Sundays with Stretchy Pants

I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving for lots of reasons, but my number one happy reason is because, after it’s all over, then I can stop screaming obscenities at my car radio every time I inadvertently come across one of the stations that plays all Christmas music, all the time. It started on November 1st and I’m too lazy to re-set my pre-sets, so I keep stumbling upon effing Christmas music. Since the day after Halloween. It’s not right. And I will stab somebody. I know I should be thinking about effing Christmas. I know I have to buy people stuff. I know, I know, I know. I don’t need stupid songs to remind me. Kids Know Stuff is backfiring for me because, while I’m getting good gift ideas for my kids, my kids already have the stuff because they had to review it. I should’ve thought this through a little better. It works out well for you, though, because you could win a bunch of cool DVDs from my kids. You’re so selfish. I would try to win them, too, but my kids already have them. I can’t even re-wrap them for Christmas because that might be a touch meaner than usual.

This Thanksgiving, I’ll be running the Turkey Trot 5-miler for the 3rd year in a row. This year is different, though, because Mechelle won’t be here (boo!), and my husband is running it with me (yay!) Bryan is a natural sprinter; he does not “try to kill himself” by running more than a few miles at a time at super-sonic speed. The one time he tried to run with me, he had to shorten up his stride so much in order to stay slow that he got injured. I’m slow and short, with no competitive edge, enabling me to run long(ish) distances without ever having a heart attack. He’s fast, tall, competitive, and generally has ants in his pants, so it’s hard for him to pace himself. This should be interesting. The best part is, I don’t have to use my endorphins as energy for cooking Thanksgiving dinner because Kristen is doing that! Isn’t she sweet? That means I’ll be able to use that energy high for things like drinking. And pouring drinks. Should be fun. Also, Kristen’s husband and son are running with Bryan and me. I hope they remember to wait for me when it’s over. And I hope Bryan doesn’t weep because he doesn’t come in first. The last time he ran races regularly, he usually came in first and colleges watched him and sent him letters promising money to him for the pleasure of enjoying his long, lean legs and his powerful stride. Or something like that. That’s him winning. *sigh*

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I’ve been listening to the Smothers Brothers on my runs lately. They give new meaning to the phrase “fun run.” I love them. I giggle. And I love running in the fall. When it’s cold enough that you need gloves at first, but then you can take them off after a little while? That’s the best time of year. And my forehead sweat has stopped blinding me by pouring into my eyes. Thank you, cool weather.  In the summer, if I forget to make a little barrier with various petroleum-based products then I go blind with my drippy, drippy sweat. Have you ever tried to dry your eyes with a tech shirt? It’s not comfy. It’s supposed to wick sweat away, but I guess that doesn’t mean you can use it for a towel.

Ok, so I’m pimping Kids Know Stuff again because we’re going to be doing lots of giveaways over the next couple of months and I love you guys and I want you to win some stuff so you don’t have to buy stuff for the holidays. We’re running a two-fer right now even! Dawn made the site all gorgeous. Thanks Dawn! (Dawn from Open Book Strategies, not Dawn from This Woman’s Work. Wait, maybe they’re the same person. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen them in the same room together even though I’m good friends with both of them. And they both have the same last name. Weird. Must look into that.) Anyway, go look at what Dawn can do. And then bow to her.

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I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I get for running on my own. Maybe my stretchy pants were too tight (undoubtedly too tight; it’s been a long winter). Maybe I asked for it. All I know is I was running on the trail, enjoying an episode of Radio Lab when I heard the gentle rhythmic clink, clink, clink of dog tags coming up behind me on my right. Many runners who run with dogs will pass my slow ass on the right so they can keep their dog’s feet on the cushy grass instead of the paved trail. That is what I thought was happening, so I didn’t bother to look behind me. And then I felt a not-so-gentle pressure in my bottom area. While experiencing a mini heart attack, I looked back to see a leashless dog trying to get to know me in a very direct way. As his owner passed me on the left, she gave me a nice little, “Oh, he’s friendly.” Um, no shit? I can tell by the way he has his nose buried in my bum. That does not excuse him. I very rarely like to be surprised in that area. Very rarely. And I can’t think of a single scenario where I would like to be surprised in that area while running. He’s friendly? Well, that’s good to know. Then put your stupid friendly dog on a leash so that a not-so-friendly runner doesn’t have to kick him or, at the very least, blog about him. He might have caught me off guard this morning. All I could do was mutter a little under my breath, but I won’t be so vulnerable next time. I’m taking back the morning. It’s my body and I will run where I want without worrying about being victimized by random dogs. I don’t know what I’ll do next time because I’m too much of a pansy to actually abuse the abuser, but I might cuss at him or something. I swear to God I’ll cuss.

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When I’m supposed to be studying for an exam, I usually wander around youtube for, like, 2 hours. This is what I found tonight while avoiding my statistics studies. It won’t be funny if you haven’t heard David Sedaris read any of his stories on NPR (yes I’m white), but it is so spot-on. Kristen knows that when I’m running, I’m often listening to something like that on my iPod (super white), which is why I run with a mouth-hanging-open smile on my face and it’s also why I don’t even notice her on the trail until she’s almost on top of me, waving her arms like an air traffic controller. You know, the ones on the tarmac, not the ones in the tower. I’m definitely going to study now. Or not.

David Sedaris Delivers a Pizza

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I like stretchy pants so much that I named my new blog after them.

See the racing stripes? The main reason I like stretchy pants is because they usually have racing stripes, which gives the illusion of activity. Another reason I like them is because they’re stretchy, providing comfort for enjoying the ultimate inactivity (usually web surfing). Also, they look good with running shoes, which furthers the illusion of activity. Sometimes I run in my stretchy pants and running shoes, but I know for a fact that lots of people wear stretchy pants with racing stripes even if they’ve never raced a day in their lives. And that’s what’s so cool about the stretchy pants. I’m going to wear mine to the grocery store right now and I’m going to act like, “Geez, I just ran a race and now I have to come and get groceries and I’m just ever so busy, busy, busy!” People will fall for it because of the racing stripes.

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I just want to say, just like Liberty, I’m very excited for Thanksgiving. We have friends coming to run the Turkey Trot, then we’ll be eating, drinking, and lazing around. What’s not to love? No gifts, no decorating, no pressure. Lots of busyness with the shopping and chopping and cooking and baking, but that’s not pressure. That’s just preparation for feasting. Feasting is my favorite.
I’m extra happy to run the sweet, sweet 5 miles of the Turkey Trot after my last pressure-filled race debacle. Running and I have a precarious relationship that was very much in danger of ending during the summer and early fall. It goes against all of my sports needs: I have no chance of winning, there’s no ball, there’s no one to run away from, there’s no goal to run toward (intrinsic goals don’t count for anything), there’s no opponent to mock (because I have no chance of winning). Also, the really, really good runners look anorexic, and I have a sturdy body type more suited for sports like softball and beer bonging. Anyway, running and I are hesitant with each other at best, so I’m glad to be experiencing some excitement about the Turkey Trot because I feared that the 1/2 marathon might have taken all of the fun out of it. It didn’t. Yay. Happy Thanksgiving!

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I’m more of a 10K kind of girl. I know this now.I ran the 1/2 marathon here in Columbus yesterday. It was a gorgeous day and the race route was awesome and my great friend Mechelle came down to run the marathon and we had tons of fun together except for the part where we ran farther than sane people should. I did better than I expected at 2:28:26, but the mental mind-f*ck that is required for somebody like me to run 13.1 miles was something I was unprepared for. I had a great first 6 miles, beating my previous 10K (6.2 miles) and 5-miler times by a healthy margin. I was feeling good physically, but once I hit that 6 mile point, my mind said, “Good, only 7.1 more to go……..What the hell do you mean only 7.1 more to go? Is that 7.1 more miles or yards? ‘Cuz I can totally do 7.1 more yards, but miles is going to be iffy.”

I had 2 goals for this race: 1. Run it in under 3 hours. Check. My other goal was to not walk at all for the entire way. No matter how slow I had to jog, I just wanted to keep it at a jog. This goal was going well until the water station between miles 9 and 10, where I let myself walk to get my drink. Just to get my drink! All of the other runners were slowing to a walk at the drink tables, so I figured it must be part of protocol. So I grabbed my water, breathed a pathetic thank you to the best race volunteers ever and slowed to a walk, at which point my legs said something like, “Good luck getting us to speed up to a run again, sucker!” After that, I walked, ran, walked, ran, and begged my brain to tell my legs to run. My brain kept saying, “How ’bout I just make sure the rest of your organs keep on a-workin’ for you, ‘k?” At the last mile, I was ready to run and I did. I ran the last mile. I ran across the finish line. I got my medal, I got my warming blanket, I got a banana, a water, and two asiago cheese bagels from Panera. And I took comfort in the fact that I was done. I waited for the elation and the thrill of accomplishment to wash over me, but all I kept thinking was, that was too f*cking far. Who runs that far? Why would anybody do that? And why would anybody run twice that far? It doesn’t make sense! In fact, I think running that far is a sign of psychological illness (no offense Mechelle). There’s just no reason to run that far unless you’re trying to outrun, say, a lion or something. No, even then, I think I would rather be eaten. Yes, I would honestly rather be mauled by a lion (it would have to be a very slow, and maybe even an injured, 3-legged lion with arthritis) than have to run 13.1 miles to safety.

It’s just good to know these things about myself.

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I don’t know why my training schedule for the half-marathon is such a bitch to me. For some reason, I have personified it and instead of the personality of a sweet cheerleader-type, it has the personality of a crotchety Catholic nun. I’m not Catholic, but my friend Alle did take me to Catechism a couple of times where I learned my very painful and blistery fate as a child of hell. So in my mind my training schedule looks and sounds like a chunky bitch of a Catechism teacher who is continually reminding me of the painful and blistery fate that awaits me on the day of the half-marathon if I don’t take part in all of the sacraments, er, training runs. I don’t know why I don’t give it the persona of, say, my mom. It would be lots easier if my training schedule drank a lot and ignored me and reminded me every fall about how it was homecoming queen 40 years ago. At least then I would probably be trying to win its affection by over-achieving. But I guess then I would realize that it really doesn’t want me to achieve and it even resents me for trying, so then I would just drop out of the race in hopes that it would love me and then, well, then there’s therapy. *sigh*

Fun stuff: We’re going to West Virginia Thursday for my brother’s wedding and I’m very excited about that because I love him and I love his soon-to-be wife and I love their children. Most of all, I love making fun of West Virginians and I reckon I can get me some chuckles iff’n I go to the five-and-dime and just listen a spell.

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I said I would go gay for my Nike + iPod and I meant it. However, I was messing around with the settings and found that I could switch the sultry female voice to a male voice. I figured it would be worth a shot because we gays have no rights and that blows. This way, I could still get married and stuff. I started out on my run with my new male voice “cheering” me along, but it just didn’t work out. When he announced that I had completed my first mile, I swear to God he rolled his eyes. I could hear it. Also, when he announced that I had made it to my half-way point, there was no excitement and pride in his voice. He was like, “Half-way point. Finally.” At the end when he told me my distance, time, and average pace, he actually laughed at me. Not right out loud, but still. At best he sounded bored, at worst he mocked me. I’m going back to the chick. She gets me. She really gets me.

Dear Abby,
Do you think maybe you need more therapy?
Love,
Nike + iPod

Dear Nike + iPod,
What for?
Love,
Abby

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Dear Nike + iPod,

I love you so much. I’m telling you the same thing I’ve told my children: As soon as I had you, I couldn’t remember what I ever did without you. I love the way you tell me how far I’ve run and how far I have to go in your soothing lilt. You tell me my pace, always without judgement, and for that I’ll always love you. When you say, no, exclaim that I’ve made it to my half-way point, I know you’re cheering me on and I can hear the smile in your voice. I would go gay for you, Nike+iPod.

A special thank you to Bryan for having the wisdom to give my beloved Nike+iPod to me for our anniversary on April 13th instead of waiting 3 entire weeks until my birthday. Stay cool, Bryan.

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