The Wheel

This morning began peaceful and serene. We see dolphins in the river just about every single day if we look for them. This morning as I returned from the pool, I saw several playing along the shoreline near some fisherman's boat. They must really like people, ever curious and playful around the boats. I wish I could have held on to this peace for the entire day, but no suck luck when I was behind before I even got back to the house at 7:15. I felt like I was running on a hamster wheel the whole day...trying to make progress, but wondering if I was getting anywhere at all?

The day began with a track workout at 4:30am. We ended up with about 7 miles of quality after the 3 miles warm up and some 800s descending. It felt so good to do some speed again. I love track workouts and I miss having some consistency with standing dates to run circles with. If I can say one negative thing about this group, they tend to be haphazard in the way they train, finicky about workouts and whereabouts. The track crowd has been lacking and I hate running circles in the dark by myself. So, I was happy this morning to meet up with a few loonies, as we climbed the fence to the track (I am still in disbelief that we have to do this) and meandered over in the dark at the start.

So, the whole workout, I vacillated between feeling like I hate this small town, and loving the people who comprise it. I despise so much about living in Nowhereville, but I love the people I now call friends. George is the local orthopedic surgeon and he works with Jim, the neurosurgeon. Tom showed up at the track this morning and told us some stories about how when he and Jim went to do White Lake Half Ironman in North Carolina, he had dehydration issues race day. I love how he talked about being pulled off the course because he was blacking out and swaying back and forth in the run. Once the officials had Tom in the tiny hospital there, they called Jim, Tom's training partner and emergency contact, and asked, "Are you this man's doctor?" Tom did Jim's southern drawl perfectly, "Well, I guess I am now. What the hell happened to him out there?" Jim had to rescue Tom from the hospital, where they wanted to keep him overnight.

Tom went on to tell another story about how about a few years ago after the hurricanes, he had another unfortunate incident. He was running on a rainy morning with the group over the bridges, and somehow did not notice the barriers and sandbags along the road from after the storm. He tripped and fell and broke his hip and collarbone once he hit the slick pavement. George had been with them that morning, but had apparently already gone his separate way before this accident. Doc turned early because he had to get home and on to the hospital into surgery. Tom, hollering in pain on the road, told the others to call Doc George, who in turn, rearranged his day and met Tom at the hospital. George had Tom in for surgery that morning to fix up his busted bones. What a friend.

These people are like family to each other, and I think that is what a small town brings. Everyone is linked to everyone else. There is less than six degrees of separation here...I think it is more like two degrees? Anyway, Tom's stories were uplifting and comical, light and airy before I headed into the dark and dreary of the pool. Actually, the pool was not bad, and after talking to all those guys about triathlon, I felt mildly excited to slip into the water and turn my arms over. My legs were dead from the track, so I pulled quite a bit. The air was warm and the pool even warmer. The usuals were at the pool, which was nice and we chatted between sets, something I made up as I went along. I may have swam 1500, which was fine for me to call it a day.

The rest of the day is a blur.....in a word, frantic. Running in the car everywhere with the kids, literally, every hour accounted for. School, park, errands, gymnastics, errands, play dates, meeting with Team in Training for the triathlon team, errands, and on and on. I am dead to the world and ready to fall into bed. I must admit that I am feeling a little smug that we are part of the "A Crowd" for the park play date. I have come to learn that not everyone receives an invite to the exclusive club that meets at the park every early release Wednesday. I kind of dig that we made the cut and that my kids meet the credentials to be part of the clique. I realize how utterly ridiculous and arrogant this sounds, but the more time I spend with some of these women, the more I am realizing just how difficult it is to break into the Mom Crowd in Nowhereville. I felt readily accepted by the runner crowd; for some reason it is the group that has the least to prove (though some very competitive), and they were the most willing to befriend me right off the bat. Maybe in skimpy running shorts and naked tops, there is no place to hide? We are who we are in our running shoes and we cannot mask anything with makeup and jewelry at 4:30 am? It really is hard to be glamorous and put-together when we are sweating like no one's business here in the Africa heat.

The whole mom thing is another story, however. It seems that here, there are so many more stay at home moms than where we are from, so I guess when the kids are the center of one's existence, there is more to prove in the parenting and with one's identity. Many of these moms don't have too many outside hobbies apart from their kids, so they command the whole mom scene (soccer, tennis, swim team, cheer leading, PTA, playgroup, latest SUV)and they are going to let you know it. I feel fortunate that most of the moms I have met thus far have taken me in to show me the ropes in such a small place. Of course, there are plenty of snooty women on the island, but there are some who tool around in their golf carts and wear jeans that are (gasp!)non-designer from somewhere that is not a local boutique. These women are really actually fun to be with, and they bring humor in light of me bemoaning the red ants at the park when we sit in the grass and get eaten alive.

I finally made my way back home around 5 pm tonight, dizzy from exhaustion, but elevated to see more dolphins in the water as we came back over to the island. For the most part, this place is pretty vanilla, apart from the beautiful beaches and palms that grow in the sand. I miss the mountains and hills and rolling anything, but the dolphins tend to add a little something most days.

Jacksonville

The weekend was a complete success. Marc did awesome in his marathon, though still a little weak and not at full throttle. He ran a 2:55 wihtout even trying, which put him 16th overall and 3rd in his age group. Another plaque has joined the wall in the ever-expanding shrine in our bathroom. What a guy to pull it off...and he only ate seven Gus the whole run. Yuck! Can you imagine choking that many nasty Gus down? How do people eat cake batter while running a marathon? Whatever works. Anyway, he more than qualified for Boston, which we knew he would even not at his best, so hopefully that will come to light this spring. We are debating possibly training for something longer, like a 50 miler, but there are so many runners here who are going to Boston, it is wooing us more and more.

There was a group of Sunrunners in Jacksonville also running the marathon or half. A bunch of us went out to a pre-race dinner Saturday night, which happened to be my birthday. They were all so sweet to come with gifts and dessert offerings, which was just so much fun. I honestly really love the people I have come to know in this circle of runners. They are all so real and concerned and forth-coming with jokes, information, and affection. It is such a refreshing change to be encouraged and pushed to seek more races and workouts, rather than be criticized and yelled at for doing too much by some former running partners I cannot mention here. Crazy George was out there at Jacksonville this weekend. This was his third marathon since Thanksgiving, which is exactly what I love about these people...there are no limits, no boundaries, no stopping them in travel and training. They are all on the crazy train and they revel in having company. I love being a passenger on that train with nut cases along side me.

Marc noted that George already knows me well enough to know how painful it was to sit in the sidelines and just watch the marathon this time. Because I was on little people detail, I was not a participant this time, and George had said, "This is killing you, isn't it?" The truth is, Marc had signed up for this one long before we left San Diego and we did not know just how popular it was among the people here. I was happy to support him and be a spectator this time around, knowing that Disney is closing in fast. I ran 21 miles the weekend before this one and 15 this past weekend. One more long run and then the taper, which sounds great, actually. George and Kimmie ended up running the marathon together, Craig did well in his half, as did Lori, Gary, Frank, and Abbe.

We had to jump into the car immediately after the race to get home. Last night was Marc's company party at the big boss's house down the street from us. They have a beautiful home on the water with a huge pool they heated for the occasion. The air has finally cooled down here, but I am told not to become accustomed to it for too long. This little cold snap will be gone as quickly as it came, so I am trying to enjoy every minute. The party was painless, save for the fact that I felt like an impostor. I couldn't help but think what a fake I am for being there, since I really would never choose to be friends with any of these people or spend time at a Christmas party with them. I felt mildly annoyed that we were mingling and schmoozing with any of them, knowing I am just counting down the days until we can get home to be with family and "true" friends in Cali. Maybe I was just tired and cranky from the long drive home from Jacksonville. Either way, back in Zero Beach and the countdown resumes to get the hell out of dodge. I love the miracles this season brings.

Ho, Ho, Hum

How is it almost Christmas? I still can't get over the fact that I feel like we were just arriving at Halloween, but here we are somehow in December???????? I am not ready..........

Marc has been sick for two days, which is such terrible timing before his marathon this Sunday. I took the kids out last night with friends Lori and her crazy *crazy* husband, Michael, their daughter, Olivia, and another couple to whom they introduced us, plus their 3 daughters. We all went out to dinner and on to a place called Tara Plantation. Tara Plantation is a huge law office complex here in town where a self-proclaimed "Christmas Junkie" begins over Labor Day weekend decorating the offices with lights, trees, wreaths, and holiday paraphernalia. It was a sight to behold and the kids were in awe of the attention to detail. Each room a different theme of trees, lights, music, several trains, and larger than life Nut Crackers and St. Nicks. I think they ate their weight in cookies, too.

The weeks have been busy with the usual commitments. Last weekend was the annual Sunrunner's party and drunk fest, held at the neuron surgeon, Jim's house out west. He and his wife have an amazing estate with so much property, they own their own lakes. It was totally fun to be in a completely different setting with my usually sweaty running friends. I have not had a sip of alcohol in more than 10 years, but Lori's crazy Michael dragged me into the part of the house they call "The Red Room" with all the "Big Boys" and insisted we knock back some Petron. The man is an obnoxious extrovert and loves to drink (and drink and drink). He does not know the word "no". I think he is like 14 years Lori's senior and she loves to say how glad she is she met him when he was 50 and not 20. "Can you imagine what he was like then??" she always says. Marc continuously commented that night about how many "lushes" were at this sprawling estate. It's true, for the way they all like to drink, it is impressive they can abuse their bodies like that and then abuse it more with excessive exercise. Marc did not escape the Red Room either, telling me that by that time, Michael was so drunk, he was doing the lime and salt in the wrong order on his hand with the shots. Those two stumbled out together so proud of themselves that they had remembered the salt was in the rooster shaker.

I am getting nervous about our trip home now, mostly because I know once we are there, I am not going to want to turn around and come back here. We continue to meet really nice people who are constantly inviting us to this gathering or that dinner. For the relationships we have made, I will never regret living here for a time. The question remains, however, how long will this time be? Today I felt extremely excited and full of hope to think about shipping out this coming summer. Why waste another day being somewhere that feels isolated and miserable? Then I felt guilty about wanting to leave when I thought about how my daughter was on fire on the tennis court yesterday, ripping the ball over the net with her fierce backhand. Her coach kept looking over his shoulder at me and telling me it was his "brilliant coaching", but I know better. That girl just turned it up a notch and decided to check in to keep up with the more advanced kids. These are the things that make living here worthwhile, but I still want to go home.

Feast or Famine

When it rains here, it pours. It comes down in droves. Thankfully, we have not had any rain since Saturday (on our long run, to be precise). Today was actually nice, for a change, weather wise....no rain, no heat, no humidity. We soaked up the sun at the park in the morning, drank in the ocean air from our front drive mid-day, and then enjoyed a cool early evening on the tennis courts riverfront. The kids are actually getting pretty good on the clay, and I am loving watching them with the coaching staff. Truly, I am impressed. I never thought I cared one way or another about tennis, but I am a believer now. It is a great sport and the opportunity for it is perfect in these parts.

Other than that, I am disappointed to have missed the West Palm Marathon last Sunday on account of bronchitis (again), but I guess it is all meant to be. Disney Marathon is only about 5 weeks away, and closing in quickly. We leave for Jacksonville next weekend so Marc can run his Boston qualifier. That sweet man, who cannot keep a secret, gave me my anniversary present early from my most favorite place in the whole world. In a word, Tiffany. There is nothing more romantic than that little blue box and white ribbon, except when it arrives at this time of year in the blue box with a red ribbon. The ring is *beautiful* and I know how much he wants me to be happy. With several holiday parties, birthday parties, and school engagements, how do I have time to be anything but crazy? Mostly, when I feel homesick, I want to die, but when I am happy, I am on top of the world. This past weekend in Palm Beach did a lot for my sanity, to be in a big city again and around civilization. I love the Christmas season and everything that comes with it. I love that we got married this time of year, because it only heightens the magic that surrounds.

I start coaching the Team in Training tri group in a few more weeks and I am eager to meet the participants. Not sure if I have taken on more than I can handle when I feel like my little people are so needy, but hoping it will all come together. I can't wait to get back to Cali soil and run some hills....I am thinking Torrey Pines everyday to get my fill. I miss the Pacific so much it hurts sometimes. But, my running friends here are so amazing and full of life....it is nice to have new blood to run with...sometimes I just miss the old.

Mother Earth

"But what do you have in common?"

This is the question Marc kept asking me over and over about my relationship with Roberta on the way home from Georgia. Coming back to Vero has left me with a serious low feeling after so much bliss in Atlanta. There were so many highs there (being with friends, the chilly fall weather, the marathon, the community), it is difficult to come back to the lows here (the heat and humidity, the cranky elderly people, the old, run-down feeling this town resonates). Some days I feel like there is really nothing here for us. Maybe this is just the normal Post Marathon Blues I always seem to suffer from? The kids are excelling in tennis and all their extracurriculars, but apart from the time and financial freedom we have gained, I still feel empty in so many ways. How can this be our lives? How did we really land here, in Florida? Not possible.

Talking to another swim team mom at the pool tonight rekindled the warmth of the weekend. When she asked what we did for the Thanksgiving holiday and I told her, she emoted, "Oh! I LOVE Atlanta! I would live there in a SECOND! The schools, the town, the people....but my husband is from Vero and he will never leave here..." her voice trailed off as he threw her a disparaging look. I had to agree how fabulous Atlanta really is, at least what we experienced of it. This mom, Alisa, is from Los Angeles, too and we are in agreement that Florida is just not where it is at. We agree that we need not be back in LA necessarily, but that this is not where it is happening for us. We complain about the schools and the seasonal people and the pace of life at every practice.

It is funny because I always read my kids the Clifford The Big Red Dog books. The characters live on Birdwell Island, some little fictional island off the East Coast that seems the ideal place to raise kids. On Birdwell Island, the kids and their dogs roam the town and run on the beach and grow up in a wholesome neighborhood with exactly the perfect mix of various ethnicity and no racial tension. It seems the perfect little beach town, and they never seem to have any insect issues? Vero could almost be like Birdwell, except that there is racial tension (this may as well be the South) and the Confederate flag flies proudly here (say it with me: scary). The bugs are ridiculous and there is a racial divide.

Anyway, today I had to think about why Roberta and I are such good friends and how we have managed to remain so tight for all these years. What is it about our relationship that works? We met almost 14 years ago when she trained me as a server at the restaurant we worked at together in Malibu. She was going through a change of career after a life crisis and I had transferred back to school in LA out of Santa Cruz liberal hell. We both needed the money that place brought us and we closed the bar together many nights. We knew how to work the tables and customers and we always took the best of both. She was like a sister to me, always watching out for me and my best interest with men, dating, money, and school choices. I think I was her security blanket of someone who was always around once we moved in together and I was her biggest fan and cheerleader. That woman is Mother Earth. She was an amazing teacher and now that she has kids, she is Super Mom. She is the super volunteer, the team mom, the cake baking extraordinaire, the substitute teacher for all ages, and the fill-in-the-gap for any other need the school/neighborhood/community has. Roberta is the one they call when they need food, carpools, clothes, or babysitting.

So, what do we have in common? She is a Jewish Democrat, I am Christian non-partisan. She loathes exercise and sweat, while I am a cardio junkie who laces up my Nikes twice a day. She is the amazingly laid back, semi-messy mom who does not require her kids to use seat belts. I am the Paxil-needing, strung-out safety supervisor who cannot stand it when water spills in the car. She loves to cook and allows her family to indulge in many of life's guilty pleasures. I hate cooking and think of food as the Enemy. Our differences have become magnified now that we have kids. We parent with very different styles and with very different ideas. But, we both love our kids more than words can say and we both want to nurture in them a love of learning and curiosity and wonder. We want them to love reading and sports and have tons of friends and shoes.

But I know I want more of what Roberta has...she has a serene, carefree way about her that blows through the room like a warm summer afternoon breeze (in Malibu). She is fanatical about cleaning her kitchen counter tops, but she lets the kids draw on the windows ("It comes off with Windex"). She has a particular way she loads her dishwasher, but she doesn't care if the kids spill snacks in between the couch cushions. She is insistent that the kids always brush their teeth, but she only requires them to shower every third day and laughs about how stinky they get. She runs her kids ragged with activities and takes them to the ends of the earth. I, on the other hand, am such a stickler for the schedule and allowing for downtime. Her TV is on midday and her kids trudge in and out of the house in shoes. In our house, TV is a rare treat and we are a shoe-free zone. Her kids call her by her first name and their crayons are stored in empty frosting cans. I am not sure my kids even know my first name, and I cannot bring myself to allow my kids to eat anything with hydrogenated oils, let alone save the can for storage. I cannot skip reading the labels and counting the grams of sugar my kids might eat, constantly tallying up fat grams I do not want them to ingest. Roberta just lets her kids be kids and I want more of that. I want to be more of the person I am when we are together. She is almost haphazard in her parenting, and I desire to have more of that tendency. She is so creative and carefree, while I sometimes feel so "in the box" and "follow the guidelines" in my parenting.

What do Roberta and I have in common? Not at lot, quite honestly, but she teaches me that I want to be liberated. I want to put into practice the freedom she lives with in rearing her kids. She takes her little people to (gasp!) fast food, and while I don't think I can ever really go there, I recognize the need for balance. Berta fed our kids Lucky Charms the morning Marc and I were at the race. My knee-jerk reaction was to cringe (I hope I didn't show that outwardly). But, at the end of the day, is sugar cereal really going to kill them? We told them it is only sold in Georgia, by the way, now that we are back home and my four year old is asking for cereal with marshmallows in it.

Speaking of balance, I am seriously considering running the West Palm Beach marathon this Sunday. I know it seems crazy to run 2 marathons 10 days apart, but the idea of staying here in Vero this weekend is just too mediocre. Truly, the idea of staying here and having nothing on the books this weekend is enough to make me consider taking antidepressants. Berta would go (if she ran 26 miles at a time) and let her kids eat chocolate cake with trans fat in the car on the way. Shoot. She would probably let them watch videos all weekend long with lollipops hanging out of their mouths, too. Whose house would you rather grow up in?

Atlanta

We LOVE Atlanta! We love the whole city, as well as Peach Tree City, where our dear friends from Los Angeles now live. We love the trees and the colors and the cold air and the kids in the leaves! We love the large houses with huge backyards, and the homey home town feeling here. WE love the golf cart rides around town and the zip line from the trees, and we love the fall colors! Did I say that already??? And, we loved running through Atlanta. It was a beautiful (although hugely hilly) course!The trees here are unlike any I have seen...they are bright red and orange and yellow. The leaves falling on the course today were falling as if in slow motion, and I would put my hands up to catch them.

Marc and I met up with Dr. George and his lovely wife, Lori, this morning. We dropped Marc off at his half marathon start (he only ran the half since this was his warm up race before his marathon in Jacksonville in 3 weeks), which began at our marathon turn around point. We left him in the dark and then hurried to get to our starting line, with time to spare.

George and I started at 7:30, 30 minutes after the half went off. I could not believe how few people were in the marathon. I have never run a marathon in which I could actually see the race start. It was amazing. Apparently only 700 people run the full, but several thousand run the half. I guess with the holiday, most people prefer to get home to family sooner. I wondered how Marc was doing, 30 minutes into his race. He was hoping for a 1:18 today, but we later realized how lofty that goal was with the rain and hills and wind. There George and I stood at that start, as it began to pour rain....a cold, miserable rain.

"George! I hate rain! I hate running in the rain!" I tell him.
George, ever steady, very quiet in his doctor-like measure of calm says, "Don't worry. It never rains here like it does in Florida. It won't come down in droves. It will blow out as quickly as it came in and we will be fine."

The gun went off and off we went. I let him go immediately, knowing he is a consistent 3:30 marathoner and knowing I did not want to try to keep his pace. I told him I am a loner when I run, anyway, and do not like to have to chat the whole way. He was in my sight for most of the first 7 miles, simply because there were not many people on the road in front of me, Honestly, I did not even look at my watch through the miles. For one thing, I loved that not every mile was marked. In the beginning, there were only mile markers every 2 or 3 miles. This was so great, because I did not agonize over the them and count my way down so intently. Another reason I did not check my watch really at all, I woke up and decided I was going to have fun today and not care about the time. I really wanted to finish enjoying the run and I did just that. Lastly, with the rain coming down (Florida style), I couldn't really read the numbers anyway, so why bother?

Anyway, around mile 7, I passed George and yelled at him to come with me. He said his legs were tired. The hills were relentless and I was not at all prepared for just how many there really were. My quads were tired, too, at that point, and I knew it would be a long day. Anyway, I knew George was not far behind, and when I got to the 13 mile turn around, I saw just hold closely he was running behind me. At this point, I did read my watch and it read 1:46 and I thought, "Oh, that's going to hurt later." Some guy who was volunteering told me I was the fifth woman to come through. I hate that he even told me that. I was running so blissfully until that pressure-filled thought. Another hill on the way back out of the turn around. Really, the hills were never-ending. I think George dropped back, because I waited for him at the next water station, but I could not see him coming. Miles 14 and 15 came and went and I still felt okay, trudging ahead....in the rain.

I had had to pee for many miles, so around mile 16, I finally came to a port-a-potty and went in. As I came out, George passed me and I ran in his shadow for a while. He was walking through the water stations, I realized, but I began falling off whatever pace I had been running and lost sight of him. I was desperate for the rain to stop because I was freezing and miserable. My shorts were heavy with water and I could now hear the squish, squish, squish of George's loud feet ahead of me.

Mile 17, I came through a water station and took some Jelly Beans, and out of the port-a-potty in front of me came George. He signed to me that he was done with his hands. I asked him how he felt and he told me his legs were done, that his tires fell off. I told him to come with me and we would just take it one mile at a time. We hung like that until mile 20. We ran in silence with only the "Squish, squish" of his feet, heavy on the wet pavement.

"Where is the water, George??? I need water! I am ready to lick a puddle!" (Did I mention that it was still raining? It rained consistently through mile 18, and then it was intermittent showers from there) I was getting desperate. If I have one complaint about this race, it was that the water stations were not spaced out properly. We would go for miles without any support, then there would be 2 water stations within 3/4 of a mile of each other.

"Water is coming...I think at the bottom of this hill." he told me. George is useless. He was trying to be positive, but I knew he was lying to me in his even tone. We got to the bottom of the long hill that beat up my quads and then around the corner, but no water. I was dying. Then, I saw it....it was like a beam of hope....the water station just before the huge climb they call "Cardiac Hill" just before mile 21. That is where George and I parted ways and that is where I hung it up. I was so done. I didn't care at all what the clock said...I wanted to crawl to the finish. But it was George who told me he was going to fall off and take it easy up the hills to the finish....yes, there were hills all the way to the finish. He started walking and I was in shock. This is the man who never gives in, never gives up and never quits. He is the Hero of Vero, he made the Vero Beach Times Magazine as one of "Vero's 40 most influential people" and here he was walking. He must have been hurting. I started Cardiac Hill slowly, hoping he would get me, but I tired of looking over my shoulder, since I was so exhausted, and I had to keep moving my feet.

Miles 22, and 23 were not memorable. I was hurting and I just wanted to get up that endless hill to the finish. Marc jumped in at mile 24 and that brought mixed emotions for me. I was elated to see him, but knew I would have to keep running and all I wanted to do was stop. My legs were absolutely cooked. The hills got me and they got me in a serious way. Marc went 1:20 in his race, which is great, knowing the head wind and the hills were against us. I was so proud and happy for him.

I walked through the water station at 24 and took some more beans. I felt like I had to vomit and that was not a good feeling, knowing I had 2 more miles to go. More uphill and it was like a bad dream. We finally made it to mile 25 and past the Capitol....and, another hill. At least the rain had stopped. We marched on and Marc kept saying, "Come on Pea, you look so strong. Take the Ironman in front of you." I didn't care about the man with the Ironman tattoo and shaved legs, but I did pass him anyway. The last 800 was downhill, but it was not even a welcome thing. It hurt and my legs were so sad. Ironmand passed me right at the finish. George was still nowhere behind me and I wondered how he was feeling. Not good for a 3:30 marathoner, since I came across the line and heard his wife yelling for me, waiting for him. I am sure she was surprised I came in before he did. 3:46 and I was thrilled to death. I actually felt good, minus my "barfy tummy" as the kids call it and my numb legs. I was cold, wet, frigid, and in need of a shower. I had not been this cold or with this kind of quad pain since Boston in 2000. I did not expect that at all. In the end, I finished 9th woman overall and 3rd in my age group. Apparently most of us finished around the 3:40ish mark, according to my hubby.

We waited for George. He made it in 3:55, shaking his tired head. Marc handed him a Diet Coke and he drank it immediately. That brought him new life and then we headed out back to the house for Thanksgiving Dinner. When we got home, the house smelled wonderful and kids were happy. What a great day. We are loving our time here.

Okay, Now I am Nervous

We leave tomorrow for Atlanta! I cannot WAIT to see friends and not eat turkey! I hate the food, but love the tradition of family and friends. We will make vegetarian black bean soup for those of us (Ro and me) who are not into the turkey and dressing. We have to do the traditional spread for the kids and husbands, but that doesn't mean we have to eat it.

I have all but forgotten about the marathon until today, since I have been so distracted with school obligations and prepping for the trip. This morning I ran with Dr. George and Lori and they reminded me I need to pick up their race numbers, since they arrive in GA after the expo closes Wednesday. I have never run a marathon on a Thursday and it is kind of throwing a monkey wrench into the system. I have run marathons on Saturday and Sunday, even Boston was on a Monday....but, never a Thursday? The taper has been a little confusing these last few weeks, for sure. Should be interesting.

They are forecasting rain, by the way. Rain. There is a freaking drought there, and Thursday the state is going to get rain? I wonder if there will be ample water to drink on the course in the height of a drought? When I ran with Barry, et al, last week, he told me the marathon was cancelled due to the drought situation. I believed him, dry lawyer personality he is. Quadruple A in personality, always training for Ironman something, Barry is not to be taken lightly usually. He is not really known for being funny, but I guess he thought that was? I bought into it for a while when he told me it was on CNN the night before.

Anyway, as I zip up the suitcases tonight, I am acutely aware of my running shoes sitting on the top of the bag. Yikes! The kids are packed, the house sitter is lined up, Marc is signed off at work for the long week. Tomorrow we leave! Now, I am nervous. And I am wound about as tight as a spring.

Hump Day

I am beginning to think that I try to sabotage my races. Yesterday when cleaning up in the kids' art room, I slammed my foot into a metal chair and destroyed my toe. I immediately crumpled in pain. My toe then immediately became swollen and black, and it was excruciating to walk on. This would almost be funny, if not for the fact that my marathon looms in 7 days. The part that makes it seem like sabotage is the fact that one year ago, I did the same thing, on the same chair, on the same foot, 3 days out from my Half Ironman. What is my deal?

Tonight the foot was so much better and I was able to run 2 whole miles on the dreadmil. I met my workout partner, Lisa, at the gym and we lifted, too. At first, I thought she was not showing, but then I heard a distant cry from across the crowded gym, "Quad! Quad!" I am not sure if I resent or resemble the nickname yet. Behind Lisa came the man who labeled me that dubious title, Gary. Gary is a super fit, super fast Sunrunner who we all call "Skinny Ass". He is so metro sexual, totally concerned with his appearance, and dresses in really loud running shorts or cycling apparel. He is kind of creepy and always stands a little too close for comfort. I told him these things this evening, as well as the way he reminds me of a slimy professor I used to have my sophomore year in college. Skinny Ass quickly made his exit after that and left us alone to workout.

I really like Lisa. She is very real. She has a killer bod, is super fit and maintains a tan year round. She is super mellow and easy going and I think they all call her "Country" because she is kind of a redneck at heart. We really have very little in common. She is a total party girl, loves nightlife and cocktails. She is going through a sad divorce along with her two kids, and working her booty off to get by. But she is so amazingly sweet and funny and she just calls things out as she sees them. We have to respect that about her. She is quiet, but when she talks it is worthwhile and her voice never waivers. She is intentional and steady, just the way she is when she runs. There is no BS about that girl.

On the way out of the gym after picking the kids up from their classes, Owen stepped on a rusty nail in the parking lot. She was not wearing shoes. I am not sure why we are culminating in foot injury this week and I am hoping for less drama tomorrow.

I Have To Admit, It's Getting Better

In the words of the Beatles, "it's getting better all the time...." Not sure if I am still high from the fun and excitement of being at the Clearwater 70.3 Championships to see John PR, or just that, in general, life seems to be moving along more smoothly. I am still desperately unhappy with the school system here and with no reasonable solution or alternative, I cannot imagine it will get better anytime soon. I deplore the idea of our kids getting a mediocre education and Owen repeatedly telling me how bored she is in school. This pulls on the heart strings daily and I want to run back to Carmel Valley in an instant to make it all go away. At least there, if nothing else, we knew our kids were getting a quality education and being challenged all of the time.

Anyway, the weekend was a total success. The drive to Clearwater (clear across the state from where we are) was easy and only 3 hours. The kids did great, Marc and I enjoyed some much needed family and vacation time, and the beaches there were amazing. The kids loved the race scene, with so much going on and so many activities to take part in. I loved reconnecting with an old friend, someone familiar and safe, close to home. It almost felt like we were dining out in San Diego and just talking about another race, as though no time has lapsed since we moved here. Clearwater really is a cool little city with some spectacular beaches. Of course, it gave me the bug to want to race that distance again and soon!

We had lunch with an old colleague of John's while he was racing, a man by the name of Stephen. He was very generous and kind to us, as well as encouraging and funny. One thing I have come to realize about the locals (he lives in the panhandle of this state), is that they quickly forget just how miserable the weather is here in the summer. Stephen was one more person who claims the "3 months" in the summer are difficult, but the other "9 months" make it all worthwhile. It is true, the weather here is finally beautiful. (We went to the beach yesterday and the kids were in the water, 78 degrees, by all accounts chilly to Floridians, but about as warm as the water ever gets in San Diego, no?).

Anyway, I feel like the locals forget about just how dreadful the heat and humidity really are....and they cannot calculate the months properly. I count June, July, August, September, and ALL of October as being disgustingly hot and unbearable, so I am not sure where "3 months" comes from? I told Marc, I liken the weather to being in a bad relationship. When we are in that relationship, it is hard and we long for something better, easier, something with less drama. Once we break up, all we can remember is the good. We reminisce about all the good times and cannot let go of the fond memories. This is what Floridians do: they completely forget how terrible it really was and live in the moment of how wonderful everything here is. I guess that is one way to live, seeing through rose tinted glasses. I am still bitter about the relationship and glad we broke it off with the humidity, since I was becoming dreadful to live with.

The kids and I were out front tonight, cutting back the Bougainvillea that grows wildly out of control. It is a huge and wondrous sight when it is in bloom, as it is now, but becomes increasingly tangled and crazy the higher it grows. They love taking their little craft scissors and "trimming" the flowers back. I have the huge hedge trimmers and crop as much as I can, knowing we will be out there again in 3 weeks time to do more. My boy always saves the flowers for me and puts them in a vase inside. My girl complains that the landscaper is not doing his job. But, in the next breath, she tells me how much she loves the time we spend doing this together, so I think that counts for something? The evening was beautiful and we decided to go across the street to walk on the beach. I took dinner out of the oven and we ran along the shore until the moon was high and it was time to get to the pool for swim team workout. We barely made our way back, since it was pitch black with no lights to follow until we got to the bridge that traverses the jungle path back to the street. It was so much fun to just run in the dark like that, dodging crabs and chasing the surf.

Lastly, I cannot believe my marathon is inside of 10 days now. My buddy Craig said, and I am sure he was quoting someone else, "E, if you hurt at mile 10, you are in trouble. If you hurt at mile 20, you are normal. If you don't hurt at mile 26, you are abnormal." I am sure it is going to hurt. I know I am going to hurt. I just hope I can keep my GI issues in check, otherwise it is going to be a sad Thanksgiving. Oh.

Moving Forward

This has been another busy week of many activities, obligations, and appointments. I started the kids in a new tennis program, which has them playing on clay courts now and being coached by pros. I know I will be accused of being an aggro tennis mom, but I was becoming disillusioned with their original routine: too many kids, too little experience, too much time waiting to hit the ball. Now they are taking at a more "serious" venue under the watchful eye of some spectacular pro, I am told. This is great, as is the fact that they are benefiting from the low numbers of kids to coach. My boy basically had a private lesson yesterday, and walked around today saying, "Bounce, hit. Bounce, hit."

My girl is still carrying around the trophy she won from last weekend's 5K. She won the 9 and under age group and loves her Dolphin Dash win. Marc won overall, and came home with the largest trophy, of course. We are starting a shrine in the bathroom for all of his wins now. We may have to add on another room to the house soon if they continue their earnings at the rate they are going. Personally, I cannot think of a more miserable experience than to hurt like that for just over three miles. I would sooner run 100 miles than have to race three. Ouch.

The weekend also brought some huge surf, courtesy of Noel. When we trudged to the beach Saturday, we were quickly alerted by the lifeguard that no children were allowed in the water due to severe currents and high surf. The kids busied themselves instead collecting shells and climbing on beach driftwood. Marc, of course, had to get in with a board and surf the epic wind blown junk that was out there. The next day, the same decision to surf brought him a gash on his wrist from one of the skegs, at which point he decided to get out before he attracted too many sharks. Good thing, considering we read in the paper the next day a man was attacked by a shark and bit on the tukis that same afternoon. He was surfing just a stone's throw from where we were. Love the nature here in Florida.

Lastly, I came to a startling conclusion today while standing in front of the mirror naked in the gym locker room. I think this is the best shape I have been in since college. I dropped my boy off in his gymnastics class and then hit the shower quickly (since I was in need of one after my gym workout). Standing around and talking to other moms from the class made me feel happy to be part of the Mom Club. I feel honored and privileged to be a mom, have 2 great kids, and be able to take part in all the discussions about school concerns, sports debacles, and homework woes. Being around moms who are pregnant with number three, running around doing the mom thing, makes me ache for a third one sometimes. When I look at my little guy, I can't help but think how totally beautiful he is, how lovely and wonderful and sweet he is. How it could be really fabulous to have another beautiful baby. Then I think about the athlete in me and how kids cramp that style. In my mind, there are two camps: the one in which moms with three or more kids reside, and the one with two kids or less. Three or more is constant chaos, blissful craziness, and never a dull moment. Two or less is seemingly doable, organized chaos and highly transportable. Mother to three is to be part of the inner tribe of the Mom Club, the special sector of the cult with its own language and connection. Mom to two or less seems more connected to the husband and wives club, the willingness to move forward as a couple and back to the intimacy that brings as the kids become more independent.

I know what two kids has done to my time and the havoc it has reeked on my body, which is only now recovering the best way it knows how at 32 years old. I want to be a hot mom and desirable wife. For me, a third kid could virtually spell out disaster. Not just the idea of sleepless nights again, the mile high of poopy diapers or mismatched sippy cups with lids that always leak, but the image that goes along with it. Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying that all women who choose to have three kids are homely and undesirable. I can only imagine what it would mean for me. I think for me it would mean my body would really go to hell fast and Marc might leave me. Period. Today standing in front of that mirror, I almost felt like I have a decent figure that deserves more than the frumpy mom clothes. Maybe I deserve new boobs to boot? Who needs another ankle biter when there are more races to run and silicone to be had? This is what I am going to go with in light of the newest study that came out shedding new light on the connection between heart disease and birth control.

Knowing Is Half The Battle

It occurred to me in the pool on Wednesday that I really never knew how to swim. I took lessons all growing up, both private and group lessons. I swam a short stint on swim team in high school with a coach who was completely inappropriate with his sexual inferences and jokes (he married a former student once she turned 18) and rarely did he do anything to actually correct one's stroke or give pointed direction. I swam in a few rec classes in college, too, but never remember the coach really working with me there, either? Then on to a Master's Program swim where I would painfully grind out the yardage with some occasional help from the coach that I guess I never grasped. I didn't like his, "run your finger tips down the lane line in the recovery" technique. Ouch.

Only Don has ever been able to break it down enough for me to actually grasp and understand what the stroke means. In a word: complicated. But, I also realize that, like with anything in life, knowing is half the battle. Before, I was ignorant. Now, I can see it, absorb it, try to put it into practice. He has not told me again that my stroke looks perfect, so either I am slacking again or he is feeling less generous with his compliments.

I didn't swim today. I did my last (at last!) long run before the marathon in 3 weeks. I am troubled by all the stomach pain I had today...not sure why my belly was so unhappy? We ran at a pretty good clip, so maybe that was it? I was glad to be done before the sky opened up and it started raining again. the wind has been just miserable *miserable* M-I-S-E-R-A-B-L-E this week with that tropical storm that is killing them in the Caribbean. I really should not complain, since people are losing their lives, but at one point this morning, the wind literally took our feet out from under us. Lisa and I were going over one of the bridges, and a gust came up so fast and furious, we both lost our footing and almost went down....no joke. I didn't know it was possible for wind to do that to something with our weight, but it must have been the combination of our movement forward, the way it was blowing, and our footing at the time. It was the craziest thing to experience for a split second.

5K tomorrow for Marc and Owen. I have a feeling Owen's competition will be back for a showdown....this time with reinforcement. I hope Marc can pull it off again, too. I love that geeky guy in his racing flats out there. What is wrong with runners anyway?

Fall Festivities

With life feeling more normal now that some of the fires in So Cal have been contained, I feel so much more like myself. My family lost some of their vineyard and had to do an emergency harvest to salvage the rest of the grapes. Apparently the wind just ripped the netting off of the grapes and tore it all to shreds, so now it is harvest time, though early, before pests begin to come in and eat the grapes once they smell the sugar. Marc's family is finally back at home and happily cleaning the house of ash and dirt. His mom says it smells terrible, and they also have a tree down on the garage. These are small causalities, considering how much more people have lost. It really is mind boggling and causes one to pause and consider what is worth complaining about.

Here in Florida, the big talk today is the weather radar. It has been, brace yourself, raining all day long, which has put a damper on both spirits and the Halloween Fall Festival. I spoke with head PTA mom today and we discussed options for plan B and where the booths will be held if we get rained out. This is very probable. She claims there has been no rain in 6 months and now it is all coming in these past few weeks. Interesting. I feel like it has not stopped raining since we arrived here. I can think of 3 or 4 days that were actually sunny and nice, without any intermittent rain, despite heat and humidity that causes severe sluggishness and depression. Sometimes, I just feel so desperate for fresh air from outside, to open the windows and let it come in with the breeze. Then I remember, there is no breeze here....it just doesn't happen.

Yesterday was a milestone, however, in that I turned off the air conditioning for one wing of the house. It actually was cool enough to open the windows in the kitchen and allow the air in from off the pool area. This did so much good for my attitude and feeling of AC claustrophobia. I am feeling so much more hopeful when I think the weather just may break one day soon. I don't care what people say or how "nice" everyone promises winter will be here. I will take chilly mornings and evenings of Southern California, because I just cannot live with the heat and humidity for much longer. It just does not make everything else worth it. My friend, Berta, likes to always say, "It's just weather, who cares?" But, really, I do care and I cannot pretend like it doesn't affect me.

I really enjoyed chatting it up with some characters poolside last night while Owen swam. There are some really nice swim team parents who genuinely care about how we are adjusting (or not so much) and how things are going in the school and otherwise. There are so very many nice people here who seem to like me, despite my wretched attitude about their town and state. They are still so warm and welcoming to me, and it feels good to be loved in that way. Tonight, Fall Festival where I am sure the kids will eat their weight in junk food and I will feel like a bad parent for allowing it to happen. Tomorrow morning, "The Killer Loop" of 21 miles again with some crazies who love it (including myself), then a costume parade for the kids, followed by a party at the house of a woman I met at tennis, who I just love. She is adorable and sweet, a petite pixie of a thing, with a huge beautiful smile and two beautiful girls who look just like her with their blond hair and clear blue eyes. Messina has gone to great lengths to plan her Halloween bash and we are ever so excited to participate in the festivities. Sunday is brunch with the neighbors across the street at their country club. This is apparently the en vogue thing to do; everyone seems to belong to one club or another around here, there are so many to chose from. After bunch, the pumpkin carving contest at another neighbor's big phat beach house up the street. There is a ton on the docket,which is how I like it since it keeps me distracted from things that concern me.

My buddies are running the Marine Corps Marathon this weekend, so we are sending them thoughts of cool weather and strength for the mountains they will face. Funny how in SD, everyone worries about what the weather will be doing on race day, "Is it going to be hot?" with never a thought of elevation. But here, all of my running friends never even mention the weather, but the obsession is, "Is there elevation? Will there be inclines?" and on and on. Isn't it funny the things we stress about? My concerns are not so much about elevation or running in the heat. My biggest concern is that my kids make it through this school district unscathed. We all need our issues to have an ulcer over.

More Of The Same

Today was more humidity, more rain, more things to do on the never-ending list. We ran around and did a million errands, did gymnastics, made it to school for Pottery Night, finished homework, and on and on. The list of phone calls was endless, with people to connect with in both LA and SD. The house is far too big and never gets cleaned sufficiently (note to self: ask husband to get on board with the idea of a housekeeper)to my standards. There simply are not enough hours in the day to make it all happen.
My daughter and I always play the High and Low Game where we recount our day and tell each other our best and worst event of the day. Today my high was hanging out with the kids at the local smoothie place after school. My low was in the pool this morning when the coach was not quite so generous with compliments for my stroke. I was really off in my timing today....tired after the track workout we did and felt sluggish in the water. I've been cutting back on caffeine and it is killing me.

Grief

I think I am still simply grieving the loss of my old life. Things here are fine. They are even nice at times. I think I know why people like it here so much in this beach community, but I still feel like no one truly understands me. Even my husband has completely tired of my depression and lacks any sympathy for my feeling of isolation. I know it is not intentional, but he has no way to relate to loss I feel, since we crave such different things most often. It was like a breath of fresh air to have my friend, Berta, here from Georgia this weekend. She grew up in LA and we are like sisters the way we communicate. We complete each others sentences and finish each others jokes. It was a great weekend, but it left me feeling empty and so homesick when she and her family had to fly out of here again. Life felt somehow bleak again.

The weekend was full of activities. One thing I can say about Vero, is there is no shortage of things to do here for families with kids. Saturday began with Marc and Owen running another 5K. Marc won overall (is this getting boring to you yet?) and Owen took third in the 14 and under age group with a PR of 41:05. I am so completely proud of her since she set her sights on a PR and, to use her words, "smoked that little girl" at the finish. In effect, she stalked a little girl who, was probably 7 or 8 years old, and was out in front of her the whole way. Owen took her in the very end because she ran a smart race. This sweet little towhead of a competitor, who kept looking over her shoulder the whole way, was passed by my girl in the last 1/2 mile or so. Basically, Owen took the medal right out of her hands and I know that cutie was disappointed. But, I have to admit, I was so proud of Owen for working hard to get her in the end, not knowing the age divisions or where they would place at the finish. Marc had a PR, too, which is so great, and we are so proud. Success for him seems to come so easily in sports. Success for me was the boy behaved in the jogging stroller and sat tight the whole way, happy to take in the sights and relax in the recline position.

After the 5K was a would-be carnival that was (what else?) rained out. We went out to lunch with our friends, instead, to a riverside cafe that is way overrated. Then it was onto the exhibit at the museum and the craft for kids that followed the tour. The evening was marked with dinner from Panera, carmel apples, and then the haunted house at the theatre. The haunted house was really cool, and since it was pouring rain outside, it seemed appropriate to be inside a dismal setting. There are always so many activities for the kids....and into this week is no different. In addition to all of the normal after school sports and extracurriculars, we have swim team pictures, sculpture night at school, 2 costume parties to attend, one brunch and one pumpkin carving party. Outside looking in, it seems our lives are so busy and full of really wonderful people and pastimes. This is true, but I still feel like no one quite gets me. I am really missing my girlfriends, so it was therapeutic to have Roberta here to fill the void, if only for 24 hours.

Today I woke up dreading another week ahead, but I had a huge high when my cranky swim coach used the word "perfect" to describe my stroke at the 6 am workout. He not only said it was "better", he actually told me the last 100 was "perfect". I could have walked on the water at that point, I was so happy. I got in the water a little late after the run, and was happy to see he was busy with another man, picking on that poor soul, telling him he needed a clam digger to go with his stroke. I slipped into my lane, but because the pool is small, there is no where to hide. Coach was hovered over my lane within minutes, barking instruction, but actually doling out praise, too. This was a first. The breakthrough for me seems to have finally happened now that coach Don has completely overhauled my stroke. My shoulders know a pain they have never known before, but at least I feel inspired to feel like I know how to swim properly. It has really motivated me in ways I never thought it would to get me to the pool. I have come to love that decrepit little old man as he hobbles along side the pool. Today, I looked at him and he looked so fragile, telling me the same story he always tells me....he was the "first person to go under a minute in the 100 fly" oh so many years ago. I looked at coach Don and saw a human under the rough exterior and for a fleeting moment, I really liked him, despite his rude demeanor and constant bragging. I felt a little twang of love and compassion for this man who is so difficult to enjoy being near under most circumstances. For a moment, I was terrified to think of him not showing up at the pool anymore and it made me pause to think that I must try to enjoy every moment I have with his coaching and really take in what he has to teach me. He is as mean as the day is long, but he knows swimming. Old, he may be, but sharp as a tack and completely verse in the most up-to-date techniques in the pool.

Once over my swimming high, I came back to the grief of feeling homesick in light of the fires destroying Southern Cal. I am so horribly sad to know that we are not among family and friends at home. I hate that fires are raging, and that San Diego is basically gone and we are not there to comfort and protect our parents. We are not there to commiserate and evacuate and gather belongings and hole up together. I am sad to learn our old neighborhood has been evacuated and the fire rages on with no signs of containment. I am grieved to see my old church (and preschool I attended) in Malibu burned to the ground. As demented as it sounds, wildfires are like an old acquaintance to me. I am comfortable with them, though I do not like them, and they are a way of life in Southern California. The idea of hurricanes or tornadoes terrifies me, but fires are not at all unexpected or terribly horrifying. As long as there is no loss of life, I am okay with fires. It doesn't make sense to me, but I wish we were there with my sister and Marc's parents, braving the storm together. At least we would be together.

Nature At Its Finest

I hate nature. Really I cannot stand anything that is camping, bush-whacking, creepy-crawly, poisonous, sharp teeth related. I hate nature and I do not want it near me. When we would swim the La Jolla Cove, I would close my eyes and try not to look at what was lurking beneath me. As much as I hated getting tangled in the seaweed and having it slither under my belly, it was better left to close my eyes and leave it to the imagination than to see the creatures that live in that kelp.

Nature is at its finest here in beautiful Florida. One sight that is very common around here is the landscaping truck. There are several *several* landscaping companies and the trucks are always parked out in the middle of the streets. Apparently the driveways cannot withstand the weigh of trucks, so they all park smack in the middle of the street. So, people do the logical thing around here, of course: they all drive on the grass to go around. People drive and park on the grass all the time. Coming from a homeowners association that slapped fines on people for not having a perfectly manicured lawn, I still cannot make peace with this regular occurrence of tires on the grass. But the grass grows rapidly and completely out of control, so it seems cars do not affect lawns whatsoever. Yes, nature. Snakes love to hide in this thick grass, too. We have a disgusting black snake who lives in our backyard grass. I hate him.

Apart from alligators and sharks and sea lice all of the other ocean creatures one has to worry about here, perhaps the most disconcerting are the ones who live on land. Not just snakes, of course, but the insect variety. There is a wide range of lovely pests who inhabit these parts. Among these bugs are silverfish, mosquitoes, noseemes, and the most dreaded, the fire ant.

Today my sweet little boy wanted to go to the park at 2:00 pm. I dreaded this request, knowing it was 94 degrees out with one hundred percent humidity. Can we get some fall weather around here yet? I have all but given up on the idea that I will ever wear a long sleeved shirt (let alone a sweater), but an occasional breeze would be most welcome. The air was thick with not so much as a hint of wind, and we were at the park right on the ocean. Dreadful. Anyway, 8 minutes at the park and there was a shriek from my son. A blood curling scream that caused me to leap out from under the modest picnic area where I was conversing with a neighbor I just happened to run into, and sprint over to the swings where he was standing. Crying so much, he couldn't tell me what was wrong, until I saw him grabbing his feet, which were bright red and blowing up. Fire ants. He obviously walked over one of their ant hills on his way to the swing set. I hate all things nature.

Really, I will not miss the dreadful weather and how it impedes our outdoor lifestyle. I will not miss the animals and insects and creatures. I will not miss the smothering heat and sticky air. Hmmm, I guess I will miss how nice my skin has become in this humidity. Thankfully my hair is stick straight and I do not have to worry about frizz. My poor girl. She is doomed to have bad hair if we stay here for any length of time.

The Fish Bowl

We live in one. A teeny tiny town where we bump into everyone all the time and somehow everyone knows everyone else's business and no one is anonymous. Annoying. I think I am peeved because I want to hate all these people so I can leave without severing any ties and go back to the life I want. I want to stop living like my life is on hold and have the kids in schools where I want them, and have the house and yard I want, and weather that is conducive to playing outside.

Today I wanted to take the kids to ride bikes, since our street is so nice and flat, but it was so hot, they were spent before we ventured out. They had no interest in going because it was hot. We did homework and read books instead. The weather is terrible, and no matter what people say about how nice the winters are here, it does not make up for the blistering heat of summer and now fall. I think they just do not know it any differently? People here are nice, but they move at the pace of molasses. I just got a call tonight from the company who is coming tomorrow to install the microwave that needs to be replaced in our house. I knew the woman was drunk the other night when she scheduled me for tomorrow at 9:00am. Her confirmation call tonight was, "Okay, I have you down for between 11 and 2 tomorrow." I said, "No, actually, you crack smoker, I am first on the docket tomorrow. Did you forget?" She quickly adjusted her day planner for me. I think in these parts, they have to allow for the drunk dial daily.

Are people really people wherever we go? I say no. There are some lifestyles that I will just never, never become accustomed to. Maybe it is because I grew up in LA that I can tolerate most anyone. I have nothing against any race, religion, gender, sexual preference or orientation. I was raised in a very open-minded home where off color jokes were not allowed. I genuinely appreciate differences in cultures. But, I cannot stand ignorant people, and that seems to be prevalent here. I really am coming to despise people who are just not educated and who are drunk before 9 am. Something is just wrong about that. Being hung over at that time is acceptable, but getting up and drinking with the sun? There are plenty of people like that in this town. It feels like a crazy chapter in a storybook from the sixties, except it is actually happening here.

Denial

I think I have some about the pending marathon. I am running the mileage and moving along in training, but for some reason, I simply cannot believe I will be running a marathon in 6 weeks. Kind of funny. I signed up for the race to provide a distraction from life here in Florida, but now life here in Florida is distracting me from the race. I hope that means my priorities are in the right order?

I am very torn over whether or not to take the position as coach for the Team in Training group here. It sounds like a great opportunity and very rewarding in many ways. On the other hand, it will require a huge time commitment on the weekend that I am not sure I have to give if we decide to travel to Boston for the marathon or possibly begin training for a 50K. I wish there were more hours in the day....or that I might function better on less sleep?

Beyond these issues, I still despise the public school system here and wonder why we are tolerating it at all? If only there were an alternate private school that was decent. We are still contemplating homeschooling as an option, but that sounds like a scary undertaking in and of itself. I love my sweet girl and want for her to be safe and sound, unlike the incidents of being locked in the bathroom by some bused-in kids, or bullying in the classroom, or the absurd language that is spoken...I could go on and on. Should a six year old really have to contend with such things? It is a dilemma. I cannot wait to return to something more sane and humane.

So Tired

Today we ran 20...maybe a little more. I love this group because they are so easily convinced to do anything. For a haphazard kind of Triple A group, they are all so happy to accomodate. I woke up at 3:20 am (after being up with the little guy a few times in the night...nightmares, you know) feeling exhausted. Walked out my front door to rain and lightening and Lori waiting in my driveway. We ran South to the Country Club to pick up Kimmie, Craig and Lisa, only too bad for me, I stepped in a puddle up to my knees. Because it was super dark, it was difficult to make out the road (read: swamp). We made a pit stop back at our house on our way back North to start loop one.

We made another stop an hour into the run at Barry's law office for potty and water break, back the bridge toward South again. At that point, we said goodbye to Lisa, Kimmie and Craig (who only needed 13 miles) and Lori and I continued on for another loop. That one hurt. The rain picked up, we were wet and tired. Finished at our house and parted ways. I walked in the revolving door, with Marc waiting for me to sunscreen him so he could get to his Jungle Trail for his 20 miler.

Tonight we are on a mini vacation and it is so fun to be seeing southern Florida. Cannot wait to fall into bed.....

He Won!

Marc smoked them all...with very little effort on his part.

I got up and ran with crazy Dr. George and Lisa at 4:30 am. We picked up a few more girls (Lori, Laurie, Kimmie and Patti) at 5:00. It was already hot and humid with some annoying wind. I was going to run to the start from our house, but when I opened the front door and a bolt of lightning struck directly in front of me and across the street, I went to plan B: drive to run start and wait for people who are taller than I am to run with. Thankfully, the lightning subsided and we were left with high hunidity. Then came the rain around mile 11, dumping in buckets out of nowhere. It stopped as quickly as it started. That is the crazy thing about the rain here. It really is like how it is always depicted in movies set in the jungle: the sky is seemingly clear, and then it just starts coming down in droves. It was so loud, we couldn't carry on conversation for that 20 seconds.

Got home by 6:35 and we left for the Jungle Jog. It was very well organized with the pancake breakfast after for everyone. The kids loved all the syrup they ate with some pancakes on the side. Marc won the purse ($50) and the respect of the locals. Gotta love that he was so far ahead of everyone else, despite the fact that he made a wrong turn along the way (he didn't know the course)and the guy behind him yelled at him to come back. Not sure why he was looking over his shoulder in the last 200 because it was not even close. Not bad for a guy who hates to run on pavement.

Food For Thought

I was cleaning out our refrigerator today and thinking it is much like my life. As dumb as metaphors are, I couldn't help but think this. I have arranged and rearranged our fridge at least 5 times since we have been in this house. I keep switching out drawers and shelves and re-categorizing food items until it feels just right. I have exercised this obsessive-compulsive behavior with other things in the house as well, but somehow the fridge needs constant maintenance. This is the same inventory I keep taking with how things are going overall here in Florida. I like my daughter's swim team,I despise her new school. Marc loves his new job responsibilities, I am so over the insects. I like the island we live on, I hate the surrounding area. I like the house and neighborhood, I detest the humidity and constant rain forest rain.

After a fun play date at the park yesterday with some other PTA moms, I decided I might even be okay with some of these women as friends....but how much do I want to relent, restructure, rethink what it is I look for in girlfriends to make it worth getting to know them? I mean, I never used to put flour and sugar and cereal in the fridge before, but here I am forced to do so because bugs like to visit the pantry. I never thought I would get along with Southern chicks, but some of them are pretty funny. How much of my attitude do I need to clean up and rearrange? Food for thought.

Funny thing happened this morning. It was the first morning in ages that is has not rained (has not, you read that correctly), and yet, I did not run early. I set the alarm and laid there for a minute with every intention of getting out of bed. The next thing I knew, it was an hour later and I had missed the group. I got email from most every single one of them, demanding my whereabouts.

"Where were you, Quad A? Did we sleep in???"
"AAAA, we waited and waited for you, but when the sun finally came up, we decided to leave without you" (the sun doesn't come up until nearly 7 am here).
"My grandma came out today to run with us and said she can take you, Quadruple."

And so on. I love that this group is this feisty and that they hand out garbage already to the new girl. I love the guilt they shovel on thick. I love that they have already given me a nickname. Mostly, I love that I feel completely at home with all of these perfect strangers. This is no surprise to me, since I think runners are runners wherever one travels. There is no fashion show, no makeup, no catty competition or discussion of material goods. Mostly, it is people who spit and sweat and tell off the cuff jokes and simply want to, well, run. It is the other part of my world, the mom world, that is so much harder to organize and categorize....to get to feel just right.

Our running group is putting on the annual "Jungle Jog" this Saturday. I hope Marc can clean up there and kick some humid ass. There is one guy around here who tends to run and win all the local 5Ks, so I am hoping Marc can get it in that extra gear and move it past this one skinny dude. I think Marc has it in him if he digs deep enough. All of my Sun Runner friends are running/cheering/eating pancakes there, so it should be fun. There are tons and tons of 5Ks around here, but not many fall marathons or half marathons locally, so everyone tends to travel for longer races. Crazy Dr. George is going to Baltimore next weekend for a marathon, Craig is traveling North to Jacksonville this weekend for a half, the group leaves in a few weeks for the Marine Corps Marathon. Marc's boss is wanting to put together a local race that the company will sponsor, so I was trying to convince him to do a half marathon with an optional 5K. I think he is on board.

Because I missed the alarm, I got my run in later, in sweltering heat, with the boy in the jogger and the girl on her bike. I have not ever *ever* sweat like I did on that run. Sunscreen burning my eyes, sun blistering hot off the pavement, it was a miserable experience. I cursed myself for missing my wake up call. Ry and I dropped Owen off at school 4 miles there and then 4 back the same way. When we got to her school, several people came up to me, people I do not know at all, "Hey, I just saw you running...." Or, "Hey, were you just running along...." At least four people commented on our lunacy for running in the heat. On the way home, someone pulled up next to me and rolled down his window, "Don't you get enough exercise in?" It was Owen's swim coach, Scott, making fun of my obsession. I crossed the street, almost home, and saw our realtor waving at me from her Beemer. She later sent me an email asking me why I am such a nut case. This island is just way too small sometimes.....just like my fridge, I think.

Catatonic

I hate it here.

I just had to see it in black and white so I am not lying to myself or anyone else. I hope that in six months, I can look back at this blog and read this entry and feel differently. Really, I am miserable and for no good reason. People are nice, Marc loves his job, the kids are happy...how can I possibly be this glum? I never anticipated I could be this dark, but today I feel hopeless. I feel like I have given up finding the good in the dream. The one in which Marc is happy doing his Director of Chemistry thing, and the kids are perfectly adjusted, and I have found my niche.

It rained today in Biblical magnitude. Think Noah's Ark and you are close to imagining the day. The main issue is I navigate a Sequoia and not a boat, so this was problematic today. Like the case in which I almost ran over our six year old, when she darted in front of the car as I picked her up from school. She thought I was stopping, but I was rolling ahead to allow her more room to open the door on the rear passenger side. The torrential rain was so heavy, I could not even see her. It is by the grace of God that she is unscathed. His hand was on her today, and for that, I am so grateful. We drove carefully to North County for Swim Team pictures, that were (duh) cancelled due to weather conditions. She swam the workout there anyway.

I hate that I was soaked to the bone in the three seconds I crossed the parking lot to pick her up from swim team. Standing, once again, at the car to load her and laughing in spite of the situation: my hair plastered to my face, my clothes soaking wet, I laughed out of fear I might cry if I thought about the stupidity of it all. The wind was blowing gusts of sheets and sheets of rain. Rain so heavy, it blinded me as I opened her door to hustle her into her carseat. How do people live like this, anyway? I laughed a strange and eerie laugh that is not mine at all. I laughed until I had to lay my head on the steering wheel of the parked car in convulsions, with my kids looking at each other with uncertainty in the backseat.

I hate that the more people I meet, the more they tell me how "wonderful" it is here and all I want to do is run home and forget about it. They laugh and make fun of the lack of conveniences that exist, but how they love the "small town". How is it I am spearheading playgroups, joining the PTA, rallying neighbors for events, but I am miserable? I feel like Jackal and Hyde. I want to be part of the community and I am signing the kids on for everything and committing myself to everything, but my heart aches and my head hurts and I wish I could just sleep the day away. I feel like I am trying, but something is just not working...it is not fluid like it should be.

I ran bridge repeats this morning. I only planned on running six, and the wind nearly blew me off the top. The fury of it, whipping along, screeching its presence, nearly slowed me to a stop when I was heading into it going East. I only wanted to run six, but I ran eight simply to feel alive. The only time I feel like I am even a shell of who I was is when I am running. Everything else in my universe is so out of whack, I cannot bear to think about the details. I fold laundry in a daze and shuttle kids simply going through the motions. I nod and listen to my swim coach because he berates me and it stirs some emotion in me that reminds me I am human. Right now I mostly feel catatonic....except that I cannot be a hat rack. I have to live and move and breathe and carry on a household and feed children and kiss my husband.

Even if I never run a step with my old running partners, I cannot bear the thought of being so far away from everyone and everything that was the center of my universe before. Marc's mom sent another package today and I could barely stand to open it. I willed myself to do it because the kids were shrieking, pleading to see what was inside. It's like I cannot bear to really think about what I feel like we are missing from our old lives. I threw away the Zoo News publication from the San Diego Zoo that is forwarded to this address. I don't want to read about their hippos.

Yesterday was a good day. Today was very much something else. I hope tomorrow will be something that won't seem manic when I put it in print.

The Long and The Short of It

"It" as in "the Run". Yesterday was the 21 mile "Killer Loop" with the group, and what a group it was. I think at our high point, there were 12 or 14 of us? Most of us began on the beach and headed West over the first bridge, in, what else? Rain. Thankfully, the rain ended as quickly as it came on, and we were hardly wet for the wear.

Over the first bridge and on to pick up a couple more runners, as well as Stephanie, our support crew. How cool is it that this woman (who is not running right now for some reason not clear to me), met us at various points on the loop for hydration. She had all kinds of nutrition in the back of her minivan. It was like being in a race. Very cool. Anyway, we picked up more runners at mile 11, I think, and as the group grew, so did the chatter, which was very cool. One thing I realize more and more is that there are so many great conversationalists in this crew, I would never have to speak a word if I chose not to. Actually, I am wise to keep my mouth shut, since the more I divulge, the more ammunition they have to use against me. Yesterday they bagged on me about how much I talk about California. Can I help it that I am from the Superior Coast? I need to remind them periodically.

Anyway, we continued to run, and many of these guys started complaining about the Wabasso bridge, how steep it is, how hard it is, on and on. I began feeling nervous about the incline the way they were talking, but I need not have worried: it was about as steep as anything else around here...not very. We caught part of the Jungle Trail and then headed South toward home. Around mile 16, we were desperate for Stephanie again, wondering where our water was. Turns out, she turned the North at Jungle Trail and was waiting for us in the wrong place. By mile 17, we were so parched, we stopped at John's Island (or JI, as the locals call it) and hit up the guard at the gate up for some water. We continued on another 4 miles back to the cars. A quick dip in the ocean to finish a great run. How is it possible I was stung again by another jelly? These little guys are nasty.

The day only got better from there. We spent it in West Palm Beach with lunch at Whole Foods and then a tour of Jupiter Island, looking for Tiger's house. The island is beautiful, *beautiful* with tons of greenery and even little rolling hills on the golf courses. On to the town of Tradition, where our family ran a 5K to raise awareness for Child Abuse and neglect. I ran along side Owen, with Ryan in the stroller to support her. Marc was second finisher overall, despite the heat, and Owen was third in the under 10 division. They both came home with trophies, which was grand. The kids played on the inflatable jumpers and ate junk food, while we spoke with the team that entered from Marc's work. It was all really enjoyable, until out of nowhere, the sky opened up and it began to POUR rain on us. Lightning in the sky, people running for cover, cars madly trying to get out of the parking lot all made for an interesting finish to the day. We left around 9:00 pm, exhausted, but happy.

So, I feel good about running the mileage, despite the fact the day started and ended in crazy moments of fleeting rain. The kind that is just enough to get one wet, but nothing more than a minor inconvenience. The 5K was really rewarding, to see Marc run strong and Owen place in her little division. It is all worth it, if we can encourage a love of exercise in our kids. Even little Ryan was happy running along in the stroller. He never complained once.

"The Rainy Season"

This is every one's favorite response when I bemoan the weather. It rained all day today, only to stop to make way for more gray skies and then more rain. On and off all day long, it rained. I usually don't mind rain, I even quite like the rain. I think I used to love the rain when it was the oddity and novelty of Southern California. Here, I am coming to accept the rain as a random act at any given point in the day. That is one thing that I really underestimated about here. People told me it rained, but I never thought THIS much.

This morning we ran on the track, which was wet from last night's storm. Thankfully, we did not get any more downpour until I was leaving the workout. We ran a mile warm up, followed by 2 800s at 3:30 pace, a mile at 6:47 pace, and then 2 more 800s, 3:22 and then 3:17 to finish strong. I ran with Lori and Dr. George. There were some other suspects there, too, but they were doing a different workout. I left the track and did some legs in the gym, followed by a cool down swim. Luckily Don was giving a private lesson so he left me on my own today. I am grateful for the little things. We are booking our tickets tonight for Christmas home. You can't see me, but here I am dancing.

Bridge Repeats

Alone. In the dark. In the rain. With just my alligator friend beneath the bridge.

Sound invigorating? I feel empowered. I did 6 hill repeats, each around 7 minutes, up the bridge and back down as one. They actually did not hurt too bad, though my legs were tired by the last one. I am still reeling that I saw a "gator", however, sleeping under the bridge along the shore. I did a double take, but it was a real live gator. Sent shivers up my spine, or maybe that was my reaction to the rain pelting my face so hard it hurt?

Anyway, did the workout I set out to do and then went to the pool for some abuse from Don. It was miserable in a satisfying kind of way. Today he told me my stroke was the best he has seen it yet. I will take that, coming from a cranky old man who never says anything nice about anyone. Most days I wish he would just ignore me like he does the man who got into the lane next to me. I wonder if that man just told Don to leave him be and let his stroke be imperfect? Maybe Don thinks that man is too old of a dog to learn any new tricks? Other days, I am hungry for his advice, eager to learn the stroke work and wanting to improve it all. Then he tells me to do backstroke and I think I might drown right there in my lane. Would the grumpy old coach jump in and save me? It is not likely.

I am excited about the possibility of going home for Christmas and seeing friends and family. Sharing a meal and sitting in front of the tree together. It sounds like a ton of effort to get there, but I think it might almost be worthwhile. I want San Diego so badly, I can almost taste it. I want to drink in the cold December air there, run Torrey Pines hill, and embrace old friends. I love the idea of celebrating the most magical time of the year with people I crave seeing again. Mostly, I want to stop feeling torn between two worlds and try to live a streamline life.

Jungle Run

Today was the long run with the group on the dreaded "Jungle Trail". I wish I were kidding about the name, but it is actually posted as a landmark and a real destination for people from miles around. People travel to the Jungle Trail for mountain biking (which is funny, since it is as flat as everything else around here), running, walking and nature observation. The whole time we are out there, the only thing I can think is that I hope we do not observe any nature.

Lori picked me up at 5 am for the 5:30 start. When we got to the trail head, it was pitch black with no streetlights around for miles. Dr. George, Craig and Lori all had lights. Craig carried his flashlight, Lori had a small led light clipped to her hat, and geeky Dr. George was wearing-brace yourself-a head lamp. I asked him where the mine was. We did a small out and back and then picked up the rest of the group for a brighter 6:30 start. Patti asked Dr. George if he was heading into surgery with that dumb lamp. We ran out the north trail at that point, which is longer than the south trail we started on, but less scenic, unless you like huge blue pelicans and snakes. These are in abundance, but the snakes are "the good kind" I am told. Whatever. Anything in the snake family is not worth meeting on the trail if you ask me.

In the end, Lori and I continued after the other guys were done, and I think we finished with around 19 miles. She is doing West Palm Beach marathon in December. Atlanta is closing in fast for me, with Disney right around the corner after that. I am kind of thinking about West Palm beach, though. It sounds good to do another one along the way, just as a training run, of course.

I continue to meet new athletes and really like them. Everyone is so super welcoming and friendly. I am thrilled to death to have Thanksgiving in Georgia with old friends there. But, I continue to be homesick and miss all of the conveniences of our old lives. The little things that seem so trivial, but the things that add up to make life aggrivating here at times. Like, the fact that the grocery store does not open until 7:00 am, so when I am on the way home from track, I cannot just pop in and pick up milk for breakfast, since the doors are still locked. Or, the way getting my hair done yesterday cost almost $300. Who was this woman that she thought she could charge that? Frustrating to have to start all over with new everything, including finding the right hair person.

Mostly I miss the life we used to have in Carmel Valley with awesome neighbors and a wonderful school for the kids and beautiful parks we could go to in the middle of the day. While it is beautiful here, the parks remain vacant because it is too stiffling to go outside this time of year. My little guy keeps asking me to go to playgrounds every day. I can't help but feel my kids are missing out on some precious experiences while we are here. They are experiencing so many other new adventures here, it is true, but maybe I am just thinking it is not comparable to what I grew up with. Somehow, I still feel like California is superior in so many ways: the opportunities, the schools, the connections we have there. I wonder if I might ever come to feel like anything but a fish out of water here?

For Something New and Different...

....rain today. What a surprise. Actually, when I left the house this morning, it was not yet raining. I arrived at the track, parked my car, climbed over the gate to get in, and saw Dr. George already running the workout. I ran one whole 200 before it began to drizzle. By the time I reached the start, it was a true rain. After a 2 mile warm up, the sky opened up and began to dump. I was drenched and dripping with both sweat and rain when my friend, Lori, arrived, a pathetic towel over her head, as if this were to protect her from the elements. She was already soggy just the short walk from her car. Because Dr. George had beat us to the track, he was almost done with his Yassos when I finished my warmup. He had to get to the hospital for an early surgery. That man is a lunatic.

Funny thing about this small town: the only thing the people love more here than their precious high school football team is the football field on which they practice. So, the gate is always locked and there are many signs posted to keep out. This, of course, does not deter the people I run with, rough crowd of runners. Apparently, just before my time here, there was a little run-in with the law, and some words were exchanged as to why some innocent runners could not carelessly run in circles. The police told them they were trespassing and would be arrested if they were to come back. Someone pulled some strings and used his teacher card to grant access to the Sun Runners with some imaginary key that I have not seen yet. Tom is supposed to pick up the key on Tuesday afternoons and return it Wednesday morning after the workout, but he cannot be bothered to trek over to the office to get it. I have since joined in the fun of running scared. It makes the workout interesting, when we are lurking in the shadows every time a cop car drives by and lingers just a little bit, watching and waiting. Even more interesting is the climb over the metal gate, as it tatters back and forth against its post, slick from the ever-present rain.I am not sure which is less appealing: running in fear of lightening or running in fear of getting arrested?

Anyway, we didn't have to worry about the cops this morning, since I guess they figured we are all stubborn but not stupid enough to run in the cats and dogs that were coming down. Isn't it amazing that these stupid people are surgeons and lawyers and engineers and financial planners? Yeah, there are some issues in this crowd. We ran a mile, followed by two 800s, another mile and then two more 800s, Lori's choice. I have come to really like her. Originally from some middle of America state I cannot recall, she relocated to New York, worked her tail off to become extremely successful, married a man 20 years her senior and then landed in Vero to raise their now 6 year old daughter. Lori has this real easy way about her, mild in speech and manner. Built like a runner, tall and lean with beautiful legs that carry her. She has a striking smile that is distracting, a brilliant mind, and is so real. Most people here are very real. I like that she is a transplant from a large city, too, because I think she feels my pain.

Anyway, another day of rain. I left with shorts that were so wet and heavy, I could barely walk to my car-or climb back over the gate- since they hung on my tired legs. Not sure which were heavier, the shorts or my legs. Now it is off to spin class. The spin teacher on Wednesday nights reminds me of a Barbie I once gave a bad haircut to as a child. Impossible dimensions with fake boobs and ridiculously tan, she has a beautiful face with tiny features. She is striking in appearance with her smoking figure, pastel blue eyes and high cheek bones. All things on her appear to be perfect, except for the hair detail...it is shorter than boy short, cropped carelessly close to her head and bleached a platnum I did not know existed on the color spectrum. She is a great spin instructor, though, and will kick us in gear. Her favorite thing to yell out in the middle of a steep set is, "Okay, those of you who are crazy, turn the knob another notch to the right....come on...come with me. I know you are all crazy. We are fitness addicts!"

Guess I won't have to worry about the rain inside the spin studio and, thankfully, the weather held off long enough yesterday for the kids to start tennis. Very cute. Tonight gymnastics...inside. We are going to be grateful for the little things around here.

Inclinate Weather

I woke at 4:30 this morning to the sounds of pouring rain, which was very appropriate for my mood. I love that term "pouring". Here in Florida, I think the more accurate description for this morning's rain, would be thrashing, blowing, and heaving rain. Apparently the popular saying here is, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes." I have heard this several times in the four weeks we have been here.

When I looked out the bathroom window, the lightening was so bright, it filled the room with its rage. It was over the ocean, coming consistently, and because I couldn't tell how near or far it was, I pulled on my running clothes to see which crazies would be waiting on the curb. I desperately wanted to climb back into bed and sleep my troubles away. My troubles are many: the unhappiness I feel with the elementary school, the discontent and unrest in the future here, what our lives might have looked like if we staying in San Diego....I read more of THe Kite Runner last night to drown some of my sorrows. Getting lost in the characters in that book was the obvious escape, one that made my life seem a lot more appealing than it feels at times.

I tied my shoes and rolled out the large drive into the furious rain. The other interesting point of mention about weather here: though it may be thrashing rain at our house, it may not be raining at all 3 miles away at the park where the Sun Runners meet. I was hopeful, obviously, to be driving that direction, but the rain continued on. When I pulled into Riverside Park, Kimmie and Craig were holed up in her car, arguing like an old married couple, though they are young and not married to each other. She was insisting that the rain, plus, thunder and lightening was suicide; he was telling her it was no big deal and after quoting something he told me was from the movie "Caddy Shack" (I have never seen the movie, but I guess as Superintendent of one of the golf courses on the island, this is a staple to the DVD library), insisted that the rain was going a different direction than our run course.

Low and behold, who comes running over, but crazy Doctor George and his lovely wife, Lori. Having been in North Carolina for pleasure all weekend, Doc was amped up and ready to run, quadruple A personality he is. Anyway, we obviously did not get struck by lightening since I sit here writing this most gratefully now. George kept telling me as soon as we got over the bridges, we would be safe on lower ground. I am trying to put together a movement right now to get this group to run bridge repeats for hill training, the only elevation to speak of in these parts. So far, the enthusiasm has been minimal.

I think the hardest thing for me to adjust to is the way one's life really is dictated by weather. I am not accustomed to having to wait on the heat, wait on the rain, wait out the lightening. Here, it is simply life. Today, the kids are supposed to start tennis, but since it has been storming all day, on and off, with blue skies teasing us for fleeting moments, I think their lesson will be cancelled due to "inclinate weather". That is the nice term around here for weather that simply will not cooperate and allow us to go about our business as usual.

The Breakdown

The breakdown of the stroke, that is. I think Don likes me. He knows I am not going away and I keep asking for more of his abuse. Not that I would have a choice to filter it out, by the way. I was the only body in the pool this morning at 6 am. With rain falling, Don yelled at me from under the roof along the side of the pool. Normally, he paces around it, over and over. He is so ADHD, he cannot stand in one place. He likes to call himself "lazy" when he does not get in the water to do his own workout, so he pacifies himself by power walking the pool's edge.

So, from under the awning, he is yelling instruction to me from afar. I think I am almost understanding his term, "holding water" now. He has not even ventured to work with me on the catch stage of my stroke yet...just the recovery and entry and some kick. He even made me do some backstroke today. after only one hundred of that agony, I told him I was out of time. I think that man would talk at me all day. Ex-army, he loves the power of picking apart my stroke. I almost don't feel offended by his delivery anymore. I have come to like him, too,cranky old goat he is. Now, if only I could really put into practice the technical thinkgs he is telling me to do. It is so easy to listen and understand what he is saying, but to actually perform is a whole different issue.

Cruise Control

That is about it. Cruising along in school, work and training. Had a high mileage week last week with 2 long runs (just worked out that way) and lots of other in between. I am going to start running bridge repeats, since the bridges to our island are the only source of elevation around here and I miss hill training. I really do miss rolling hills. Love, love, love the crazy triple A personalities I run with. Seems I am not living up to my full potential around here "only" training for marathons. Wish I were more motivated to sit on a bike, other than in spin classes at the gym. These runners are nuts.

I am still hanging with my nazi swim coach who spats commands at me, peppered with small words of encouragement, "You are almost getting better...now let's do some backstroke." I almost drowned, by the way, in that lesson. He is unlike any coach I have ever known. He almost seems a character out of a book, the mean and intimidating, dated mentor. He loves to tell me how "old school" my stroke is, which is funny considering how old his records are that stand and how new I am to this sport. Anyway, the hero of Vero, Lotta, the top ranked amatuer of triathlon fell doing hill repeats on her bike and shattered her collarbone. This is unfortunate for her race season, but more unfortunate for me: one less body at the workout to detract Coach Don's attention away from my poor technique. Lotta says she will heal in 8 weeks, but too late for the 70.3 Championships she should have taken no problem.

So, on we march. The heat is hot here. The ocean is 85 degrees. I am tired of always being sticky. I am living for October.