Fenwick Island or Bust

Tomorrow I leave for Fenwick Island! Time to enjoy the final days of summer with some R & R at the beach. I am really looking forward to the trip.

I am going with several friends and we're staying at another friend's beach house. I'm taking Zoe (she LOVES the beach) so those who are dear to me the most, besides my family, will be there with me.

I am looking forward to so many things . . . playing in the sand, taking long walks on the beach, eating good food and drinking wine in the company of friends, reading inside while it rains (Katrina should make her way up from Florida), and exploring all the island has to offer. I'm also looking forward to running on the beach with Zoe.

Of course, I need to run 16 miles before I can leave. At least tomorrow morning looks cooler than the day we ran those awful 14. I'm sure the run will go well. And I'll have EARNED the trip. So I can revel in the fun, food, drink, and relaxation!

The Green-Eyed Monster

Confession: I get jealous . . . a lot . . . about lots of things.

This could mean any number of things, but I'm pretty sure I know why. In spite of everything my friends and family might say, I experience a fair amount of insecurity. I'm constantly battling those feelings, but the truth is I can get pretty anxious about many things in my life: my love life, my professional life, money, and general approval.

Sadly, my insecurity comes out as jealousy - sometimes agressive jealousy.

I compare myself to other women quite a bit, especially women who are experiencing success where I am experiencing insecurity. It's not that I dislike these women (many of them are my FRIENDS so quite the contrary), it's just that I'm seeing something in them that I want - a better body, a better wardrobe, a boyfriend, more money, a job.

This last one is particularly hard on me. As an actor we are constantly looking for work (even when we're working) and in a town the size of DC, you find yourself competing against your friends for roles. This is hard on me. Even the women who aren't my friends I respect and like. Yet I always wonder why they are working and I'm not . . . and that leads to me comparing myself, feeling insecure, and ultimately getting angry and jealous.

I HATE THAT FEELING.

How do you control it? Therapy would help, sure, but it's out of the question financially. I could go through another round of The Artist's Way which has helped me immensely in the past - sort of like a twelve-step program for creative types. Or I could just change careers.

Yeah, the thought goes through my mind on a regular basis.

But how do you abandon your passion? Or how do you re-invent yourself and keep that passion? I've had opportunities to get out with good jobs and always said "no." Shouldn't that tell me something? Or should I subscribe to the theory that the past doesn't equal the future? The thing is, I just can't imagine walking away. Is that a lack of vision on my part or a sign that I'm on the right path? East Coast Alaskan Girl and City Mouse have both commented on working in the industry . . . clearly its a struggle for each of us in our own ways. SIGH.

And people wonder what I think about when I'm running.

Yeah, running helps.

Coloring your hair helps.

Time with friends (even those working!) helps.

Zoe helps. Of course she does. Unconditional love ALWAYS helps.

I am armed with all kinds of weapons against this green-eyed monster (Is it the same as my Gremlin? They're definitely related if not the same). I just need to remember I can rely on them.

Blonde is Passe

Very soon I am off to my new colorist - and returning to my natural hair color: red.

I am nervous. I have been blonde for over five years. But I have a history of pictures of me as a redhead and I am eager to return to my roots (pun intended)! Okay, well, not my CURRENT roots 'cause this is where my age begins to show, but to my once fabulous fiery roots.

Growing up a redhead wasn't easy. I got called carrot top and freckles and all that. My red hair wasn't appreciated by boys until I hit college. Then I suddenly discovered the reputation red heads have as grown-ups. I wouldn't say I was popular - it takes a special guy to really appreciate a redhead - but I was more popular than I ever had been.

Through college and just out my red hair was truly my crowning glory. It was long, thick, and curly. It separated me from most women both professionally and personally. But as I got older my hair color and texture changed and I decided to go blonde to make it easier on myself and my bank account (matching red hair is very difficult and expensive).

Well, the past year or so I've been debating trying red again. I have finally found the courage - with the help of many friends - and in less than an hour I leave, oddly enough, to go forward into my past and become part of that 4% of the world's population.

There is a new book out about redheads and I cannot wait to read it - and find out on my own if Marion Roach's observations ring true for me!

Kick Off Your Shoes

WHAT?!? I should be running barefoot? Am I now Zola Budd?

Well, I don't know what to think anymore. It seems like the more we know, the more we discover we're doing it all wrong and that we had it right long before technology entered into the picture. Certainly it applies to more things than running shoes . . . but how practical is this advice?

I just bought my new running shoes . . . it's hard to throw them out when they've only gone about 50 miles so far and I threw down a chunk of change for them! I haven't suffered IT Band Syndrome since my first marathon (knock on wood) and though I suffer leg and foot cramps at night sometimes, I don't blame my shoe. I'M lazy but I don't think my FOOT is.

Yet, Zola Budd did it. That tribe in Mexico does it. I'm sure my beloved Kalenjin's do it.

I think maybe their running routes, though potentially hazardous, are different than running the DC city sidewalks. Do I want to risk running through the broken glass, garbage, construction waste, and water from who knows where with BARE FEET? Yuck - that's a definitive NO. I think of the years I ran on the C&O Canal - all GRAVEL. Somehow I just don't think that would be very comfortable. Aren't we risking one injury for another?

Of course Mr. MacDougall isn't saying the professionals advocate running without shoes - just different kinds of shoes. Apparently I can look forward to "non-shoe" shoes that will cost me a fortune.

Maybe it's time to run in my Tevas.

Sunday Update

*all has been quiet out back since the police came
*spent Thursday night with a friend on her back deck drinking wine
*barely survived my hangover Friday
*enjoyed Friday night with the girls but abstained (yes, I can be taught)
*ran an easy seven yesterday morning and purged the last of the wine out of my body
*had a nice hike with Zoe in Rock Creek Park
*did my laundry
*today I'm off to the Virginia Wine Festival with friends (am I insane? outside in a heat index of at least 100 degrees tasting wine?)

Confessions of a Biker Boy Addict

It's true - there is a special allure to a biker boy.

For me it's less of the Harley riding, trash talking, long-haired type and more of the James Dean type. I won't deny I am attracted to the bad boy.

My first boyfriend (for all intents and purposes, but I use that term loosely here) was a biker boy. He had longer hair, an earring, smoked, and drove a Kawasaki. He was my dream and my mother's nightmare. In fact, my mother's dislike of him only added to his appeal. He was utterly cool and I knew then I had a problem.

I have dated others with bikes. In college I dated a guy with a crotch-rocket, a la Tom Cruise. On our way home from the beach one day, we flew down the highway chasing a Ferrari - turns out we were going 140 mph (note to siblings reading this - do not tell Mom)! It was FABULOUS. Out of college one of the loves of my life bought a bike while we were dating. I even got to help him pick out the bike and advise him on the color of the paint job. It was a thing of beauty - and so was he on it. Fast forward to the not so distant past. This last guy I didn't exactly DATE, but he was young and pretty and irresistible on his bike. Dark and brooding, much like my high school biker boy, and oh so dangerous for so many reasons (which in my book means PERFECT); I just had to have a fix.

Fast forward a little more and my sister is now MARRIED to a biker guy. He's the clean-cut military type but still . . . my conservative, soccer mom sister gets a guy on a Harley and is now sporting leather pants and a leather jacket! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE UNIVERSE?????

I am, as I have made abundantly clear, still single. And, as I have also made abundantly clear, I'm good with that most of the time.

This is NOT one of those times. It's the end of summer and school's about to start and I always think back on my biker boys this time of year. I need to feel the wind in my hair and my arms around the waist of a man, not caring where we're going just that we're going there fast.

Since I have not been able to find a biker boy on my own in a while . . . and here's my confession . . . I am back in the world of computer dating. UGH. Perhaps my less than enthusiastic approach is only making things worse for me here, yet somehow my version of the biker boy is hard to find online. Of course, my version also requires he's not incarcerated, unemployed, fifty-five years old, or a devotee of NASCAR (and NO, I don't think all of those go together . . . all the time).

SIGH. Is it too much to ask for a decent, self-sufficient, smart, funny, thrill-seeking, city-dwelling, talented, with money to blow, pretty man on a bike?

But I keep searching for that cowboy on a steal horse . . . BON JOVI!!!!

Somehow I don't think I'll find HIM online. As for any others, I'm starting to think I've let them all go . . . at least all the good ones.

Stick and Stones Take Two

Last night I called the police again.

Not 911 - I couldn't in good conscience take away police from matters of life and death. So I called 311 again when the sound of concrete hitting the house began around 7:30 or so.

I'm torn about my decision . . .

The good news is my faith in the 311 system has returned as the police arrived within 5 minutes of my call. They were very polite and efficient and seemed to understand that all I wanted was the rock chucking to end. They were going to find the parents of the children and speak to them. Apparently, if I can identify the child (hard to do as they are quick and our fence is very high) and any damage is done the parent is held accountable for that damage. Hopefully the moms and dads will reign in the delinquent pitcher.

What is making me unsure of my decision is seeing, in the pack of children being corralled by the police, two or so "babies" - children that couldn't have been more than 5 years old! They looked so scared and I felt terrible. I am quite sure it is one or two older boys causing all of the trouble and these poor babies are just guilty by association. I'm also worried that my actions may only escalate the problem! SIGH. I guess only time will tell.

I hate this push me-pull you feeling! I shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to sit in my own yard without getting pummelled by a hunk of cement. Yet the whole black/white, haves/have-nots, young/old crap weighs heavy on my heart.

How do you know if you've done the right thing?

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

So may chunks of concrete!

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

For better or worse (and probably a little of both) my neighborhood is in "transition". The property values are skyrocketing and more middle and upper class people, and therefore more Caucasians, are moving into the neighborhood. We could spend hours debating the pros and cons of gentrification, but that's not what this entry is about.

The avenue I live on is mixed ethnically, but right behind us most of the homes are occupied by blacks and quite a few families. The children play in the ally because, sadly, there really is nowhere else to play. They pull out a portable basketball hoop or toss the football. In the past, the balls have come into our yard and my housemate and I have returned the balls with no protest.

The past few weeks, it's been chunks of concrete instead. Some have hit the house and I find the chunks in the yard every morning. I place them in a pile and before last night never said anything to the kids.

Last night, while enjoying margarita Monday on the deck, a chunk of concrete came flying into the yard and landed directly between two of my friends, nearly missing their heads. Come to find out, they had also broken my neighbors' fence and been tossing the chunks of concrete into their yard and they have an infant child! That was the last straw for us.

We confronted the kids and of course all vehemently denied their involvement. I don't deny that it is probably one or two bad seeds but I was surprised by their defiance and even aggressiveness towards us. We returned to our yards, my neighbor to fixing his fence and I to my friends and margaritas when more concrete came crashing around us. Well, I ran inside and called the police.

DC has this police "non-emergency" line, 311, which in theory is a good idea, but frankly I haven't yet had a good experience with it. The idea is to call 911 only when your life is in danger, but I believe 311 calls are often ignored by the police. When I lived in Petworth, I actually had an operator give me lip and tell me the people I was reporting weren't doing anything wrong! Well, since our lives weren't in any immediate danger (though getting hit by one of those things would HURT) I called 311 to report the kids. I was told the "next available officer" would be dispatched.

In the meantime, my more level-headed housemate went outside the fence to try to call a truce. I said good-bye to my friends (no buzz-killer like a kid throwing concrete at you) and my housemate and I returned to the backyard. We were discussing how to handle the possibility of another incident when lo and behold another chunk of concrete comes flying over the fence, accompanied by some swearing, and the chunk lands in the other neighbor's yard. We decide to call it a night and go inside.

My housemate goes to the study to use the computer and I go up to read. Since I'm pretty sensitive to sound, I use earplugs at night. Next thing I know I hear a thunk through the earplugs and my housemate calling for me. Sure enough, the house had been hit twice by some type of projectile. I get back on the phone, dial 311, and am told the "next available officer" would come by. We never saw the police.

This morning I cleared several more chunks of concrete and a shoe from the yard and added them to the growing pile.

So today, my housemate is going to try to talk with the parents of these children. It is a bold move, and may be met with any number of reactions. These parents are never outside checking on the kids . . . will they care? I can only hope so.

What's most upsetting to me is that these kids may not be held accountable for their actions. Frankly, they're vandalizing our house and our neighbors' houses. They could break more of the fence or even a window. They could hurt one of us, the dogs, or the baby. And if I'm to rely on 311 the police will never come and we have no way of catching who is actually doing the throwing. I worry how it could escalate. How is it we are the targets? What have we done to them? Is it race related? Is it the changing of the neighborhood? Could it go even deeper than that? Or are they just a bunch of kids with nothing to do and no place to play?

I don't suppose I'll ever get an answer, but I was sure happy to have a maintenance run today to release some of my anger and frustration and consider my options.

Next time those sticks and stones (and shoes) come flying over the fence to break our bones, I'm calling 911 . . . and looking for a kid with only one shoe.

Margarita Monday

A little hair of the dog that bit ya?

Yup, we've got beer and tequila to drink up. Sadly, there's no guava juice left for more "runners remorse" punch, but I'm happy with a margarita in hand.

WE HAVE SO MANY LEFTOVERS! Oh MA GA!

So instead of spending money we don't have, the girls and I are having Margarita Monday over at the pink house and enjoying some luau leftovers. No doubt we'll hardly make a dent in them (except, I'm guessing, the tequila).

This is one of my favorite activities to do with my girlfriends - kinda like Sex in the City downsized. Seriously, I love getting together with my friends and enjoying drinks, food, and chatter. Sometimes we talk about nothing of importance and sometimes things get pretty riled up (me, riled up?). And we always have fun and laugh - usually a lot.

This time we're especially lucky 'cause a friend who moved out of town some time ago has made her annual pilgrimage to DC and we get to hang out with her for a while.

And, the weather has cooled down some. True, it's still 90 freakin' degrees outside plus humidity, but compared to the weekend it's like fall has arrived!

Ahh . . . fall. Though I look forward to slightly cooler weather I am not looking forward to the shorter days and the larger workload . . . and worst of all I can longer enjoy Margarita Monday and good times with friends.

LOVELY AND AMAZING LUAU

WHAT A GREAT LUAU!!! It was a big success and I have SO MANY people to thank for it.

First of all my wildly creative housemate who single-handedly transformed the pink house into a Hawaiian paradise. Not only did she decorate the place beautifully, but cooked some AMAZING (so I was told since I don't eat meat myself) Kalua Pig! So not only did our friends get lei'd, they also got some ass at the party - PIG's ass, but still quite a treat (thank you C for letting me steal your joke). She also made an great Lomi Salmon.

I also had dear friends come over and help in the final preparations because, as predicted, we were racing against the clock to get ready. Not surprising, they were the same three ladies joining me in Hawaii to cheer me on (and "recover" in the days following). Thank you, LADIES!

My housemate also had friends rise to the occasion and bake for us as well as deliver much needed ice, and fix a very foamy keg (okay, so rolling it down the ally was not our most intelligent moment).

But most of all, I need to thank the guests. We probably had somewhere in the vicinity of 40 people show up, partake, and donate to the cause and because of all of them I am now over $500 closer to meeting my fundraising. AMAZING! I am so grateful for all of their support. I know so many of my close friends (most of whom work in the arts) make so little money and it is incredibly touching to know they dug deep to find something to give. Before the party, I hadn't met many of my housemate's friends, yet even as virtual strangers to me they also donated generously. And finally my fellow Tegla Teammates, who ran those hot and horrible fourteen miles with me, who are also busy trying to fundraise, showed up and threw their money into the bucket as well. I am in awe of all of them!

And they gave so much more than their money! They took pictures (some of which I will post), cleaned up a dead mouse (a very unpleasant task), gave inspiring cards, shared inspiring thoughts, and above all made me laugh. I believe it is those acts of support that are most important.

So the party finally broke up about 1:30 AM and my housemate and I spent the next hour cleaning and clearing. She really pulled through for me as there is little worse for me than waking up to the mess the day after. Of course that meant it was a 21.5 hour day for me - on my feet, with little exception, the entire 21.5 hours. WHEW.

Now that I have walked Zoe in Rock Creek Park, put away the dishes, and watered all the plants I can rest and relax for a few hours before it is time to prep for my audition tomorrow.

I am in high spirits thanks to a lovely and amazing luau - and leftover Lomi Salmon!

F***ING FOURTEEN

Fourteen miles today . . . in the oppressive heat . . . I hated it. That covers it.

Luau Prep

It has been a busy day of LUAU prep, folks! And it's only going to get busier!!

My housemate is beyond excited and I'm not sure what to expect when I get home to the pink house. What started as tater tots and pig on a stick has become a nearly authentic Luau meal! Here is the menu:

Appetizers
Cabbage Salad
Sticky rice (or maybe carmel sweet potatoes)
Fruit salad in pineapple boat
Shrimp cocktail
Cheese & bread
Chips & Salsa & & Queso
KALUA PIG oh yeah baby
Lomi Salmon
Cake
Chocolate covered macadamia nuts
Soda
Punch
Beer
Cucumber water

What happened to finger food? THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER! And I'm so happy she is all over this party as my schedule kinda sucks for helping much.

Tonight I shop and then either help decorate or prepare food (I can't believe we're having Kalua Pig). Tomorrow morning I run 14 miles - with a heat advisory out and a team that once again ran too fast last week (good thing I was in Mass running on my own). I guess we'll see how it goes. I feel ready for it, but honestly I worry about the heat. That always seems to take it out of me. At least our muscles stay warm - that's a positive. You gotta look for them wherever you can. :) Then the rest of the day tomorrow is dedicated to the Luau. Fortunately, the fun begins at 8pm and I'm planning on imbibing immediately.

So things are busy in marathon land.

T minus 28 hours and counting . . .

Running Forever

Once again, John Bingham tells it like it is.

My road to running wasn't quite the same, but wasn't altogether that different either. As I mentioned in a previous post my brother and sister were runners - and pretty competitive. To steal a phrase from another runner - I "jogged" my way through cross-country.

It took me a long time to get serious. I wasn't grossed out by my brother's horror stories, instead I was fascinated. The coolest thing in the world to me was when, in his senior year, he was running in the State Finals. I raced around the course to follow his progress (it was a fairly spectator-friendly course) and was thrilled with the early part of the race. Then he seemed to disappear . . . and when I finally saw him climbing a hill he was a bit behind the pace he had set - an unusual occurrence with my brother.

Come to find out, he had been spiked as he went around a narrow curve. Yeah, spiked. As in racing spikes (lightweight shoes with SPIKES on the soles) digging into the flesh of his foot spiked. In essence, he was running with a hole in his foot - a bleeding hole.

Well, he finished the race. I would've been a baby and stopped no doubt. Be he finished and because he finished injured he helped his team place third at State's. Not a bad way to go out.

So . . . fascinated as I was with the gore of running, I didn't have the GUTS. So when it came to choosing between running and theatre, well, playing dress-up and pretend fit my personality more. So I stopped running.

Then college came. I ran sporadically to try to lose those awful "Freshman 15." In the end it was a crazy schedule and dance classes that did it.

Then I went on tour . . . and really the only way to keep in shape on tour is to run. Don't misunderstand, I still wasn't serious about it. I just ran to enjoy the weather or get out of the hotel room - to escape from or to something else. Funny, as Mr. Bingham says, I always ended up back in the same place.

Then I went to grad school and there was "no time". Or so I thought until a bad breakup with a boy (are we seeing a recurring theme in my early running?). Then I ran to purge him from my heart and head. It worked a little. Kick-boxing worked a lot.

Then finally . . . I moved to DC. I had few friends and wasn't working as an actor. I was miserable. I decided - in a wild desperate move - to join the AIDS Marathon Training Program and run my first marathon. I started running on the treadmill at the gym (YUCK - but it was February) and I was cross-training with weights and aerobics. Then I had another bad breakup and got really charged (amazing what a breakup will do to your determination!). The weather got nice and Zoe and I were inspired by the warm weather and Rock Creek Park. I met another boy - a few houses down - and he became another running partner (okay, and a little more until he moved to Belgium). I was feeling strong, meeting new people, and getting acting work. Running had changed my life and I hadn't even run the marathon yet. It wasn't until the marathon that I finally understood the GUTS my brother had possessed in High School.

So now it's five marathons later and I'm hooked. I don't always love it - in fact, I continue to have a love/hate relationship with running. Yet I always return to it. I like Mr. Bingham's likening his running shoes to giant erasers. I go back to running for similar reasons. And through this blog I am coming to terms with being a runner. You don't have to be fast to be a runner. You don't have to win races or get medals or have stories like my brother's great spiking. You just have to put one foot in front of the other in the act of running.

I've said it before and I'll say it again . . . there is no finish line . . . kinda like running forever.

Please pass the wine . . . or beer.

Yippee! I have been given the green light to DRINK!

Okay, okay . . . I realize in MODERATION . . . and I shouldn't stay up or out till the wee hours . . . I really don't party as much as I lead on.

I'm just relieved I can partake a little with no guilt. Denial is another thing I'm not so good at (yes, I ended the sentence with a preposition). I like to enjoy what life has to offer - eat with gusto, drink with passion, live with abandon. Life is too short and if you truly go around only once (or once that you remember) then I think my "motto" serves me well. I enjoy risk and pushing my limits. A little danger in life is good for me.

I'm not saying be stupid and play chicken with a train . . . not my style (though I recall doing it a few times in Kentucky on my way to the theatre). I'm saying try things that make your heart race a little: skydive, trestle jump, run a horse (these I've done), parasail, surf (things I need to do - and will in Hawaii!).

So please pour me another . . . CHEERS!

Bay State Update

I have been in Massachusetts for the past few days and tonight is my final night so I thought I'd share a few of the highlights of my trip and update you on my running.

The best part of my trip occured last evening, just about dusk. Now there are a lot of things I love about visiting my parents: gourmet food (my mom is an amazing cook as many of my friends will confirm), beautiful setting (the western edge of the Berkshires - stunning), and relaxing in their "well-appointed" home. Part of relaxing in the summer means sitting out in the screened in porch.

For some of you "screened in porch" conjurs images of astro-turf covered porches with makeshift screens set in and a giant bug-zapper INSIDE the room that is supposed to keep the bugs OUT. The furniture might be fold up lawn chairs or something more permanent with moldy cushions. Make no mistake, my parent's porch is no such thing. Their porch is a work of art (again, friends will confirm). It's beautiful - hardwood floors, rod-iron furniture with lovely cushions and pillows, a wood ceiling fan to keep the room air stirring on humid days, and a scenic backyard that blends quite seemlessly into the woods behind the house.

Well, we were on said porch enjoying a glass of fine wine and easy conversation when I leap from my reclined position on the couch and gasp at what I see just outside of this porch. A GIANT BLACK BEAR (I'm talkin' in the neighborhood of 400 - 500 pounds) idly strolls by the house - from the frontyard and apparently the street, to the backyard. It pauses long enough to take us in and then continues on its merry way along the backyards of our neighbors - causing dogs and grown men to bark like crazy. AMAZING. Apparently this bear has visited before - my mother enjoyed watching it make a Sunday morning pass in the frontyard, climb a neighbor's tree, and then continue up the street. Definitely the hightlight of the trip. I just thank the universe for making certain Zoe was INSIDE at this time as she normally sits on the back stoop unleashed for hours on end. One swipe from the bear (no doubt Zoe would ask for it under these conditions) and Zoe would be a goner!

That's about all the DRAMA I've enjoyed since arriving Thursday night. I've done my laundry (I felt very much like a college student dragging my laundry up here when I have a perfectly good washer and dryer at home) and viewed the latest complete photo album of my mother's extensive collection. We went hiking out at Mt. Tom and Bashbish Falls and have even enjoyed the "jewel" of Westfield, Stanly Park, a few times. We celebrated my mother's birthday, did some shopping in Lee and Northampton, and have had countless glasses of wine. Not a bad way to spend some down time all in all.

I ran a good five miles on Friday morning with Zoe - she was thrilled to be in the aforementioned park swimming and my only complaint would be the biting flies. I ran six on Sunday, my father biking just ahead of me to push me, and it felt quite good - even with the big hills. If only I could move the running routes I have here down to DC!

Tomorrow I head home. I don't feel quite ready yet, actually. Though I'm ready to see my friends and have some fun at the LUAU, I'm sad to leave the peace and quiet so soon.

The good news is I am back for Christmas . . . maybe just for a short time but I can't complain. Who knows, maybe the black bear will come back for a visit then too.

'Cause You Gotta Have Friends

Well, it's official! I booked my flight yesterday - with two friends - so ready or not Hawaii here I come!

I'm very excited. I am thrilled to be traveling with close, fun friends - not doubt the Big Island will never know what hit it. We are extending our stay after the marathon so we can enjoy some of what the Island has to offer as part of my "recovery" from 26.2 miles.

It's amazing how much the support of friends can see you through a marathon. It just so happens that I have been lucky enough to always have a friend or family member on the marathon route cheering me on.

My first marathon I was injured, and my parents were there to cheer me on as well as my sister at the half-way point. But a big surprise came when a friend of mine got my attention just before the 14th Street Bridge of the Marine Corps Marathon (that's about mile 22-24 or so). I was hurting bad and my Gremlin was trying to talk me out of finishing . . . and she was wearing a big smile. I said, "walk with me" and she stepped right onto the road and kept me company to that bitch of a bridge. I might not have made it without her. I'm currently trying to convince her to join in the fun in December as she'll have crossed a finish line of her own by then - her dissertation will be FINISHED and we'll all have to call her Doc. Frankly, I'd rather run a marathon than go through a PhD program!

My second marathon was the one and only "official" DC Marathon. My parents couldn't make it and I thought I was going to have to run it without a friendly face on the course. Just before the finish line I heard somebody shout my name - and there were two dear friends standing on the side arms full of treats for me. I shouted "run with me" and without hesitation they "sprinted" (if you can call it that after I've run 26 miles) to the finish line with me. I was so moved by their presence I cried. Really.

My third marathon was in Richmond and once again my parents were there supporting me along the route. What was extra special was that my mother had cut up some oranges for me, so along the route she was there with the BEST marathon snack available. I had a great first half, but typical of me, I hit the wall around mile 20 and was struggling. I had left my training partner behind me early in the run (he was hurting) and had passed the last place I'd see my folks before the finish line. I still had about 2 miles to go when I heard somebody call my name. It was my fabulous training partner and friend - he had caught up to me and we finished the race together. I have a picture of us crossing the finish line together framed in my room.

My fourth was back with the Marine Corps and once again my folks were there (with oranges!). I didn't expect to see anybody else along the route but as I was reaching the half-way point (and already unhappy and hurting) a friend shouted my name from the side. I looked up and there was a dear friend (and BOB) waving frantically. I ran to give her a hug - she was decked out in jeans and boots - and since she didn't want me to slow down she ran part way UP Capitol Hill in those jeans and boots! Amazing. And I'm so lucky to have her in Hawaii with me!

The last Marine Corps marathon was my worst . . . my training had fallen apart before the race and I wasn't prepared. My training partner was running NY instead so I didn't have him to lean on this time. My folks came anyway . . . with no guarantee I'd finish . . . avec oranges. I had met two women from Toronto at the packet pick-up the night before and we arranged to go to the race together. I was lucky enough to run with them for about the first 16 miles . . . then they disappeared in the crowd ahead of me (they had trained better than I had of course). I was bummed out and once again fighting with my Gremlin when I had to hit hateful Haines Point. Now those that know Haines Point as part of this marathon understand why it's hateful. It is late in the race (miles 18 - 22) and it is a lonely stretch of road. By this point the racers have thinned out and few people bother to cheer you at Haines Point. I was having trouble running when ahead of me I saw a familiar "gait" - my now housemate had come out to Haines Point to support me with peanut butter and other snacks if memory serves me. She walked with me for a bit, gave me a pep talk, and I headed to that bitch of a bridge again still no longer fighting my Gremlin, just fatigue. As I hit the beginning of the bridge who's waiting for me but my training partner! He said, "I thought you might be having a hard time here so I came to run you in." Well, though I couldn't run the whole way (in fact, I could run very little of the last six miles - ugh) he stayed right with me and kept pushing me. The Marines forced him to leave the course at the Iwo Jima hill (the last .2 are UPHILL) but because of this great friend I FINISHED.

So I am now training for yet another marathon . . . and I am once again blown away by the support my friends have shown me: some are volunteering for me, some are contributing what little money they can, some are running with me, some are helping me throw a fund-raising party, and some are going all the way to Hawaii to cheer me on.

They are all going the distance with me.

'Cause you gotta have friends.

If You Can't Stand the Heat . . .

. . . go get Margaritas!

Okay, so that's not the expression but after two days of no A/C and going on a third I'm ready just to sit in a cold Mexican restaurant and drink frozen margaritas.

Yeah, the A/C guy finally came today and we need a new fan for the compressor which won't be in until tomorrow. ACK. Last night was so damn hot. I realize it could have been so much hotter, but I think today is going to make that a possibility tonight. It's already 90 degrees in the house . . . and it's just now noon.

Frankly, the whole weekend is driving me to drink - well, not ALL of it, but I did get a flat tire and had to have that taken care of. Plus, there's a mouse in the house we can't get rid of because if we bait a trap we basically invite every ant in DC to the house for a snack. The dogs chase it when they see it, but aren't fast enough to catch it and kill it. Time to borrow a cat.

So, though I wasn't going to go into work, I am now. I spent the morning weeding the garden in prep for the LUAU . . . which is still nearly two weeks away, but I'm going away for a few days to visit my parents in Massachusetts so it had to be done now.

Ahhh . . . the ice box office. I think today will be the first day I DON'T complain about it being too cold in there.