be5ce83a90570a1310f8cc9ae0b2fce091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8CGGvcI_WbU8KGoeOdwOKLirv4RjPB0hdNFOjob_2jRXI0Eu9rM8rS4CovZ0UhlZa0Feo7aP_8YcwpYnSM-0wCUVGec2dp-wIHWP4Jh0R4a73683n4ErkDk1LAqGXRmILeXw7TTzeDE/s1600/019ef916be5ce83a90570a1310f8cc9ae0b2fce091.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signs created by a wonderful school family and signed by most of the kids and staff. Glad I left them home because they would have been wrecked in the rain. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9El4_9zh5Vo2PaxKTB4aIlG8Z7mEKd3jHOpYJrnVGA44dM-DfQ8xg6yBfJfR_phyZWfnw9I-59VpSRdDys4kTKmvqFMLLNtlByuzysxo8cRI5s-dDv85SE8CwWMUlV5aq9cGoxY7NiU/s1600/0127c32806c4475d9a0ff8e7cfe188e75b25b6db5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9El4_9zh5Vo2PaxKTB4aIlG8Z7mEKd3jHOpYJrnVGA44dM-DfQ8xg6yBfJfR_phyZWfnw9I-59VpSRdDys4kTKmvqFMLLNtlByuzysxo8cRI5s-dDv85SE8CwWMUlV5aq9cGoxY7NiU/s1600/0127c32806c4475d9a0ff8e7cfe188e75b25b6db5a.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pals who came to T's bday party Friday night. They had a blast and WERE a blast.</td></tr>
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Trip down: Easy traffic. Quick lunch at Panera. Three (yes THREE) pee stops. (I take hydration seriously.)<span id="goog_1354163214"></span><span id="goog_1354163215"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy guys. Shining sun. (Tom was not actually sleeping...)</td></tr>
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Hotel entry: Room was ready. Pool was warm. Boys were happy. Parents were happy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLe_XGgQufrPZAYicZ8LxpoV-yj8T141TX2t8pMx7EmuwHm8mx09CG9YUwCBocwW3LxxMwehEtXmuitYjacH6MJAtoZIpbzjHiYD51thRe7RN_hgW2CJO90VKM9oENKlkC4yd1EEyN-Y/s1600/01e8567575502759cc0c2c93793e8a6f70c63f272f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLe_XGgQufrPZAYicZ8LxpoV-yj8T141TX2t8pMx7EmuwHm8mx09CG9YUwCBocwW3LxxMwehEtXmuitYjacH6MJAtoZIpbzjHiYD51thRe7RN_hgW2CJO90VKM9oENKlkC4yd1EEyN-Y/s1600/01e8567575502759cc0c2c93793e8a6f70c63f272f.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1o3GrMvWKtSlqqMH0j-HXUHTB6gGSX7YZPTkRBvFA2iLpg_nr1iIJbjKUdOwNQ2BQVNL_tWBzB8TC7kvEFm1LhSGC8Mm1mIvTT7zIVet4m5Woh_HEi-wDhc-dvV2k9Yo5M14XH2HOwI/s1600/01efeafc19577263955e1ec59e54a0a1b442a24c2b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1o3GrMvWKtSlqqMH0j-HXUHTB6gGSX7YZPTkRBvFA2iLpg_nr1iIJbjKUdOwNQ2BQVNL_tWBzB8TC7kvEFm1LhSGC8Mm1mIvTT7zIVet4m5Woh_HEi-wDhc-dvV2k9Yo5M14XH2HOwI/s1600/01efeafc19577263955e1ec59e54a0a1b442a24c2b.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4UWHFpv8Np-1_aXIMPLLwIoVPI2dFZ27vUADvrn-TxRgiJynhb86HCm6x5VsYcRcpIFw-ULvwoP3AdMYCai_ja5io9vXzDOc73XhXpjbF2Z1GgJNuIZu9jW5AmSXURHpHvg0nRqQYUU/s1600/014860d292ee00d1cb94f6f50c0c1a2e7cd2b515b0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4UWHFpv8Np-1_aXIMPLLwIoVPI2dFZ27vUADvrn-TxRgiJynhb86HCm6x5VsYcRcpIFw-ULvwoP3AdMYCai_ja5io9vXzDOc73XhXpjbF2Z1GgJNuIZu9jW5AmSXURHpHvg0nRqQYUU/s1600/014860d292ee00d1cb94f6f50c0c1a2e7cd2b515b0.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Afternoon in Boston: Drove to T station. ALMOST didn't (but did) get a parking spot due to Red Sox game. Easy train ride in. Met up with Lauren and her family outside the Expo. Got my bib (poor Lauren left her ID in the car so didn't get hers till the next day). </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhmqBwUZL3vPCpJzUcitblvFGjNPVZnGYF7xuOZ40qcIftbjoJld1ONNm47xGusdVQ7DEPVhZXpyKqhhieaSuAuM-5KOB1uTma-8e1Ck3_KMp-g53O11eTEmAe7jolMMQR3Po-Vpzy1U/s1600/013b62283a9b6de15113e8e88f9ba7ec846e3dfb6b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhmqBwUZL3vPCpJzUcitblvFGjNPVZnGYF7xuOZ40qcIftbjoJld1ONNm47xGusdVQ7DEPVhZXpyKqhhieaSuAuM-5KOB1uTma-8e1Ck3_KMp-g53O11eTEmAe7jolMMQR3Po-Vpzy1U/s1600/013b62283a9b6de15113e8e88f9ba7ec846e3dfb6b.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T selfie.... and it was T's 11th birthday!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZF9rnnuNPklYrXTOP25HWUMILZeNMIFKu3l-T59JbR0q1LEkuYV6ELD48cLaDFYSPDAYYquewmflXe8m_Hcb-RhypMGpw54Z1sfcKjewXEeoV1nqKuNOrdje5zumZD8d07AafXIWj_gE/s1600/019d2e2d74eb89d00a284b82983b4e24ef5fb878db.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZF9rnnuNPklYrXTOP25HWUMILZeNMIFKu3l-T59JbR0q1LEkuYV6ELD48cLaDFYSPDAYYquewmflXe8m_Hcb-RhypMGpw54Z1sfcKjewXEeoV1nqKuNOrdje5zumZD8d07AafXIWj_gE/s1600/019d2e2d74eb89d00a284b82983b4e24ef5fb878db.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my theater pals joked that I should have hoped for the # 24601. Les Miz fans get it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjcbk5Jaxd1PxOg-kZpV4ehFwpj-4C8JlSyqnp60HxQd9DB2zU8KDARYSMllgApt_9b_55HWBaRMssOQ8wlzANiE4JqhXukY_I1HRQaW5jqenY4hEQune_-ApqPK_G44kuhFWpYG-lm0/s1600/01dcd4781e70ff25b4efae333053fc41c396022764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjcbk5Jaxd1PxOg-kZpV4ehFwpj-4C8JlSyqnp60HxQd9DB2zU8KDARYSMllgApt_9b_55HWBaRMssOQ8wlzANiE4JqhXukY_I1HRQaW5jqenY4hEQune_-ApqPK_G44kuhFWpYG-lm0/s1600/01dcd4781e70ff25b4efae333053fc41c396022764.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lauren's kiddo, Ty. (Twin sister Ali and Dad were off to the car on a wallet hunt...)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qJcrzIOEKIQCYiJNRtbvcUyarssyq58qN-Ktj_d39PW0iufxPurUbd8agYEN26BsF_lWtxH0qEIUbExs-FRdkPMED8Y5kpT-YqMYs7IILSvp7X2Ovul6vIXxS03SU33uCSvQnuzhASk/s1600/015cd94656f93730de68b3f0e20b9672eaaaafc974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5qJcrzIOEKIQCYiJNRtbvcUyarssyq58qN-Ktj_d39PW0iufxPurUbd8agYEN26BsF_lWtxH0qEIUbExs-FRdkPMED8Y5kpT-YqMYs7IILSvp7X2Ovul6vIXxS03SU33uCSvQnuzhASk/s1600/015cd94656f93730de68b3f0e20b9672eaaaafc974.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HA. It really said "Your Best Run Ever" but we are standing under "NEVER". </td></tr>
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We left the craziness of the Expo with all of our money still in our pockets (OH, the money you could spend!) and full of sample sized energy drinks and bars in our bellies. The TOP moment that afternoon came outside Expo. I saw Kathrine Switzer. THEEEEEE <a href="http://kathrineswitzer.com/261-fearless/">Kathrine First-Female-to-Register-and-Run-Boston-Marathon Switzer</a>! She had clearly just finished giving a talk or something and was heading out. I was completely dumbfounded and giddy and literally speechless. I stupidly babbled and said nothing to her. It was just an amazing random moment that plopped us on the sidewalk by her. Talk with her or not, I was very very happy to have been in her presence. </div>
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Next we headed to the finish line for lots of great photo opps:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdSYBHlwu0RuRJnjMiSEe5kWV69Pye6eIZygXE6mAuFXQu91AT8nZnFTyPb0f44Hud1i8kY4vzIhtPMbUvV_NgJQuK1S_zgLOqlrlZSn6Kt2D5Ffb2o5mx4eZY0dM6CbmVexF49ucDGQ/s1600/016a4a9804b08b31d943d22c5ceb57b1b9825f8208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdSYBHlwu0RuRJnjMiSEe5kWV69Pye6eIZygXE6mAuFXQu91AT8nZnFTyPb0f44Hud1i8kY4vzIhtPMbUvV_NgJQuK1S_zgLOqlrlZSn6Kt2D5Ffb2o5mx4eZY0dM6CbmVexF49ucDGQ/s1600/016a4a9804b08b31d943d22c5ceb57b1b9825f8208.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best photo of my LIFE?!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB2PbjQ8ktJLqo7k-zV1MGXAfp9tCN-jfVHX4re9RVfmR0ho4t_qwb3rqte6muaHeT4r_fx2x49sRXHKoPYo8jzge_govdenzFWTV1oDAUH9h1O8KgNC6eCAIAXYc4chZNBVszlaKgJnQ/s1600/010b02e51623373bc3a2d8ea8bb9966302afc08ae2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB2PbjQ8ktJLqo7k-zV1MGXAfp9tCN-jfVHX4re9RVfmR0ho4t_qwb3rqte6muaHeT4r_fx2x49sRXHKoPYo8jzge_govdenzFWTV1oDAUH9h1O8KgNC6eCAIAXYc4chZNBVszlaKgJnQ/s1600/010b02e51623373bc3a2d8ea8bb9966302afc08ae2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish line love</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrHss2MrdZLiibOhVOYmqnMc0Mp-nRW-j-uyD5hXOHigT3XEWu09jZca2QV4jOvmkvUDOGgMMY53fKXrPa66m423mQFeeQN5cG4fJjZfWOeRAA1uXlj6x-vB8ZXOj-eg8EgOvBrjAPdk/s1600/011a18c65bce2f13d492e6163a42706a8377e2ead5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrHss2MrdZLiibOhVOYmqnMc0Mp-nRW-j-uyD5hXOHigT3XEWu09jZca2QV4jOvmkvUDOGgMMY53fKXrPa66m423mQFeeQN5cG4fJjZfWOeRAA1uXlj6x-vB8ZXOj-eg8EgOvBrjAPdk/s1600/011a18c65bce2f13d492e6163a42706a8377e2ead5.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a few folks on the course....</td></tr>
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<br /><br />We were starving at this point in the day and the train back out to our hotel was going to be at least 35 or 45 minutes. So we decided to hit a California Pizza Kitchen. STILL a long wait, so the boys enjoyed some of the energy chews that came in my swag bag. Note the very full mouths below.<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2tjRH7mJshwvIXnxgIYpbLjrrXTMtju3-Qo6SLK7MjVqX8QlJdrHzArXfI0oHSTg2ZhTC3gW4J_6J_DheBeCQVR66BdkoFzzlDxDRY_2Z3On-krIjncslt2ZMgKWv8BU-Y3OD6xVMI4/s1600/018545070ea169122e08b4b767641b35a915b4d22f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2tjRH7mJshwvIXnxgIYpbLjrrXTMtju3-Qo6SLK7MjVqX8QlJdrHzArXfI0oHSTg2ZhTC3gW4J_6J_DheBeCQVR66BdkoFzzlDxDRY_2Z3On-krIjncslt2ZMgKWv8BU-Y3OD6xVMI4/s1600/018545070ea169122e08b4b767641b35a915b4d22f.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZN7fpHCCw9vQvr4CnltX0bicU0loMZDamdti_yUJPdWiNuzPxQBq-T8aP9dFgJvp7k8vWIpouqZ9UHQomL193Up-wFblGVMJ_WAolvsMw_uDlKFQIv4t2omG63UcXL3AdT2Up0thWL2w/s1600/019d48b14bc4f163c11755ae01c251a95300eba8ab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZN7fpHCCw9vQvr4CnltX0bicU0loMZDamdti_yUJPdWiNuzPxQBq-T8aP9dFgJvp7k8vWIpouqZ9UHQomL193Up-wFblGVMJ_WAolvsMw_uDlKFQIv4t2omG63UcXL3AdT2Up0thWL2w/s1600/019d48b14bc4f163c11755ae01c251a95300eba8ab.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Great crowds of runners at the restaurant as well as a table of wheel chair racers. That was pretty cool.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbO3yWVeeRBOjyRxOctGeE9iOJSjad-TNrTz-siXD3L_WFAGcxvvd6UxA9JZhPuXtEe456tyzU-YngEXcsEcnWdGCVYmXspXo2Xd6x0Qs9MI8O5SDlSTLYGUBt0B-z95DYTpYflgG7SrM/s1600/01dd3ca1cd20c393c8222e12f13bb2ee383774aa37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbO3yWVeeRBOjyRxOctGeE9iOJSjad-TNrTz-siXD3L_WFAGcxvvd6UxA9JZhPuXtEe456tyzU-YngEXcsEcnWdGCVYmXspXo2Xd6x0Qs9MI8O5SDlSTLYGUBt0B-z95DYTpYflgG7SrM/s1600/01dd3ca1cd20c393c8222e12f13bb2ee383774aa37.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone was tired but still speaking to each other on the way back to the hotel.</td></tr>
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Sunday we went back into Boston for straight-up touristing at <a href="http://www.cityofboston.gov/freedomtrail/faneuilhall.asp">Faneuil Hall</a>, <a href="http://www.cityofboston.gov/parks/emerald/Public_Garden.asp">Public Gardens</a>, <a href="http://www.cityofboston.gov/freedomtrail/bostoncommon.asp">Boston Common</a>. We had a couple of exciting Gabe's-gotta-pee-RIGHT-NOW moments and one classic 3-year-old-meltdown, but otherwise it was another great outing. As you can see from the photos the weather was perfection.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRpvXLujFP12wp4BYPiKn-TxpYjS34XMa1Oo2iR0zD1ZSXqGgkGudwM4GbWeoVFi0R0jTQ1KZK_Sv1HTJyeBG-DxoBddg2ldJdqyJ4Va6NzbIsrTgrQbZe6PFJCDniEZjcu77ggxbHGc/s1600/01f8e6b464620ab4fde110fb92882be68b13766189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRpvXLujFP12wp4BYPiKn-TxpYjS34XMa1Oo2iR0zD1ZSXqGgkGudwM4GbWeoVFi0R0jTQ1KZK_Sv1HTJyeBG-DxoBddg2ldJdqyJ4Va6NzbIsrTgrQbZe6PFJCDniEZjcu77ggxbHGc/s1600/01f8e6b464620ab4fde110fb92882be68b13766189.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We called this the Friends' fountain. (It's not.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeSWor_DndWOdOyGKeQuzzPLBEklvCVOama2raPFu88ntjrkaJW525zQOY1fmjuirCEHTS2YZ9PbZbUWj0ky_rBMw-n805ImBkq-EvfY0DtHsZldbckPlogkae54nus8emFwyBOnfrlA/s1600/013f4ba5ea8092e70fc63f080f3bed27718e1ccccc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeSWor_DndWOdOyGKeQuzzPLBEklvCVOama2raPFu88ntjrkaJW525zQOY1fmjuirCEHTS2YZ9PbZbUWj0ky_rBMw-n805ImBkq-EvfY0DtHsZldbckPlogkae54nus8emFwyBOnfrlA/s1600/013f4ba5ea8092e70fc63f080f3bed27718e1ccccc.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Auerbach">Red Auerbach's</a> cigar.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwXWpUf31YqR7BfCsNeSxmgT890vBj-vSqCniAVKzboKQ7hPGih_zKvvc__H-v2cHvXBVeJgSoL51swutZCSu7B0uMLY9UEiIO42TjC4mtaWlBFLoODYTPvsVJprxctG-SOKVN2vNKZE/s1600/014bc25070c0ba264311d94a081e78178ab53ce9e9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwXWpUf31YqR7BfCsNeSxmgT890vBj-vSqCniAVKzboKQ7hPGih_zKvvc__H-v2cHvXBVeJgSoL51swutZCSu7B0uMLY9UEiIO42TjC4mtaWlBFLoODYTPvsVJprxctG-SOKVN2vNKZE/s1600/014bc25070c0ba264311d94a081e78178ab53ce9e9.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Rodgers_%28runner%29">Bill Rodgers' </a>shoes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbuDaKBnBq3P2nnWZ6l8o8lA-JKUyYuJwIx4Zr7XAj0HjUK76vXN2kek_-Tok9Fcpr5Wsec1tt1MT2Rdn-pXNXSL7KAgeid4vVNVqactRgpLFlDVGPuUt-PA63GGYdsLpzJ4qIcmkEnk/s1600/014decfa95eed850f5c9e5dc590b9831a1920fabb0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbuDaKBnBq3P2nnWZ6l8o8lA-JKUyYuJwIx4Zr7XAj0HjUK76vXN2kek_-Tok9Fcpr5Wsec1tt1MT2Rdn-pXNXSL7KAgeid4vVNVqactRgpLFlDVGPuUt-PA63GGYdsLpzJ4qIcmkEnk/s1600/014decfa95eed850f5c9e5dc590b9831a1920fabb0.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quincy_Market">Quincy Market</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQM2nhHBHxHuaGjC8vJC__-CnLbTGN5sM5NPkHSBK8ZPCZassV7mBW4Y-rCwjlaspCh_umP0Qdnuz8EIAIFIKl57AMvlv93kKiGROcjV-wr9PG1d5-4z4kXPClkd2kJx-m4G3MVa7NFSM/s1600/01d3f90471fc9f2d8a0ac19e4dbe19b25c68360681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQM2nhHBHxHuaGjC8vJC__-CnLbTGN5sM5NPkHSBK8ZPCZassV7mBW4Y-rCwjlaspCh_umP0Qdnuz8EIAIFIKl57AMvlv93kKiGROcjV-wr9PG1d5-4z4kXPClkd2kJx-m4G3MVa7NFSM/s1600/01d3f90471fc9f2d8a0ac19e4dbe19b25c68360681.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Return train ride was quiet and restful.</td></tr>
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When we got back to the hotel, my parents had arrived and were eating (a very late) lunch. We caught up for a while, rested, and headed (with Lauren) out for the carb-load/Tom's 11th birthday dinner at Bertucci's in Wellesley. Dinner took a little longer than it should have but the boys were fantastically patient and everything was just right. When we went back to the hotel, I abandoned Scott with the 3 boys and I went to Lauren's room where I had the luxury of a bed to myself and no kicking 3 year olds. We obsessed over what to wear for the race and I laid out the most important elements.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW804xMzcFfZQ8OlEo-mLVn7T_l-Tg1pnVHS2XmGE91vR6_Ad_ab-veO5N0IeFPfao9JIDiM_oI0-xXHvyJHmaixxHzUOSBld-VmfJRCAdeQwSMw0jTTcqhIlqDIkdfqN_3dlVUpK7LnM/s1600/017af113259e1271f2b7f96d3be3279aa7ee8c6f72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW804xMzcFfZQ8OlEo-mLVn7T_l-Tg1pnVHS2XmGE91vR6_Ad_ab-veO5N0IeFPfao9JIDiM_oI0-xXHvyJHmaixxHzUOSBld-VmfJRCAdeQwSMw0jTTcqhIlqDIkdfqN_3dlVUpK7LnM/s1600/017af113259e1271f2b7f96d3be3279aa7ee8c6f72.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Part II will have to wait until tomorrow. Stay tuned, cuz that's RACE DAY and the aftermath! </div>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-467393794348556402015-04-18T07:20:00.002-04:002015-04-22T18:51:11.160-04:0026.2 People to Thank(WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT PROOFREAD. I AM SUPER DUPER BEHIND IN GETTING READY FOR OUR BOSTON TRIP AND I GOTTA GOOOOOO! IF YOU SEE YOUR NAME HERE: THANK YOU! IF YOU DON'T SEE YOUR NAME HERE: THANK YOU! I AM FEELING THE LOVE FROM SO SO SO MANY! See, Megan R. I just realized I left you out and now it's too late... Sorry already!)<br />
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Too little. Too late. But here's a long overdue acknowledgement of some of the people who have gotten me Monday's starting line.<br />
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26. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Title_IX">Senator Birch Bayh</a>. And all the other voices behind Title IX, which was passed two years before I was born.<br />
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25. The coaches of Owego Scamps Gymnastics. Holly, Terry, Annie, Todd, Rich, Dave.... I know I am forgetting a bunch. But at the age of 5, I started gymnastics and therefore easily claimed the title of Athlete without any reservation. (Took me years to understand that claiming that title was difficult for some women. Huh). I also learned early how to push myself and to be tougher than I want to be. Well, a little. I'm no Nadia....<br />
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24. Cyndy Hynes, Tony Bonilla, Kay Kushner. These were my volleyball coaches. I started playing in 7th grade and kept it up through my Freshman year in college. I was not particularly talented but found some success because of these coaches... and I happened to have fantastic teammates.<br />
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23. Julie Czerenda, Mickey Herzing, Coach VanDuzer. These were my track coaches from 7th - 11th grade. I had just enough speed and toughness to be almost OK in some races. They were patient with my adolescent drama and pushed me to keep coming back for more.<br />
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22. Lauren Jordy. My track coach senior year of high school. She gets her own billing because she was for SURE the reason I started running farther than, oh, 2 miles at a time. She had run Boston. She was wicked smaht. She thought I was pretty smaht, too, and thought if I got my head out of my own ass I could run a little faster and a LOT further. (She was smaht enough not to phrase it that way, blessedly). My roots of athleticism go back to age 5, but my roots of true running are planted right there with Lauren in the spring of 1992.<br />
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21. Allison Punger, Shannon Legge, Jodi Riggs, Katherine Ward, Sarah Centeno... and so many others. I am using these ladies' maiden names because these are the GIRLS I was with that senior year when running started to mean something to me. We ran relays together. We ran hills together (sometimes with lightning strikes for added 'zap'!). We ran to the ice cream store together.... I carry them in my heart when I run, too, and their presence makes me lighter. (P.S. Shannon is now Shannon Prasarn and GREAT GATSBY if she isn't the most rockin' fitness model you ever saw. Seriously. She could totally kick your ass. Thankfully she only uses her power for good.... as far as my FB intel can surmise...)<br />
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20. Kim Swartz. So Kim was Kim Atkins in high school and we played volleyball together. But I use her married name here because now she helps inspire me as a runner. She has done a few 1/2 marathons and I love watching her progress. I always feel very supported by her, even though we live far apart. Her daughters (one of whom is named Phoebe! awwww!) sent me cards and bracelets when I first got injured. Just too kind.<br />
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19. Mickey Mouse. After the race, we have to head back to real life for 4 days but then on Saturday we are heading to Disney World for a vacation with my in-laws. I would be lying if I said the idea of chilling in a Disney resort was not very appealing.<br />
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18. Jane and Eric Giessler. #20 would not be possible without the generosity of my father- and mother-in-law. They live far enough away to miss the kids a whole lot most of the year so we all benefit from their generosity. They are also very interested and supportive of my running and are always willing to watch the boys so running can happen when we are all together.<br />
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17. Polly. I qualified just after she past away. Every run, Every race. She's in there. Pink is the color for Monday.<br />
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16. Twitter followers. I love the #BQchat. I love the links to other people's thoughts and experiences on this crazy running world. Tweets are just sweet because runners don't throw shade at other runners.<br />
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15. Facebook friends. Oh. My. Suppportness! I am so feeling the love from my people, virtual and otherwise. I can't say enough how much it means to see the "likes" and the comments.<br />
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14. Kathleen. One of my dearest friends and one of the toughest people I know. She would not consider herself a runner, though she has donned a race bib at least once. She was going to be my 1/2 way point in my ill fated 40 mile run. Work responsibilities won't allow her to be at the race on Monday but I know she truly wants to be there. She's just the best.<br />
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13. Dimity McDowell Davis. One of "the" mothers of Another Mother Runner. She is 50% of the team that made me fall back in love with running after having kids. The books. The website. The FB page. The events. The honesty.<br />
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12. Sarah Bowen Shea. The other 50% of #13. I could put these ladies in the same line but their import to so immense that they deserve their own shouts out. And Sarah is a BQ badass who is foolish enough to think I'm funny and include me in some of the reindeer games whenever possible. xoxo, Champy!<br />
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11. Carol Viens. She's a runner and a coworker. She coordinated a huge to do at school for me yesterday. She leads a school running program for the 4-6th graders. She calls me her hero, which is insane. (Her REAL hero is Joan Benoit Samuelson but she says my name in the same sentence, so that's cool).<br />
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10. Heather. My sister. She's not a runner. She is "merely" awesome and supportive and hilarious and fierce and kind and honest (whoa, can she be honest!) and I just love her.<br />
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9. Heidi. Another sister. See #10 but she really IS a runner (not that she'll admit it) and a track/xc coach. Our scant 15 months age difference made us best friends and worst enemies when we were growing up. What I wouldn't give to live close enough to love/hate her in person every day!<br />
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8. Dr. Hennig. He was my knee surgeon. He put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I owe him a finish line photo.<br />
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7. Kevin Stanton. My PT. Oh. My. God. Dr. Hennig maybe sewed things together, but THIS is the guys who kept it all rolling. Runner. Triathlete. Neighbor. He understands, literally, where I live, what I want out of running, and exactly how to get me there. I am happy to say I have not needed to make an appointment with him in quite a few months. (Knock wood).<br />
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6. Tom. My 11-on-Sunday-year-old. Maybe had I not run my first marathon a teeny bit pregnant with him and maybe had he not been born on marathon Monday 2004... maybe I would not be so committed to this crazy scheme. He got an awesome new video camera for his birthday so watch for him on YouTube. (And let me know if you see anything untoward!)<br />
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5. Elliott. He's 8. He is ready for the youth track and field program this spring. He walks on my back and helps me stretch. He is incurably lovable. Also, he is pocket-sized, which adds to the sweetness.<br />
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4. Gabriel. He was 3 on April 14. He is the most demanding AND most loving creature in my life. And, he is potty trained so the whole Boston trip is going to be a LOT less stressful thanks to that!<br />
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3. Dad. Boy, what he's been through the last year or so. How many shoulder surgeries? Hip replacement. But he's coming to Boston, baby! Word is he is feeling so very much better and is ready to rock the urban scene. Wit. Insight. And just enough profanity to catch you off guard. Too bad he is not a runner cuz those are the perfect traits in a running buddy!<br />
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2. Mom. It all started with her, literally. She will be there for this race, as she has been for so many. I've never doubted my mom's pride in me. She shows up. She brings chocolate. And wine. She massages calves and shoulders and opens Advil bottles. I'm sorry for you that she's not your mom.<br />
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1. Lauren Cady. My running partner in this race. She lead me to my BQ Fall 2013 and so much more! I am so incredibly lucky and happy and EXCITED to share this weekend with her. This is like her 600th Boston run (or maybe like 5th or 6th?) and I know she will remind me to hold back hold back hold back hold back on the first 20 miles. And I know she will remind me to hit the gas to get over Heartbreak Hill. And I know we will cross that finish line in our own personal triumphant victory.<br />
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.2 Scott. My Boston medal will be his Boston medal. Literally. He doesn't know it but I am giving it to him. And he never reads my blog so it will still be a surprise. The day of my ACL repair last year he created a countdown-to-Boston on our bedroom wall. (400 days). He seems to always know the exact amount of ass I need kicked v. the nurtured reassurance and encouragement. I cannot express how much this race is his race.Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-46605846148236811112015-01-04T16:09:00.000-05:002015-01-04T16:09:03.332-05:00I can't count to 18I've just completed week 2 of marathon training.<br />
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Except I didn't.<br />
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Even though I did.<br />
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Confused? I was.</div>
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One of the annoying things about the Roman Calendar is that it's not base-10. This whole 7-day week, 4-ish week month, 30-ish day month, 365-ish day year.... it's not easy for some of us to keep track of. It's a cruel trick that we evolved to having 10 fingers insead of something more useful like 7 or 30-ish or 365-ish. (I'll let you settle on that mental picture for a minute. Kinda gross, huh?)<br />
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My problem on this occasion was that the end of the month of March overlaps a LOT with the beginning of April. How this kicked me in the butt this time around is that I gave the same week TWO different training weeks.<br />
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Thank goodness my much-better-at-counting-than-me BRF alerted me to my mistake. Of course, she alerted me of it way back on December 20th or so. I felt sorry for her for being confused about the schedule. After all, I had literally hand-written out every.single.workout. No small commitment. I knew I had to done correctly. Poor Lauren. She was mistaken, but I knew she'd figure it out.<br />
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Friday, I got a text from her suggesting I double check my 'math'. Whaddayaknow? She was right. And I was wrong. And therefore, I was a week 'behind' in training.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_zR7x2b-_y15yvkqiyz8kN_31fTX9r8CBjfE0L2p9G_qyy5fOR8mWe16o192Pc3kHmrN6Do_N5IXQVZ09TiKr_xVJDhbPLkYz-ehJKIKfsn89gp-CyIudMvw5VpXW4sHsAWIrcKC5G8/s1600/caldenar+mess.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_zR7x2b-_y15yvkqiyz8kN_31fTX9r8CBjfE0L2p9G_qyy5fOR8mWe16o192Pc3kHmrN6Do_N5IXQVZ09TiKr_xVJDhbPLkYz-ehJKIKfsn89gp-CyIudMvw5VpXW4sHsAWIrcKC5G8/s1600/caldenar+mess.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My low-tech, very messy training schedule. Gah...</td></tr>
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This barely even registered on my things-to-worry-about scale, since I spent the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas running <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2014/12/streak-boston-holidays-and-partridge-in.html">every.single.day</a>. But, it's just more of a pain the ass. And in the immediate sense, it meant I needed to run 15 miles on Saturday instead of 14, with the mid-5 at race pace. (We are shooting to run a 3:45 so this means 8:35/mile). Something about trying to make those paces was a bit of a big deal. (I am doing the <a href="http://anothermotherrunner.com/train-like-a-mother-plans/" target="_blank">Train Like a Mother marathon "Own It" plan.</a>)<br />
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I shouldn't have worried though. Cuz there was just no bleeding way I was going to make those paces on Saturday. It was 10 degrees when I started out at 6AM. I was wearing about 467 layers and quite honestly, I never got overly warm. Every winter I have to embrace (and remember) that it's just not feasible to run your 'real' paces in such cold weather. I honestly don't know if it's the extra layers of clothing or the physics of moving your body through frigid temps, but even when I was on the flattest part of the run - the part where I was meant to be doing 8:35s - I could not make my body move any faster. My paces for 5-10 were 9:01, 8:50, 9:00, 8:32, and 8:14. I think the 8:14 was fairly desperate - I was coming up on the public rest room where I knew I could take a small break, get a teeny bit warmed up, and slug my gels and water in relative comfort. And pee, of course. Always, always, I can pee.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8wx68FutlMH9l8kEx-uMiy2bq4L9ze8OkruM07Kz36MTF_4pLtl0cojHd8kCAyr1AgmZK9Cgxe373mM30RDCy1Qf4J-7LH2tPyBieQF4Q-o8lu0YEwEb1hkZAbAkHvXciLpeMJKIe2k/s1600/cold+run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8wx68FutlMH9l8kEx-uMiy2bq4L9ze8OkruM07Kz36MTF_4pLtl0cojHd8kCAyr1AgmZK9Cgxe373mM30RDCy1Qf4J-7LH2tPyBieQF4Q-o8lu0YEwEb1hkZAbAkHvXciLpeMJKIe2k/s1600/cold+run.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you can't beat it, take a selfie with it. Truly beautiful scene.</td></tr>
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I was VERY happy to see the end of that run and spent a bit the morning grumbling at myself for my paces... but not long. One of the benefits of being on the the dark side of 40 is realizing that this is Small Stuff and I can still call the run a success. S'all good.<br />
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Which brings us to the coming week. It's supposed to get OH-so-COLD this week. In fact, Thursday we are forecast for a low of 3 and a high of 5. (And that's an upgrade from a low of -1 and a high of 3....) So that will mean 5,893 layers for that scheduled 6-7 miler...which I'll have to head out for before 5AM... Oh, gawd I could talk myself out of this and it's still 5 days away!<br />
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Finally, here's a little resolution/goal setting I did as part of the Another Mother Runner community. I don't know if I'll get to these goals (especially the one about my kids) but it's worth the public pronouncement, in case that motivates me.<br />
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-61925257919686851812014-12-28T19:59:00.001-05:002014-12-28T19:59:58.090-05:00Streak, Boston, Holidays (and a Partridge in the Pear Tree)Here we are again. My last post was about 65,000 years ago. Pretty sure it was about the melting of the polar ice caps and the coming of a frightening new era of global climate change, the obliteration of many species of animal and plant, and stuff like that. Ha ha ha. Which is <i>hilarious, </i>right? Since clearly that will never happen now.<br />
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#clearsthroat #climatedeniersannoyme #thisiswhathappenswheniblogafteraglassor2ofwine #hashtagsdonotbelonginblogs<br />
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Anyway, now that we've cleared out the science-averse, let's catch up. What the hell am I doing starting up again after so much time? I dunno. It might have something to do with the need to feel accountable again. Or maybe it's yet another ill-conceived New Years idea.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My real New Years resolution is to stop freaking out on my 2-year-old when he is freaking out on me. His latest hilarious/infuriating habit:</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">G: I love you, Mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Me: I love you, too, Gabe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">G: (With authentic-looking and -sounding anger) "NO! <b>I </b>love <b>YOU</b>!"<br />He can literally argue with you for telling you that you love him. Siiiigggh.... Anyway, about ll-conceived notions.... But it's a goal)</span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></td></tr>
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But backing up a bit, I had this crazy notion that I wanted to do a holiday running streak from Thanksgiving to Christmas. There was no rhyme or reason, no motivating website or #hashtag . Just me thinking 'Hey, <a href="http://phoebevg.blogspot.com/2014/11/eventually-agony-of-de-finger.html" target="_blank">Seussical</a> is over, Boston training doesn't start for awhile, NOT running would be so easy to do....' So, I decided to run everyday between Thanksgiving to Christmas. This turned into everyday beginning on Thanksgiving Eve since my BRF was in town that day. I didn't set any official rules for myself beyond 'run every day' but I did sort of feel like my runs had to be legit. I wanted each one to be at least 3 miles... but beyond that, pace was irrelevant.<br />
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About 1/2 way through the streak I was running with my Wednesday night "running group" (which generally ends up being just me and my PT/pal, Kevin, who graciously and generously slows his roll to Old Lady Pace for the first 3 or so miles...). Kevin asked me, "So, what have you learned from The Streak?" It's an obvious question. It's a GOOD question. And it's a question for which I honestly had no good answer. I don't even remember what I said to him. And I don't even know what I can say about it now. It really DOES feel mildly like a challenge from which a gal oughtta learn a thing or two. But I don't know. Rather than lessons, I guess I can share some observations:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I like my rest days. And I miss them when they are not around.</li>
<li>I like to eat a lot. And when I run every day, no matter how few miles on any given day, I like to eat a LOT-LOT-LOT.</li>
<li>Running 9+ miles on a treadmill makes my toenails start to fall off. </li>
<li>My legs feel stronger and look, if I may say, pretty good.</li>
<li>My hips and hamstrings and back are (were) total. complete, utter cement blocks. </li>
<li>"Don't Think, Just Go" really really really works.</li>
<li>I didn't get injured. Ka-CHING!</li>
</ul>
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So, that's it. I didn't break any mileage records on the streak. And I definitely didn't break any land speed records. But I can be certain that I blew away any other run-every-day streak I ever had. I MAY have run 6 days in a row in my life, but I doubt it. So, that's pretty cool.<br />
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As of December 22nd I am meant to be "officially" training for the 2015 Boston Marathon. This was good timing since I only had to stumble through 3 more days of The Streak to call it good. I managed to do a wee bit of interval training on a couple of those runs. All things considered, I was pretty happy with how it felt. Not being injured (cross fingers) is a good place to start this journey. I have done a couple of amaaayyyzing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDQNqZMv1V0" target="_blank">hip-centric YouTube yoga videos</a> since the streak ended and I am already feeling much, much better in that arena. If you are a runner - or a human - I highly recommend them!<br />
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My first official long run was yesterday. Twelve miles. It was fine. I started out at 6AM. I knew I was fairly dehydrated (fa la la la... wine and beer for the holidays) but figured that 12 would not kill me whether or not I was 'dry'. I had two water bottles in my hydration belt and a couple of<a href="http://www.honeystinger.com/" target="_blank"> Honey Stingers</a> (my new go-to gels). I knew I just had to trot for the first ten miles and I was going to try to get race pace-ish for the final two-ish. (I am training at a 3:45 pace, BTW. My PR is 3:40 and I just know that trying to hit those splits at **THEEE** Boston Marathon would be too much pressure. I want to enjoy the race, not focus on gunning for a crazy finish time). I did pretty well with that, hitting mile 10 at 8:21, mile 11 at 8:27 and mile 12 at 8:32.<br />
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So, that's where I am with running. I had a hair cut today, too. Like, a SERIOUS chop. It has been a lot of years since my last complete shorning and as of this moment, I am digging it. It feels like the haircut of a woman who is serious about training for Boston. Given that I got it at Supercuts (literally) and that I have an allergy to actually styling my hair (figuratively) we'll see how I feel about it in a week or so. My Spousal Unit, at least, was wise enough to say he thought it was adorable. I'm 40 years old. I'll take adorable any freakin' day!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4eoSTWn64sBXZosw646X3VZ7sr6jCMvAm6jTZkxwBGpU_NQCHR6R9rN78l6nxcGC9eUtWCEvHTCMpeowNxWS0YrcjsPNbeCpvLX3EFXlJyBcKi62G9H-8neKCCLyfaKY2Yoyg7cz2Yw/s1600/0142f79b87f13e3438e8426fd94883a086cf5bbf0b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4eoSTWn64sBXZosw646X3VZ7sr6jCMvAm6jTZkxwBGpU_NQCHR6R9rN78l6nxcGC9eUtWCEvHTCMpeowNxWS0YrcjsPNbeCpvLX3EFXlJyBcKi62G9H-8neKCCLyfaKY2Yoyg7cz2Yw/s1600/0142f79b87f13e3438e8426fd94883a086cf5bbf0b.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It doesn't hide those crows feet nor the acne, sadly, but "I Gotta Crow" comes to mind...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just cuz. My heart...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-ISx-MYlRxgQCMTDAjkds2plVocSkVBaKJcjnUEt2EIXK_sLyJ8KgtShlL0xz8m1bacXU9t7ppvMkN6jgoy5DX56P2nt7802eROf1MijvoG0Jny7FOjPQBBUh3vWo7SaXiCJg7r5qR0/s1600/019becc11cfd4c52e3cddf804ff96c120aec3ae01d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-ISx-MYlRxgQCMTDAjkds2plVocSkVBaKJcjnUEt2EIXK_sLyJ8KgtShlL0xz8m1bacXU9t7ppvMkN6jgoy5DX56P2nt7802eROf1MijvoG0Jny7FOjPQBBUh3vWo7SaXiCJg7r5qR0/s1600/019becc11cfd4c52e3cddf804ff96c120aec3ae01d.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Understated boy on Christmas morning.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQ32dE3VsW7Lvp43AqKLtrEx78cE5AqaA0GhXadHjlYk73OVYgufuzIsukfRiEVGa07OCWgYwYMZzqxOBTYIJ-sfQIDILxuLb8MGUFDSFBYuBN1vwyYgVBBMVmOCH3srrbGtGyP7eRyU/s1600/0170ca62664e6dfc14a5d5cac16c805110276963d6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQ32dE3VsW7Lvp43AqKLtrEx78cE5AqaA0GhXadHjlYk73OVYgufuzIsukfRiEVGa07OCWgYwYMZzqxOBTYIJ-sfQIDILxuLb8MGUFDSFBYuBN1vwyYgVBBMVmOCH3srrbGtGyP7eRyU/s1600/0170ca62664e6dfc14a5d5cac16c805110276963d6.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Workin' on my core"... on Christmas morning.</td></tr>
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Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-44838134754952816862014-11-25T21:40:00.001-05:002014-11-25T21:40:55.491-05:00(Eventually)... The Agony of De-FingerAbout a week and a half ago I decided my next post - whenever I got to it - was going to be "A Love Letter to Community Theater". To sum up: Playing the Cat in the Hat in <i>Seussical </i>was definitely a role-of-a-lifetime and possibly the one I was best suited for: run around like a maniac, make a huge mess, cause trouble, improv at will, and basically have a blast. Oh, and sing a whole lot but not anything that has to sound real pretty or like you know what you are doing. OK! Sounds great. Audiences were fantastic. Elliott was a model theater citizen AND a joy to watch on stage - so they tell me. And it was one of those beautiful occasions when the people you encouraged to come to the show really, truly had a BLAST and left feeling joyful and entertained. Ka-ching.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV0UbD5HqCUIrHDq0TuRVdJWGbkKn9ntGKsH01nbCI1UIiu592eebONiQX0QlOz_RQvME5srYDH_uGtQt4vEIgjSmKwLmuHNhzhFzFcxnLmRYALkTE2rQoyVOMM2frG8QSQ2s5i4xfrI/s1600/Cat+in+the+Hat+surfing+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV0UbD5HqCUIrHDq0TuRVdJWGbkKn9ntGKsH01nbCI1UIiu592eebONiQX0QlOz_RQvME5srYDH_uGtQt4vEIgjSmKwLmuHNhzhFzFcxnLmRYALkTE2rQoyVOMM2frG8QSQ2s5i4xfrI/s1600/Cat+in+the+Hat+surfing+2.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being a dork during the entre' act.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ISPDqWjjvCCbjHROYSAburAwlLbvm4cZltVpXYFpyMVu7SyNWTpl2D2HbfjTjVYY8yDEXldhYc-ChLc6ka80H0lQtudVuHWq1NbrgZhSFTaXDY7n6_iIBnvZ962W4y4nl4OJlXdiByQ/s1600/elephant+bird.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ISPDqWjjvCCbjHROYSAburAwlLbvm4cZltVpXYFpyMVu7SyNWTpl2D2HbfjTjVYY8yDEXldhYc-ChLc6ka80H0lQtudVuHWq1NbrgZhSFTaXDY7n6_iIBnvZ962W4y4nl4OJlXdiByQ/s1600/elephant+bird.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">E in one of his MANY roles: The Elephant Bird. Stole.The.Show!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWwGcOhTaXjJ6SP2nYyektXVtdXO3T-1iRMKPMpLX_hqWaz92G0Xb7sqacP5omyRRyXsm7P6qDW9NbgNiawjX-BiRGYa94aDeHDp9mnUFXIWjm4iZUhNc0py-riLfJ6m0YtM-4AqvefI/s1600/1401867_1006731246010609_1031699635564480199_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWwGcOhTaXjJ6SP2nYyektXVtdXO3T-1iRMKPMpLX_hqWaz92G0Xb7sqacP5omyRRyXsm7P6qDW9NbgNiawjX-BiRGYa94aDeHDp9mnUFXIWjm4iZUhNc0py-riLfJ6m0YtM-4AqvefI/s1600/1401867_1006731246010609_1031699635564480199_o.jpg" height="301" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small taste of the amazing set and costumes.</td></tr>
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<br />
But Seussical was SO three days ago. So, then I decided the title of my next post HAD to be "Why I Hate 5Ks and Will Surely Keep Doing Them Anyway". See, one of the people I harangued into coming to the show was my BRF, Lauren, who made the trek from 3 hours away in Vermont. She was happy to come but also suggested we might do the local 5K on Saturday, too, cuz, ya know... BRF is Best RUNNING Friend. As fate would have it, I also got my first-ever FAN LETTER after the first weekend of shows from a little boy who was going to be at the race. That sealed the deal. I decided to run the race. It was about 2 degrees outside (or 25 degrees, but there WAS a wind chill factor) and it was ALL UPHILL (there was one series of hills but I REALLY didn't enjoy them) and there were rabid dogs all along the course. (No, there weren't.) ANYWAY, Lauren SAID she was going to run conservatively but promptly took off like a bat outta hell and taunted me to join her. I was not in any shape to keep her pace but it DID get into my head enough that I had a pretty good race. Still, 5Ks are HORRIBLE and I HATE them. But then they are over pretty quickly and you get amnesia and surely find yourself doing another one soon enough....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrMrEyClst-W1HYgF5x_JnfjZ7w_VYZsxq8KBFPKrTBf7F26jArkiKVKnt7qw2trn1umHPdDpCIYL5xexFxxU7M6a57czlQKDtyZfntSJyLebkEg1x3ktR7T5J0bixL69gFOnQUi4JvM/s1600/1557306_10203112925687190_2784999774246772429_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrMrEyClst-W1HYgF5x_JnfjZ7w_VYZsxq8KBFPKrTBf7F26jArkiKVKnt7qw2trn1umHPdDpCIYL5xexFxxU7M6a57czlQKDtyZfntSJyLebkEg1x3ktR7T5J0bixL69gFOnQUi4JvM/s1600/1557306_10203112925687190_2784999774246772429_o.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boy in front wrote me the 'fan' letter. It was his 9th birthday. He had hoped to meet Elliott. So, we showed up with the hat, a card signed by the cast and crew and a Seussical pin for him. If he and Elliott ran the kids' 2K as fast as they talked they would have broken world records! SO sweet....!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBxLpExGEFJgIkoQ6p7bGfmZEiMLxCuWKq5EQUK668nVaVPRvqludrkhO45qOTjOOzf3qoQHkw25twkbL8WZQg_VGRix6U38FyajxvK9R7TuarS0pBA4J1IY_Z6_4J6xFmbmitIaK-T4/s1600/988846_10152797390382510_1418389052338834394_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBxLpExGEFJgIkoQ6p7bGfmZEiMLxCuWKq5EQUK668nVaVPRvqludrkhO45qOTjOOzf3qoQHkw25twkbL8WZQg_VGRix6U38FyajxvK9R7TuarS0pBA4J1IY_Z6_4J6xFmbmitIaK-T4/s1600/988846_10152797390382510_1418389052338834394_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lauren won our age group and I managed to squeak out 3rd. Woo hoo! All the frigid temps were worth it when we were able to sit with some coffee and baked goods afterward. </td></tr>
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<span id="goog_484934849"></span><span id="goog_484934850"></span><br />
<br />
But people can only take SO much running talk so as of yesterday this post was DEFINITELY going to be "Running Out of Limbs to Injure". Cuz on Sunday I woke up with an "Old Lady Shoulder". I literally could not raise it up without help from my other arm. It was freakish. Blessedly, the flute player in Seussical is also my chiropractor (gotta love small town livin'!) and she set me straight so I could get through the show. But, then Monday (yesterday) it was TERRIBLE. I couldn't even open a door knob with my right arm. Forget about trying to pick up Gabe or do something as skillful as shift my car from Park to Reverse. (One of the few occasions on which I am thankful I don't drive a stick shift!!) It was a lot better today but I had already managed to squeeze in an appointment with my PT guy. The verdict? I slouch. And I sit for long periods at my lap top with my arms out too far from my body and my eye gaze too low. (As I am doing right now, as a matter of fact!) He thinks the problem has built up over a long period and probably an awkward position in Saturday night's sleep was the last straw. As long as it doesn't bother me to swing my arms (which, as of tonight, it doesn't) I am good to run. I just need to ice it once a day and do a few stretching exercises. I'll get some strength training stuff in the coming weeks to help keep this problem at bay. Hopefully for ever....<br />
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But no, NONE of those things are what this post is about because TONIGHT we had a somewhat epic tragedy/comedy play out. It features our hero, Elliott, and his nemesis, wooden train tracks. It seems that Elliott has, in the past, taken to sticking his fingers in the round spaces in the toy tracks. You know, the slot where the knobby thing fits in to connect the next track? Previously this has always worked out OK for him. Apparently, sometime between the LAST time he did that and tonight, his finger got wider.<br />
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The poor kid came into the dining room and, trying to remain calm, started to cry. "It doesn't hurt, I just can't get it off!" And this wasn't just any track, It was a BRIDGE, so we are talking wood and a lot of made-in-China's best plastic around it. Here's what we tried:<br />
<br />
1. Cold water. (It would reduce the swelling and the thing would come right off.... Nope.)<br />
2. Soap. (Scrub it up a little and it will slide right off.... Nope.)<br />
3. Butter. (Rub that greasy goodness on there real thick. It will slip right off... Nope.)<br />
4. Panic. (This is the point when Elliott started to freak, on and off. That also did not help get it off).<br />
5. Ice. (See #1. Nope).<br />
6. Get the plastic off and hope that would make the wood easier to separate at the place his finger was stuck. Got some off but not all of it. Hurt E too much to keep trying it, so... Nope.<br />
7. Hammer and flat head screw driver. (Scott tried to "chisel" the major section of the bridge away so we would at least be dealing with a smaller object. That was too much vibration for E. He started freaking out again. So, NOPE.)<br />
8. Hand saw. This was LITERALLY Elliott's idea. I think Scott and I were both thinking it would really put him over the edge if we tried it. But, after a few attempts, starts and stops, the major section of the bridge was removed and we were just left with a small section. At this point Scott used his finger as a 'safety' so E knew that Scott would stop cutting long before he hit E's flesh. When he got close enough, I was able to break the wood and release the finger.<br />
<br />
Sadly, this was all a little too alarming to poor E at the time to document it photographically. I WISH it was on video. Maybe a reenactment is in order.<br />
<br />
Or not. Yeah. Probably not.<br />
<br />
So, that's enough excitement at our house for now. Happy Thanksgiving!Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-27922095262571020792014-11-08T20:24:00.002-05:002014-11-08T20:24:46.538-05:00Runner Breaks: PerspectiveIt's been, as usual, a long time since I've written. The mid-late fall at our house is like a three-ring circus, and two of the rings are usually major musical theater productions. This season has been no exception. Before I go into the shameless self-promotion section of this post, I guess I ought to do a brief update on my running.<br />
<br />
I recovered enough from my stupid calf strain to participate in the 15 mile race that was attached to the <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/ghosttrainrailtrailrace/" target="_blank">Ghost Train Ultra marathon</a>. The weekend was exactly what I needed it to be: a wee break from motherhood, a re- or first-ever connection with running friends, ample but not excessive travel time, and fantastic weather. I won't even attempt to do a play-by-play of the weekend since it is so far out of my brain. The mighty band of Vermont Badass Ultrababes that were kind enough to include me in their merriment ROCKED their perspective races. From 30 miles - 100 miles, I am fairly certain that each of them achieved at least one of their goals. (We runners never go out without an A, B, and C goal, ya know? So there's always a taste of success!) I was very inspired by them and think I may dip my toe back into the ultra arena next spring after Boston. Maybe.<br />
<br />
The 15 mile race was Sunday morning so the folks shooting for 100 miles had been running for almost 24 hours when we started. One of my goals (don't ask me if it was A, B, or C) was to just be exceptionally supportive of all of them. I have no idea how it might feel to keep your body in motion for over 24 hours straight, so my hollering to them as I went by them (coming or going... the course was out and back) may have been completing annoying or completely appreciated. The good thing about having fresh legs compared to those that have already done 90+ miles is that you aren't around for long to find out and can just assume you were just what they needed or wanted at that moment.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzrcftGouvKSCyIduvnq4_hL1tNhTPSdZanSStgD0fPPCw5zl5xHzKZhyphenhyphenb1HZoQvxT0qPQswrm5JJCuGlVIeTiv273jPPd-FxbaQODa3pyHWarj2woADLBIyLcS6LNt68l1aZvGv0NTI/s1600/IMG_1959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzrcftGouvKSCyIduvnq4_hL1tNhTPSdZanSStgD0fPPCw5zl5xHzKZhyphenhyphenb1HZoQvxT0qPQswrm5JJCuGlVIeTiv273jPPd-FxbaQODa3pyHWarj2woADLBIyLcS6LNt68l1aZvGv0NTI/s1600/IMG_1959.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A short bridge I found to be way too scary for a person running on through the night. Good thing I wasn't running through the night!</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisej6qazZYmP1xpBG_Y3enbnh4JKTxvoJ9wBlgfdCIX9ZGYclrPsaw3lKHpkZkZ_-a2ojQyO1uzFpQspcVjfx4RBqoC4ZmTlD85p1YrM-9xwUTkCAT4yCQOgsAYxft6mpwmPP0v5zPQ_0/s1600/IMG_1960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisej6qazZYmP1xpBG_Y3enbnh4JKTxvoJ9wBlgfdCIX9ZGYclrPsaw3lKHpkZkZ_-a2ojQyO1uzFpQspcVjfx4RBqoC4ZmTlD85p1YrM-9xwUTkCAT4yCQOgsAYxft6mpwmPP0v5zPQ_0/s1600/IMG_1960.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amazing VT runners. So. Freaking. Amazing.</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYlBnZdsDMTZWPsKf19UcFxPbl32Bno2-Y1MIKc9ILib2pbNkuaCsbB23-zShDbixP1muP-RnJKbqQuj7wlWFvpPLPQdSlZssUx35QqwdU7cK7QwShZL_dhW2l-m3hhIWqgOgpSYJfAY/s1600/IMG_1961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYlBnZdsDMTZWPsKf19UcFxPbl32Bno2-Y1MIKc9ILib2pbNkuaCsbB23-zShDbixP1muP-RnJKbqQuj7wlWFvpPLPQdSlZssUx35QqwdU7cK7QwShZL_dhW2l-m3hhIWqgOgpSYJfAY/s1600/IMG_1961.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My BRF, Lauren, had a foot injury and couldn't run either. She was a LEGIT hero and went out and did 15 miles of walking in the middle of night with some of the baddest of asses. I was sound asleep at the Hampton Inn, for the record!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I pulled a Phoebe and planned to run the course and not race it.... but then of course I raced it. Not 100%. When I met up with the Vermont Badasses who were still at it I stopped and walked with them for a bit. Oh, and there was one desperate port-a-potty stop at about mile 5... but by the end I was really gunning for the finish line. It was a gorgeous day, an insanely beautiful course, and it felt so freaking good to let loose with some speed. I was as sore as after my last marathon the next couple of days, but it was worth it.<br />
<br />
Then, of course, after the race, I got home and faced the reality of my husband and I being part of two major musical theater productions: he is directing the high school's <a href="http://www.kingswoodtheater.com/" target="_blank">The Sound of Music</a> and I am The Cat in the Hat in our community theater's production of<a href="http://www.village-players.com/" target="_blank"> Seussical the Musical</a>. Elliott is also in Seussical. His show is this weekend. (I saw it last night. SO good!) My show opens next weekend. If you have ever been part of a show you know how the last couple of weeks go. It's just nuts. Plus exhaustion. Plus stress. All in all, a good time!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqlalGPVwx7OAzB9UaWvAMSxyTZNFj3cKVQmDWqLSYLj4pVjsLSINryBHgjtR4HlcTcLN3ounPCjG950ZQ89j5qnudNS7McGd54cdu0XZ7M6la22V_ZV3m4UOOCEAQE8InOCXBRdQ6bY/s1600/Seussicalposter8.5x11finalcurves-page-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqlalGPVwx7OAzB9UaWvAMSxyTZNFj3cKVQmDWqLSYLj4pVjsLSINryBHgjtR4HlcTcLN3ounPCjG950ZQ89j5qnudNS7McGd54cdu0XZ7M6la22V_ZV3m4UOOCEAQE8InOCXBRdQ6bY/s1600/Seussicalposter8.5x11finalcurves-page-0.jpg" height="320" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are keeping the costumes and sets a secret to enhance the "wow" factor when the curtain opens, though I kinda wish we weren't. They are so.freaking.amazing. It's going to be a great show, despite the narrator... (me).</td></tr>
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<br />
I am, therefore, not even worrying about running. I am purely going for when-I-feel-I-can mental health runs. This week that happened to only be Monday morning and today. Today I got a bit of a bonus in because I ran 5 miles to the theater clean up (gotta scrub those toilets before the audience comes!) and then ran the 5 miles home. It was exactly what I needed. I am going to keep running (or not running) however it suits me until the show is over. Then I will look around and see if any holiday-themed races strike my fancy/fit my calendar & budget. Otherwise, I am hitting Boston training pretty hard come late December.<br />
<br />
It's so obvious - yet comical - how it is to take a break from running when it's a conscience choice:<br />
<br />
"Yup, too much other stuff going on... stuff that I WANT to do and ENJOY. I am going to lay off the runs for now." <br />
<br />
Compare that to my other recent and heartbreaking breaks from running caused by not-my-fault and then TOTALLY-my-fault injuries:<br />
<br />
"I am losing my mind. I can't function without running. I may commit manslaughter if I can't run. WHY DO THESE THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE LIKE ME?!?!?!?"<br />
<br />
Yup, Totally obvious. And, as far as my personality is concerned, totally unavoidable. Oh, well.Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-66259011205735326622014-10-11T21:13:00.001-04:002014-10-11T21:13:22.600-04:00500th!Hey, Wow! This is my 500th post! That's pretty cool. Especially since I have been blog-slacking to the extreme lately. I wonder when or if I will ever go back and re-read these things. Yeah, probably exactly one minute after some horrific virus strikes Google and everything I've written is irretrievable. Shudder.<br />
<br />
I write today after so long a break because of a couple of unrelated happy occurrences. Well, if you believe in such things, it's possible they are cosmically-related, but whatever. Don't go consulting your crystals about it or anything.<br />
<br />
The first thing is that my dear friend Kathleen ran her first 5K today! 'What's so great about that?' you may ask. Well, many things.<br />
<br />
I have known Kathleen for just over 10 years. (She started out as a theater acquaintance so it's easy to keep track of when I met her: we were doing <i>Annie Get Your Gun </i>and Tommy was just a few months old). Shortly after we met and just before we became really good friends, she had knee replacement surgery. Because of this, whenever talk of running came up she was very supportive of me and my pursuit but was clear about herself: Can't run. Knee replacement. Not possible. <br />
<br />
Then, of course, there is the small matter of Kathleen facing a little thing called CANCER back in 2011. Ummm, yeah. And she did not get that friendly kind of cancer where you have a little tidbit removed and a teaspoon of chemo and then you're good to go. She had knock-you-on-your-ass, scare-the-crap-out-of-you, surgery-and-chemo-from-hell, with-a-side-order-of-pulmonary-embolism for added excitement. It is not an exaggeration to say that Kathleen thought she was going to die. And while all of us who love her never spoke of it, there were many moments when we wondered, too.<br />
<br />
Of course, Kath would jump in here and dispute, "Well, you can't call what I did really RUNNING.... Lots of people who started in waves after us caught up to us... " Yadda yadda yadda. Typical denial from a lady who deserve some Horn Tootin'! She trained hard for this event. She started out just walking the dog and then trying to run a bit as she went along. Then she got on the Couch to 5K plan. And then she made it 3 miles with some walk breaks. And THEN, last week, I got a message from her saying she RAN the WHOLE THREE MILES. That is so huge. For anyone. But for her, that is like Neil Patrick Harris Hosting the Tonys Again Huge! (Legend - wait for it - dary!)<br />
<br />
I did my due diligence and FB stalked her enough to share these pictures. (God bless that Journalism degree. I am a pro!)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5rHtWjOMQ0rpEJttnYvmQDp-5i5MQKgHT3VRnlzSZWA1LgZRuj0SU50QAcfUQoajZGqtO_mcPnUhdKuY4jDA7V1z3H4Ey3hjzL6nRJX9Xw4b-qBlQWSOxI3-BBZeRLNP-GIrYueVYwE/s1600/k+5k+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5rHtWjOMQ0rpEJttnYvmQDp-5i5MQKgHT3VRnlzSZWA1LgZRuj0SU50QAcfUQoajZGqtO_mcPnUhdKuY4jDA7V1z3H4Ey3hjzL6nRJX9Xw4b-qBlQWSOxI3-BBZeRLNP-GIrYueVYwE/s1600/k+5k+1.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stranger on the Left had a the perfect sign for Kathleen on the right... (who is stranger than most but not A stranger to me!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSx7YmOgDLZO2AyWVNsajBUfYbYs8R974gfosEi11nEEZ8KIGMambesRLOYc1YOpa9Hgq4LwGsvh3XwS9t56OqRaSHzC8VwRTvVRdYYDhSlKOUeKCXR8T48JPWRiSMCLhRrlys9JZV6s/s1600/k+5k+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSx7YmOgDLZO2AyWVNsajBUfYbYs8R974gfosEi11nEEZ8KIGMambesRLOYc1YOpa9Hgq4LwGsvh3XwS9t56OqRaSHzC8VwRTvVRdYYDhSlKOUeKCXR8T48JPWRiSMCLhRrlys9JZV6s/s1600/k+5k+2.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathleen's friend, Barbara, ran with her. I didn't dare commit to the event, given my bad run of luck lately. (RUN of luck... HA!)</td></tr>
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Knowing Kathleen was cranking out a personal goal this morning was not, however, enough to inspire my lazy butt. I say lazy, but I guess after the week we had here I had a reasonable excuse. All three boys were sick this week. And not in that convenient-but-challenging all at once way. It went like this;<br />
<br />
Monday - Gabe wakes with major boogs and fever. I stay home with him.<br />
Tuesday - Gabe still has fever. Scott stays home with him.<br />
Wednesday - Everyone wakes up healthy. Yay! Off we go to school.<br />
Wednesday afternoon - Call from daycare. Gabe's fever's back. Drat.<br />
Wednesday night - Gabe cracks his chin open and Scott takes him to ER. (I am at play rehearsal at the time). No stitches. Just exceptional stress and steri-strips.<br />
Thursday - Gabe is OK but Tommy wakes up with a fever. I stay home with Tommy and Gabe because, ya know, bashed open chin and fever yesterday....<br />
Friday - Tommy still has fever. Scott stays home with Tom. And, bonus, it's Scott's birthday. So that's fun!<br />
Saturday - Everyone is feeling OK. Woo hoo. Getting some stuff done around the house, putting away the outdoor furniture... and, uh oh. Elliott doesn't look so good. Yup. Elliott has a fever.<br />
<br />
My running has been going OK. I've come to grips with not doing the Ultra in a couple of weeks and I will happily just enjoying my time with my running pals and being their Athletic Supporter. I am focused on Boston 2015. And I reaaalllly wanted to get in a double digit run today. It would be my first since August. But ggggaaaaawd I was so mentally exhausted from the week. And gaaawwwwwdddd I just had no give-a-damns left.<br />
<br />
Then, the phone rang. And it was Kathleen. And she told me about her run and I thought, yeah, I need to go do that 10 miles.<br />
<br />
So I did. Of course, of all the hilly routes I could take around here, my unplanning feet took me on the hilliest. So I trotted along at a decent pace, listening to podcasts, contemplating the universe. (That is, if you think that contemplating the fact that I knew we had no chocolate chips NOR chocolate milk ingredients in the house is equivalent to contemplating the universe...)<br />
<br />
Thanks and big congrats to you, Kathleen! And if you do another one, remember the Age Old Rule: "Run if can. Walk if you must. But always, always, pee yourself a little."<br />
<br />
P.S. Everyone think BQ thoughts for the great Sarah Bowen Shea tomorrow. She is one of THEE mother runners from <a href="http://www.anothermotherrunner.com/" target="_blank">Another Mother Runner</a> and she is poised to do amazing things in the morning. West coast time... so don't get your fast thoughts in too early.Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5138933135381496728.post-24631571199549578972014-09-24T15:04:00.001-04:002014-09-24T15:04:27.210-04:00April 20, 2015It's Thursday afternoon and I home. I have some weird combination of headache, nausea and exhaustion. Took the kids to school and tried to work but I was going to be very ineffective and very unhappy, so I drove home. (Driving makes my nausea way worse...) I went to my bed and did not get up until about 2:30. I still feel horrible and that dry piece of toast I just ate - because a girl should not live in Tums alone - is really seeming like a bad idea.<br />
<br />
So this is not exactly the physical and emotional space I hoped to be in when I got THIS news:<br />
<br />
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<br />
I haven't received the email yet but I saw from an FB link that they were sending the notices today so I took a shot. Racers need to run 1:02 faster than their gender/age group qualifying time to get in. So, I was actually in a really good place with about 4:50 to spare.<br />
<br />
I should be calling everyone and shouting from the rooftops. I should be imagining the finish line. I should be reserving a hotel room.<br />
<br />
But instead, I think I am going to go vomit. Ugh.Scott & Phoebehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09610551402027330762noreply@blogger.com1