Double Fist Pump!

I'm so excited.

I'm not pregnant or in the process of being so. I am running the Patrick Henry Half in less than 48 hours. 13.1 in 2 is my goal. A Tiger Woods double fist pump for me. Is it possible? Most of TW's putts aren't but they drop. Mary didn't but produced a Son. Can I pull it out? Seems unlikely but I'm so excited I could crap. And I don't do THAT.

I would need to shave - actually hack - six minutes from my best 13.1 time and I AM molasses. But who cares? Everyone needs a goal. Possible? Yes. Likely? No. Will I crap if I do it? Yes. Will I scream in ecstasy? YEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Then I'll have a glass of wine to celebrate. Who am I kidding... I'll celebrate the finish no matter what. Have a great weekend. Out.

I Eat the Heat

The Wetter the Better.

Bring it on. Gimme some more. AAAAAAARGH! I've been running (stupidly but deliberately) during the hot portion of these Virginia Summer Days. This is in part because I can't get my ass out the door but also because I am preparing for the Patrick Henry Half Marathon next weekend. Legend has it - the PH sends seasoned runners to the ER (thankfully not DOA) because of the dreaded drenched heat. Last year I ran it and VA was experiencing a cool, dry spell - lucky me! Not so sure this year, so I'm trying hard to suck wind and find a little O2 in the full body bucket I run in. So, I decided to face it and try to Eat the Heat. Besides the cussing that blasts through my head as I trudge up my neighborhood hills, I'm down with this heat. I mean really. This is from a girl who needs a little AC in March. I'm so full of BS. I hate looking for air through a straw in the Atlantic Ocean but I hate kale too. And I eat that - only when necessary. If you have any recipes to make kale or the thickest heat imaginable any more palatable, send it on. I need it by next weekend. Out.

No One Has to Know

What's on your playlist...
It's just a little soft porn. Anything for the pace, man.

(This post is not for the faint of heart. I'm just keepin' it real.)

I blame my sister for it. My addiction to distance running and my raunchy playlist. Two years ago my fit, hotter than hot sister encouraged me to sign up for a half marathon. The same race she had completed the previous summer - her first in 103 degree heat. I watched her come across the finish line SMILING as I stood there with two of my children drenched in sweat, STANDING STILL. She IS the bomb. So, I sign up and she turns up pregnant (I swear it was the playlist but more on that in a minute.) I'm on my own and at her mercy for ways to make this happen. I started training with my shiny, new Ipod and asked her about a decent playlist for these godforsaken long runs. (Remember I am a beginner and I NEED music to roll at this point.) She says, 'Ok - Clair your are going to die at my playlist but it will get you going'. She's been my sister for 30-some years and I trust her with my life but I was not prepared and I'm not faint of heart. If the driving beat and thumpin' bass doesn't kick it up for you - the lyrics will send you into shock or racing to the shower. If you've seen any of these videos, they make Dirty Dancing look like a First Communion after-party. BUT, I run and run well when Ludicris screams in my ear that he fills cups like double D's and Nelly suggestively groans that he does it 'over and over again' - or when somebody wants to put his 'big boy in my life'. Have mercy!

If the lyrics don't get you going the old-fashioned way then just picture the singer all pimped out with a studded grill attached to his pearly whites and pants that show his crack. It might make you want to run for your life.

P.S. Three half marathons later, one full and one coming up - I'm still in awe of The Playlist. As for my sister, she's the proud mother of 5 and getting back into distance running. I think I'll give her my play list this time.

I Met Chevy Chase

What do Running, Belly Dancing, Pole Vaulting and Penile Extensions have in common?

An afternoon in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. So I'm sitting there reading my latest literary addiction, Born to Run, and a gentleman asks me so 'Do you run?' I answer him and he asks me my pace. I didn't lie and then he did. He said he'd read my book years and years ago. It was published in May of 2009. He then said he used to do a six-and-a-half-minute mile and was a champion pole vaulter in high school. I don't know why he was even talking to me. Here I am watching my three children in the rough surf, in my black tank 'mommy' bathing suit - not showing cleavage and I was clean shaven. Then I realized he was loaded.

He's also a former airline pilot, currently an air traffic controller and a seasoned arts supporter. Now I'm having fun and I'm not loaded. I'm also not Christie Brinkley at the hotel bar with Chevy Chase during Vacation. But I couldh've been. We don't end up eye-balled by other hotel patrons naked in the swimming pool (remember that part?) because I then notice his gorgeous former-professional-belly-dancer GIRLFRIEND is talking to my precious 6-year-old daughter. Just then, my girl runs to me arms extended, lip quivering whispering 'I didn't mean to, Mommy, I didn't mean to.' Turns out she ripped a hermit crab from it's shell and Bollywood herself was giving my daughter a biology lesson. This lady, who shall remain nameless because she's probably famous, was charming and engaging and a child at heart. Aside from the daiquiri-induced swollen tongue and unstable gait I believed every word she said. She had a carriage about her that only former dancers of any kind could have. She's my new friend and now I know for sure because I was offered a nip of rum from her posse sitting just a few yards away. I refused, not because I am faint of heart but because I did have six legs besides my own I was responsible for and it was only 1:00 in the afternoon. That's when my children got their anatomy lesson.

One of her homeys (60'ish) stood up and everything unfurled. This gentleman was wearing a loose fitting speedo that left nothing to the imagination. It was no hermit crab. Jiggling and wagging he heads to the shore to refresh, goes in waist-deep and there is NO SHRINKAGE. He's proud of his package and - if it's real - he should be. My 11-year son who's been skin-boarding for hours and wouldn't turn around even if I yelled 'Free Mountain Dew' stopped in his tracks. Whoa, Nelly. I've met Chevy Chase twice in one day - Clark and now Fletch - (remember the ballet scene). I wish I had a daiquiri to celebrate. Oh, and I did go running while on vacation. You know, I was Born to Run.

Freakin' Four Miles...

Yesterday Boston, Today Nothing

I was saying my good nights to my 11-year-old son on Monday and he said I should train for Boston. Are you freakin' kidding me? (I didn't say that to him.) I thought it was the sweetest thing. 'You can do it, Mom', he says. 'You can do anything.' I've come a long way by golly but BOSTON?!!! My friend over at http://www.shutupandrun/ has it in her attainable radar and I love her for it. But me, well that will never happen. Or could it...

So my wheels started turning and I went to bed thinking why not?! Feeling invigorated and motivated when that's hard to come by these days was really, REALLY nice. So I got up the next day bound for Boston. I started my simple, little 4 miles at about 10:30 a.m. in the squishy southern heat and hated every single step of the run. Every one of them. My attitude tanked, my positive self-talk turned profane and it's all I could do to finish freakin' four miles. How could I get to Boston if I can barely get back to my mailbox? BUT, I did finish. I beat my own attitude and that's a victory that stayed with me all day. Maybe that's the baby step to the next level. How do you set a high goal and strategically map the course? Do you plan in the wiggle room for bad attitude days? Strategy isn't my strong suit but believing in big ideas is. Somebody, kick me in the ass. Maybe, I should just shut up and run. I drive my own self crazy!!

Do you like it upside down?

Reverse Psychology

Once during my single days, a ...ahem... 'friend' of mine pointed out that I'd never seen him upside down. I didn't know what that meant or why it was important. On Sunday (17 years later) during Yoga - I found out.

This isn't me but I did it! For the record - I don't think this is what my friend had in mind but I did it (this) nonetheless. I balanced my entire body weight on my head. I used my shoulder girdle for the base and core strength for balance. My aha! moment was glorious - I found equilibrium without stress or struggle. My cervical vertebrae felt -nothing. My legs were reaching for the sky while my head was solidly rooted beneath me. I was upside down. What a kickass feeling! Is that what I was missing out on all those years? Better late than never!

You know I showed my children. They weren't that impressed they did look curiously at their almost 41 year old mother and wonder if things were normal in this neck of the woods. Amazing what a moment of reverse perspective can do for a gal. I was more fun yesterday. I have my upside down moment tucked in my heart for a day when reverse psychology is a must. Maybe this IS what my friend meant - potential nudity notwithstanding. Heck I feel like I can do anything now that I can stand on my head.

Have you done it upside down?

Gag!

It's all about you, you, you...

I just finished Dean Karnezes' "Ultra Marathon Man, Confessions of An All Night Runner". I'm sick. I have always struggled with the idea that running seems so self indulgent. We run to improve our own bodies, pace, performance. We run to clear the mind. We run for the solitude, a brief time away from responsibilities. Runners talk about their knees, hips, and shoulders - where's the world peace, fight for hunger, or cure for a disease? Karno, (as Dean's close friends call him) ran to save lives - Libby Wood for one. He also ran to save his own and his family's after the tragic death of his sister. When I stop self-flogging for a moment, it occurrs to me that we all maybe doing a little bit of 'good for the world' even if we don't know it. Maybe the you, you, you after a ball's out run is a better product for the planet and in fact our running is quite good for everyone.

I'm nicer after a run. I am more clear-headed and sharp. I make better decisions because the nagging guilt of not having run yet is not crawling all over me. My conversations during long group runs are quite meaningful. All that said. I need more.

I know there is a lot of opportunity to partner with a cause and make more out of running. Team in Training, Relay for Life, and Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure to name a few. Most big races have a signature charity that benefits from proceeds. I'm starting to feel better. BUT I still want more. I am selfishly training for the Richmond Marathon without a cause in mind. It occurs to me we can approach each run with some intention if that's our gig. Do it for the babies, do it for the old people, do it for the homeless, do it for (gag) YOU. That's quite enough. Did I just say that? Gotta go - not to cure cancer or finish my novel or teach the underpriviledged in Uganda. I gotta run. Maybe afterwards I can do all those things. Why do you do it?