Runaway

Fall is the time of year (for me) where my thoughts shift with the cooler weather.  The crunch of leaves on the pavement and the crispness in the air really reminds me of one dominant thing - horror movies.  My favorite movie, well, it's a toss up between the original Halloween or the original Psycho.  I do really enjoy Night of the Living Dead - those are the only types of zombies I can really tolerate on the screen.  I've been known to scare the shit out of myself - I can occasionally be found curled up on the couch with a blanket, watching Halloween alone while the kids snooze upstairs.  This scenario doesn't create the ideal situation for me or the hubbs ("have you checked the children?").  Before I met my Rainbow Runners, my morning runs would be solo...in the dark...with a blinking light that startled me every time its reflection was caught in a neighbor's window.  Most homes would be decorated with fall embellishments; some appeared as if the Halloween store puked on their lawn.  The skeleton dangling from the front yard tree would send my heart through my chest and the ghostly figure positioned in the garage window put a little pep in my step.  It was on those mornings that I hated running, but it absolutely presented the opportunity for speed training.
Yesterday, the Rainbow Runners and I opted for a few mid-run sprints.
We run a handful of regular routes on various days.  Depending on mileage and time, we'll select a route from the swatch.  Monday's route included a road close to a major highway, but tucked away between fields of corn.  Yay (sarcasm), corn taller than I - the perfect place for a creeper to hide.  Our head lamps are shining as brightly as the battery powered beacon can cut through darkness.  Our voices seem to create this bubble of comfort enveloping the crew.  The bubble that is soon popped by the presence of a man on our corn lined road.  Instantly, the lights shining forward begin to move all around as on a dance floor.  "Do we turn around?"  "Should we keep going?"  were some of the knee-jerk questions.  My immediate statement: "Shit, I forgot my mace."
The man appeared older wearing long pants, and a t-shirt/long-sleeved shirt combo.  I found it strange, as did the other ladies, that he did not have a flashlight, nor was he walking a dog.  We approached with caution, our crew hugging the right side of the road.  The twisted in me envisioned a second perp grabbing us from the side of the road we deemed safe.  Thankfully, reality proved this thought as incorrect.  He didn't seem to glance in our direction as we passed with a peppering of hesitated salutations.  Finding this response also odd, I dipped onto the grass, even closer to the tall stalks, with the command, 'Lets go girls!'  Immediately, three of us kicked down the road.  I dropped my arms as my foot turnover increased.  The lollygagging ladies lagged behind while the lead pack pulled away even further.  The road, still pitch black, surrounded by tall stalks felt unwelcoming.  We needed to get out of there.  With the man out of sight, we regrouped at the end of the winding street to alter our route back to the start.
Since this Monday morning encounter we've made a few observations and changes to our approach:

1. The mace-free women coordinated a purchase of the product.
2. The mace-forgetful learned a lesson, but hopefully, not one of false security. 
3. Overall, we need to incorporate more speed work sessions.  

And, I need to somehow purge my memory of all horror movies.  

More Cowbell

I robbed you of a quality post (ha) and myself the outlet for communicating my crap by posting that BS blog this morning.  I caught a little bit of shit from a few people about my short post.  I sensed redemption would be in my future.  So here it goes.

I could tell the story of my week-long adventure in August rollin' solo with the kiddies while Mr. Roberts went to San Fran for a conference.  But I don't want to bore you with almost going postal in a local taco joint, or the lack of time in the evening to get a good buzz on.  No, that's not necessary.

'Orchata on the Rocks: Drink of Choice

I could give you a little insight into the book I started writing (slowly) that will, at some point, be a major best seller and give me the financial backing to quit my job, log 100+ mile weeks on the trails, and support me in a part time yoga teaching gig.  Nope, there's no need to share that information.

It was a dark and stormy night...

I could dedicate an entire post to my record breaking birthday celebration.  My regular birthday negativity was turned upside down with the presentation of love and balloons prior to a 7 mile run with the Rainbow Runners, followed by a delightful day and a lovely evening with my family.  But, I will refrain from sharing in my joyous day of birth.

Decorated Runner at 4:45 am on 9/3/14

My time would be best spent talking about the shenanigans of the Lehigh Valley Health Network Marathon for Via Relay.

As always, the relay weekend was packed with activities: old neighborhood get together Friday night (late night) and an OBX family get together in Harrisburg on Saturday (lots of eating and swimming; also a late night).  Before hitting the road for Harrisburg, I needed to swing by Tractor Supply to pick up a cowbell.  In years past, a fellow teammate brought his cowbell; I fired him from the team after last year's shenanigans, so I also lost the cowbell.  This obnoxiously loud noisemaker was a necessity for success in the relay.  I counted on the cowbell to keep me going through the relay exchanges.  This year would be no different.  My drive to pick one up resulted in a love bird's quarrel early Saturday morning.  Ants in my pants pushed me to sacrifice familial harmony for this stupid piece of metal.  I had to have more cowbell.  For $7.99 I walked out of the store with the biggest cowbell they sold, oh and I also got a bag of bird food.  I couldn't wait to use it (the cowbell, that is).

I got up before my alarm Sunday morning at 4:48 am.  Most of my items were already packed and ready-to-go, but I still needed to tidy up the Commander, prep the cooler and get gas.  With Powerade, water and snacks in hand, I waited in an unusually long line at WaWa.  I noticed a runner, all dressed and ready to go, trip over her own shoes making her way to the rest room.  I chuckled to myself...ahhh, the nervous runner belly; it can be deadly.  I checked out and carried everything to the car as the runner approached hers.  Finding this as an opportunity to ring that bell, I rolled down my window and hung my torso out the door while ringing the bell furiously.  The sheer sound of the bell tore through the silence of the morning startling all within ear shot.  The resulting surprise shocked my soul into a state of bliss.  Yea, babe.  This was going to be an awesome day.  In order to avoid the runner traffic, I took the back roads to my team's meeting location.  The speed limit is 25 mph and the opposing lane was at a standstill.  I rung that bell as if I was calling the ranchers to chow time.

I took the right yield into the parking lot like a boss all the while ringing the bell.  I.Just.Did.Not.Stop.  Glorious.

Within moments, the rest of my team arrived and I oriented them to all the amenities in the Commander: cooler stocked with drinks, snacks, electrolyte tabs, body glide, ibuprofen (only taken post run) and race packets.  I pulled out a blue plastic folder that contained the printed athlete packet and directions to all the exchanges.  I would be running the first two legs back-to-back, so someone needed to take responsibility for driving and navigating.  I handed over my keys and the precious cowbell just before jogging across the street to the starting line.

I bumped into a few good people before we began.  I loved seeing so many familiar faces.  I must have hopped in an out of position at the start.  I would be treating the relay as a training run, not a race.  I needed to log at least 15 miles, so making good time wasn't in the cards.  I had to run smart or I would bonk; I would be running the last leg to wrap up the day — energy conservation would be detrimental to my success.  Just like that we were off.  I started the timer on my new Garmin (yay birthday) as my feet crossed the mat.  I passed my team, off to the left, who were yelling through the sweet rings of the cowbell.  Ahhh.  I loved it!

In my opinion, I loved running the first leg.  From what I heard (and knew of the route), that first stretch is a fast one.  About 1 mile into the leg, there's an extreme downhill that acts like a launch pad for the flat strip of road leading to the Lehigh Parkway.  I couldn't focus well enough to take my mind off of needing to stop and pee, but I fought the urge.  I wondered if my team would even show up to the first exchange.  After all, I'd be running through, not handing off to anyone.  Maybe they'd just go to the second exchange.  I became obsessed with the possibility of them being there to cheer me on up that hill.  I was all too with the second leg, that I knew a little cheering would help keep me moving.  I pounded the pavement with authority while rounding the corner of Martin Luther King on the approach to the 1st exchange.  Following directions, I stayed to the left in the chute designated for the relay runners.  And just then I heard my team's yells and the supporting sound of the cowbell.  Yes.  As fast as I came upon the exchange, it was in the distance.  The crowd's energy faded with each footfall and once again, we runners were alone.  I maintained a decent pace through the second leg while hold a two mile conversation with a marathoner from Jersey (I think he said he was 58).  I'd like to call him Mike, but I don't even think we properly introduced ourselves.  He was impressed with his ability to keep pace with me, even commenting on the fact that if he stayed with me, we'd come in around 3:30.  I kindly informed him that I was not running the marathon.  Poor Mike.  Not long after that statement, Mike said, 'now is where you need to bury me.'  I wished him a great race and kicked it into high gear.

Based on my Garmin's calculations, the end of the second leg was close.  We were re-directed off the trail to pavement where I made the exchange with the two runners on deck for my team.  I clearly overshot the exchange point, immediately walking to the hydration tables to grab three cups of water and one cup of Gatorade.  I'm not sure how much liquid I actually consumed, as my arms got soaked by my inability to hold the cup steady.  Two of my teammates walked over to help me steady the cups while we crossed the exchange path to a secure viewing area.  I noticed on my approach that I didn't hear any cowbell, nor did I see it in anyone's hands.  C'mon people.  I made such a stink about the importance of the cowbell.  What's the deal?  I tabled my questions until we made it back to the Commander.

Both 'mates (one driver, one navigator) began to collaborate on the strategy to get to the next exchange.  Interestingly enough, the detailed directions didn't offer enough direction to make our way there.  After a few legally questionable U-turns, we were back on track.  I then decided to ask my question: 'Where is the cowbell?'  No response from the front seat.  The uncomfortable silence led me to believe that my question was purposely going unanswered.  I asked again: 'where is the cowbell?'  After a few nervous chuckles, one person responded: 'well, we know the general area of where it is.'  Huh?  So somewhere, during the first exchange, the cowbell was placed in the grass by our parked car, only to be forgotten.  Excuse me?  I had no choice but to laugh at the situation, but I was disappointed that losing a 'stupid piece of metal' had an affect on me.  I gotta have more cowbell, but I moved on.  I missed being able to obnoxiously toll that bell at the next exchange.  The navigator was prepped to take off with only my voice to send her off.  Hrumph.  The women coming off their leg were ready to drive to the final exchange, one that three of us would be running.  I would have like to cradle the bell's handle in my hand, only to flail it in the air as runners passed our location.  In no time, the navigator came in and the three of us were off for the final leg.   Before I realized the passage of time and miles, we were all finishers, sitting in the sun drenched grass drinking water.

The unofficial sitter of the cowbell vowed that he'd find it and return it to me.

A few hours later I received this picture via text:

Clearly, my stupid piece of metal looked as if it was destroyed by a monster truck and mauled by a tiger.  A follow-up text noted that it would be fixed as good as new.  Ha.  Yea, right.

Not too shabby.  I'll have to take it for a spin soon.

No Blog

I've been reminded by the little guy (or maybe it's a girl) in the back of my mind that I haven't written a new blog yet.  There's a lot going on, some things I can't yet publicize, so my attention to Muffin's Madness hasn't been there.
This morning, I got up early to do a little yoga.  My GOD, sore legs from Sunday's Marathon relay; I couldn't quite walk down the stairs without slamming my feet on each step. I ran three legs to total almost 16 miles; at the end of the day I wondered why I didn't just run the whole thing.  I felt great.  It could have happened.
My goal for this morning was coffee and yoga — not necessarily in that order.
Mission accomplished.
Bonus for today: getting a short post out the door to break my no blogging streak.

Namaste.