2:01:35

Well, another half-marathon under my belt. It was my slowest, but I can't complain.

The morning started early - a little before 5 AM to get up, get ready, eat and stretch. I let my nephews sleep in till 5:15 and then got them up. The managed to rise quickly and quietly - a surprise considering they're 16 and 17! Then Papa drove us to the race start. We got about 5 blocks away and, as he had to return to the hotel to get the family cheering section, dropped us off.

We began by walking to the race start and waiting in the cold rain. YUCK. That's never an easy way to begin. My fingers looked like the fingers of a dead person. Pretty unpleasant. But my brother, my nephews and I managed to keep our spirits high as we waited.

This race the half-marathoners and marathoners start together, but they start in "waves" based on predicted finishing time. Ignoring that, all of us waited in corral #11, where 2 hour finishers wait so we could at least START together, even if we knew we wouldn't FINISH together.

Finally, the gun went off for the elite racers and our 20-plus minute wait to GET to the start began. Oh well, when you're already cold and wet what's another 20 minutes?

Fortunately, the minutes flew by and we were off. My brother and I saw the Speed Demon and the Soccer Player for about a mile and then we were on our own. We sang along with the songs the bands were playing (oddly enough, we heard more rock than country!) and managed to keep a pretty steady pace. Early in the race, CMT was throwing out wrist bands. Hallelujah! I finally had a wrist band! I have often thought, during training, I would like one, but never remembered when I was in a sporting goods store. It sure came in use.

The rain stopped shortly after we started and then it warmed up. Blech. Still, I tried to enjoy the sights and sounds. Nashville is a pretty city and Music Row was pretty interesting. We passed by parts of Vanderbilt University and other nice parts of town. I confess I never bothered to look at the course in detail, so I was running blind. I only marked the passing of the miles and - through my brother - the time.

There was an Elvis (of course!) directing marathon traffic at the split - half-marathoners to the right, full marathoners to the left. I was so GLAD to be going to the right! My brother and I ran along together most of the way and finally, around mile 7, we saw the family. Somehow we missed them at mile 4! Near mile 11 or so I was a little ahead of my brother and when I looked back to check in, he waved me on. Fair enough - I waved him on last time.

So I stepped up the pace a smidge and with only the finish line in my mind. The first mile passed with little pain; the second passed and I was working harder. We rounded a corner near the finish at LP Stadium (home of the Titans) and I figured my family would be there if anywhere. Sure enough, they were, but I missed them entirely and they missed me (except my youngest nephew, who later I heard said, "Mom, I think Auntie just ran by." Oh well.)! Then I was .1 mile away from the finish and I could hear the beep of the chips registering and did my best to finish strong.

I knew I was close to a 2 hour finish and as that was roughly where I wanted to finish, I was happy. I got my water, my medal, and I waited for my brother. A few minutes later, I saw him snag his medal and then came the fun of collecting food and finding the family.

Now two years ago, after running Louisville in the cold rain, I complained because only FULL marathoners got foils to stay warm. Ludicrous! Yet after crossing this finish I didn't see ANY foils. HUH? Where were the foils? I finally asked a volunteer and come to find out, NOBODY was getting foils except those in medical need. Well poop on that! I WAS COLD. But not wanting to take a foil away from one suffering hypothermia, I suffered my fast and furious cool down.

Finally, juggling food and fluids and shivering in the cold, my brother and I located the family. My sister-in-law, bless her, was kind enough to bring one of her sweatshirts for me, remembering the fiasco of Louisville. Eventually, the Speed Demon, and a hurting Soccer Player, found us as well and we were off to manipulate our way back to the hotel.

Fortunately, Papa was a tracker in a previous life (or if you were to ask the Speed Demon, a CIA Secret Agent in THIS life) and has the most amazing sense of direction (or a photographic memory). In spite of road closings, bumper to bumper traffic, and not knowing Nashville very well, he got us home back to the hotel in no time so we could enjoy a hot shower or the hot tub to warm up and recover.

The rest of the weekend was spent enjoying family, pool time, and lots and lots of food! Nothing like earning a guilt-free weekend!

What's next? Looks like it might be the Stump Jump in October. I guess I need to get some trail shoes . . .

Oh, and the gauntlet is down. As I was saying good-bye to my brother he said, "Now we're even." I think he means to get ahead in October. Any bets?

Family Affiar

I'm off to listen to some country music. Oh yeah, and run a half-marathon at the same time.

Yup, I'm leaving in a few hours for Nashville and the Country Music Marathon. In spite not being as ready as I could be, I'm looking forward to it. It's going to be a family affair - the whole gang will be there except my sister and her husband. My brother, my sister's two boys, and I are all running together.

Okay, so not TOGETHER. The Speed Demon will kill us all. His brother, the Soccer Player will probably still do better than my brother and I. We've decided to just have fun and enjoy the race so we'll run an easy pace and probably still finish with a respectable, though slower, time.

It's also one of my niece's birthday celebration, nearly my brother's birthday, and soon to be mother's day so why not gather the gang up and do something as a family.

Does running "run" in families? It seems to in this family. My Grampie was a runner. My sister was a runner (can't do it so much now due to her knees). My brother and I are still running. And now the Speed Demon is carrying on the torch as a top cross-country runner at his high school.

Does that make us all crazy. My bet is yes.

But how crazy are we really? Running is good for you. Races are fun events that take you places you never thought you'd go - physically and mentally. And though road races are more popular than ever, you're still in an elite group if you can say you finished a marathon or half-marathon.

I'm 40 years old and I'm getting medals for my physical activity. Not bad in my book!

So crazy or not, this family is lacing up its shoes and hitting the road for 13.1 miles tomorrow. I can hardly think of a more satisifying family affair.

Moving to the Show Me State

I can hardly believe it myself!

But it's done. I am moving . . . to Missouri.

A few days ago I was on my way back to my beloved DC where friends and family and a new teaching job awaited me. I was making plans and dreaming of my homecoming. I was ignoring that nagging voice saying, "is this job really what you think it is and is it really what you want?"

Oh, and yeah, there was that little interview at a school in Missouri I needed to go to, but it was most likely just a formality. I mean, I was going HOME!

And then I visited this special school in the show-me state and had the most amazing time. The students were talented, present, and engaged. The faculty was enthusiastic, respectful, nice, and ODDLY ENOUGH, collegial.

The town was small, but had things to offer and was pleasant and pretty.

And then I was offered a job. And given a deadline - for that night.

What? This wasn't in my plan! I was going home! I was set!

And then I began my drive home. And I kept thinking about my in-class experience and how it was truly the most amazing experience I've ever had in a classroom. I thought about the department head who impressed the hell out of me with his "no BS" approach. I thought about the better money and lower cost of living. I thought about the BFA program and all the fun classes I could teach. And then I thought about ACCEPTING this job.

WHOA! No way. Nope. I'm going back to my friends . . . and a job that worries me . . . and struggling just to make ends meet . . . and teaching enthusiastic - but very GREEN - students . . . and having to do most everything myself . . . and not having the time to enjoy being back.

And then I started making phone calls. I called my mother and my father. I called the World Traveler, Boss Lady, and the Healer at my old workplace. I talked to them and rejoiced in my good fortune but explained my conundrum. I called PhD and left a message. I called the Fight Guy and also left a message. And then I drove in silence for many hours and along the way I wept. I had to ask the tough questions and those who know me and love me know I suck at answering them.

The Fight Guy called back and we made plans to meet on campus. It was good to connect with him, cry some more, and ask his advice. He is a dear friend and colleague and he said to me, without trying to influence me one way or another (if anything, I think he would have liked my return to DC as much as I did), "you sound excited about the program in Missouri." And indeed, I had been excited.

When I got home, I called the Acupuncturist and his wife, the ER Doc. The Acupuncturist is an old soul in a young man and always has a way of helping me look at things for what they are. His wife is cut from the same cloth. Again, they offered no answers, but in answering their questions I was beginning to find answers on my own.

But I still wasn't ready to commit to anything and Missouri needed an answer. So I called . . . and begged the department head's indulgence so I might sleep on it. He very kindly agreed.

And I was back on the phone with my mother and father crying and wondering out loud what direction my life should go. My parents are saints, no question.

Exhausted, but still needing more information, I headed to my laptop and the Internet. It was time to see what this small town might offer me in big returns. I noticed PhD was online, took a chance in interrupting her, and of course she responded. As it turns out, she was on the phone with the Bride from last summer (remember THAT story?) who happens to be working at this school (I did see her and her husband and had a brief, but nice visit) and relayed some more information from her to me. At one point in the typing back and forth I read something along the lines of "are you moving forwards, or backwards?"

Good question - VERY good question.

By the time I finished online, it was nearly midnight and I was exhausted. I got into bed, reviewed some more Missouri information, and fell into a night of fitful sleep and troubled dreams.

By the time I woke up, around 5:30 AM, I could hardly see straight from fatigue and swollen crying eyes.

Still, I suited up for my walk with Zoe and off we went. I thought some more about my choices and even asked Zoe where she'd like to live. Like a good friend, she offered no answers. Just a wagging tail that said wherever I chose would be good by her.

Soon after I was off to sub for the Fight Guy (lucky devil has a gig in St. Louis) and while the students were filling out their class evaluations, I ran into MFA Bob and started chatting. A few moments later, Hurricane Z (directing faculty) strolled by and said to me, "You look like you could use a hug." Damn she's perceptive. I told her I did but it might make me cry so she gave me a big hug and asked me, as I teared up, why I was crying. I explained my situation and she asked what pulled me to each one. I told her, "one is my home, and one is the better program." And she said, "It sounds like you've made your decision." My jaw fell down and I stammered "yes, but" and then rubbed my hand over my heart. She looked right at me and said, "Isn't your work your heart?"

I told you she was perceptive.

And that's when I knew. I had no choice. I HAD to go to Missouri.

And so immediately following class, I called my parents and friends in DC to tell them and nobody really seemed surprised.

So I called Mr. No BS Department Head and gave him answer. I was moving to Missouri.

I guess that state really showed me!

Rock and Roll Morning

This morning, around 4AM the critters woke me up.

Now, I'll admit my animals are early risers, but this was ridiculous!

And all three seemed especially agitated. Of course, I was agitated too, just in a clearly different way. Every time I tried to go back to sleep, Zoe would stick her nose in my face and pant. I finally said "night night!" firmly enough to get her to leave me alone.

The next thing I know, the bed is shaking like crazy and I am wondering what in the hell Zoe could be doing to create such vibrations when I look next to me, and there - OFF the bed - is Zoe wagging her tail, ears down, and panting. The cats were nowhere to be found.

What the hell?

Apparently, I experienced my first earthquake. In ILLINOIS. Who knew? And according to another article ILLINOIS has at least one a year. Huh? Yup. Not of this magnitude (a 5.4 or 5.2 depending on who you read), but we've got a couple of fault lines here so . . . I suppose it makes sense.

SIGH.

If the bed is rockin', mother earth is knockin'.

Jet Lagged

Well, it finally happened. I officially lost my sense of humor and my patience with all of my interview traveling adventures.

I'm toast.

Last week I went on two job interviews: one in North Carolina and one in Maryland, near my beloved DC.

En route to North Carolina, I was OF COURSE delayed in Atlanta and called my parents to joke about it. It was still funny then.

My interview there was . . . weird . . . and from the moment I stepped off the plane, felt like a waste of time. Seriously. It just didn't seem like they were honestly interested in me for the position. Oh, I know that if you're a final candidate (1 of 4) then they MUST be somewhat interested. I mean, they didn't ask the other 96 applicants, right? But it just appeared to me that the candidate they really wanted was coming after me and I was only there "just in case." I don't think I really had the attention of the search committee chair until I taught my class. Ugh.

Of course, at dinner the first night I committed a MAJOR faux pas, which I'm sure didn't help me. I think I was brain dead. Honestly. I had spent the bulk of the dinner being ignored by two faculty members and finally dessert was served. I hadn't ordered any, but the soon-to-be-interim-chair didn't like the sorbet he was sharing and suggested I taste it. Well, my silverware had been cleared so I . . . hold onto your hats, folks . . . reach for his dirty spoon like he's my good friend. Wait, it gets better. The two faculty members look at me like I'm from Emily Post's worst nightmare (and to be fair, in this moment I was) and I say in response . . . drum roll please . . . "you don't have cooties do you?" I SWEAR. OMG. My brain FINALLY kicked in before I licked the stupid thing and dove into the sorbet. As the server passed, I asked for a new spoon. But the damage had been done. I clearly had cooties.

The trip home was pretty good . . . there was a short delay in North Carolina, but whatever - I'm used to it, right? I called my folks and joked some more.

I managed pretty well again on Thursday when the universe conspired to send me the break down of American Airlines AND a major storm in the Midwest at the same time. Ugh. I spent 7 hours in the tiny airport near my home. Yes, 7 hours. I begged the Fight Guy to play hooky and join me at the bar, but he resisted. So I graded some papers and laughed with PhD and my folks about my karma. Of course, I had to reschedule a bunch of interview stuff 'cause I didn't get into my hotel in Maryland until 12:30 AM Friday.

The interview there went well - certainly better than the one earlier in the week! The program is completely different so seeing myself there requires thinking about my teaching in an entirely new way, but that's okay. I would still get back HOME and there is a lot to like about that. I managed to see a few friends while in DC: stayed with the Actor-Who-Always-Works-Out-of-Town and her husband, the Scientist. We got to Granville Moore on H Street for mussels, frites, and a super-yummy beet salad. Oh yeah, and of course some wine! We spent the rest of the evening hanging out as AWAWOOT prepped packed for yet another gig in Pittsburgh. But I missed many others due to the stupid airline delay and that bummed me out.

Sunday morning, AWAWOOT drove me to BWI so I wouldn't have to take the bus (how GREAT of her). I checked in, grabbed a coffee and bagel, and hung out. A few minutes before the scheduled boarding time, the agent asked for volunteers to give up their seats for a free round-trip ticket. YIPPEE! For MONTHS the airlines have been asking for volunteers only on my flights TO my interviews. I could never volunteer until now! Well, I jumped up and headed for the podium . . . and then stood in a line that I swear hardly moved. I took nearly 20 minutes to get to the agent and I told her I would volunteer. She looked at my final destination and said the only other flight I could get home wouldn't be until 9:30pm and wondered if that would be okay. I asked if I could have a food voucher and BAM! the conversation was over. She said she didn't need me to volunteer, thanks anyway. Excuse me? Because I asked to be fed at the airport? I didn't even get a chance to tell her I didn't NEED the voucher, that I would be happy with just the ticket! SIGH. And so my day had begun.

We finally boarded the plane and were off for O'Hare. The flight was packed but at least I was by the window. I napped a little and just before we started to land I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me. I asked her if she was coming or going and she said, with no self-pity or bitterness, she was off for her second round of chemo to deal with her final stage cancer. Well, that certainly puts my problems into perspective, doesn't it? We chatted pleasantly until we landed and as we de-planed I wished her luck.

I then found my way to my new gate and was determined to be grateful for my day.

That lasted until we boarded (late, of course).

As we were walking to our plane (a very small commuter jet), I see ahead of me a very obese woman struggling to climb the stairs to the plane. And in that moment I knew I was seated beside her.

Sure enough, I had the window seat next to her (did I mention it was a very small commuter jet?). As every flight I'd been on thus far had been oversold, I sat down. When she sat down beside me, she took up at least half of MY seat too. Now, forgive me, I am not judging her for her health issues, but COME ON! Wasn't there a time when airlines were making obese people pay for two seats because they USE two seats? I was MISERABLE. I am not a claustrophobic, but I was rapidly becoming one.

As the plane filled up, I noticed nobody was sitting in the row in front of me (an exit row at that!) so I asked the flight attendant if I could move. She said yes (praise God!) and I leaped up and practically over the seats. When I sat down, there was a suitcase stashed below the seats in front of me taking up nearly ALL the legroom. HUH? But nobody else was sitting there! So I asked the attendant and a young man in the row AHEAD of me said it was his. The flight attendant suddenly vanished in thin air as I asked him if he could store it overhead. He said it didn't fit. Okay then, store it in front of YOU. Again, it didn't fit! EXCUSE ME????? He then offers to switch places with me. HELL NO. I moved his damn bag and told him in the future he should get it tagged and placed in baggage 'cause that's how you carry on your oversize bags on a commuter flight.

Yes, it was clear I starting to lose it.

So we wait and wait and wait and FINALLY we leave the gate for take off. The captain announces we are third in line - yippee! We start moving and I think, "thank heavens," until we don't pick up speed or take off at all. I look out the window and, voila!, we are back at the damn gate.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. This is NOT happening to me. This is NOT possible.

"Ladies and Gentleman, we have returned to the gate for some BAGS that did not get placed on board."

Now, I nearly shouted a stream of obscenities when it dawned on me one of those bags could be MINE. So I just keep SIGHING audibly until we, nearly 45 minutes later, were taxiing to the runway again.

We finally take off when the large woman behind me shifts positions and suddenly her knee is in my back. Just get me home . . . just get me home before I KILL somebody with my bare hands.

Fortunately, it's a short flight and we were on the ground before my back was bruised.

Now, my local airport is TINY. So, you wouldn't think getting your baggage would take long, would you? Ho ho ho . . . how wrong you are. I had to wait freakin' 45 minutes for my damn bag! And guess who I ran into at baggage claim? Mr. I Need to Carry On this Bag to Make Your Life Miserable was WAITING for another bag! What? You couldn't check TWO? It's still free idiot!

When I finally got my bag, I booked it out of that damn airport, into the STILL freakin' freezing cold, got into my car, and drove off. I just needed to get home.

And walking into my door to my fabulous critters was just what the doctor ordered. I took care of them, fixed my dinner, and was beginning to find my patience and humor again in a glass of wine when there was a knock on my door.

I opened the door to three strangers who identified themselves as my back neighbors. Okay. They then asked me, none too nicely, if I had a yellow cat. Yes. Well, apparently they feed the squirrels and bunnies and my cat has been killing them. Um, yes, okay, I believe that, he's a CAT. Well, what was I going to do about that? I told them I was leaving in about a month - for GOOD. It clearly wasn't good enough and they harped on me claiming all sorts of ridiculous things (like the man of the family has cat allergies and gardens outside - if you keep a garden, why are you feeding the bunnies? AND my cat isn't the ONLY loose cat in the neighborhood so take your stupid Zyrtec and call it even) and now I need to CONTAIN naughty Henry in my house for the next 7 weeks. I can tell you this right now, it's not going to happen. But their visit was the final straw.

As soon as the door closed on them, I burst out crying. I HATE THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE.

SIGH.

Yes, I am jet lagged. I never found my sense of humor or patience last night and it spilled over into my day today. But the Fight Guy and I are meeting for Martini Monday downtown and I'm hoping I find them in a drink there.

If not, I can console myself with the following:

I'm DRIVING to my next interview. :)

Guilty Pleasures

This morning I had pop-tart after some cereal. And as I took each consecutive bite, I began to feel guilty about my morning indulgence. Extra sugar, extra calories.

So I got to thinking about life's guilty pleasures. We all have them. And some of us are able to resist them more readily than others. As I have stated before in this blog, I have absolutely no will-power so resistance is futile in my case.

I enjoy lifestudent's blog a lot and apparently some of her guilty pleasures are Easter candy, cake, and pastries.

I guess I have to ask why the guilt? I mean, supposedly you only go around once, so why do we feel badly when we ENJOY life's abundances? That's nuts!

So let's celebrate our guilty pleasures. Here are some of my top indulgences and, no doubt, I will add to the list in future posts:

Cheese (pretty much any kind, and in any form)

Bread (with the cheese is especially yummy)

Wine (mostly red, but I enjoy white and sparkling as well)

Margaritas (duh)

Queso (see cheese, above)

Eating out

Sex with a certain kind of man (ah, who am I kidding? - I never feel guilty about THAT)

Avoiding work

I think we've come to the crux of the conversation. I've been avoiding work, in the form of grading, a lot this past month. Last night PhD was a busy bee grading overdue midterms and even her excellent example couldn't motivate me to get going on a pile of papers that really must be done this week.

I say I don't care, after all I'm outta here in just two months, but obviously the guilt attached to NOT doing the work proves the opposite.

So what's a girl to do?

Hmmm . . . pop tart anyone?