Here and There

I'm so ready for this school year to be over already. I feel as though we have limped through the whole thing, hated the teacher, despised the class and administration, disagreed with the curriculum, and on and on. I am so ready to pull my kids early and board the plane bound for happier places, see family, and run Rock N Roll Marathon with friends from both here and there. I am counting down the days to get there, hitting the pavement here, as if running more mileage will get me there faster. Last week was a big mileage week, this week coming up will be more of the same. Time on the bike, while fun, seems meaningless for what is on the race calendar.

There is so much going on between now and then, that I am hoping the time will pass quickly. Parties, races, travel with TNT for their races, the schedule is booked. Owen's triathlon is quickly approaching, about as fast as the school year is winding down. Her training has been on par, so she is feeling as strong as any seven year old should. She received one of the coveted spots with the Junior Guards in Del Mar, and she is very much looking forward to being a "Turtle" this summer. Luckily, she will swim with her old team this summer, so that will keep us busy, as well. The little guy is moving forward with tennis, and more and more, people comment on his backhand. He is a reluctant participant, but doing so well when he focuses once we bribe him with his one true love: chocolate. How can two children be so different? One who cannot sit still to save her life and must participate in every sport under the sun; the other one who could care less about movement and activity and loves to read and indulge in confections. I think there is balance somewhere in between the two of them.

I did an ocean swim this morning with the Team and was convinced something was going to eat me out there. The bait fish were running at dawn, which we are told is the worst time to be out there in the midst of bull sharks feeding. The ocean here is a very dangerous place, when one considers the man of wars, the bull sharks, and the hammerheads who cruise close to shore. I can't say I am ever very happy about getting in the sea on this side of things, but I do it, hyperventilating all the while. The group complained that the water was a chilly 72 degrees, but the sunrise was beautiful and the stairways to heaven were many. Tomorrow we ride. Another week in paradise, depending on what your definition of that may be.

Evolution

Not in the Darwinian sense. Evolution in the change and growth and progressive sense. I hope this is me in everything I set out to do. My kids are obsessed with the Leaning Tower of Pisa right now. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because they are little sponges who seek to know more about any random and unusual idea. Maybe because their Italian grandfather is here visiting and talking about the Old Country. Maybe because they originally thought it was constructed of their favorite meal, pizza. Thank goodness for the Internet.

Rather than scour the local library for several books on Italy and their heritage, I went directly to the source: Google. We had everything we needed to know about the "Leaning Tower of My Favorite Junky Dinner" right at our fingertips. Don't you just love progress? Parenting is so much easier now, I have decided, rather than in the dark ages, before the advent of ipods, portable DVD players, and digital everything. Of course, we stress about what images the kids may stumble upon online, or who they might converse with on cell phones, but overall, if we can avoid video games and dodge the obesity bullet, I think the evolution of our consumer society is a beautiful thing. Faces glued to Game Boys, many of our consumer brats do not know how to carry on conversation anymore, but they are sharp little high-tech geeks. There is balance somewhere between old fashioned fun and innovation, and as parents, we try to strike it with regard to our kids, of course.

I think this is the same of my training. I would like to think I am growing, evolving, learning from past mistakes and mishaps. I do not want to obsess over nutrition details and socks or no socks on the bike. I would like to look at triathlon history and know we are in a better place now that we have traded flat Coke for Gatorade, and candy bars for fancy energy bars. We eat supplements like trail mix and take Advil like Tic Tacs for damage control, but how many of us are taking it to extremes? Are we still having fun out there? How many of us are just posers, wanting desperately to think of ourselves as athletes, scrambling for more endorphins? Guilty. Today was 3 miles on the tread mil, a swim, a weight workout, and then 8 more miles on the road to run my girl to school while she "trained" on her bike for her race quickly approaching. I love it.

EVOLUTION scrambled: NO, U LOVE IT. This sport that is. This is my mantra on days I do not want to get out of bed at all. I talk myself back into it, and then I find myself again. And, yes, I am still having good old fashioned fun, despite obsessing over the details. I still love the purity of pulling on running shoes and heading out toward the beach. I will always love the run over all the complications of the bike and technicalities of the swim. I hope I am evolving in many ways, but I am still a purist at heart.

Invincible Summer

"In the midst of winter I found in me an invincible summer." -Albert Camus

Winter in Vero is unlike winter elsewhere. It is hot and humid. So many days I do not want to get up and run in the humidity. I long for cool mornings in the 40s, to wear tights and a ski hat and gloves. I ache to have my face freeze in the crisp air along the coast. I miss the smells that accompany cooler days: chimnies burning fires, pines wet with dew, the Pacific as it spits the winter swell. It is on these days I have to find my own "summer" and its name is usually "Starbucks", because that is closest to my old routine after a morning run. Actually, in many ways, it is my running friends who have carried me through this winter. Did I mention I love my running group? They are like air for me right now in the choppy waters I am navigating. My running friends have been, while completely new and different, something so familiar that I crave more of them. Runners are the same wherever we go, I think. The characters names change, but the plot is always the same: runners train for various races; runners get injured in the process; runners talk nutrition; runners qualify for Boston; runner says, "Oh yeah. I am one pumped skinny-a*% b#*@&!"

Oh, wait. That last quote could only be from Gary, the 40-something, self-absorbed, fitness obsessed tri geek who just qualified for Boston this past Sunday in Sarasota. He is thrilled and we are all happy for him, but the best was his delivery of this news to us. He is one of the many characters who continue to amuse and uplift me. These people are actually very funny, and they laugh in spite of themselves. Really, I love my running group. And, I love my Team tri group. This last weekend was so much fun at the workouts, and I think it is all really starting to come together for them. Tomorrow night we are going to a bike clinic where Craig will BBQ and I am bringing side dishes to "serve" the Team members. Today Craig said to me, "What will we do when this is all over? I am going to be so sad."

My sentiments mimic his, which is why he and I agreed to go to DC at the end of this month to take the Team in Training coaches' certification classes. In becoming certified through their program, there is greater opportunity for us to coach their programs again in the future. It should be totally educational and inspirational to be around tons of super fit people who are doing what we are currently doing. I am looking forward to the trip and time out of Vero. Anything will be cooler than here, 78 degrees today with staggering humidity. DC will be a welcome break from the heat. Unfortunately, this heat continues as my in-laws arrive tomorrow. I told them I hope they like tropical weather and to pack nothing but shorts and flip flops. Who knows? Maybe they will welcome the warm weather? While at the beach with my son the other day, I found myself envying the people who were here on vacation, like my in-laws. What a magnificent place to vacation, I thought. How fabulous this destination would be if it were vacation! The sand is amazingly soft and clean, the water is an emerald green I cannot justify with words, and the scenery is spectacular. Then I remember this is not vacation. This is still me transitioning into a new world.

On another note, training is going well. I have been on the bike more and more, which is good. I am itching to sign up for something other than a marathon now, which is promising. My crazy friend, Abbe, wants me to do a century with her in early April. I told her I will think about it after Marc's parents leave and after Owen's birthday extravaganza this weekend, plus her swim meet, plus out of town guests, plus all of the other activities and obligations we have going on. I think we may be over-commited? Maybe that is what it is...we don't necessarily have tons of friends, rather, we are so busy running from one activity to another, we come in contact with familiar faces over and over. Racing from school to tennis to swim team to gymnastics to Karate, we always bump into people who are part of these activities. I kind of like to think they are friends, but perhaps they are just frantic like we are, trying to get through the day, creating as little wake as possible, trying to keep cool. This is winter in Vero.

Island in the Sun

I have been completely uninspired and lacking anything really cerebral to write in this venue, therefore, I have written nothing. For the most part, I think things are starting to feel like real life and not a bad dream anymore. I still think that, in so many ways, our lives here are just utterly ridiculous and we are just passing the time until we work our way toward something greater. Then I realize this is a stupid way to experience life, because it is just that...I am not experience life while I spend my time pining for something else, someone else, somewhere else.

Today was truly a day in paradise. After waking at 4 am and running with my running group (we are the sector commonly referred to as "The crazies" because we run so early and a wee bit faster often times), I met up with my Team participants at 6:30 for another 40 minutes of running along the coastline. We then caravaned over to the pool for a swim, where Marc met me with the kids for more swimming afterward. I took the little people to art class while Marc did some work. After lunch, we headed over to Michael and Lori's beachfront mansion for afternoon drinks and sandcastle making. It was truly picturesque on our island in the sun, with not a cloud in the sky, 78 degrees, and the kids frolicking in the warm waves. By all accounts, it felt as though we might be on a tropical vacation with friends. I felt really peaceful watching Marc paddle around on the longboard, with not another soul in sight in the green water, and Michael fishing for pompano from shore, while the kids dug for sand crabs and decorated sand cities with perfect shells. It occurred to me that the one major thing Marc and Michael have in common is their gift of contentedness. I call it a gift, because I think that is what it really must be: to be so completely enamoured with life and everything around oneself, nothing else truly matters. Both of them are remarkably secure in what they have, care little about possessing anything more, and need a mere beer and fishing rod or surfboard to be completely happy. How does that work?

I am envious and wish I could possess this gift, this quiet self-reliance and calm. I generally hate sitting on the beach doing nothing, because it is just that...doing nothing. My mind is constantly reeling with the list of things that need to get done, or how the time might be better spent than wasting away under the sun's scorching rays. I think I am not really sure I know what it means to relax, and so my time here in Florida, overall, seems dreadful while I am waiting for the next thing, not this thing, this time, this place. I spend so much time and energy projecting into the future, I simply cannot appreciate what we are trying to do here, and so the trees are lost for the forest.

Today might have been perfect, were it not for the fact that Lori raised the topic of my unhappiness and discontent with our present school situation. The dilemma continues and I feel utterly exhausted *exhausted* researching the academic avenues that have lead to nowhere. This continues to be the vehicle that drives my anxiousness and reinforces the dread in my chest when I think of the year to come. There are no answers to our school conundrum. There is no way to resolve the disparity of the education issue. I keep looking for the one key that might open the door to the kingdom that will somehow mimic the beauty and order of what we had last year in our district. Sadly, what remains is the uncertainty and chaos of what is starting to feel acceptable, normal, even.

This resignation to mediocre is very frightening and it propels me deeper into a depression. I feel full of doubt, downright hopeless, concerning what will become of my children's education in this small town. Just like the elderly people who rule the roads and drive us into ditches (literally!) as we swerve to avoid their hazardous driving, so is the haphazard education system here. We are worn down to believing that this is as good as it gets and it is simply a way of life here, something we must be mindful of, but tolerate all the same. That, in fact, this may not kill us, but make us stronger, if perhaps a bit jaded. And just as all the locals complain about the "snow birds" who are here and make life a little more difficult, they love to complain about how terrible our academia is, as well. And, just as the law turns a blind eye to the incompetent, expired drivers on the streets, so have the legislative powers that be shied away from any push for change and improvement among local schools. it is simply not convenient. Where is the justice in any of this?

I, for one, do not want to live with relics on the road and backward teaching. While Marc continues to do really wonderful things with his job and daily sees the fruits of his labor in the lab, I am continuously worn down, defeated, with the idea that our kids are not making progress where it really counts. Yes, they can hit forehands and backhands, do backbends and backstroke, but will any of this really matter at the end of the day if they are on a slipperly slope of education? How far are they falling down the backside of the bell curve this year alone? Next year? Where will they be when we do move back to the land of less-than-hillbillie? I shutter to think and ache for something more.

Full Circle

Our triathlon Team is really great. They are all super motivated to workout, work harder, and do more. With the exception of one individual, I think all of them will make it through the recommitment phase of the fundraising, and achieve their end goal on race day. I love our routine and how it is all playing out. Craig is driving me crazy, as co-coach, with his insessant emails and chirpy "coaches notes". I say this with endearment, because he really is an awesome coach and a wonderful person, who cares immensely about this team and these people. I feel very fortunate to be his wingman, and so far, this dance we are choreographing is coming together beautifully. He is incredibly (if not nauseatingly) enthusiastic, and that is a fabulous quality. Now, if only his emails would stop...



So, training is going well among Team members. I am enjoying my double workouts between my own morning practices, and then the additional 8 miles I am running along side my 6 year old when she rides to school. She insists on riding her bike these days, in the name of "training" for her triathlon in April. We also happened to run the fitness course today after school (across the street from her campus) so she could put some miles in her new shoes. It was (finally) a nice day, not too hot, and perfect for being outdoors. The oak trees in Riverside park are immense and overbearing, awe-inspiring and magnificent. The kids ran among them after "the workout" was over. It would have been absolutely perfect, save for the fire ants that invade the property. As it is, my arm is swollen and infected from a fire ant bite from last week, so I am still a bit leary of the buggers at the park. I hate nature.



Anyway, my love-hate relationship with my swim coach continues. This week, I love him because I am pained to write he had a heart attack 2 weeks ago, and is due to enter surgery this week. Apparently the doctors told the old man he only survived because he is in great shape in light of all the swimming he does. Don has a leaky valve that needs to be replaced, so we are unsure how long he will be out for during the recovery. I am saddened to think he may or may not ever return, because as much as he kills me when he hovers over my stroke, I cannot bear the thought of him not doing so anymore.



Lastly, speaking of swimming, my girl swam in her first "real" swim meet this past weekend. There are no words to describe the joy and pride I felt to see both of my kids in Speedos there. It is true, my girl has been wearing one for quite some time now. But, to see the little guy, all 34 pounds of him in a team suit, just about did me in. He wanted to swim in the warm up lanes while we waited between events, and because we did not bring him a suit, we had to purchase a team suit from the deck. This was truly my pride and joy to have both kids in the same lane, "warming up" for the next event. Because our four year old is the spitting image of his father, I can only imagine how Marc looked at that age at his own workouts. Funny how things come full circle. I love a glimpse into the past like that, because it is somehow magical. It is like flipping through the chapters of an old book that is somehow familiar, though I have never read it before.



As if this were not emotional enough, to see a mini-Marc in a tiny Speedo falling off his slight frame, it was really very sweet to see Marc standing with Owen behind the blocks, giving her last minute directives, in his mild manner. Unlike the other parents standing over the lanes, yelling at their kids, Marc quietly reminded her that she had to touch with both hands in the 50 breaststroke, calmly asked her if she wanted to enter the water from the blocks or the deck, and gently urged her to stay on her back the whole time during backstroke. It did my heart such good to see him coaching her in this way, though she did not flinch once, and was not at all concerned that she would pull it off without a hitch. And, indeed, she did. She did great, in what was-to me-a very huge and scary meet. The way in which Marc continues to be humble and gentle, especially in a setting that he knows all too well, really just made me feel extremely at ease and happy to have such a fabulous husband and father for my kids. Now, if only he would work on getting transferred back to Cali, then I would be overjoyed.

Tennis, Anyone?

Why have I still not changed the name of this blog to something more appropriate with regard to where we live now? I am no longer in denial. I feel like we have a strong base of friends and activities with whom and which we are very comfortable. I quite like my routine and now that the weather is tolerable, things here are so much more manageable. I am not sure why I haven't changed the blog to something like "Up Before the Humidity in Hell"....I think maybe I just don't care enough? Sometimes I wonder why I continue this charade of writing at all, other than to simply clear my head and blow off some steam so I am not completely irascible with my kids.

I continue to be in awe of my kids on the tennis courts and the coaches relentless patience for them. Our four year old is something out of a bad dream the way he continues to disrespect their authority and wander around in his own world. It is not until I march out on the courts and threated to take away his lifeline-videos-that he will tune in and pay attention. When he does actually focus for 10 minutes, he has a mean backhand and a killer volley. Even with those toothpick arms, he is able to hold up that racket (that is almost as big as he is!) and generate enough power to get it over the net. Poor Gordon, in his easy New Zealand style, never balks at him or ever for a moment loses his temper with this child who is all over the map and haphardly good in his "I don't give a *%$!" way.

Then there is our daughter. The one who cannot stand to be left out of any activity, party, sport or parade. She is a three ring circus out there, running for every ball and dashing all over the clay to make it happen. Her coach adores her, a joy on the court and an encouragement to her fellow players. She is like a light out there, a little brighter and better with each clinic. She loves to hit overheads and loves nothing more to tell us how well she does it.

There is another girl who plays a few courts over at the same time. She is in middle school, maybe, and takes privates from coach Dave. Dave is the ever-confident Brit who is extremely good and though cocky, mild in manner. I love watching him carelessly return the ball to this particular girl. Though she can crack it over the net with some serious force and speed, Dave easily and almost reluctantly can slice through her hits to stop the ball and then simply turn his racquet, as if he were doing something as mindless as flipping a pancake, and catch the ball. Then he serves it up again to her, going easy on her, I am sure. This continues for most of the lesson. He makes he run all over the court for the ball and because she is so good, she can return most everything he gives her, only for him to completely deflate her by not even having to work to return what she has just sent over the net. I have come to love this game, though I don't venture to get out there just yet.

Anyway, another day. We signed Owen up for a triathlon in April since I have to be at the St. Anthony's venue to coach the Team. She is thrilled beyond belief and told me she is ready for a Half Ironman. Easy.

We Have Arrived

We were invited to spend the day on a boat here in Vero. I never understood the whole fishing and boating community, but I have to say, I think I have a better appreciation of that following and it was a lot less painful than originally anticipated. I think this makes us true Veroites now that we have been initiated into the boating fraternity.

We met up with Mark and Mary and their son, Luke, Sunday morning. I swim with Mark in the mornings, Mary is his lovely wife (who I think is hilarious), and Luke swims in our daughter's lane at the pm workouts. The day was unlike any other day we have experienced here: cold and miserable. The sun was no where to be seen and the wind was fierce and unforgiving. Because the wind was cutting to the bone, we initially decided to forego the boat and just fish on the dock in front of the house, which was spectacular. The kids loved running up and down the "pressed birch" with fishing rods and dead shrimp. They caught tons of puffer fish (which totally blew up and grunted upon being ripped out of the water, only to float atop it when tossed back in), some kind of snapper, and a few others who's names escape me now. Our boy was disappointed to learn these creatures were not going to be accompanying us home to a fish tank. He repeatedly said, "We can take them home for pets." Once he learned this was not an option, he lost interest in fishing and busied himself among the rocks and mangroves.

The view was really beautiful. This particular house was along the river in a very secluded canal, with views of the islands, lush with native trees. I have yet to really see a house here that is less than 3500 square feet. I think that is why people move here...for the space and room to breathe. Of course, I miss suburbia and everything that goes along with it. I don't mind having to hear my neighbors yell at each other if it means I can have a decent grocery store in manageable driving distance. Anyway, the house was a museum, the yard was something out of "Home and Garden", and the boat was impressive, too. We had lunch and cocktails outside on the patio while the kids continued their quest for fish on the dock.

After shivering and suffering in the cold for a few hours of puffer fish catch and release, Mark talked us into going out in the boat. Bundled up in sweats and wrapped in towels, we climbed on board for a trip down the canals. It actually was really cool to see the creatures up close and personal. We didn't see any manatees, but tons of dolphins, blue pelicans, water fowl I am not familiar with, and of course, fish. I am going to count us lucky for not encountering any water moccasins, gators, or bull sharks. Mark tried to dock on an island they dubbed "Luke's Island", because it is their son's favorite. The river has several *several* islands that my Marc keeps threatening to swim to (say it with me: shark bait). These islands are begging to be explored, camped upon (if you are into that sort of tent thing), and picnicked at (some have tables and BBQ pits). All are lush with trees and sandy beaches with no evidence of humanity. They are clean and serene, though flat and tropical, and they left me with a desolate and uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. When Mark could not dock the boat due to the heavy winds and strong current, I was not disappointed. Let's just say I was happy to not have to jump in the shark-infested water to drag the boat up the shore. I was very content sitting where I was on the plush seat with a view of the bridges and traffic passing over us.

When Mark gave our six year old the wheel, her face was to die for: she was thrilled beyond belief to be "driving" the boat. These are the experiences that make this time worth anything at all. These are the experiences I want my kids to carry with them and take in their hearts. Let's be real; I am never going to teach them about boats or fish, so how fortunate for us we have new found friends who are very savvy in both. Somehow, I am finding my way, despite the grief I still feel and the loss that always sneaks back in. When I am not thinking about what I am missing back home, what my kids are losing in school, what our families are feeling without us there, I am trying to appreciate this jaded journey, with my heart for a compass that just does not want to work. It just won't give me a clear reading about where we are to go on this journey. I find I am loving Marc in a way that I never knew I could, a way that defies explanation, but on a level of true soul mates. Is that cheesy? I know. Somehow our love has evolved into something of a necessity, something we just cannot live without. We need each other in a way we never looked to or relied on before. It has become somewhat like an old sweater that is so comfortable to slip into. Even though it may be old and worn, it is the favorite thing that hangs in the closet, the one thing I go back to regardless of the weather outside.

I continue to love my running group and friends. We ran 23 miles on Saturday just for fun. Our first Team in Training workout is this Saturday. I have met all of the participants and I am very excited and encouraged about most of them. They all reluctantly signed on to the triathlon team, since they were really looking for a marathon. Craig is already an awesome assistant coach and I am thankful everyday I was able to cajole him into this mania. We are laughing in spite of ourselves.

Disney

Disney was amazing. The course support was amazing. The course, itself, was amazing. The people who ran it were amazing. The whole experience, despite having to get up at 2:45 in the morning, was amazing. The whole weekend was so super fabulous, I am sad it had to come to an end.

We awoke before 3:00 am to get organized and in the car by 3:15 am. We picked up Dr. Marshall, Amy's daddy, in visiting from Atlanta to run the marathon. This was his idea in the first place when we first discussed it back in June at Rock N Roll. I am so glad he stayed on me to sign up back then, because it sold out before summer was over and Marc and I got in, thankfully. It was worth the sticker price and all the headache of orchestrating my mom getting here to watch the kids, and coordinating with Amy and her family to come here from San Diego, and all the other details. It was amazing...did I say that already?

We got to Epcot just after 4:00 am and sat in the car with Marshall, eating bananas and sipping bad coffee. Around 5, we began the long walk to the corrals (as many as A-H and then I stopped keeping track) with the thousands of other people who ran the race. Apparently, the organizers used to do both the marathon and the half on the same day, but it was such a zoo, they have since run the half on Saturday, the marathon on Sunday and the Goofy's challenge of people doing both races on consecutive days in recent years. I wish we would have gotten wind of the Goofy's Challenge before that was sold out, because I think that would have been a cool experience.

Anyway, we began at some parking lot in the dark. We took off under a fireworks display and some major lights and fanfare. They ran us to Epcot, and all around the park in various places, which was so cool because we got to see it all lit up in its glory, with no crowds and the place looking all sparkly clean and serene. It was so different to see all the rides rolling with no one on them, the monorail running with no people inside, and the castles lit and lovely with no one competing for a princess' signature. On that note, when they did eventually open the park, it was fun to see all the people cheering for us and their reactions to the various costumes that runners were in. I am not just talking about all the people who dressed up as Snow White or Buzz Lightyear, but the men I saw in simply their underwear....really, tighty little (and I mean little in the sense of the material they were wearing) whitey underwear. I could tell from the crowd's reaction what was coming up behind me based on how they were yelling and cheering.

I am not even one of those weird Disney Cult-like people, but I could appreciate all of the characters who came out along the way. You know, the people Disney actually hires to walk around the campus and meet and greet the guests? Well, I felt sorry for those poor fools who had to put their arms around all of the disgusting sweaty marathoners who actually stopped for the photo option with them. Yep. Did I mention there were more gay men out on this course than I have ever run with before? I know this because I am a magnet for them, not sure why, but we always hook up and run together for a while and this day was no different. This in addition to my Ironman buddy I ran with between miles 20-26, I had lots of company and companionship the whole way. Marc and I bumped into George in corral A at the start, so he and I ran a bit together. I kind of ran in his long shadow for a while, until I decided he was having a good day and I was not feeling 100 percent still. With a head full of snot and a chest full of gunk, I am still not feeling very well following another bout with some bronchial virus. Basically, I decided to run the best I could for as long as I could, which was about 17 miles. Around mile 18, I began to feel my humanity and the body wanted to shut down.

The support was unbelievable on this course, and they handed out every kind of nutrition one could possibly dream of. I ate some banana (something I never do) around miles 14, 19, and then 24. The last stretch was just hard. There is no other word to describe how I felt, than dead. My little (he was actually very tall) Ironman buddy carried me to the end, as we encouraged each other back and forth to tow the line. Along with a woman who had tattoos all up and down her arms, I had people to pace with to the finish and I was just so happy to have arrived in 3:45 and change. Not a great time, but one minute faster than Atlanta (where I also was sick!Ugg!) so I guess that is okay. If only I could figure out how to avoid the GI issues and still give some fuel to my dying legs after mile 18. This has always plagued me and kills me in the end. Either I eat and have new legs, but a stomach in knots and vomit in the end, or I starve with no stomach problems but run out of gas. It is a dilemma.

Marc did great, though his plantar was killing him with all of the concrete on the course. He ran 6:30 pace until he blew up around mile 22 and finished with his first ever marathon over 3 hours, 3:06, poor baby. I hate when I run that slowly, too. He enjoyed the course and support, but cursed the course makeup, longing for more blacktop or grass or dirt. We both agreed that it was cool to see a lot of backstage scenery and costuming and sets for Disney. We saw so much of the behind the scenes and back country of Disney World we would not have otherwise seen. This race is a Disney geek's dream, so I highly recommend it to anyone out there who is looking for that venue. When I got into the car with Marc (who had ample time to recover before he saw me finish, of course), I could not even talk, I felt so ill. I reclined the seat and layed back, unable to recount any of these stories with him for fear I would vomit at any second. Marc began telling me his account of the day and said he needed an ice cream. Even after he got back in the car from 7-11 and was munching on a Haagen Daaz bar, I could not bear the sound of him crunching it. I really felt as though I might vomit if I continued to imagine him eating anything, so I tried to put my mind in a happy place. I thought about shoes. I thought about the kids. I thought about the people I had seen out on the course. He said to me, "Why do we do this to ourselves over and over?" I couldn't respond, but I was thinking to myself, "Because we love it. We love the marathon."

We went to Disney World today with Amy and her clan and that, too, was so fun. The kids were not disappointed to miss school and instead eat garbage and ride endless rides. It was such a fun day, and Marc kept making fun of all the race geeks who wore their shirts and medals to the park. It was pretty obvious who ran even without the gear, because of the way many of the athletes were walking today, especially around Tom Sawyer's Island, hobbling down the steps and gingerly crossing the rope bridges with tired quads. My legs feel a little beat up, too, but nowhere near like they did after the hills in Atlanta. Next project is Team in Training Triathlon Team that begins next week. I recruited (read:begged) my running buddy, Craig, to take on the bike element so that I am freed up to only give the run and swim workouts on Saturdays. I am so glad he is a sucker and could not say no. Hope that we have a successful and great season the next 12 or so weeks. Go Team.

I'm In the Mood For Malibu...

..simply because it's near me. Yep. The homestead and life is grand. How I feel alive and in love again. Our trip home has given me new life. Not just for the fact that we have caught up with old friends and family, but the whole scene. Never again will I take a mountain for granted. This is my solemn vow to never take advantage of the glorious sight of a hill, a mountain, a valley, a climb.

The time in San Diego was great, running the old haunts with the usual suspects. Lake Miramar, Torrey Pines, Tour De Poway, La Jolla....we did it all. I hated to cancel the final day with the group....I simply was not in the mood for the fanfare. I swam at the pool Saturday and was kind of overwhelmed by the welcoming committee in parking lot and then jacuzzi. I was anticipating seeing some friends who I had connected with, and in some ways, it seemed we never left, but in other ways, the warmth and welcoming and questions depressed me and I wanted to just bury my head in the water and never get out. It is nice to know I still swim in the same lane, and maybe even a little faster (thank you, Coach Don). Anyway, to run with the whole crew at one single workout was to add insult to injury. I couldn't go there and for this reason, I skipped the Thursday morning track workout and opted for runs with singletons every day. It was heaven.

Now, in Malibu, we are delighted by the Christmas spirit that still lingers. Marc and I caught a movie last night and I noted just how beautiful the plaza was decorated in lights. Even though we did not arrive here until the New Year, it still feels like Christmas as the vacation lingers on. I am so happy to be in the midst of family, friends, and good food (organic! Trader Joes!) and then I feel borderline anxiety ridden to have to board the plane on Saturday back to Nowhereville (Paxil, anyone?). I have received so many nice emails from friends in Florida, checking in and wishing us well, asking our whereabouts and when we are returning. Our time here has been so busy, with a full social calendar, as well as dental and doctor appointments to get caught up on. I have hardly thought about our lives on the other coast, apart from the nagging intermittent quandary about the cat and wondering if the house sitters have figured out the lay of the land in that house. "That" house. Even now as I look at what I wrote in black and white, I realize that nothing about that life feels like mine. That is not my house or my neighborhood, or my town. Here is where my heart is. Here, walking through the skeleton of the house my family is currently building atop a mountain in Malibu is where I belong. Wandering through the framing phase was poetic, in a way. I love this stage of the building process I have witnessed so many times, before the house takes on a life and personality of its own. Before it is dry walled and painted and decorated, I love seeing the soul of the house. I love imagining how it is all going to come together again, when the 9,000 square feet of ply wood and pluming are still exposed, how will this become a family's house? Their world? Their home? How does anything become home? How do we come to call somewhere home and believe it?

One of the last emails I read was from a running buddy, Craig, wishing us a Happy New Year and safe travel. He told me the Sunrunners have received the "best Christmas gift of all this year" because our family has joined them in Zero Beach. I felt both elated and nauseated. Happy, of course, because he is so kind and cares so much about us, truly and sincerely. He supports my athletic endeavours and idolizes Marc and his athletic ability, he is always so encouraging. But I am sick because I just want to come clean with Craig and everyone else and tell them how miserable I am, how I just want out of our relationship. That whole line about how it's not them, but it's me and I just cannot do this anymore. ...It's that whole living a lie thing again, where I feel like we are leading a double life; we want to find happiness and fulfillment in one, but we are distracted and constantly pulled away by another one. I never was good at breaking off a relationship, but I was always worse at living the lie, empty and unfulfilled. Maybe I just won't get on the plane Saturday? Avoidance always seems a viable option.

The Wheel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jacksonville

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

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

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

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

Ho, Ho, Hum

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

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

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

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

Feast or Famine

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

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

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

Mother Earth

"But what do you have in common?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Atlanta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, Now I am Nervous

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

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

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

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

Hump Day

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

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

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

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

I Have To Admit, It's Getting Better

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving Forward

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

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

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

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

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

Knowing Is Half The Battle

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

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

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

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