Early Morning Carnival

Yesterday I wrote of finding beauty in running. I may have been using a little creative license. You know how zombies shamble and lurch as if pulled incompetently by invisible strings? My strings are fluorescent green, and my puppeteers are the dogs.

Every morning starts with great intentions. I corral each dog and buckle on the harness, heavy webbing and brass tackle for such a light endeavor. Then I attach the leash -- essentially a bright green bungee cord with extra handles. I need those handles. The dogs immediately attack each other in their eagerness to get out the door, and we have to spend a few minutes untangling. Finally, we are off. 

I read the health articles, I know about a "gentle warm up". Unfortunately, canines can't read. We're off to the races immediately, crashing down the front steps and going in two different directions, and then two other different directions, until they finally hear my epithets and start in my direction. Half a block of stumbling and I start to get my feet under me, and that's when the first dog has to pee. In medieval times they used horses to pull people asunder. I use dogs.

Off again, but we're at a curb, and for their safety the are trained to sit and wait for a command before crossing. This is an opportunity to compete for who can sniff the most items before I start ordering them to sit. Of course, it's more amusing if one sits, the other stands, and they alternate. By this time I am breaking my first sweat, but not from exercise.

Finally they relent, and this time we're moving, I have a pace, they are looking ahead, we're ON! But really they are scanning for birds and squirrels and imaginary squirds which have the magical properties of both. One sighting and its lunge, flit, lunge and I must shift suddenly into a backwards lean made possible only by the stretchy properties of the bungee leash. And then we're off again, to the next curb.

A few blocks in they finally start getting into the groove, but Stanley is guided by the same unpredictable curiosity as a human three year old. Slow, fast, left, right. We stop and untangle, I shorten the leash to keep him behind me, we start. Fifteen feet, thirty. My heart is starting to beat faster, I'm breathing deep! Then, for the first time that morning, both dogs are in harmony -- stopping abruptly at an invisible marker. I do a remarkably unballetic left turn, right leg and arm thrown out and up, pivoting on left toes, upright only because of my tethers.

Again the air rings with "come on you little shits" and other exhortations to please move together in a forward direction. Speaking of shit, somewhen along the way the dogs do their business, and I am left with a pendulous plastic fistful of poo. I have experimented with holding it as far away as possible, but then it swings ominously and I begin to wonder about the tensile strength of newspaper bags. So I reluctantly cinch it up, dreading a fall because I know I don't have the mental wherewithal to drop the thing before a catastrophic landing. It's like a personal bomb. I have, in fact, imagined using it as a defense should I be accosted on the streets (I'm sure the dogs would be busier looking for squirds than protecting me). "Get back! I've got 8 ounces of this shit, and I'm not afraid to use it!" 

So together we lurch and stumble on our little route, a mobile three ring circus. Other runners, and their dogs, have learned to cross the street or wait a block away as we meander across the sidewalk at barely more than a stroll. I exhort them to move faster, we have deadlines! But the only word they recognize is "treat" which is also the only time they obey without hesitation, and a sudden stop/sit would prove disastrous. So I "encourage" them, safe in the knowledge that a high pitched voice disguises the name calling. Many good names start with N: ninny, nincompoop, nimrod, numskull, nitwit, knucklehead. I use them all.

At last we are within blocks of home. I am sweaty and sore from being hauled in different directions. We speed up, eager for water, and then I hear it -- the low growl of a dog behind a fence. Teddy is slower than me, and Stanley is distracted, so I have time (for once) before they charge. I can't tell if they love or hate the unknown one, but both go mad scrambling and barking. Now, however, it's MY turn. I've gotten hold of the extra handles, I've braced myself, and this time they are the ones who go flying, swinging around in their harnesses, feet sliding across the concrete, ears flapping. I feel the sick joy of operating a state-fair carnival ride. When they stop they are miraculously facing the right direction, sheepish with clumsiness, and we finish our "walk" without further incident.

I Am Become

I ran cross country in high school. I learned the deceptive translation of miles to kilometers, what to eat, how to train. Ours was a winning team -- the boys took state that year -- even though I wasn't any good. I did finish the season, almost to spite my coach, but I hated it. I got through each race only by telling myself that my deceased grandmother was watching over me and she would be proud.


The only other time I can remember running was a dry hot afternoon after a terrible day at work. I don't know why; all I wanted to do was run. I put on my sneakers and just took off, running until I could barely move, then turning around and trudging home. It seemed like forever, but I'm sure it was only a couple of miles. Since then the fastest I have moved was crossing the street against oncoming traffic.

And yet . . .

I have been running lately. I use the dogs as an excuse, and my health as a reason, but there's something more happening. I am finding a certain satisfaction in a good run. I am experimenting with stride length and have taught myself not to heel strike. I am learning a new language, one of the body rather than the mind. I am taking pride in my strength, and pushing for more. It's a foreign country for me, one I enjoy visiting.

I am become

more beautiful

with each stride

As my legs bend and spring

I rise into

the next breath

stretching forward

calculating each step

and I finally know beauty

that comes not from
the shapeliness of my calves

or the brute strength of my thighs

or the sweat of my brow

but the exultation of my soul

as I fly along the concrete

I gave 110%, and so did you!

We did it! On Sunday, June 9th, I completed the Steamboat Springs 1/2 Marathon in 3 hours and 51 minutes. Around the same time, my fundraising total for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society hit $2,761 -- 110% of my original $2,500 goal.

I can't begin to express my gratitude for your support as I worked to accomplish this huge (and somewhat uncharacteristic) goal. There is no question that your help and encouragement got me to the finish line. And I have to tell you -- I was not the fastest, sleekest, or most accomplished athlete in the event, but I was definitely the most enthusiastic and cheerful! I knew I already had won, even before they fired the starting gun. You see, thanks to you and many other generous folks, the Rocky Mountain Chapter of Team In Training raised more that $110,000 dollars for the Spring season. That means lives were saved, research was funded, families and friends were assisted - even before I took my first step.

The race itself was surprisingly fun. We had a pep talk in the hotel lobby, then got on a bus and rode to the starting line before dawn. Everyone on the bus kept remarking about how long it was taking to get there, as we all slowly realized how very, very far we were going to walk or run. Aside from an absurd number of porta-potties, the starting line was fairly non-descript, and the air was cold until the sun came up. There was a one-hour delay due to some transportation issues, but as soon as we got underway I became aware of just how beautiful the scenery was. Being a (slow) walker, I had the road essentially to myself, and I was able to enjoy the sound of a distant river, at least three different kinds of songbirds, the reassuring crunch of gravel as I toodled down the road, and the sight of gamboling calves running circles around their more sedate dams. The locals were fabulous, setting up cheering stations along the way and offering just as much enthusiasm to me as they had the speedsters at the head of the pack. One pair of water-hander-outers were about six years old, and I had to turn them around as they ran up the course behind me, away from their grown-ups. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I had a spring in my step for quite a ways after I left them behind.

I made good time, even running a few sections, and despite the heat (an uncharacteristic 90 degrees under cloudless skies and relentless sun) felt good for most of the race. I was able to cheer on other Team In Training folks as the full-marathoners began passing me, and I did my best to offer encouragement to all the runners who were faltering. Karma came full circle around mile 11, when I hit my own personal wall and the cheer stations boosted me. That and a little Lady GaGa and other hard-rocking tunes on the iPod. I have to say, mile 12 was pretty much the hardest mile I've ever walked.

When I finally reached town, I was delighted to see my mom and dad, who gave up their day to come cheer me on and brought me to tears with their proud smiles. Finally, I crossed the finish line, received my medal, and got a great hug from Anita, who had sucessfully completed her 10K hours earlier. After some stretching and cold water, we all celebrated with fried pickles and sandwiches at a nearby restaurant (don't knock the pickles -- I've never tasted such salty fried deliciousness in my life!) and Anita and I headed back to the hotel for a much needed nap. When I woke I was pleased to find that I was only mildly sore, and filled with a sense of accomplishment and pride I seldom reach.

pictures are available on Flickr at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ikreske/

So, we did it, and we did it well. Thank you.

Who's up for a full marathon?

Gratefully,

Yanna

So grateful

I'm humbled to the point of tears. Donations to my Team In Training account are currently at $2,635. Thank you.

http://pages.teamintraining.org/rm/SteamBt10/ikreske

19 days

Hello! Just writing a quick update on my progress for Team In Training. This has been an incredible week for me! I have fewer than three weeks until the half-marathon in Steamboat, and I have to admit that for a while I've been beset by doubts about accomplishing either the fundraising or walking a half-marathon.

Fortunately, last week I received a very generous anonymous donation which pushed the fundraising past the minimum, and the proceeds from the jewelry trunk show I hosted brought me even closer to my personal goal. That has been a huge relief, although I still have $363 to raise. On the physical side, we just had our longest training day of the season; now we rest up for the race. In order to accommodate some family plans I hit the trail early with some other walkers, and boy did we burn up the trail! In just 3.5 hours I walked 11 (yes, eleven!) miles. I stopped there, but I proved to myself that I can -- and will -- complete 13.1 miles and cross the finish line on June 6th with few problems.

I'm still a little sore today, which probably could be addressed by drinking more water the day of the race, stretching better, and not digging up and moving hundred pound rocks for several hours afterward (the aforementioned family obligation). And in reality, what are a couple of blisters and a sore hamstring compared to rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, and surgeries to fight cancer? Because that's what this really is about. I'm proud to have been a small part in the effort to fight and cure blood cancers. I'm also tremendously grateful to those of you who have supported me - emotionally, physically, even financially -- through this journey.

19 days 'til the race! I'll post pictures and updates on my Team In Training blog if you want to follow my progress or to make a donation.

http://pages.teamintraining.org/rm/SteamBt10/ikreske

Me? An Exercise Addict?

I am in no way an athlete. Any similarity to those sleek, competitive people who like getting out and sweating is purely coincidental. Which makes the following so much more surprising to me: I am learning to like exercise for the sake of exercise, and I'm coming to need it every single day (including weekends and vacations).

My first experience with exercise was watching my mother and aunt (we all lived together when I was little) attend an aerobics class. They hated it. Someone in their class had t-shirts made that said something along the lines of, "Mikki's class - whine, bitch, moan, complain, whimper" etc etc. I don't know how long they did it. I just remember watching that random group of women through a glass window, sweating and groaning, and later celebrating their survival with a cigarette and glass of scotch. They joined a gym later, lifting weights and maybe walking on a treadmill. I participated a little, more for the novelty of it, but again I saw that exercise is an odious chore faced reluctantly and whose accomplishment deserves a reward (again, a glass of scotch and a cigarette).

I can't say I've never exercised. I played soccer in fifth grade, but that was a game. I ran cross-country in high school, but it made me cry (and occasionally vomit), and thus was not to my liking. Search and Rescue practices (when I was at UWC) were entire weekends hiking through forests, over mesas, and down gullies. Calculating backwards I probably covered fifteen or more miles in a day back then. And oh, I felt strong and competent and even beautiful. But going for a run? A bike ride just to get my heart rate up? feh! Thus athletics became a sideline - I was the volleyball team manager, I cheered the basketball team. But I was never the one in bright polyester satin.

Don't get me wrong - I love the feeling of a good day's work. The ache and sweet exhaustion from hauling and digging; the first deep breath at the top of a climb; the grace of a perfect ski run. But I do better with a goal. My garden blooms and feeds me; we search for a lost person; the house is tidy (and yes, housework IS exercise, thank you very much!).

I blame the dog for the change. She requires walking, and the consequences are dire if I don't take her out (poop. 'nuf said.) So, I drag myself out of bed while the household sleeps, put on some shoes, and walk. I've hated it, especially in the winter, but it's better than having to clean up, or having to face those guilt-inducing eyes when I'm too lazy to get up.

But sometimes the sky is too gray, the room too cold, and the excuses come too easily. This morning I couldn't get up. It's snowing, and and dark, and I wanted a shower and just five more minutes in the horizontal, so I rebelled.

I discovered, however, that even though I was clean, and rested, and the dog voluntarily went out in the back yard, that I was grumpy. I had a low level of cranky going on, for no apparent reason. It didn't go away after loudly hustling the reluctant ones out of the house, or when my PTA meeting was over. I was growly all over. So when I got home, instead of settling down to paying bills or dealing with emails, I looked at the blue sky and warm sun, and took the dog for a walk. Wouldn't you know, ten minutes later I felt a warm glow rush over me, and I found myself chatting to Teddy and generally feeling good. Despite the cold my nose and fingers were warm, and I was telling myself to go a little farther, a little faster. Let's see how far we can go in thirty minutes. And I realized, I'm no athlete, but I kinda like this exercise.

I'm a morning person

Much to my night-owl husband's dismay, I'm a morning person. And not just a morning person -- I like to be up when everyone else is sleeping.  There's something about a sleeping house that is remarkably peaceful. Since getting the alarm clock, er, dog, I've expanded to enjoying a sleeping city. This morning, no thanks to the time change, we walked again in the dark. At long last we were accompanied by the scolding of robins and crows who were unaccustomed to our company. I was delighted; robins are the first sign of spring, and their song cheers me like nothing else.  In addition, we witnessed garbage trucks trolling the alleys -- a sight that thrills me now that I have children who get excited by heavy machinery -- and groggy bathrobe-clad people taking the recycling bins to the curb.  My personal symphony also included the rumble of freight trains announcing in long wails their arrival and departure through the rail yard.  Sometimes I am privileged to hear the roar of lions or trumpeting of elephants from the zoo near our home.  Today I did not, but as soon as I returned home I was treated to the cacophany of a waking family.