Changing the Buddy System Plan- A Running Apology

Today we ran the Rock N' Fly Half Marathon.  Last year I struggled through this race due to heat, humidity, sloped sidewalks, and lack of water. It was at times a defeating race; the only good thing was to be running with Jennifer, my sister-in-law. 
I was not sure how today was going to go.  My running lately has been slow and steady at best, with ups and downs.  Recently to help push me or pull me Patrick has been running with me, even though he could have on several occasions run off without me. This has helped me to pace and build. 

Going into this race our plan was to run together as we had been doing for the last few long races.  Given this understanding it is also understanding that my victory of a PR (at least within the last few years) was quickly deflated by the realization that I broke the buddy plan.  
In the first mile we were together, Patrick on my heels, as we weaved in and out of people. Just as the 5K group began to breakout of the half marathon pack and make their turn back to the finish line, I realized Patrick was talking to someone else and his voice was dropping further back.  I figured he would catch back up to me.  Jennifer was still with me.  
Then suddenly I heard no familiar voices, there were no familiar strides coming up behind me.  I pulled to the side and turned to look back.  I saw neither of them, but the group was still large and I was honestly not sure if I had missed them passing by.  I figured if Patrick didn't catch me by the turn around at 5.5 then I would walk then, at least that way I could see him. I ran on and through the turn.  I flipped back on the crowd. There was about 3/4 of a mile between us.  I yelled, he waved, I told asked if he wanted me to walk, he said "no".  I should have walked.  At this point it was already hot and the road's tilt was taking its toll.  This wasn't a fair question to put on my running buddy.  
In the next few miles I slowed considerably, this was a matter of just not being able to push any harder.  It took till about mile 10 for me to feel back on track.  In those last three miles, there was plenty of water and even Popsicle, but there was no buddy next to me.  For that I was sad.  Just before mile 12 I saw Patrick as he was taking the turn for the last outer loop before being on the way back to the finish line.  He smiled, and waved.  I could tell he was tired and hurting.  But I failed to stop or slow for my running buddy.  
I finished my race, happy to be done.  Then the waiting began and all the feelings of my race choice came over me.  I was angry at myself.  I should have been more courteous; I should have been the bigger person as he had been for me several times before.

My hand should have been in his. 

I know for some this will seem like a little thing and in the scheme of life this will pass and it will be remembered as a little moment.  However, right now, it hurts my heart that I was that person, that runner.  Even more it hurts my heart that I left Patrick out there to push through the race with no one to help motive him, to hand him extra waters, to share a huma with, or to understand that this race will be beat one step at a time as other before were beat.  
Today I know that my goal of "being better" was not met out there.  But moment like this give us the ability to grow.  That is what I will do it grow.  Grow to be a better running partner.  Grow to be a more aware running buddy.  Grow to be the person my husband has shown me he is, strong, giving, patient, encouraging, and supportive, even when he knows being this person may hold him back briefly in this moment.    

Such wonderful people in our lives.

Thank you Patrick for loving me beyond my flaws.    
      

A Touch of Inspiration from My Grandma

When I started baking more a few years ago my mother mentioned my grandma's cook book.  Then recently she gave me the cook book to bake from.  I have used it a few times for cookie options, but recently my mother asked me to find a recipe in it; German Chocolate Cake.
I looked, Patrick looked, no luck.  I called my mother this morning on my way to work to tell her it could not be found.  She told me she remembered it being on a chocolate wrapper, green and red.  I recalled the wrapper in the book. Sure enough when I got home it was there the wrapper, the recipe, the memories.  When my mother talked about this piece of paper it was like she was transported back in time.  My mother in the course of natural aging has at times been forgetful about little details (mama, admit it), but to hear her talk about this piece of paper and her watching my grandma bake was like being there in my grandma's kitchen, so real the smell of chocolate cake filled my car. 
It reminded me too that I had noticed a few words in the beginning of the book, "Take 2 or more children".  Why would a recipe call for children?  Thoughts swirled in my head- after all my grandma is from Nebraska and these recipes had a few interesting items anyway so curiosity began turning the wheels in my head. 

This special recipe is in the pages of her cookbook that are not really pages, they are the inside book cover.  Here is what it says: 

Lover's Wedding Cake
1/2 lb. sweet temper, 1/2 lb. good looks, 1/2 lb. of self forgetfulness, 1/2 lb. blindness to faults, 1/2 lb. pondered wits, 1/2 lb. dry humor, 12 lb buttered youth, 2 tablespoons gentle arguments, 1/2 pint rippling laughter, 1/2 glass of common sense, 4 lbs flour of love. 
Put flour of love, good looks, and sweet temper into a well furnished house.  Mix together the blindness to faults, self forgetfulness, dry humor, and gentle arguments and add to love.  Pour in rippling laughter and common sense.  Work until well mixed, then bake gently in the warm over of the heart forever.  (H.M.S.)
Take 2 or more children wash well in warm water and tuck into bed early. Leave for 10 or 12 hours with windows open wide. Dress them lightly and set at cherished place at the breakfast table.  To each child add juice of 1 orange, one soft boiled egg mixed with 2 T cream and salt to taste, several slices of whole wheat toast and a glass of milk. Remove to the yard add some garden seeds, toys, and a sand pile and mix thoroughly.  Leave in the sun until brown.

My cup runneth over.  
It is moments like this which help me to feel close to someone so long gone from me.  I only remember small glimpses of moments with my grandma.  I remember her growing a garden in our front yard, just out the front door.  I remember green beans, snap peas.  I remember her sitting at the dinning table with the beans in her aporn, snapping off the ends and placing them into a caldron.  My brother and I would run around the kitchen laughing and my grandmother would tell us to go outside or to help.  By helping we would steal the beans and eat them.  I can remember the taste of those beans to this day, fresh, crisp, and like no beans I remember since. Eventually my grandmother would send us out of the house to play.  
I was very young when my grandma lived with us, under the age of 5.  My grandmother passed away when I was about 8.  I am sure like all people she had her good and bad sides, and good and bad days, but for me she was my grandmother and I only remember her with fondness in my heart.

We should always remember where we get strength from.  

Three in One Weekend- Up the Tower, Through the Woods, and Over the Bridge

This past weekend was a busy race weekend for us.  We have on a few occasions raced twice in a weekend or twice in a day even but it seemed as though this weekend was going to have new challenges.  We were not running three normal running races- no Goofy Challenge this time!  No this weekend would be filled with stairs, sandy trails, and pavement.

We started off with a 31 flight stair climb.  This was our second year completing this event.  The event is in partnership with the Half Marathon we ran on Sunday.  The proceeds go to benefit the Special Olympics of Alabama.   Originally this event was for first responders and was held during the day time.  For the past few years it has been open to the general public and this year it was moved to Friday evening.  After work we packed up, went a picked up our race packets for Saturday, and then headed out to the tower. 

The Race to the Top of the Tower is a fun and daunting event.  The whole thing is over in about 25 minutes and as is our course we stayed steady in the upper middle pack.  The first 8 flights go by quick.  You feel good and then not so good.  Yes your legs burn but you can take that.  Yes your feet hurt but you have been there before.  These are not the things that stop me in these climbs- nope- instead it is the TURNING, and TURNING, and TURNING.  We joked with others before the race about needing sea sickness medications in order to make it!!  Once the dizziness kicks in, I start to warm up and get clammy.  It takes a few flights of stairs to get things back under control- deep breathing.  The good thing for me is at flight 8 all the people in my pack have the same issue.  The other good thing for me is I am a fast walker and this seems to translate to being a fast stair walker too.  After calming back down a little but not losing momentum I picked up my pace again, round and round we went.  Patrick was on my heels but I could not look back to check on him; if I did my dizziness would surely cause me to go over the railing and find myself back on the first floor.  I passed a few people in the climb and hit the cold wind of the top at about 6:40.  I quickly moved out of the way of the others stumbling up behind me.  The first, First Responder made it to the top, a fire fighter.  This sight of seeing him in full gear (helmet, jacket, pants, tanks, all of it) reach the top mixed with the cold air was breathtaking.  Patrick was up shortly behind him.    

Patrick had a struggle at the top, the cold air at the start mixed to warm air in the stair well, and then hit with cold air at the top caused his lungs to want to throw themselves from his chest and over the side of the building.  He held it together and walked it off, to go see the sunset and the city lights brighten.  Sadly I don’t have photos of that sunset but from 31 flights up we could watch the final light sink below the horizon.  The sky lit up with a vibrant pink and the sea answered back a final wave as the sun was gone and night had arrived. 

The next morning we rose early to get out to the Lagoon for our 8K trail run.  Patrick likes to beat the race director to the race site on this one and we did!  We curled up in the car for about 15 minutes before he showed up (he wasn’t late).  We hauled pancake batter, logs, bacon, grill, plates, and maple syrup; all the while wondering why we didn’t just stay and eat instead of running.  The wind was still blowing and causing a nip in the air, so after Patrick got the fire going we huddled there, more and more racers showing up to gather.

We had to leave the warmth and move to the start line.  As we gathered to block the wind from ourselves at the sacrifice others, the sun began to add a little warmth.  I always forget how much sand there is on this race course.  The first half mile is on pavement, but then we break out in to the woods.  Once we made that turn onto the sand I remembered why this race was hard last year.  It was also not long till the middle of the pack was turning around due to a dead end, in the wrong direction.  We were supposed to have turned at the cone but the arrow was not visible so we ran right on past- some ran further than others.  We turned again and righted our course.  I was in a chase to catch Patrick’s sister, Jennifer, she was just in front of me.  Patrick was also hot on my heels, after righting the sign for others; he joined back to the course. 

We twisted and turned and dug deep in the soft sand.  The day was beautiful.  As we entered in to a “freshly tilled bog area”, I took out in front of Jennifer.  There was only one problem, I was leading us deeper into tilled moss and dirt and sticks.  Jennifer yelled to me about how much this sucked and about how we needed her 6 year old to be there to help lead us; he really is great at calling out the trail challenges.  As we pushed up a few more hills Jennifer dropped back slightly.  I put in my sight a new rabbit to chase.  She was in bright neon yellow making her easy to find in the trees.  I gained little by little, mostly on sandy uphills.  I passed her with about a mile or ¾ of a mile left.  The problem was now I was in the lead of our little group and we were still in the woods with paths darting left and right.  This is a course known for lost runners and given the earlier wrong way I was a little nervous.  I think I may have run a little faster just wanting people to not be following me in case I made this a 6 mile run.  I hit the finish line with a wide stride on the pavement.  I felt good and could not help but notice that there were not many cards turned in for my age group, but I wasn’t really sure.  Patrick was a few minutes behind me- he was the smarter one saving his legs for the following day, as he reminded me to do before the race, at the start line, and noted after we finished. 

With the whole family across the finish line we watched a few more finish, and then changed clothes to get warm and off to eat pancakes and bacon.  The factor that this race ends in pancakes and bacon will keep us coming back.  I placed third in my age group and I got to enjoy the victory with a few of my Gavel Girlz teammates.    

After the race we got some errands done and then headed home, with the best on intentions to stretch.  Yeah…. That didn’t happen.  The next morning we were up with the moon and stars to drive about 45 minutes for the Gulf Coast Series: Gulf Shores Half Marathon.  I enjoy this race.  The group who hosts the race is very friendly and supportive.  Also this racing series is packed with our PRRC group, wonderful people to run with and just to hang around. 

The day was cool and misty.  My foot was hurting (maybe from the sand yesterday), I tried to put some extra padding between the top of my foot and my shoe (by mile 6 this would be more problematic).  I started the race with one of Patrick’s old shirts on but I had not discussed with him my plans of throwing this shirt aside at a water station.  He was not thrilled with my choice since he “needed” it for a garage shirt, but my plan remained- trust me it is not a flattering shirt.

We took to the road, by the time I reached the bridge at mile 1 I was feeling over it.  My legs were tight and my foot hurt, and it was cold and misty, and I was going to have a pouting event.  The only problem was that Patrick was quickly leaving me in his dust.  I pushed up the bridge; even though I had to look down to make sure my feet were actually touching the ground ahead of me and not in the same place.  Thankfully Patrick slowed for me at the first turn and let me catch up to him.

We ran on with little talking for the first 5 miles.  I am not sure why I was so silent, maybe my foot hurt more than I wanted to admit or maybe I was worried about my foot and little more than I was willing to admit.  At about mile 6 my emotional breakdown started.  My foot was hurting. When Patrick asked me about moving the cushioning patch I had on and I told him it was already on the top of my foot and he got frustrated with me, I just stopped. Literally the first time ever I just stopped in the middle of a race course.  It was only for a second (the proof is on my Garmin), I didn’t even walk, just stopped.  I felt overwhelmed with emotion.  Patrick yelled for me to start running and I did.  Even then I knew he wasn’t being mean he was simply trying to get me going again.  And it worked.  Unfortunately I am pretty sure the girl who ran with us for the final 7 miles, who could have witnessed this interaction, ran with us to be sure Patrick wasn’t being mean or yelling at me out of anger.  Thankfully not she nor I and Patrick talked about that moment.    

About a half a mile up I was done with the patch- we don’t need no stink’en patches.  I stopped again to take it off as the other two ran on, at my urging.  I sprinted to catch them and in that moment the emotions of the last half a mile and the frustrations melted away.  I was good again, the way that only pushing the pavement makes you good again.

Our new friend was very nice, a semi-local who returned to her home town with her family.  She is an adoptive parent so we had lots to talk about.  The funny thing about this particular even is I always end up finding members of our “child welfare family”. 

Patrick and were back to good and our “No-Show” friend joined us for a few miles. The banter back and forth helped to pass the time and miles.  In fact, the miles passed till we were staring down the bridge again.  Before we met the bridge I picked up Patrick's beloved shirt at the final water station where I had left it previously, he was happy.  One more time, one more little blip, up the bridge.  “No-Show” dropped off the hang back for his wife who was completing her first half; our new friend got snagged on the uphill; we pushed on.  I wasn’t going to be dropped this time.  Left, right, left, right, there beside Patrick up and over the damn bridge.  After that it was a smooth downhill and a light half a mile push to the finish.  I didn’t have it in me to sprint; I had already determined something was wrong enough with my foot to make a doctor’s appointment, so this was not my time to push.  Patrick would be there for me this time pushing me a little faster and a little further.  

Patrick grabbed my hand this time, and with a few more steps and a few final breaths we were over the finish line.

Our time was not our best, even on this course, but this weekend’s journey was long and steady. Well, that’s how we spent our weekend.