Slacker

It's raining here today for the third time. Tropical and gentle, with random bursts of downpour. I always knew it rained in the jungle, but I guess I never really understood just how much. This weather pattern almost feels normal now after 9 months. There was a little break for a few weeks from the rain, but so brief, it hardly registered as more than little. The cicadas are back now, too, with their tiresome screeching. Summer has official arrived in Vero.

I read email from Jen yesterday, one of my best and most reliable old running partners from home. It saddened me when she told me she no longer makes the effort to get to the Tuesday and Thursday morning speed workouts anymore; she has tired of the drama and the drive to get there, so she has opted for runs around her neighborhood with Susan, another reliable. I am not sure which part made me sad? The idea that everything has changed so radically from what I once knew as my favorite workout? That my favorite people have fallen out of the habit of it? I am sure Henry and John and Mike and Renee still find their way there, but I've heard the dynamic has shifted.

My response to her was a truthful and genuine effort to affirm her new routine of speed on the tread mil with an ipod. I told her how after we succumbed to Florida, I really felt as though I might die without those heart-pounding, lung crushing, lactic acid burning workouts. Through email, I recounted how I lived and died for those track workouts, the tempo runs, the hill repeats and mile after endless mile around campus every week. When we moved here, I knew how terrifying it would be to do something so different.

I knew I had to reinvent my workouts to maintain some kind of sanity and inspiration in my routine. Here, the track requires us to climb tall, slippery gates and hide in the shadows when the cops drive by. The tempo runs here are so much harder with the oppressive humidity and hills truly do not exist. The wind has the power to blow us off the top of the bridges when we run miles, that is, when it is cool enough to not have to stop every 4 minutes to take in more water. What kind of runner would I possibly become? I felt like I was losing more and more with each passing week, and it killed me to know what I left behind; to know that life went on without me there and they were all still having fun running Blacks Beach or Bishops and Chunks.

But as I wrote to Jen, I realized something as it was in black and white before me. I am still a runner, but I have become a different kind of runner. I have had to reinvent what running means to me and what motivates me to put my shoes on every day. Here, I do not have the same reliable running resources. I don't have the beautiful, rolling hills along the Pacific or mild climate. Half the time when I would clamor over that black iron gate at the track, none of the Florida slackers would even show up. So I ran in solitude in the dark, sometimes with the sky crackling its fury above me, warning of the pending storms. I thought how stupid I was, the Californian who could not give up the workout due to a little lightning (that could have very well killed me). Everyone else knew to stay in bed after they checked the radar, but I needed that workout.

Slowly, I became friends with Lori, and while she will never take the place of Jen or anyone else, she has filled the lonely void. She will meet me for the early mile repeats or the tempos or 800s. We have created our own little speed calendar we follow religiously, despite the dilapidated track we run on. For the other days on which people are so hit or miss, I have to find it all within myself to get out there and go, often alone, in the dark. As much as all of these guys train for this Iron Man or that marathon, they are always training haphazardly, around their drinking schedules or wine tastings. There is some organization to their chaos, but for the most part, many of these guys are fly by the seat of their pants. It is true that Craig and Kimmie are very reliable warm bodies on the Tuesday/ Thursday tempo runs around the bridge loops, but most of the runners here are pick-ups along the way somewhere, if they decide to roll out of bed. But, at least I do have Craig, Kimmie and Lisa for the long weekend runs, mundane as the course is we always run over and over. Abbe, while lovable, embodies what a slacker runner really is: promises to be there at 4:30 am and then always, always sends a text over in the morning, "Going back to bed".

In all of this, I think I have come into a more meaningful, mature love of this sport. I think I have become less anal. Truly. I don't want to compare it to the dizzy high school crush that has matured into the comfortable, reliable marriage kind of love. I am still crazy about running and have a passion for it that defies understanding when I think of the monotony of my feet on the pavement. It is just that I kind of like that attitude of, "Hey, let's sign up for this race and that one, and maybe we will actually go and race." My Florida friends all wear their Garmins and clock the miles, but then travel hundreds of miles to races and turn off their alarms and sleep in if the weather is less than ideal. My friends here have a more laid back approach to running that used to annoy me, even make me feel superior that I was more consistent. That lax attitude would strike fear in my heart that I might become that runner with *gasp* balance, if I hung around them too much, as though it were a dreadful and highly contagious leprosy. As much as I hate to admit it, they have won me over to the middle somewhere.

So, why do they still call me "Quad"? AAAA Personality I am not so much anymore when I think of where I started from. I just may not even wear my watch for Rock N Roll to prove it to myself. I'll see how I feel when I wake up Sunday.

Until Florida Summer Do We Part

"Two months is a long time when you love someone." This was Abbe's response to me when I told her we will only be gone for 8 weeks. I am told there are bets going around the running group as to whether or not I really am returning to Florida with the kids at summer's end. Lori said she is going to punish me tomorrow at our speed workout for "abandoning" her. I keep telling them that my skin has already reaped all the benefits of the humidity and I need a little break now that I am flawless. Right. I have to come back here, if I want to remain married, that is.



Ipod. Great White Kenyan. Don Julio. Angel. Country. Abbalicious. These are the aliases I run with each morning, and as much as I hate to admit it, I am going to miss them, too. I love them and, amazingly, for as much as I bash Florida, they love me too. Shoot. I might even miss my husband (who is more Florida every day), but apparently not enough to suck it up and endure the weather here for the summer. Today was misery. Gray skies, black clouds, torrential downpour, crashing thunder and furious lightning. Was that a hurricane today with the wind factor? How do people live with the weather dictating what they can and cannot do? Yesterday's swim workout was canceled due to lightning and today tennis was rained out. What kind of fun is that?



Actually, I am going to miss Marc with every fiber in me. I know I will ache for the time he comes to visit us on the West Coast, but I figure since I give him ten months here, he can give me two months there. He is kind and compassionate, supportive and attentive. How could I want for anything more? I love that his running shorts are stored in the drawer in his closet above any of his other clothes. That is just the kind of guy he is...an athlete before anything else. I just wish he would stop running the remote jungle trails with huge gators. I wish I were kidding about this point, but I am not even exaggerating. Apparently, he thinks he is Tarzan of the Jungle now, able to run zig zags faster than those handbags can snatch him. I hate nature. I do love a man in a Speedo, however, and he wears it well. I love a man who posts pictures of his kid's triathlon on his blog. And, I love a man in cute, short running shorts with bronzed legs. Did I mention that I love swimmers? What a guy.



Swim meet this weekend for the girl. End of season tennis party and awards Saturday. 5K on Monday for the girl who never stops moving (my daughter). Marc's big presentation, house sitter interviews, volunteer celebration, send off dinners, pediatrician appointments, last ten miler run....we are almost out of here...........

Banyan Day

My kids love banyan trees, especially my son. I love how they appear to be something right off the pages of a mythical novel or enchanted, morose poem. Something about how their shoots grow down to the earth, rather than up into the light, is eerie and depressing, but beautiful at the same time. I am not sure if this unique characteristic is what fascinates my son, but he loves these trees. Every time we pass one, he will call out its existence, "Mommy! A banyan tree! A banyan tree!" Or maybe it was my grooming because I have always loved these trees, too, and encouraged them to appreciate their unique beauty.

This morning I headed out for a leisurely run. I stepped outside into the morning haze at sunrise, bracing myself for the humid greeting. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as yesterday and the day before, so I happily skipped right into some kind of warm up pace. The ocean was quiet, serene and calm. I passed a large banyan on my way through our beach neighborhood, and immediately thought of my kids and what it means to be a mom on this Mother's Day. I think my favorite part about being a mom is that I get to so closely experience their natural curiosity and wonder about the world around them. The questions never stop, the learning never ceases, and the knowledge only builds on the previous. Maybe in that way, we are like banyan trees? We are constantly spreading our roots to become bigger, better, and cover more ground.

After all, kids start out as little epiphytes, like the banyan, needing a host to take care of them until they can spread their roots out and provide for themselves. And, like the banyan, their growth and need for space never ceases, it only increases with age. I can only hope that my kids grow with the same diligence and character as a banyan, mysterious and strong, determined, if sometimes seemingly headed the wrong way. In the end, it is a beautiful picture and speaks volumes about personality.

Here Comes Summer

I walked out my door this morning into a blanket of heat and humidity. Yep, 4:15 in the morning and summer greeted me with a wretched grip on my lungs. I took about four steps and saw the lightning over the ocean in front of me. Somewhere far over the water a storm was raging, but thankfully not where we planned our run. Lori met me and ran the first 10 miles with me, then I ran 11 or 12 more...not really sure, since the heat was making me kind of delirious. I know I left the house Friday morning, but it sure felt like I returned Monday sometime. I came home and fell into the cool pool and lay on the bottom for a while. Heaven. I need another pair of running shoes, since I seem to be wearing each pair out so quickly as of late. I love my friends here, but I am ready to have my friends back home. Hello, Summer.

Check, Please

I feel like everyday I learn a little something about myself and the world we live in. Sometimes I think I am completely void of feeling anything at all when it comes to reacting to trauma and tragedy. Other times, I am sure I am a raving lunatic with emotions wildly out of control. I am not sure why some things hit me so hard and other things barely scratch the surface?

I am still completely perplexed and disturbed by the whole shark attack in San Diego. Why did that man have to be eaten by a large fish? On his first swim back in the Pacific headed into the tri season, why was he picked off in such an unlikely place among his friends? Thoughts of large sharks have always plagued me while out in the water, particularly while fighting my way through the kelp out at the Cove, but never did I think someone would really, really be attacked. Perhaps I thought someone might have an encounter with a fish that could devastate, but not really be savagely and gruesomely eaten in that manner. This haunts me at night when I think about getting in the ocean again.

Perspective is always a good thing and I realize when we take on the wild, we do not always win. This is why I hate nature...I despise it. For as much as we eat all things natural in our house, I really do not appreciate the animal part of nature's offerings. As of late, when I feel like I am having a bad day, I think about the misery of this man's family he left behind when he so innocently left for a swim that morning. How could he know how many lives he would impact that day? Certainly he did not think he would become a statistic and be Googled by the masses.

Back to lesser complaints, my foot is acting up and not so happy about all the mileage I am running these days. I just signed up for Marine Corps marathon in fall so that I have another little something to look forward to when we return after a summer hiatus. Sometimes so many things around here seem so bleak, then I tell myself, "Well, at least I wasn't sampled by a shark today". Today the blues have crept back in after I said good bye to my brother at the airport. He understands my pain in ways other people do not seem to engage or want to entertain, which is okay. It almost killed me to let go of him when he stepped out of my car and as my son said through choked back tears, "I like when Unc-ie goes back to Los Angeles" as if trying to convince himself he was happy to see his beloved uncle leave. How did it come to this again?

I am still high from our Team's successful completion of each of their events, as well as my girl's first triathlon. She was a hero last weekend, so calm and collected in a field of 800 athletes, unfazed and unscathed by course or characters. Though she accidentally swam an extra 50, she is an amazing gem and I adore the child she is. Standing at the finish in all her glory, with her shorts hanging off her slight frame, race chip around her ankle, and medal around her neck, was one of my proudest moments. Again, these are the things that make it worthwhile and I will worship the One who makes it all possible. Please, God, don't let me ever know the pain of losing someone I love to the jaws of a shark. Why does it take a tragedy to make us feel alive? Only then do we appreciate how much we have, even while living among the sandy dunes of Florida. I still wish we could be done here.