I Didn't Throw Up

 

A favorite seventy-something year-old friend likes to remind us (whenever we get fed up with current circumstances) that all we have to do is wait five minutes and things will change.

We know this to be true about the weather of late.  These photos mark a time lapse of 48 hours. Okay, so that's longer than five minutes.

 

It is Spring.  Time for change, growth, renewal, waking up. I'm following it's lead this year and waking up too. 

 

After proclaiming I had no plans to run any races this year or ever I have already signed up for two.  If you've been following along at all you know this is a first.  I've adopted a singular focus on running with mountain biking and slacklining as offshoots because I can't run every day or maybe I'm just crazy.  I even swam laps Monday for the first time in over 20 years.  I think that makes three times in my whole life I've ever swam laps. 

I'm spurned on by stories of people much older than me who can run much, much faster and farther.  It makes me want to go faster and farther too.

 

So with a little help from a book on loan from Clair (thank you again), I've started actual training without telling you.

 

I'm up to eleven miles at a 9:36 average pace.  Tuesday I did some speed work (interval training from the book) and warmed up for a little over a mile, 9:22 pace, then ran 3 miles fast with rest in between to sputter, gasp for air and regain feeling in my legs (7:22 mins; 7:20; 7:18) and then cooled down with a 9 min mile. 

I could have sworn I went slower with every mile but I blame that on a side effect of perceived effort.  Running is hardest when I want to quit.  And when it's hard.

All this is to say that with a bit of focused effort things can change.  I never ran like this before, maybe because I had no idea it was possible.  I've still got nothing on this guy.  He was amazing. 

 

My theory is there's something in the shoes (Clif ran in wellies), and this all may change come race day.  In my many years of playing tennis I practically perfected the choke.

People Get Ready

This isn't about running but it is.  It isn't about icing the homemade cookie cake with the homemade icing and exploding Ziploc bags (they made me do it) to get ready for the birthday party.  It isn't about lacing up my shoes or carb loading, pre-hydrating or plotting the perfect route.  It isn't about sending out invitations.  The minutia of my daily life isn't worth the print because you probably don't care.  Especially if you're not a runner or a mother.

I write best when I run, so I think.  I am eloquent, have earth-shattering thoughts and get goosebumpy with ideas.  Maybe it's the oxygen, the surging brain juices and electricity.  Perhaps I'm delusional.  Because when it's all over and I sit in front of the computer to type, my hands hover as if frozen above the keyboard and my mind is barren as a desert.

But the theme from yesterday's long run was preparation.  That much I remember.  Whatever I did to prepare was just the right mix to ensure a favorable outcome.  It reminds me of a favorite song.  A classic.  Goosebumpy.

Yesterday was the kind of day I'd been waiting for, anticipating.  Years ago when I thought my life couldn't have gotten any worse (but surely it could have) I knew there'd be sunnier days ahead if I'd just persevere.  Now those days are here and I wonder how things could get any better (but surely they will).  I realized in one moment that joy is the best preparation for sadness, sadness the necessary curriculum for joy.  Today, I will take them both.

Last Hurrah

I looked in the mirror this morning as I dryed my hair and thought, where did winter go? 

 

Clearly it didn't go anywhere.  It's right outside my window.  But January, February...poof!  Gone.  March, how funny you are with sunny, sixty degree days interspersed with this season's only true snowstorm, and thunder-snow at that.  What a mid-week treat.

 

Blue night

It was the last day, the last big hurrah on the sledding hill. Number nine in a series of snow days, off from school. We all knew it would end.

But things are still covered here, slippery, sloppy, wet and cold. The light a dusk looking especially blue tonight on my walk down to close the chickens up for the night. Come with me.






























As I make my way back up to the house, I can almost feel the heat from the woodstove just by looking at the warm glow from my office window.

It's time

It must have been the cold last night that made the snow look like it had millions of little tiny diamonds on top of it this morning as I made the trek down to the chickens. Whatever the reason, it was a treat. The quiet, the sparkles, the way my nostrils froze together as I inhaled, a world all it's own and one we rarely get to experience.

We've plowed out, and the tractor fairy has mysteriously plowed out the neighbors as well, missing out on the afternoon of sledding, or "sleigh-riding" as so many here in Virginia say. I swear, "ya'll", I "reckon" I'll never fit in. (yes, they really say reckon here. a lot.)

Too much sleigh riding leads to exhaustion on the hill. My littlest decided to eat her fill of snow today.

while the older two apparently did headstands.



What I now know is that they very clearly need to go back to school. They'll miss their sixth day in a row tomorrow. My oldest said at dinner just tonight, "You know, it's really not as much fun anymore staying home and missing so much school."

Enough said.

As for the knitting I seem to be on a hat roll these days. This next one is for my brother in law, catering to his unfortunate Harley Davidson affliction.

White out

Okay, well maybe that's overkill, but it is bad when you have to shovel snow to get the barn door open just so you can get the tractor out to plow. It was the steady rain and sleet most of the day yesterday and all night long that have put this bout of weather into a new category, different from the last two storms. It's slick, it's icy, it's dangerous.

Even the dog can't quite believe it.

We're feeling fortunate to have not lost power. Yet.

And we're thankful for a full wood rack and a constant fire.

The house smells like cookies just baked,

we've had some visitors, and played loads of games, video and otherwise.

But even the young among us aren't quite sure what to make of it. If this were Maine we'd be well accustomed, but when you consider we were wearing shorts during the 60 degree days of last month, this is quite an abrupt change.

So we continue to kill the time with indoor activities like the piano,

and knitting, this time for those enduring chemo,

and up next another project in red, I'm just searching for the right pattern at the moment, and resting up for sledding tomorrow.

Snoverload

After three days of excitement, injuries, and that worn-out-to-the-bone feeling that comes from playing as hard as one possibly can, some curious things have taken shape. Caution has come into play, with the littlest ones looking on, wondering sometimes if it's really worth it.

The scrapes,

the long, tiring trek back up the slope and the unknown of the next ride.

But on they go,

overcoming fear, embracing the freedom,

finding the silliness,

however they can,

tempting even the oldest ones in the group who recover the slowest and feel it the most (that's me at the bottom of that big hill up there).

It's well worth the slide, even without a sled,

and the walk back up, because this doesn't happen every winter here. It may not snow like this again until they're adults if history tells us anything.

So we gather it all in, this precious time. With the memories, the bruises, the aches and scrapes, reminders all that we are here, and that life is good, and full and wide open.