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.

Atlanta It Is...

...for the marathon. Things were getting too complicated to coordinate MC marathon in a few short weeks, so I am running the Atlanta marathon on Thanksgiving Day. This is a beautiful thing in 2 ways: not only do I get in 26.2 miles before lunchtime, I get to enjoy Thanksgiving Dinner with my family and Roberta and her family....which means vegetarian options. I despise Thanksgiving and every offensive smell that lingers in the kitchen all day long. What better way to escape it than to run a marathon for half the day? Perfect. Here is the fall marathon I have been needing.

Today we ran 10 miles on the Jungle Trail, as it is dubbed. The usual suspects and a few I have not met before this morning. George is a surgeon and 7 time Ironman who is old enough to be my dad. He can kick my booty any day of the week. He just returned from Korea for the Ironman there and he said he runs Atlanta Marathon every year. He said it is hilly and not an easy course. I saw a dead armadillo on the road and a ton of water fowl along Jungle Trail. Thankfully, no gators out there, though those running with me delighted in telling me stories about the wildlife I so despise.

I think I am grumpy and need to go to bed. We went out with some new found friends to the country club tonight and it was hard for me to think that this is what our lives have become: eating exotic food while watching an absolutely brilliant lightening storm over the water, hobnobbing with all the old money here. The rain and wind were mild and we were outside on the veranda, so the weather was actually really lovely. The sad part was the theme over and over of people being so kind and saying how nice San Diego is (they have visited, they have family there, they know people there, etc) and me wanting to return. How can it be so nice here, but my heart is so stuck somewhere else? It feels like being married to someone but stuck in a relationship with the wrong person by accident. That is, desperately wanting to get back to the one I am in love with, but inhibited by someone else. It is a dismal place to be at times. Other times, everything is so fun and great and wonderful and new.

Tomorrow is a BBQ and beach party with another group of friends we met through the Sun Runners. I really like the couple who owns the beach house and hosting the get together. They are originally from New York and very animated and off the cuff. Their daughter is our daughter's age and the girls really like each other, too, so that is great. I will be mixing the margaritas for everyone, however, since I will not be kayaking in the sharky waters with them tomorrow.

Joyful!

I was reading Junie B. Jones to Owen at bedtime tonight and she said she loves how Junie B. always uses the word "joyful". I thought the same thing. What a great word and why do we not use it more? What better way to express an extremely happy sentiment? I have been thinking about a passage in the Bible that says to do "all things joyfully onto the Lord". So, even doing something as mundane as laundry, I want to be joyful.

Super fun weekend. Just what I needed to feel happy and at home. My girlfriend called from Georgia yesterday at 1:30 and was in town with her family by 5:30. Her husband is a pilot for Delta, so she called to say they were thinking about coming to Florida. Just like that, with their 2 kids. They were here in time for dinner and swimming in the rain. Happy day. Happy that it rained a magnificent and cooling storm last night. Happy that the thunder rolled in again for that strangely peaceful sound. Happy that we had a housefull of kids and friends again. A slumber party, even! Joy!

Berta is a California girl, born and bred. Then, 4 1/2 years ago, she had to leave LA with her kids and follow her husband to Delta's hub in Atlanta so he could keep his job. She was not happy about it, but she has come full circle and, of course, is thriving there. We spend the weekend with hours swimming in the ocean, more swimming in the pool, laughing and gossiping. It doesn't get any better than that. The kids love each other, our husbands get along, and Berta is like a long lost sister to me. She has this amazing way of seeing things from a wonderfully different and brilliant perspective. She not only sees the world with rose colored glasses, she passes those glasses around to everyone else and convinces us that the world is that beautiful. She enabled me to see things from a slightly happier perspective ("Yes. It is hot sometimes here, sometimes even miserable, but it is just weather. We are lucky enough to have air conditioned houses and cars, and pools and cold things to eat."). Her favorite saying is, "What do I care?".

This visit, coupled with a 15 mile run with the Sun Runners yesterday morning, made for a really complete, if not exhausting, weekend. Even more exciting is the possibility of running the Marine Corps Marathon in October. While discussing the disappointment I was feeling of not having a fall marathon on the books, Lisa and Kim from the group yesterday told me there is a number for sale for MC since one of their friends has a conflict and cannot go. I simply have to pay the transfer fee to my name and I can stay in the hotel with them for the race. It sounds like so much fun....I just feel a little sick about leaving the kids and Marc for the weekend. That and the fact that I will have to run 20 miles in 2 more weeks. Usually this would be thrilling, but I have this little hamstring problem right now. My lame right leg is still giving me issues. Time will tell.

More and more I feel like life is really all about relationships. The people I hold so close in my heart (Roberta) and the people we are meeting along the way (Kim and Lisa, etc) are what make life worthwhile and interesting. I am nothing without these people who help define who I am and what matters most...faith, family, love, running, routine....Shocking, but it seems like there may just be a place for us here...at least for now.

It's Hotter Than Hell Here...

...but with the beauty of heaven. Not sure how to really classify what I think of Vero. Mostly, life has taken on a very different flavor with a familiar taste. People and pace of life here are so different from anything I experienced in California, but people really are just people anywhere. Time marches on, kids go to school, people go to work, the sun comes up and the days roll into weeks. Here we are, living like locals. I refuse to change the name of this blog...not yet. It pains me to commit like that.

Obviously, we still live in a beach community, although a much smaller and more intimate one. Walking through the market last night with Owen, a man coming in the door behind us was staring at me. I kind of smiled at him and then turned away, uncomfortable, diverting my attention back to my daughter. She had just gotten out of the pool and we had to do a quick drive by to get some groceries. A few minutes later, we crossed paths with this man in produce, and he was still looking at me intently. Now I was a little freaked out, but his face was kind and somewhat familiar. Finally in the dairy section, he said my name with a question mark attached to the end. Now I was confused. He asked if we ran together that morning, which, indeed, we had. It was coming to me. Craig. He was part of the Sun Runners, the early morning group I am trying to hold on to at 5 am. A casual group of burners, out for a jaunt in the darkness three days a week. It is so dark here and with few lights on the island where we run, I really did not recognize him. If I do not come away from here a stronger runner, I am not sure what will make me faster. Trying to run with zero air into my lungs is never fun. The humidity is so thick, it is like running in a sauna, even that early in the morning. Then, when the sun comes up, it is scorching hot. I am going to need a good dermatologist. Hell is trying to keep up with these people who grew up in this heat. Heaven is getting back to the car and sweating like I never knew I could.

In keeping with the morning workout routine, I am happy and feel content. The runners are just as they were in San Diego: down to earth, happy to talk endlessly about pace and races, always ready to roll out for the work ahead. The courses we run are flat and would-be fast, if I could breathe. The swim leaves a little (or a lot) to be desired, however. I miss a large workout out with tons of people in a lane to chat with. I miss the jacuzzi in the morning (those do not even exist here and they have pool cooling systems to try to keep the water around 85 degrees).

The coaching here is whole different issue, too. Picture a 77 year old man in jammers. A mean old goat of a man, quick to tell you he is an ex-Olympian coach, Don barks militant orders at those of us in the pool. Sadly, he is so offensive, he has scared away most recreational folk, so there are very few of us. The upside to this, I have had private coaching and am swimming better this last week than I have in seven years. No joke. This man has communicated so much to me about proper technique where others have failed (or maybe I am only now willing to learn out of sheer terror of this man?) to bring it home. Because he has so few to pick on, he has stood over me for this past week and single handedly deconstructed my stroke, piece by piece. It is like the light has gone on and I actually understand the timing of the whole thing now. Despite his delivery, Don is a fabulous coach, and if nothing else, I think I may come away from here prettier in the pool. Though it kills him to hand out a compliment, he told me I am swimming "sixty percent better" than when I began with him. Take this for what it is worth. When one begins at ground zero, sixty percent is not that great. Hell is being in the pool with Coach Don. Heaven is getting out to shower and feel accomplished.

The kids' swim team, on the other hand, is superb, with excellent coaching and tons of involvement. Owen experienced her first workout in the middle of a thunderstorm last night, which was really cool when it later escalated into a lightening display. She loved it and celebrated with her lane mates. "It's raining!" she exclaimed to them. They looked at her like she was an alien with her little arms reached to the sky, and replied, "Yeah?" Her coach was quick to interject with a smile, "It doesn't really do this much in California, huh?"

It is like living in a rain forest here. The heat and humidity just keep bringing in the rain, which cools off the air briefly, only for the heat and humidity to return and the cycle goes on. The thunder is becoming like white noise in the background to me now, as is the constant sound of the cicadas that once really irritated me with their song. From their perch in the trees, these bugs are so loud, I cannot even hear the announcements from the school's loudspeaker when I pick Owen up. It is a constant chatter. Living in a rainforest does have its advantages, though.

The beach is unreal in beauty, with bath tub temperatures and white sands. Everything is so clean and unspoiled. People are so far and few between, it seems like a private affair to go. I think that is what this whole experience is feeling like to me...a temporary affair. Something that I am not totally settled on or comfortable with. Like I am cheating on California. How can I really not be a California girl? I was not able to surrender my CA licence today at the DMV. I opted for the temporary residency option here, so I did not have to claim Florida as my permanent state. I am not ready to go there yet. So, they took my picture and told me I cannot vote here. At least I can still pretend like I am just on vacation. An extended tropical one.

Heaven is my boy peacefully napping next to me, his breathing so even, with thunder booming outside. Hell is having to go out in the heat for any period of time, like walking from the car into a store. Heaven is the lush greenery all around the island, and the oaks that grow in canopies over our street. Hell is living without ever opening a window to let the breeze in: there is none. Heaven is how blue the water is here, with multiple islands to kayak to, and how quaint downtown is, with little shops and eateries. Hell is saying goodbye to the Pacific and Mexican food...it doesn't exist anywhere near us. Mostly, hell is feeling so desperately homesick for the familiar and heartsick for all of the people I care so deeply for on the other coast.

Purgatory

Uncertain dread is the general emotion today. Still floating somewhere between dream and reality, but the feeling has evolved more into the space between heaven and hell,,,,purgatory? Heaven is being home in the Bu with family and friends, lounging by the pool. Hell is the certain destination I face on Wednesday: hauling the kids to the airport, more tearful goodbyes, a day of travel and too many DVDs and junk food for the kids en route. Then, ultimately, the sweltering heat and humidity. And the bugs. And the snakes. And the wildlife, in general of that other state.

Of course, the obvious treat at the end of the travel will be reuniting with the husband I feel so far removed from. My life feels so disjointed. I am a single parent, living a luxurious lifestyle right now, albeit it not my own. I am so tired of living out of a suitcase, but living in dread of what is to come. I hate that Marc has been across the country from us for this long, unpacking boxes and arranging a house I have not even seen, while I parade around with his friends and take in the delicious sights all around me. I have no sense of what our new home even looks like, though he claims it is large and nice. I hate the fact that he has been cleaning and organizing and I am so helpless here, waiting for, or more like prolonging, the inevitable. Not wanting to-being fearful of-see what is to come. It leaves me with a lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach.

"Pea," he says to me today, "You are really going to love it here. It is so hot, you are never going to want to eat and all you will do is drink water. I think I have seriously lost ten pounds already." As if coaxing me back into my anorexic roots is a consolation for leaving everything here. Maybe I will end up with a smoking hot body since the weather is so smoldering all the time, but where was he going with that statement, anyway?

Purgatory is really not a fun place to be. Waiting for something that might be really great or could be really bad is not a very good feeling at all. The anticipation is killing me already.

The Dream

I feel as though I am floating somewhere between dream and reality. So much of the dream is such a pleasant one, that it is a mild annoyance when I think this is not my reality. I love LA. I love being here. I love being with family and friends, How can it be that I love this city and these people with the passion I do? How was I blessed enough to grow up in a city with such privledge and promise? Where dreams are real possiblities and they are seemingly endless, if directed properly...

The dreamlike state is the part that includes meeting up with old friends and discovering their new babies, dining next to movie icons at Paramount studios, while enjoying the most elegant and delicious cuisine, picking up perfect berries from the Brentwood Farmers Market. Dreamlike when I am floating around the canyons in the X5, hugging the turns and loving that it performs like a race car, swimming laps with a view of the Pacific, or shopping in Santa Monica. The state I am living in, living the Malibu soccer mom life in a house that requires a housekeeper's attention more than 2 days a week, a collection of landscapers to maintain the property, wine specialists to harvest the vineyard, an indoor plant lady, a pool man, and various other professionals to deal with any maintence problem that may occur. This is what life is here. Laughable to me that the man from the Home Elevator Company had to come this week to deal with a glitch in the elevator. I love LA when people here have to have a home elevator for a three story house. I love all of the modern conveniences that come with living with everything at the touch of a button. Everything is within reach or a phone call away. Most all things are seemingly possible with the right connections and checking account.

There are still the responsibilities and perfunctory tasks, of course. The kids still have to eat (albeit mostly out as of late), the dog has to be cared for, the service guys need to be let in and out of the gate. But for the most part, the time here has been so carefree and unaccounted for, hampered only by the random appointment or obligatory luncheon. It is hard to imagine moving so far away from it. I ran through Pointe Dume yesterday, along the trails high above the buffs and thought of so many people from my childhood. I thought of elementary school and my buddies who grew up in that particular neighborhood and I wondered where they all are now? Are they happy? Are they successful? Are they married with kids? That is the funny thing about Malibu. For such a beautiful place with beautiful people, there seems to be a plastic sadness about it, too. Malibu has a way of breeding illusionists who look like they are so put together with their designer labels and expensive cars, but under the anorexic frame or behind the bloodshot eyes, there is a real emptiness, a longing. Home elevators or not, is this really happiness or is it us spinning our wheels? Is there something to be said for the fact that with money comes responsibility and sometimes even a hole in the soul? A void needing to be filled with more things? This is just my observation, of course. Not everyone turns to retail or implants as therapy. However, there is an underlying discontent, a stirring or unrest.

I feel that here, too. The empiness comes and goes in waves between the elation and excitment. There is a real shallow quality to a lifestyle that sometimes lacks the feeling of real purpose. So many kids here are detained for drug addition or killed in their brand new superfast sports cars they were prematurely given. Marriages are broken and schools influenced too much with the politics money brings. People have come to expect this as a tragic part of this lifestyle, as though it is the acceptable accesory to having wealth. Sometimes the relationships get in the way and there are casualties among us. Are these people living in a dream too? The one that is kind of a fog, a fleeting moment where we know something needs to change, but we cannot quite put the responsibility into motion? As if we are immune to mortality. Unbelievable to me is how so many of the guys I have seen on bicycles do not wear helmets around here. Call it European if you must, I call it ridiculous. I have a sickness inside everytime I see them. It is like they are above being hurt or killed, they are living the in the dream, too.

As I climbed into bed the other night, I thought about how the room I am sleeping in would be the absolute worst one to be in if an earthquake were to rattle through here. It is a room next to the wine cellar, that is so quiet on the bottom floor and it gets the most amazing ocean air though the windows. It is a room that is flooded with morning sunshine and cool summer air. Standing on the deck off that room, one can smell the summer sage and the salt of the sea. It is quite peaceful. I closed my eyes that night for what seemed like a minute when the next thing I registered, the whole house began to rock and sway. I looked at the clock to see the time was 1:00 am and the dog, who lay asleep next to my bed, raised his ears. Was I dreaming this? How could we really be having an earthquake? Not a chance, right? I was so delirious that I simply rolled back over and went to sleep again, in and out of a dreamlike state when I realized those were in fact aftershocks rolling through the house. It sounded like footsteps on the hardwood floors above me, as though an intruder were in the house. For a moment, I was scared and I took the dog with me upstairs to investigate. Alas, it was just another aftershock as a result of the earlier 4.5 on the Rictor Scale and nothing to be alarmed about. Just another minor detail that comes with living in LA. The quake was not a dream, but a blip on the radar. So is this time in LA. The dream of living here again any time soon seems to really be evading me now,

Uncharted Emotions

I won't walk away unscathed. I cannot remain untouched. I want to leave this Friday and just leave. Too many good bye parties and dinners and events. Today was no different. My baby girl did it again. For the second year in a row, she received the "Most Improved" swimmer award at the annual swim team banquet. Again, my heart was swollen with pride and my eyes brimming with tears.

But more emotional than the award ceremony was the part where we had to part our ways with friends we love so much. Women who are like sisters to me, who squeeze me and begin to cry, damn them. I have been so strong and unemotional. I have been a rock to my kids and myself, wanting to pretend this is so easy and such an amazing adventure. Only to Marc have I cried aloud and expressed my doubt and concerns. I have agonized over the decisions we are making and buried my face in his chest looking for reassurance. I wanted to think everything is going to be okay. Maybe it is and maybe it will be, but today my heart aches saying goodbye to swim team friends. Today, Marc's response came back for the first time as, "I don't know what else to say, Pea." That is his polite way of saying I need to embrace this idea already. But this feeling of dread and darkness of what lies ahead is so foreign to me.

But how will we ever replicate what we have here? We have a family, a support team, a loving, cheering, enthusiastic network of people who care for us. Why start over? Is any amount of money worth it to leave? Not when I look at my kids and how they thrive in this environment. No amount of money will fill the void when I think of all of our friends and family here we leave behind. My chest aches when I think about how I feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to dive in, rather, be pushed in, into the uncertain waters below. I hear the water there is warmer. And sharky.

And the Child Lead Me

Yesterday was a big and important day around here. My six year old daughter had to have a mole removed from her right arm. We debated the issue, but after two different pediatricians pointed the growing mole out to me, I decided to take her in to the pediatric derm. After some debate in the office and two different derms collaborating, we decided to move forward with the procedure and have it taken off.

So, for the last 3 weeks, my girl has agonized over the whole ordeal. Mostly, she was terrified of the shots they were to give her to numb the area. We had scheduled this surgery on July 2, so for 22 days she had been agonizing over the whole procedure. It was a pretty good size mole,especially on that little pencil of an arm, so they had to take a large elliptical area out and stitch it up. For weeks now I have been telling her how it is "no big deal" for the doctor who is brilliant and I have had several moles removed, etc, etc, etc. I even went as far as to bribe her with a shopping trip (and like a good little woman, she took me up on that offer) to choose a new little accessory or toy once out of the clinic.

We arrived at the office yesterday morning, and while the original plan was for Marc to be stay home with our four year old, he decided he wanted to come and just wait in the waiting room with the little guy. Owen and I get called back and she is dragging her feet with trepidation. We venture in the room and see the doc in her scrubs, and Owen begins to cry a little. She was really nervous, so the doc (who is so sweet and very maternal) calls in for another male nurse to assist (there was already one guy in there to start).

So, now there are 2 male nurses (or MAs, not sure of their credentials) and the female doc. The new one to join us is very easy going and easy on the eyes with a warm smile. He sees her tentativeness and tells her he has 2 daughters and they wear Crocs, too, etc, etc. I tell everyone how brave Owen is and how she is tough, has run 3 5Ks already, and this is no big deal for her. She is laying on the table with me at her left side, sitting on a stool next to her head. The doctor and the looker are at her other side, and the other nurse at her feet, handing off tools.

The doctor gets her numb, and while she winced a little bit and cried out, the three shots were over fast and then they were ready to get moving. I brought a Junie B. Jones chapter book to read to Owen during the procedure to distract her, and kept telling her not to look at her arm and what they were doing. So, I begin reading the book, about this little girl, Junie B. Jones, the first grader and how she lost her top tooth. In the book, as I am reading about the blood Junie B. spit out when her tooth came out, I start to feel a little dizzy. Then, suddenly, I feel hot and clammy. I tried to keep reading, but now I am distracted by the sound of the doc snipping the stitches and clipping the thread as it tightens around that stupid tool that clicks. I cannot get the words to come out of my mouth anymore.

"Mom," Owen says, "Keep reading."

I feel faint, and cannot even read the words anymore as they dance around the page and now I know I am going to faint. I want to get up and leave the room, but I know I cannot leave her. I promised I would be with her.

I leaned my head between my legs and the doc stops working, looks at me and then to one of the assistants and says, "Get mom some water". The less congenial nurse dude asks if I need water and I said, "No, I need air.." not even recognizing the sound of the voice that spoke those words and really feeling like an idiot. Some cheerleader I turn out to be when Owen says, "Mom, what are you doing down there?" as my head is between my legs. I told her, as I am hyperventilating, "Oh,Sweetie, I am fixing my pants, they are wrinkled."

My mind is racing and I am thinking, "What the heck am I going to do??? I am going to hit the floor!" The nurse comes back in the room with a fan and starts to blow it directly on me, and not one minute too soon, since now I am drenched in sweat. I sit up and Owen says, "Mom, why do you have your head laying on the table?" I said, "Oh, Honey, I want to see you better." I still wanted to vomit, but I tried to smile at her reassuringly. The doctor is working faster now and saying, "We are almost done. You guys are doing so great," her eyes darting back and forth between me and my daughter's exposed arm. The other MA at the doctor's hand says to me, "Yeah, you guys are a great team." If only they were more convincing, because I could not wait to get out of that spinning room.

"Mom, keep reading." Owen begs. I try to read some more, but I am instantly taken back to the days of when I was a kid and would try to read in the car. I used to get so carsick with the scenery speeding past us when I was trying to focus on the words on the pages back then. This was no different. The room may as well have been a carousel and as I read a few more words on that page about how Junie B.'s tooth was pulled out and bloody, and I had to stop again. It was killing me.

At last, the feeling of nausea subsided when the doctor said, "Okay, all finished." It helped when I realized her little arm was no longer with a gaping hole in it. I began apologizing profusely. I was so mortified that my girl was so totally fine and I almost hit the deck. They told me it happens all the time (yeah)and that I was white as a sheet. The doctor then handed a lolly pop to Owen and one to me, and insisted on me eating it, regardless of the calories. She didn't let me out of the chair for a while, either.

So, Owen did great. I almost passed out. Marc later said to me when he learned of the incident, "Why didn't you let me go in there with her?" And really, I told him that I did not see that coming at all! The scary thing was how fast that cropped up and came out of nowhere!One minute I was fine and not even concerned about the procedure. The next, I was going to fall off the chair. Why? Is it because this decision, like so many other ones in our current situation, was elective? Was I stressed about us making the right choice for our baby girl? I think I am overwhelmed with the stress of the move and the changes in their world, that this was just one more hurdle to get over.

Today, we had to change the bandage after bath time. Owen and I saw the aftermath of her once peaceful little mole. Under the steri strips there are blue stitches, gaping out like a little picket fence along the jagged cut. Caked in dried blood, the wound looks red and angry. One can make out what the scar will eventually look like. Owen said to me, "Quick, Mom, clean it and cover it again. That is giving me the Hebe Gibbie's!"

All I could think to myself was, "Yeah, me, too. I just hope Florida doesn't leave the same scar in the end." After all, I have same fears and misgivings about going across the country as she did going into surgery. Will the move give me the Hebe Gibbies once we are there? I cringe to even think about it.

Out Of The Mouth of Babes

Our six year old is fascinated with all things death and destruction as of late. She loves the story of the Titanic and wants me to read and re-read the part about the iceberg. She loves the sheer terror of it all.

"But why are they running for the lifeboats, Mommy?"

I once read that children at this age are just learning to get a handle on things permanent and things not so lasting. They have come to a place of understanding that death transcends life and that people pass away and things pass on. That is, she is now trying to reconcile things that fade in this world.

Today on the way home from her swim workout she began asking questions about cremation. Questions such as "How is it done, Mommy?" or "What exactly are the ashes, Mommy?" and "What do people do with dead people ashes, Mommy?" and then, "Do the ashes just blow away?"

All of this questions were tolerable until the question came, "Mommy, when you die, do you want to be buried or cremated?"

"Cremated. Can we change the subject please?"

"Mommy, where do you want your ashes to go?"

"Honey, I haven't really thought about it. Some people choose the ocean, some people want to be left atop a mountain..."

"But YOU, Mommy, where do YOU want to be left?"

Not getting the point that I was trying to defer specific questions as a result of my lack of preparation and discomfort over this issue, I again tried to evade it by making it more general. She was having none of this.

"Oh, Dolly, most people simply choose somewhere they really loved in life, a romantic spot where others might think of them in coming years..."

Again because I hesitated, she blurted out, "OH! I KNOW! Mommy! Maybe your ashes should be put in a STORE! Like where you LOVE to shop!"

As comical as this was at the time, I tried to dispel the laughter I was choking down by explaining that it is totally inappropriate to scatter ashes at the mall and that it should really be somewhere out in nature and creation, etc. I told her that our bodies really mean nothing once we die, that it is our spirit that lives on and that I won't need this body once I am dead, that it will be irrelevant.

This seemed to satisfy her for a moment until I could pull in the driveway, pull the kids from the car, and shuffle them up to showers. But, her questions stirred something in me. Something I am still not really sure I understand how I feel. This idea of permanency versus gone. It really is the idea of the evolution of change in our lives and how we handle it.

I sort of feel now that our family is standing in the threshold of this place in our lives. We have been waiting so long to make a move in our future. Do we move to Florida, or not. Okay, we are going, but what now with the house? Okay, the house sold, now what? Which city? Which schools? What to pack? What about the cat? The cars? The questions are endless and the answers are just as long.

How can the days be flying by when I keep wishing away the time to find the answers to more questions as they arise? How are there just not enough hours in each passing day, but the days on the calendar are slow to move forward while we look to what our new lives will look like? We keep waiting, watching the clock, wishing the time away to get settled into a new city. I can't help but wonder, is this what life is?

That is, are we just spinning our wheels here, waiting for a change, wanting something new and adventurous? How can we savor the days more while we have them? Life is so fleeting. Why am I so anxious to step over the threshold and into the next thing? Why, I beg the question over and over and over again, WHY leave San Diego when our lives have been so happy and good here? We have friends, and family and a wonderful routine. Why venture out? Why? I guess the only answer I can come to is the inertia of change. We are being swept into it, resisting it little, this change. And, I kind of feel like we will have to be Reborn to survive. We will have to reinvent ourselves in Florida in order to live again. Certainly we cannot replicate what we have here in Cali, so we will have to look for some romantic place to leave our memories behind here as we travel into the unknown. Let's just hope in this process we don't get swept away by a hurricane. I feel like I need a lifeboat right about now.

Fourth of Joy July

Today was our family annual tradition. I am really going to miss traditions like these: The Coronado 15K and 5K race. I love that in the 10 years I have lived in San Diego, I have made it to 9 of these. I even ran it one year 8 weeks post C Section (against the advice of my OB) and loved every minute of it. Not sure if I love the race or the festivities that follow it more, but every year it is pure joy.

We began the tradition with Marc and I running the 15K. Then came the birth of a baby girl and she ran along with Marc in the jogger. Baby number 2 brought us to buy the double jogger so he could participate, too. Now, our baby girl runs the 5K with dad and 4 year old boy rides in the single. Funny how life evolves.

That baby girl ran 44 minutes today, 2 minutes slower than a 5K just 6 weeks ago. She did awesome. I ran 1:07 and change, 2 minutes faster than last year. This just goes to show that my training for RNR Marathon last year was a complete disaster, knowing that I had such a poor race there in '06 and then ran the 15 K on legs that were still tired, apparently. This year, RNR was so much better and I felt fresh in Coronado, as well.

Susan and Steve came out for the run, with their 2 beautiful boys and nephew. Susan got 7th in her age group, which rocks, knowing how long she has been on run hiatus. She is tough as nails, that chick. I saw her at the turn around and was amazed at her determination and strength. Biker chick maniac, winning her races on 2 wheels and crossing over to crank in running shoes. What a woman.

For me, the first mile was 6:52 pace, followed by a few 7 minute miles, as I tried to settle in. We got on the amph base and at the turn around I still felt surprisingly good, but I backed off the pace to try to hold on, knowing I still had 4 plus miles to go. Came off base, hit mile 6 still smiling. Mile 7 was not so happy as I was running out of gas. Mile 8 I ran to catch Tattoo Man who I had been chasing most of the way, and ran on his heels to the finish. Passed some spectator who told me I was 17th woman overall, but in the results, it seems I bettered that a bit, taking 13th? Too bad my age group is so tough and I only got 7th, to be robbed of the podium finish. I'll take what it was. A great day with friends and family, emotional thinking of all the hereos who have died to make this country what it is, and then a feast in front of the parade. Love it.

Trying to find the air

How will she go on? How will she get up in the morning? He was her everything, and she was his. How can she possibly exist in a world without him? They were always a pair, one never traveling far from the other. I cannot think of a single race or event where I saw him without her?

What is the worst part of the whole story? The cruelest point of it all? The fact that he was only 46? Horrifying. The idea that he was seemingly so healthy? Shocking. The simple way in which he gave so much to the Triathlon community with no fanfare? Selfless. The grimest detail for me is the understated that we all are aware of. His loving wife never got to say goodbye. She came home to the horror of it all. She had to pick him up off the floor and plead for him to answer her. Of course he never did. She will have to relive that moment of terror for the rest of her young life without him. He will not be here to comfort her. He didn't make it.

I am empty when I read his contact information posted on the website as the Club president. I am numb when I read past emails from him in my inbox over wetsuit correspondence. I am so utterly sad when I think of how little I ever told him what a wonderful job he did and what an amazing person he was. I am defeated to think of a world of Aquathlons without him standing at the finish, quietly encouraging people to keep going. Mostly, I am so lost when I think of what to say to her, his widow. There really are no words. How can any of us be as sorry as we want to express? How can we even pretend to be compassionate enough to try to understand her torture?

How will we ever move forward and be normal in our events and training without him? I cannot comprehend this yet. How will she ever move forward and be normal in her life and routine without him? I cannot bear the thought of this now or ever. Does time really heal all wounds? In this case, I dare say no. Time may numb the pain, but every little memory will tear at the seams of the wound and threaten to reopen it again. The very thought of how thoughtless and pointless this death was, how we all feel so ripped off as a result of a life cut short, there are no words.

I feel as if we are all holding our breaths, waiting to exhale and wanting to take another breath, but we are not really sure how? I liken it to swimming in the sea and suddenly losing direction. We are all swimming together, in unison, wanting the same thing, loving the workout, surging ahead. Suddenly, he is gone and we are not sure of the direction in which we should go? We lost our team captain who was leading the pack and I am starting to panic and sink. I want to just give up and forget the swim entirely. I am trying to find the air to breathe as I tread in one place, but it seems futile. The stroke is not working and the swim now seems silly.

This is how I feel, so far removed from him. How will she ever even get back into the water?

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

The day began at 4:15 am when I picked up Amy's Dad from next door. We drove down to catch the shuttle together. We had a lovely morning in the dark, drinking black coffee and waiting in line for the port a potties together. Marshall is here visiting from Atlanta and it was a joy to share the experience with him. He prouldy finished his marathon, first one in 13 years!

But how, oh how, will I EVER survive in Florida without my dearest running partner and friend? Jen has been the training shoulder I am most familiar with. She has been my longest running comfort and support. She knows all of the intimate details of my soul, my deepest regrets, and my optimistic hope for the future. We share the love of not just running, but love for our husbands and our children. We trade running strategies as well as life secrets. How will I ever be able to race without her?

I write all of this because something became very clear to me yesterday at the Rock N Roll Marathon here in beautiful San Diego. It goes without saying that I felt convinced SD is home as I ran through the Gas Lamp District. We are departing from here, yes, but I will be pulled back to this place sooner rather than later. I am sure of it. This was not the epiphany I experienced yesterday. It was more that I have never felt totally comfortable in my own marathoning shoes without Jen. She has been on a little hiatis for the last year after the birth of son number two. She made her debut back with La Jolla Half Marathon this last April. She jumped in with me yesterday at mile 15 and ran me to the finish.

Here is the point that was really driven home to me about mile 8: I cannot help but run like the people I am near. That is, if I am running near someone with a short, frantic stride, it causes me to take smaller, choppier steps and it stresses me out. If I am running near someone who is smooth and kind of glides along, it reduces my adrenaline and causes me to slip into a comfortable stride and pace. I needed that from Jen with 11.2 miles to go yesterday.

The race was so crowded at the start, that I did not even SEE a mile marker until mile 8. Seriously, I think I was distracted with all of the people, but we were packed in there for a while. Perhaps it is good I was not able to agonize over every mile, though it is the later miles I really did suffer when I had full view of those numbers dragging by. I felt relatively good coming down the backside of the 163 freeway into mile 10. I loved seeing little Tracy (my other dear running partner, now injured) jumping up and down at mile 12. She, the tiny adorable brunette, bouncing up and down yelling, "I'm so proud of you, girl!!!" She handed me my Sports Beans and I kept moving. i couldn't stop. I was feeling the onset of pain.

I came through 13.1 at exactly 1:44 and remembering thinking that was suisidal. I know that my best marathons have always been me going out a little fast so I can have some time in the bank. I always seem to feel bad at the end, so why not have a few spare minutes to cash in? I was worried, though. I think I mostly maintained an 8:20ish pace until I got to Jen and she tried to keep me accountable to it. Then I got to mile 17 and felt tired and dehydrated. I decided to walk the water station to really get some fluid into my drenched body. We plotted on, with little chit chat, until we got to mile 20. There stood Marc and the little people, yelling for me. I heard Marc say, "The 3:30 pace group just went by like 2 minutes ago!!!!" The funny part is, I had been running behind the 3:40 pace guy, but I thought his pace was a little slow. I had pulled in front a bit, but by mile 16 I do remember seeing some 3:30 guys who must have fallen off their pace. This did my mental state well, especially since I was feeling the effects of going out too fast.

Mile 22 was ugly. There is no nice way to say it. It was the worst part of the course, the little less than scenic, finger that goes out and back where they are clearly just adding on mileage under the nasty freeway bridge. There were tons of people down for the count there. I felt like I had been hit by a truck and succombed to walking quite a few steps in between jogging at a 9 minute mile pace. It was terrible. This continued on through mile 23. I told Jen I was going to give up the Boston Qualifying dream. "I just don't have it anymore." I told her, completely defeated and deflated. She assured me it was just not a good day and reminded me of my 3:37 marathon last January.

Mile 24 and Jen was telling me track stories. I was listening and it felt good to feel free of being a slave to the time. It felt like we were just out on another training run and it was no big deal. I tried to ignore the thousands of people around me. But, I couldn't resist. I had to look at my watch. I think it read 3:22 if I remember correctly. It was going to be close. I decided that I would not be okay with running a 3:41 marathon that day. 3:45 would have been far enough off that I wouldn't have cared, but this close? I was pissed. I ate a few beans and picked it up a notch. Jen had been talking and then looked at me and said, "Good job. You are looking strong." I know she knew what I was trying to do, but the exceptional person and running partner she is, she said nothing to the effect. She continued her story and it was a welcome distraction from the pain in my hamstring that was moving down into my calf.

We hit mile 25 and that is when I said, "Do you think I am going to make it?" She gave me an emphatic, "Yes!" We heard our friend, Mike, cheer for us. I picked it up just a little. I really had nothing left in my legs. We were running along side the MCRD base and that was a little frustrating, to know the finish was so close and yet I still had so far to go. We finally made the left turn onto the base through the gates. Again I looked at my watch. "How far do I have left???" I begged her. She must have sensed the desperation in my voice because she said to me in the tone that only a sympathtic mom knows how to deliver, "I wish I knew..." Some woman in the sidelines heard us and yelled, "800! You have an 800 left!!!"

Just then some Marine yelled at Jen, "Anyone not wearing a race number, peel off now! Do not cross the finish line!" Jen said, "Go, go, go! Do not stop!" I needed to hear that. I was so desperate to be done. I really needed her to tell me to push it to the finish. She jumped out, but I could see her, running through the crowd along the to the finish on the other side of the fence. She was dodging bodies, hurdling kids and yelling at me. I could hear the announcer and see the end. I had to sprint the last 200 yards. I crossed the line with a clock time of 3:40:46, I think, and a chip time of 3:39:15. It was a happy day. I was so emotional when I stopped.

I heard someone yelling my name and I turned to look for Jen. She had found my neighbor and psuedo sister, Amy, along with her real sister, Arah, at the finish. They were cheering and yelling for me. I felt faint and really wanted to vomit. I deliriously walked over to them and told them I needed to keep walking. I went through the shoot and collected all the goodies and my medal. I was dizzy. I was never so happy to see Jen at the end of a race. I know that she made it happen for me. I know that I would have walked so much more if she were not on my shoulder. I know that I would have given it up as a wash and let the time go if she were not there to remind me of the marathoners we are. She is my motivation. She embodies all of the qualities of a runner I strive to have. All of these years the 3:40 has been evading me, it is in her absence. We used to run all our marathons together and consistently go better than 3:40, no problem. Then, life happened and we got married, had kids, got busy. We were not as connected in our races. I needed her yesterday like I needed water. The best part about it is she knew this before I did. That is why she was waiting for me at mile 15.

Things I wish I had done differently:
Not let my hell week take such an emotional toll on me.
Eat more than a quarter of a bagel and 3 bites of a banana at the start (I had a nervous tummy).
Take in more fluid from the beginning, knowing it was humid.
Not run in an outfit with shorts that were like granny underwear. I am filled with dread to see the pictures.

Things I am happy about:
Choking down some Sports Beans when I really did not think I could.
Taking in as much water as I did.
Having loving and supportive friends and family. There is nothing better in life.

Oh Yeah. A Marathon THIS Weekend

I have almost totally forgotten. Really. 26 miles and I care nothing. In the midst of moving and my own private hell, I forgot about my passion for the marathon. This will be a training run, for sure. I am not even looking for something under 4 hours, sadly. Sometimes, life just gets in the way of training. It should be interesting, to say the least. Let's hope the weather coorporates at the very least.

Loss of Words

I have no words. I am all out. I am still in disbelief that we are really leaving this town. Moving on, moving out, moving up, or shall I say, down South? I feel numb. There are no words to descibe the loss I feel.

I tried to explain to my boy this morning that we will be saying goodbye to our house and this neighborhood and taking a plane to a new state. I told him his sister would start a new school and he would start school. He couldn't get past that statement. "Mommy, will you stay-stay with me?"

Somehow, I think this is the calm before the storm. Though all of my emotions feel turbulent inside of me, I have a feeling the worst yet to come. Between me trying to navigate and dance around my own sadness and nausea over the move, I am going to have to deflect the hard questions from the kids about why we are really leaving. I wonder how much of the impact they are going to feel? People keep telling me how resilient kids are and how they are flexible and able to bounce back. But how will I keep the pieces together to show them the way?

How will this California girl ever survive out of her element, if even for what she hopes is a short period of time? Days run into weeks and weeks bleed into months and then the years are passing fast. I simply hope we can work our way back before all of the precious ones are gone.

La Jolla Half Quitter

I cannot believe it has been a whole year that I have managed to keep somewhat of a blog. Not as regular as I would like, but I have maintained a few entries and gained some insight on training as a result, which is a beautiful thing. Somehow seeing it on the computer screen in front of me sorts through the varied emotions I tend to feel about my training and racing. I think I have more respect for people who race as professionals (the pressure!) and those who race with disadvantages (the physically challenged). Today was no different when it comes to the emotional gammet I rode on "race" day.

Jen and her husband, Todd, picked me up and he shuttled us to the start. The event was sold out this year and all of my friends were left with 2 options: run as bandits or try to get a coveted race number. I heard when I picked up my number yesterday that people were begging for entries, offering up to $200 for a number from someone else, or some asking to donate as much as $1,000 to the Kiwanis for entry. Anyway, Jen was lucky enough to have John on her side, as he scored 3 numbers from injured racers, one for himself, one for Mike and one for Jen. They felt it was evil to run as mere bandits and couldn't wear that title.

There we all were, together at the start. I just was not feeling it today. I was remembering my 1:39 from last year and how much it hurt at the end and somehow I just could not get my mind around wanting to push (and hurt)like that again. But, there I was under the "start" sign with the usual suspects. Jen and I are so petty, laughing at the people in garbage bags, snickering at the people who wore today's race shirt (rookies), and busting a gut over some of the outfits we witnessed in general.

Anyhoo, the gun went off and we were on our way. I ran on John and Mike's heels through the first 4 miles. I pace felt a little fast, about 7:15s, I think, and I felt a bit dizzy. I am not sure, but my belly was kind of off and my head was just not in the right place. All that kept plaguing me was that I better suck it up, since this was a training run for a distance TWICE as far in a mere 6 weeks.
So, we climbed the hill up Fourth Street in Del Mar and I pulled out in front, I guess, since Mike came trotting along after me into the dreaded Torrey Pines State Reserve. THE hill. THE climb. I really wasn't that worried, until I began the ascent. It was hard today, more so than it has been for the last 6 weeks when I ran it with Jen. Whatever. Mile 7 was at the top and I felt like the hard part was (mostly) over. I saw her husband there with one of their boys and I felt good to be moving on. John came up next to me at that point and said, "That was the tough part. Now we settle into a pace." He popped a Motivator or two. I swear that guy is addicted to those little pills. He fell back a little, or maybe I picked it up. I remember looking at the clock at mile 8 thinking I was still faster than 7:30 pace, though I cannot think of what it said now.

Mile 9 was uneventful and 10 was a grind down, down, down the more dreaded hill, as far as I am concerned. We lost hundreds of feet in elevation and my quads were feeling it, for sure. My friend Theresa jumped in with me and tried to pull me along. My legs did not want to go any faster. Along the beach and some guy yelled that I was top 20 women. "Keep it there," he said. I was losing steam fast and barely managed a pathetic smile for him. Down the boardwalk to mile 11 and then the WORST part of it all, mile 12. The climb up Spindrift to Prospect Street, and more of a climb into town. It was hell. I ate some Jelly Belly Beans, looking for a miracle. It didn't come. I choked on what I was eating and tried to take in some water at mile 12, but felt like I aspirated it. John passed me on that hill, while I walked and tried to regain some composure. It was a losing battle.

Up to Prospect and then down the brick street into the finish. I looked at my watch and realized that I was not going to match last year's time. It already read 1:39 and I knew the finish was too far away. I crossed the line in 1:40 and change and was truly disappointed in myself for giving it up that last mile. I just did not have it in me. I wish I knew how to dig deeper and gut it out and hold onto it. I just never seem to want it bad enough. I think I finished 15th in my age group and like 47th woman overall. So, either the guy down at the beach was off in his counting or I gave it up to 20 woman the last mile. The latter is very possible, based on how I felt. Why have I not figued out how to hone that competitive drive? Why can I not dig deeper and go for it when it really hurts? Why have I not learned how to be a true competetor after all of this time? Why am I such a quitter?

April Fools

That was Sunday, right? Yes, its has taken me this long to sit down at the computer and write about the tragedy I witnessed. Perhaps it had not all sunken in yet. I was still in disbelief until now. I could not really come to terms with it. My husband is mortal. He is mere human in the water. He wears a Speedo like the rest of us. He was defeated by his longtime rival and the rematch that was 16 years in the making was over in 2 minutes and 6 seconds. Marc lost??? April Fools, right? Nope. Read on.

From the moment we stepped onto that pool deck, Marc kept telling me, "Pea, I am not the world's fastest swimmer. You think I am, but I am not that fast compared to some of the people here." I still didn't believe it. Marc is very fast and I am sure he is top something percentile in the swimming world, I just don't know the stats, of course. I was just so happy to be there to see him, and even happier that all of my family was coming to witness the big event, too. Surely, defintely, Marc would beat Brian out of the water. He would catch him in the breaststroke and defeat him by a small but comfortable margin in the free.

Don't get me wrong. Brian is an amazing swimmer. He is super sleek and fast and determined in the water. He even wore that super cute speedsuit the real geeks wear to be faster. But Marc is, well, Marc. He is always the winner. Marc never loses at anything he does. He trains hard and he trains to be fabulous...not just to compete, but to go for the win. I am not used to anything but a podeum finish from that guy I sleep with. The outcome was totally unexpected for me.

The rematch was the 200 IM. He and Brian tied in high school and since there was only one medal, Brian took it with the idea they would someday come back to the rematch. The day had arrived and it was a bright beautiful one in Mission Viejo. The meet was much larger than I anticipated and the facility was super cool. The kids were loving the small pool they were allowed to swim in while waiting in between dad's events. I was grateful for the distraction, especially after the little one walked into the bleachers and put a hole in the top of his head. That was fun. Anyway....

Marc swam the 200 free first. By my standards, he is an Olympian, of course, going 1:57. He said he "took it easy". The unfortunate thing was that he pulled a rhomboid off the blocks. I think because he has not climbed up on a starting block in over a decade, he was simply out of practice, and he really injured something in his upper back and neck. This handicap secured the win, I was sure. Marc is so like that. If he is the underdog, if he has the disadvantage, if he is not the likely hero, he will win. He will dig and claw his way to the top and come out the winner. I knew he was in pain when he climbed out after that 200 free, but I thought little of it, knowing the big event was next. Surely he would smoke Brian. Our 6 year old told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to come home without that medal.

Guess what? She let him come home. It was his birthday, after all. The beep sounded and they were out. I wish I could give you the swim talk for the play by play, but I am not educated. It is a different dialect...one I am not verse in at all. This is how is was from my vantage point: both Brian and Marc came out in the fly very strong, but Marc looked like he was struggling shortly into it. Brian put some serious distance between them and didn't stop when it came to the backstroke. Marc closed a good portion of that gap in his favored stroke, the breast. But, Brian and he were equally matched in the free and that is where Marc gave it up. 2:10 to Brian's 2:06. I knew Marc was surprised. Not so much that Brian won, but more that his time read 2 seconds slower than what he thought he might go on a bad day.

Here is the thing...I am more inspired and awestruck by him now than ever before. To me, Marc is superhuman in the water. He smokes most of his competition and does it with confidence and ease. To see him swimming scared and looking for Brian in the lanes down from him during that breaststroke was to see my husband in a new vane. He is never uncertain. He never wavers in the pool. He is never rattled. But this day, he was.

At first it scared me. Then it shocked me. Then it transformed me. Marc lost with such humility and grace, we should all look that good when we come out second. Our daughter was in disbelief, too, but she learned a very valueable lesson...it was priceless. Winning is not everything. He worked very hard for a very long time to compete and be in the best shape possible for this meet. He dedicated the time and energy and gave everything he had. He simply did not have that extra gear in the pool that day. I think the reason I enjoyed the day so very much is that I finally had that little window into a world of his I never knew. For as long as we had dated and have been married, I have never seen him swim in a meet. I felt as though I was finally a small part of something that was such a huge part of who he was for so many years. Swimming defined his character for years, since he was a small child. When I came along, he was long since burned out and over competing. Here was my opportunity to catch a little glimpse of what that looked like. He looked like a hero to me. All he needed was the cape and he could be Speedoman.

So, it wasn't really a tragedy afterall. It was more of a comedy, or maybe even poetry. It was an amazingly fun weekend, with non-stop laughter with my family in town. The poetry came from the dose of humility and grace Marc provided. Nicely done, Pea. Brian, not bad for a swim geek in all your glory!