Hi. So I've been taking a little break from Facebook for neurotic reasons, but I think I'll pick up my beloved quill pen and set to work at the old blog annals for a moment or so. I could hardly remember how to sign in.

Catching up:

-Still grandma-ing, three days a week, in my stretchy "grandma-ing pants," otherwise known as "yoga pants" or "yogurt pants," because my girl, JRoo, sneaks yogurt onto me which I notice later when I'm in public, of course.

-Still running. Have a goal of 500 miles in 2014. I'm half-way there, so a bit behind, but I'm not giving up.

-Embarking on new adventures in eating gluten-free and eating all-around healthier. Mainstay is a big old honkin' protein smoothie each day.

-Still daughter-ing my mom the two days of the week when I don't have JRoo. Mom has been a widow for a full year now. Mostly we talk about bodily functions. (Hers.) We also go to the doctor, the Walmart and the hairdresser.

-Sent my youngest back to college to begin her last year.

-Waxing nostalgic daily as evidenced my pinning vintage 1970s everything on Pinterest, even hair yarn and Liddle Kiddles. It's a midlife crisis.

-Reading East of Eden by Steinbeck.

-Hanging onto summer as long as I possibly can.

What were the things I used to blog about?
TV shows (American Idol, Lost) -- Current favorites: "Mr. Selfridge," "Downton," "The Voice," and my guilty pleasures, "Celebrity Apprentice" and "The Talk."
My kids, parents and dog (Still have the same ones.)
Walmart (I'd like to see the study that shows how much of our lives we spend there, like they tell you about sleeping.)
And my standby: "I Know You Think I Make This Stuff Up," posts about weird experiences, like falling one year ago today and breaking my arm because I thought a creepy man was after me while I was running. [Insert eye roll.]

Yep, this is it, the Seinfeldian blog about nothing--2nd Cup of Coffee.

National Running Day 2013

Well, I stated it awkwardly and then there was no editing allowed, no turning back ....

But that's the difference between running and a lot of things for me. I don't have to worry about running. I just get out there and do it. I COULD choose to worry--about time, pace, form, discipline, etc., but mostly I just choose to move, preferably soaking up sunshine. I may joke about my slow and stiff form, but actually, no one has to translate what I'm doing when I'm out there. It's very simple; I'm just running.

I see a lot of pictures and badges with relevant, inspiring quotations on them, and I even save some, but none says it all, what it really means to me. It's hard to put into words what inspires us and elicits passion. The painter, the musician, the dancer, the writer, the athlete--If you're a professional, you do it for money and maybe the love of it. If you're an amateur, you may do it for love and the challenge. If you sort of ka-lump along in an echelon beneath even the amateur, it's hard to say why you love it. In fact, for the ka-lumpers, it seems like there are more reasons NOT to love it. But there is something in those of us who love it, even those of us who plod along, that draws us to it like the proverbial moth to the flame, like rubber to the road.

All I know is, it is a gift that I do not take for granted. It's a gift that demands something from you, like a great teacher demands something from a pupil. You never know from day to day what the lesson will be. Sometimes the teacher is sly and clever, sometimes stern, sometimes playful. Sometimes this Teacher exercises the brain, sometimes brawn. A good teacher is there consistently, and at the beginning of each day, requests some kind of growth from you. The pupil gets out of it what he puts into it. There are days when the pupil resents the teacher, but as he looks back on his growth, he appreciates so much the lessons offered. He may never be surpass or conquer the teacher, but he is a better person for the experience, physically, emotionally, spiritually. And that's why I'm celebrating National Running Day. Lace 'em up!

Anatomy of a Procrastination of a Run

Morning runs are best for me. At age 50, I'm finding it more difficult to get up earlier and retain the enthusiasm from the night before when I set my alarm.

Nevertheless, a couple of nights ago I did set the alarm, and this is what happened before I ever got out the door:

1. Awoke to dog mess in my laundry room. Had to clean up poo before I was fully awake, before coffee. Hello, cruel world.
2. Allergies burst forth like the grand finale in a fireworks display. It was nonstop sneezing and blowing for about 15 mins. How can a body manufacture this much water?
3. Coffee.
4. Checked Twitter and Facebook, because, you know, I might have missed what you posted about the weather or what you ate for breakfast or what art project YOUR dog made for you this morning.
5. Used the bathroom. Many, many times. This is OCD imperative for me. I freak out on a run if I have to ....
6. Checked the weather, both out the window and on two apps. Not happy about any of the results. Checked weather in Siesta Key. Much better.
7. Selected running clothes. Long-sleeved sweat-wicking shirt, pants with zippers at the ankles (who thought up that skin irritation catastrophe?) Nathan belt for tissue, pepper spray, phone, Band Aids. New socks. Shoes. Ponytail.
8. Bathroom again. 8b. And again.
9. Grabbed Ipod. Headphone wires tangled like a Zentangle.
10. Tried to download new tune from Itunes, technical difficulties.
11. Couldn't find sunglasses. Wore dollar store variety.
12. Couldn't find Chapstick. Wore actual lipstick because I couldn't stand the dryness. Stunning coral lipstick, SO appropriate for a run.
13. BATHROOM

*Out the door!*

Stopped at mile 1 to get tiny rock out of shoe ....

The Poor Man's Exercise Room: Maybe It's Not About the Happy Ending; Maybe It's About the Story

It's the poor man's exercise room. It used to look like this, when the twins lived here. Now it looks like the second pic.  There is also an elliptical machine opposite the treadmill. And a large exercise ball rolling around, in the way, mostly.

This is the repurposed baby dresser. It now holds hand weights, running clothes and fans.

This is my view in the early morning from the treadmill. Kind of dreary. Not long after I took this pic, a runner went gliding by.

The bulletin board beside the treadmill is for motivational sayings and photos I'd like to put up. Right now, the phrase is, "Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story." I wrote that there after the twins were taken by their mom. I've been thinking the phrase doesn't apply well to running, but maybe it does. I'll never finish fast or with flash (the perfect happy ending). But it's more about the race itself, the journey, the obstacles and small victories (the story). And a happy ending doesn't have to be a "perfect" one.

So I'll never have a awesome space for working out. I'll never break a record, probably not even my personal best. I'll never have a stride and pace like the guy who ran past as I stepped on the treadmill. But I'm committed. I'm achieving. I'm overcoming. I'm moving. I'm challenging myself. I'm growing. I'm learning. And those are all important facets of a really good story. 

Running, Shadows & John Mayer

Recently, I went for a nighttime run. Confident I'd be home before absolute dark, I did not take my phone or my inconvenient pepper spray. When I reached the turn for home, I realized it was already darker than I anticipated and not as well-lit. I could have sworn there were more street lights along this route.

Aware now of every breath, every pad-pad of my feet falling on pavement and the sweat running down my back and forehead, my running became more labored. Glancing around with each new sound, I became ultra aware of my surroundings, birds in bushes, crickets, unidentifiable sounds.

And then, I spotted a man in a pick up truck who seemed to be watching me more than he should. Anticipating where I would run next, he drove forward, just a little. He did this a couple of times, and my heightened senses plus fatigue plus fear swallowed up my courage and rational thinking. I was a running mess of fear.

I turned a corner, shot backward glances to see if he was still following. No sign.

By this time, as if I were in a haunted forest, everything around me spooked me. I looked at the sidewalk, gasped and made a noise that came from the back of my throat: there was my shadow, and then ... one more! He was chasing me!

Within seconds, I realized the second shadow was also mine. I cannot express how relieved and stupid I felt. I looked up to see what lighting could cause this phenomenon, but I couldn't figure it out, and I'm still not sure how I had a double shadow.

For the next half mile home, I forced myself to stay aware of my surroundings and plan what to do should something bad actually happen.

And then I would see the second shadow and relive the terror again! I could not stop the inward jolt of fear at the sight of the shadows, but each time I reacted, I was frustrated with myself. "It's just a shadow. It's YOUR shadow--why are you so skittish? This is stupid. Just. Run." I was never so glad to reach my door.

Throughout my shower, my thoughts went two directions: First, I would never be so stupid again as to run at night without telling anyone where I was going, with no phone or spray. Ridiculous! Second, the double shadows--how did that happen? Why could I never get myself to stop reacting as if someone were chasing me? Why was I afraid of harmless shadows? I thought about how silly it was to be afraid of something I knew couldn't hurt me, and yet I couldn't stop looking at it, as if it could change form. It was powerless, even something I inadvertently created, and yet it had the power to distract me, slow me, scare me, take my mind off of my goal--get home as fast as possible.

My fear seemed to wash off me like the suds in the drain.

And then I thought about shadows in another sense--shadows as the events or people or fears that compel us to take our eyes and hearts off of goals, that distract us, scare us.

Past failures can be shadows.
Personal shortcomings, too.
People who hurt us or shamed us can be shadows.
Fear of the future or unknown can taunt us.

We may have done things in our lives that inadvertently created the shadows, but if only we could see that they are powerless when we see them for what they are: flimsy reflections behind us. They do not define us. They have no bearing on how we live, if we do not give them the power to haunt us. They don't predict what's ahead; they only report what was, and sometimes the shadows themselves are distorted, not a true representation of us, anyway.

I love John Mayer's "Shadow Days," especially these lyrics:

I'm a good man with a good heart
Had a tough time, got a rough start
But I finally learned to let it go
Now I'm right here and I'm right now
And I'm open knowing somehow
That my shadow days are over
My shadow days are over now.


May all of our shadow days be over. We do not have to live with them dogging us, controlling us. We have to learn to let them go, look straight ahead, and run our race the way we were meant to.

Done Deal--Lady Speed Stick Half Marathon, OR, What Doesn't Kill You, Etc., Etc.

Well, it's a done deal--I have registered for The Lady Speed Stick Women's Half Marathon, happening November 18, 2012, in St. Petersburg.

St. Petersburg, Florida, that is. Not Russia. Ha. That's nervous laughter after making a nervous joke.

So now it's serious.

It's on.

This will be the carrot dangling in front of me for the next four months. This will wake me up, prod me, goad me, irritate me, scare me, encourage me and most of all, make me a better me.

So I'm in, even though it means flying. Gulp.

June 6, 2012 "National Day of Running"

Today is National Running Day. I'll be running 6 miles to celebrate.

To commemorate this event, I created a word cloud of images or ideas that come to mind when I run. I realize it's fuzzy. You can click on it to see it better.

I didn't start running until I was in my early 30s. I was amazed at what my "old" body could do when I asked it to perform like that. Wow, would I ever like to have that "old" body back now.

I have never run fast, far or flawlessly. In fact, I'm slow, and I never know how a run will end, even if I'm running an identical route to the day before. It could be great; it could be terrible. And my style is sometimes wonky. I hardly pick up my knees or feet.

 However.

 I can run a half marathon at age 49. And yes, I am proud of that.

John Bingham once said,

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."

Today I join with millions of others who know the thrill of which I'm speaking. I run for all of the words in the cloud. I run because there is nothing else like it on earth. If I could have one natural talent, one gift given for sheer personal enjoyment, it would not be a mansion or expensive car or vacation home or lucrative career. I would choose to run like the wind. "Dear God. When I get to heaven, please let me be Your fleet-footed messenger!" And I would run like the young Clark Kent in this, one of my favorite movie clips ever:

Tree

This is pretty much the best set of pics I've ever taken. I was on a country road going to a friend's house, when I noticed this little tree. I have no idea what kind it is because in my life I have mainly focused nail polish colors instead of foliage names. Anyway, I'm pretty proud of me and my little cheap camera. Edited on Picnik.

O What a Beautiful Morning

This is what I see when I leave my driveway for a morning run in late summer--truly a joy-filled moment for me. I love to run toward the sun, whether it's rising or setting. I never grow tired of looking at that big ol' ball of fire hanging in the sky. It is always spectacular.

When I was a little girl, before I knew that I wasn't that coordinated or athletic, I used to run all over my backyard like a Banshee. I set up hurdles before I knew what hurdles were or that there were school teams who ran and jumped hurdles. I used my old kindergarten rest-time mat, picnic table benches, boxes, peony bushes--whatever I could to leap over. I would just run and jump, run and jump. I crashed into fences serving as finishing lines. I ran for the love of it.

I wish that someone had noticed this penchant and encouraged me to keep moving when I hit middle school and fell into that phase of inactivity and passivity to which so many teenage girls succumb. I wish someone at home or at school would have said, "Why don't you try this?" (Any sport).

To be fair, once I made the cheerleading squad, I was all about that. All other interests besides boys paled in comparison.

Still, I wish someone had talked to me about taking care of my body and appreciating what it could do when put to the test, and how good I'd feel when I accomplished a run.

I wish someone had said, "Cheerleading is great, but you can't do that the rest of your life. Tennis, swimming, running or golf, yes."

But that didn't happen, and I didn't discover again that I loved to run until I was about 32. Still, even at that "advanced" age, I was blown away by what my body would do when I asked it to "go to the next mailbox, next stoplight." Simply amazing.

Here I am at 49, still going, albeit slow and plodding. But I never feel more alive than when I'm running.

And there are two things in this life I NEVER grow tired of looking at: the faces of my children, and beautiful Indiana skies. I have so much to be thankful for!

Still on Vacay, But Look! Something Nice Happened to Me Today

Melanie at See My Mom Run was brave enough to publish my thoughts on running on her sweet blog. I'm still on vacation, so I can't go on and on here about how much I enjoy Melanie on Facebook and in her blog writing, but she is exceptional; you should check her out. And now I have to get off of here or Jorge will send me a menacing "why are you blogging while we're on our 2nd honeymoon" look.

By the way, having a great time. Planning on returning to home to Indiana when I have a grandchild to see, which could be a while. Daughter #1 says that is fine with her as long as we keep paying the mortgage. That stinker.

Weekend Recap

Friday: Jorge drove to IL to be in a wedding, yes IN a wedding, even at the ripe old age of 47. The kicker: Groom is 27. All groomsmen well over 6 feet tall; Jorge is 5'7". Should be an interesting photo.

Friday night: I ate at Subway by myself. Enjoyed the new orchard chicken salad sandwich. Bought something to wear on my anniversary vacation that is quickly approaching.

Saturday: Cleaned my house and cooked all day. Saturday morning early, did my weekly "longer" run, only to be thwarted by a barking, growling dog run amuck and a motorcyclist who mildly harassed me. You are reading one mean lady at that point.

I posted about my frustration on Facebook and received about 40 comments of people trying to help me arm myself for protection while running.

Saturday night: Jorge returns. I am a grouch.

Sunday morning: Church, Subway with family, where I enjoyed the orchard chicken salad sandwich because overkill is how I roll.

Sunday afternoon: Anniversary pics taken outside until the sky broke open and we were forced inside. As soon as I can share, I will. It was fun. Except that part where we tried to do a dip-kiss like dancers do and I'm lucky to have a skull that is not cracked.

Sunday evening: Life group (or small group, or cell group, whatever your preferred terminology is). Cindy from Girls Group brought me a special surprise to protect me when I run:





A 357 Magnum is impressive but probably too "fumbly" to carry. So I think I'll stick with pepper spray, also given to me by Cindy!

I had never touched a gun before this, and did not know how to hold it. Then the group made me go outside and pose with it. Someone snuck a video. We live exciting lives here in Muncie.

How was your weekend?

Summertime, and the Livin' Ain't Easy--Summer Colds, Hot Flashes & Canine Antics

One reason summertime ain't easy right now is that I have a summer cold, which is completely ridiculous and unacceptable. I think this might be why I couldn't sleep the other night.

BTW, you know how I wrote about Zoe watching me and quoted Rockwell's "Somebody's Watching Me" shower lyrics? Well, within a couple of hours after that, I finished my shower, opened the shower door, and there she sat, staring up at me. It was a case of life imitating the art of my blog, I guess.

Back to the post: another reason it ain't easy is that the hot flashes are back. I had a few last year, and then "poof" they were gone, and now they're back. For those of you who haven't experienced it yet, I can tell you that is the weirdest sensation. I actually start feeling it in my legs first, and then it moves to my trunk and from there radiates enough heat that I could hold a marshmallow in my hand and organically, spontaneously toast it. But how ridiculous. Whoever heard of knees sweating before anything else on a body?

It's also not easy because my running is killing me. It's the heat. I just can't do it. So I try for early morning or late at night, and that's not working so well.

An odd thing happened the other day when I was running which has made running definitely less easy for me. I turned down a street that is not normally on my path, and all of a sudden, not one but two Great Danes started their WOOOFing at me, running until they reached the ends of their chains which jerked them back. Scared me to death. The owner just sat on her front porch, yakking away on her phone while I almost peed my pants.

But that's not the end of it. As soon as my Fight or Flight response settled down, I heard a dog approaching me quickly from the back. He was smaller, because nothing is bigger than a Great Dane, I guess, and he was NOT happy that I was on his turf. His owner was in her yard and watched me stop in my tracks and yell at him, "NO! Go HOME! NO!" while he just ran circles around me barking like a maniac, rabid thing.

So then I would walk a few steps, and he would go bonkers again. Then I'd stop, and he would run circles around me. All the while I'm yelling "No!" which has the same effect as if Jorge yelled "No!" as I reached my hand into a bowl of Peanut M&M's. This spectacle went on for years.

Finally, I turned around to the owner and in a fit of desperate incredulity yelled, "Are you going to come and get your dog??" Like, "Oh, come ON. What is wrong with you? Rescue me, Lady!"

And she replied, "I would if I could!"

???

So I fought this ankle biter all the way to the end of the block. I guess when I turned the corner I left his territory, and I'm sure he felt superior.

I cannot tell you how ANGRY I was at that moment. I wanted to say and do a sundry of mean things.

So I just started praying to calm down, and then I started hypothesizing about what "I would if I could" might mean.

"Perhaps she just had a round of chemo."
"Perhaps she has heart problems."
"Perhaps she is on house arrest."
"Perhaps the dog was initially chained up but he overpowered her, chained her up and ran like the wind."

I was just trying to think of anything to arouse forgiveness.

Also, this last week I have been learning a new software program at work. You can imagine how not fun this is.

Let me finish on one good note, though: My laundry room is almost complete! You will be shocked at what I ended up choosing. It is very "not me." Which can be a good thing.

Wordless Wednesday: Running's Gift to Feet