Team Vintage gets denied by DPS

To be fair: we understand completely.






29 days to go...

On running classes

THREE *@#%$^*$ MILES! YES!

I wish I had tracked down the lovely young woman who I ran next to tonight. She was one of the greatest things to happen to me and this running thing, and I didn't manage to get her name. But after we arrived back at Running Fit she said, "You did a really great job tonight," and that meant the world to me. I will beg her to run next to me next week. I RAN THREE MILES.

I am going to finish this race. I could cry I'm so happy.


Please, donate.

I will see you at the finish line.

I'm sorry, could you just pick that up for me, please?

I may have tried to progress too far. I took a new path Monday night, and as you may remember, it's been quite a while since I've run on anything but the elliptical. This new route was a bit more scenic, a little more residential. There seemed to be zillions of runners out with me, giving me the nod, "way to be, welcome to the club." I was humming along, thinking about how fascinating it is to be part of this crazy cult, these people who get a high from doing this. And then I pretty much had a coronary.

WHAT THE?!? "Excuse me, sir? Yes, that on the ground over there--it's my heart. It seems to have burst forth from my chest. Do you mind? Thanks. Lemme just put that back..."

The culprit? This:

Good grief, it felt like that anyway. You have GOT to be kidding me with this hill business. I am not so naive that I don't understand running on an incline takes more effort, more aerobic work. However, I was pretty blind to the fact that even a slight grade would make me stroke out. My heart was beating so hard that I was certain you could see it thumping cartoonishly, even if I was wearing a parka.

It occurs to me that the path between the stadium and campus has its share of hills. I cannot help but hope that my running class, which starts Thursday, addresses this issue. Stretching suddenly seems to be a problem, too. My quads are pretty sore from the additional stress, and I really have to do a better job at warming them up. I'd try to fit yoga in my schedule if I thought I had an ounce of time to do it.

So, for the first day back, the unimpressive tally:
14 minutes walking (10 warm-up, 4 cool down)
24 minutes running--the hills, people. I couldn't make it to 26...

Tonight and Tomorrow are pretty much out, but I'm terribly excited for class on Thursday. Wish me luck, and warm muscles!

Weather brought to you by Ang and Todd

Disclaimer: We are financial planners, not videographers.




more update: there's a tornado.
even more: everyone's safe. The rain has momentarily stopped and I passed some brave soul out running in the street. Maybe I CAN go out tonight!

Just a quick update...

So...right...

Maybe if I tried harder I *could* stop the rain by complaining

You know those movies where someone brainwashes someone else, and the brainwasher has a "trigger" for the brainwashee to carry out the evil plan? The only movie that comes to mind right now is Zoolander and the "Relax" song, but I know there are more movies like that. Think iconic, like what "Stuck in the Middle With You" is to Reservoir Dogs. Those songs that are harmless but associated with gruesome madmen.

My trigger is "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" and it's been stuck in my head for days and days, for obvious reasons

Wikipedia tells me this was the #1 song on the Billboard charts in 1970. While that is most likely true, I think the more pertinent bit of information, for this blog, is that it seems to cause me to have near-psychotic episodes dating back to my early childhood, when I had no idea there was anything but country music and polka. Thanks, Mom and Dad, by the way. I don't know if it's the trumpet or the ukelele (?) but I see red when this song comes on. FOR NO LOGICAL REASON. I am fairly certain that I was hypnotized and something happened to the evil mastermind because I am never commanded to actually do anything, I just sit there all angry while some stupid Burt Bacharach song plays.

Anyway, it won't. stop. raining. I could probably run while it sprinkles, under normal circumstances, but it is also 40 million degrees out. It is no joke that "it's a sauna out there." Every time I stepped out of my car last night my sunglasses fogged. Every piece of paper that is not in air conditioning is warped and curled. Misery.

I really don't know what to do about the training because there is just no good answer. The most obvious solution is to go run indoors, but that does get old fast. There's little other choice, I guess.

So, I am feeling like a lazy bum this week, regardless of how busy I've been. I did manage to do 35 minutes on the elliptical Monday night, but there's a little voice inside me saying, "You used to be at 45 minutes, and you know very well that it's not the same as running." I kind of fear that in just these few days I have lost progress, but I'm trying to stay positive. The weather is supposed to finally break on Friday, and then it's...oh no...SEPTEMBER?!? WHAT?

Oh wait, September means football. IT'S ALMOST SEPTEMBER!


Will someone please figure out how to make the rain stop so I can get past 26 minutes? Because really, do you actually want me to attempt to complain more? You don't want that.

BJ Thomas is not affiliated with this blog in any way.

On hurrying.

I may not be known for being on time. Maybe.

It's unfortunate that I'm motivated by pressure, and it's even more unfortunate that while it causes me to be successful at making it out of the house, I'm generally not exceptionally prompt. I like to think that I am really good at being on time for my work appointments and so I have built up quite a bit of chrono-karma for the other parts of my life. No? It doesn't work like that?

Yeah, I kind thought not and really had to strongly consider whether to run on Saturday. It was 2:29 when I tied my shoes and headed out the door. I thought, "Ok...go 20 or so minutes, up the neighborhood streets, through the Diag, back up Division. I'll get back at 2:49, jump in the shower and make it to the wedding...by 4:00." This was perhaps not the best plan. I forgot about the warming up that would have to be done, and I completely forgot that I would be running near the Law Quad, so I'd have to go a little bit further to see if I could catch the bride and groom having photos taken. People always take pictures in the Law Quad (if someone were smart they'd just rent dorm space from a poor [HA!] JD student and run a photography studio from there). Going the extra distance set me back--and they weren't even there (yet). I checked my iPod: 2:43 and I was pretty far from the shower.

Can't you just picture my nightmare fantasy...
"Do you take this man to be your..." CRASH everyone turns scowling at the offensive jerk who tried to sneak in late and let the door slam shut during the vows. NOW THE VIDEO IS RUINED. RUINED! The bride cries, mascara streaking down her face and onto her pristine white dress. Agony. The groom looking back and forth between his grief-stricken almost-wife and me, "Why would you do this? WHY?!?"*

Guess who learned to run fast.

I forgot my watch, but I started out at 2:29 like I said, and fell into the doorway at 2:59 (and into the shower at 2:59:06). I think sprinting the last 3/4 mile home should count for something. I mean, I was desperately averting disaster.

The opposite of disaster

Made it.

*Yes, I believe weddings do involve that much drama.
**The brownish stripe is me.

No no, I swear I'm alive!

So, the schedule has been a teeeeeeeensy bit hectic lately, and as I said before: darkness is my enemy. I was relegated to the elliptical on Wednesday night (rained out) and last night I was working until after 9:30pm, so not much exciting has happened to write about. But I'll be back with a vengeance very shortly.

In the meantime I'd like to give a big THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has donated so far! You can't even begin to imagine how much it means to me.

I'd also like to extend an invite--826michigan will celebrate its birthday/anniversary/special day on August 26th (get it?) with a come one-come all picnic in Wheeler Park. You can visit www.826michigan.org for details if you are interested in some end-of-summer fun with the crew and kids.

Last thing--I have made a grand sacrifice for this race. I didn't buy a pair of adorable peep-toe stilletos the other night because I was worried I might break an ankle in them. AND THEY WERE ON SALE. Ok, maybe I do need the defibrillator now...

I would probably run a lot faster if that giant boulder was rolling toward me.

When I was a kid I used to go to Julie's house before and after school. Both of my parents worked and so Julie's house was kind of like my daycare, latchkey, and second family. We quarreled incessantly like sisters, and as we matured we weathered each other's growing pains like sisters. But she wasn't the only member of the household. Julie had an older brother, and he treated me like a sister as well...he tortured me.

There were many, many methods by which he doled out the misfortune, but the one that I thought of tonight was particularly excruciating. He wouldn't let us play his Indiana Jones game on the Atari. Oh how badly we wanted to be Indy! But NOOOOOOO we could play any game but that one. Any game but the one with cool whips, the flute, the snakes...and tsetse flies.

Are you wondering yet what the point of all this is? The point is this: I think I swallowed 800 tsetse flies tonight. I'm pretty sure that's what they were. They may have been gnats, but I'm going with swarms of poisonous insects exploited by Steven Spielberg.

Not tasty

But I'm going to stop complaining about how many bugs I batted out of my face and/or ate because something strange and wonderful happened this evening--it wasn't hot! When I started it was only 73 degrees according to my Very Accurate™ car thermometer. And get this, when I ran along the river it was actually chilly! What a difference. I could breathe to the bottom of my lungs, I ran faster and better. I hit the first mile in 10:05! TEN MINUTES. I know this isn't anything to most people, but I am obviously very unique quite possibly the slowest runner on the planet. These legs were built for peasantry--carrying wash up hills and toting three kids while skinning dinner and the like. Slight I am not. Though it felt so great tonight, not like Saturday.

Saturday...ugh. One of the things I'm really concerned about with this race is the fact that it's run in the morning. I would much, much, MUCH rather run it at midnight than try to get up and exert myself beyond the normal stumbling into the shower and petting the cat while she enjoys "breakfast." Mornings are my archenemy and so it really does scare me that I am doing all this training in the cool evening. Whenever I attempted to use my elliptical in the morning I went so much slower and got winded tens of minutes quicker. But on Saturday I gave it a go in the day. Yes, I realize day is not morning, but cut me some slack--I'm trying. And try I did, but the sun made the whole thing misery. I was terribly crampy and fatigued from the dehydration...and discouraged.

I can't even pretend that's "glistening." It's simply a lot of sweat.

Let's not dwell on that, though. Tonight was AWESOME:

Saturday's tally:
23:10 minutes running (meh)
I keep forgetting to time the walking

Tonight's tally:
26 minutes running
see above note about walking
awful abdominal and leg band exercises

hahaha, first foray into video:

iBrutus

Et tu?

For me, half the battle of achieving focus while running is establishing mood. Sometimes getting angry with lots of shouting and drums really drives me. Then another day good old rock-n-roll does the trick. Still other times I create a great flow from some modern stuff with emphasis on the minor chord and a bit of electronica backing it up.

Tonight, however, was funk and soul.

Bowie's Golden Years was making me secretly smile as I started with the warm up walk. I had to hide my happiness because I was once again outdoors at a public park (this time in daylight with many other humans, ones capable of hearing me scream, enjoying the evening), and walking around with a grin plastered on your face gets you mistaken for someone who...well someone who should just be avoided at all costs. "What is she smiling at? It's not right."

I decided to walk a loop before starting on the straight path where I can keep rough track of distance as well as time. Grooving and mentally shaking it, my lips twitched and I tried not to sing aloud about papa being a rolling stone, and that wherever he laid his hat was his home. And despite the persisting, never-ending, insufferable humidity, it was going to be a good run. Does anyone even know what that instrument is that makes that bow chicka wow sound? Who cares, I thought, it rules.

Then suddenly there was no more Sly, and the Family Stone, they'd left the building. What gives?!? I looked down at the iPod.

No battery power remains. Please connect iPod to power source.

You filthy expletive. This is betrayal! I can't run without music! How am I going to keep my mind occupied, keep a rhythmic footfall, stay motivated for TWENTY SIX minutes?!? I seriously considered simply returning to my car a few yards away. I didn't want to be discouraged by a poor showing, and I knew that the loss of music was going to seriously affect my performance. But I was already there, already warmed up, so I sucked it up and just started running.

One foot right in front of the other. That's right, you can do it. Do I always breathe this loudly? Can other people hear it? Hey, a fish just jumped. I am running really slowly. Do I always run this slow? It's so hot out. I think I'm sweating an abnormal amount of sweat. Do people look at me and think "she doesn't look natural doing that"? I think I just heard a cat meow. Oh man, did I just almost drool? Does that dog belong to that guy? It's sort of following him, but not really. Is my key still tied to my shoelace? I'm kind of thirsty. My shoulder hurts a little. I wonder what our t-shirts for the race will look like. I AM BREATHING SO LOUDLY.

I looked down at my watch: 1:54. Not even two minutes. I am never going to make it 26.

It really is amazing what distraction can do for you. I think the failure of my little electronic brain occupier proves that I have a lot to learn about running. There are probably tricks to keeping going, to building speed and distance. I thought about an email I received from Running Fit yesterday that listed so many surprising facts, including that 75% of Americans are chronically dehydrated--and they're not even running! Clearly I have a lot to learn about this activity, and to that notion I have signed up for a Running 101 class. I have already found that running with a partner can be invaluable to building up endurance, and I am really hoping that running with a group and learning how to stretch, hydrate, and train is going to build my confidence so I can cross that finish line with an enormous, public smile. And that, my friends, will be very right.

Are you ready for a shock?

Tonight's tally:
26 minutes consecutive running(!)
13 minutes walking
1 fantastic drive home with the moon roof open and all the windows down, the night air on my skin, cooling me off.

Hades finally forces me indoors.

Tonight I saw a Viking make one of the worst volleyball serves in history. But I'll get back to that.

Generally speaking, I don't think people imagine a lot of moisture when they picture Hell in their mind's eye, but the weather in Ann Arbor right now is a runner's nightmare. Don't get me wrong, I live for hot, humid summers, but I never did develop those gills I'd been wanting, and therefore can't breathe underwater. That's exactly what it feels like I'm trying to do, not to mention it's eleventy billion degrees out until about 9:30 pm. Since it's been getting darker earlier, it's not really convenient to start running at 9:00 anymore. Plus a retired police officer scared the living daylights out of me at the park the other night, convincing me that I was not going to make it back to my car alive. The thickening fog and sound of my lonely footsteps cranked up the anxiety to 11, and I will absolutely never run at dusk again. Ever.

Tonight I geared up and walked out the door at 8:20pm--plenty of time before dark...kind of. Just as I plugged my headphones into my ears a spectacular bolt of lightning shot through the sky and a big, fat plop of rain landed on the scrolly part of my iPod. Crap.

It was coming down pretty hard as I walked the block back home, and it was way too humid to even consider getting on the elliptical without air conditioning, so I did the only thing I could think to do--I paid someone to let me run inside. That's right, I exchanged money for permission to do this. Washtenaw County offers the Meri Lou Murray Recreation Center with a 1/12 mile indoor track. The facility is clean and beautiful, and it smells like chlorine. Isn't it funny how sensing a pool close by makes you happy inside?

I'd never been there before, and I spent the drive there trying to imagine what 1/12 of a mile looked like. It sounded kind of short, like I'd make myself dizzy trying to run a couple miles. I managed to stay upright, so it obviously wasn't that bad. Once again I plugged my white headphones into my brain and started at it. "I am on lap one" I repeated to myself as I began.

The first half mile was CAKE. I barely broke a sweat as I mentally chanted "I am on lap seven." It was even kind of fun to take turns looking out at the gorgeous rainy night and down to the volleyball games below. And then I saw it: this Viking hardcore BONKED on a serve.

I mean, it was bad. He made a really valiant effort, stroking his tow-colored beard before tossing the ball up for the jump. But that thing had no loft whatsoever. It just bolted straight forward from his palm and dead into the bottom of the net. Now, I had been watching the game prior to this and I really don't mean to criticize. Mr. the Red seemed to be a very good volleyball player, overall, and his game was considerably better than what I could have offered the team. This serve was just plain off.

"I am on lap twelve."

I hit my mile and then I started to feel the burning in my legs and lungs. There was a slight adrenaline/endorphine/giddiness/completely legal rush at "I am on lap fourteen" that lasted until about sixteen and then I started to tire again. But I just shuffled through songs and kept pressing on. And on and on. I even sprinted through a few of the twenties.

And so, for tonight's final tally:
24 minutes consecutive running
7 minutes walking
power band thigh exercises

The goal for next time: 26 minutes.

that which I loathe for that which I love

One day an interesting little creature called "27" knocked on my door. It wanted to give me some important information regarding my health and personal fulfillment. "Thanks, not interested," I muttered as I closed the door square in its face. But 27 was pretty relentless. It knocked every single day for many months until I, exhausted from this nonsense, shouted, "WHAT?!?" with exasperated contempt.

It seems that 27 knew that I would eventually listen, so despite the visible proof that I was at my wits' end, it calmly reported, "You know, it's really not going to get any better from here on out. In fact, it's going to get loads more difficult."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"Look, all I'm saying," it continued, "is that you might want to think about asking your dad if you can have his old treadmill." It then walked off my doorstep and left me alone to think about the doom it had just delivered.

And so it began. Sort of.

I walked about an hour nightly on Dad's old Sears 1983 Classic until it burned out with a great snap, several sparks, and two tripped circuit breakers. And not quite a year after 27 showed up the first time, it knocked again, this time bringing its friend 28 with it. They looked at me and 27 said, "well, this one says I was right...and you might want to step it up a bit. " 28 said, "maybe an elliptical." Because I saw distinct changes in my body after the advice of 27 (who, by the way, also convinced me to stop eating horribly), I decided that 28 was probably a knowledgeable soul, and I bought an elliptical.

Then about a year later (they've been rather habitual), 28 showed up with 29 on its arm. "This one says," but I stopped the conversation with, "I'm not running." 28 looked very uncomfortable and fidgeted, while 29 grinned a toothy, Cheshire cat grin, "well, it's up to you..." and then it morphed a bit and everything horrifically dropped an inch lower than where it stood on 28.

"I'm doing 45-50 minutes on the elliptical, that's FANTASTIC!" I argued. They looked at each other. 28 seemed to think I had a point, but the other was unfazed.

"I DON'T RUN. I'VE NEVER, EVER RUN. I CAN'T RUN," I shouted.

"That's fine," 29 calmly responded, and everything dropped another ghastly quarter inch.

"FINE! FINE! FINE!"

So I started running, if you can call it that. I'm not sure jogging slowly for 4/10 of a mile before crumpling into a gasping, crying heap is considered running, but we'll pretend for the moment. It was all true, what I had told those folks at the door, I have never in my life been able to run. I've blamed it on a lot of things, some of which are legitimate excuses and some of which are merely "people who run are crazy"--and let's be honest, that is a pretty weak argument coming from my lips. I was fine with the Kettle moniker, though.

My boss, an avid runner, told me in the beginning that it was all a mind game, and that I just had to keep going no matter what my head was telling me. In the early stages this was complete bull because, let me tell you, my head kind of wanted to keep going, but my lungs jumped out of my mouth and walked themselves back home to a nice hot shower, leaving me panting for air in the street. Nevertheless, it eventually started to get...tolerable...and pretty soon I was running 3/4 of a mile, and feeling pretty great about that.

The boss is the person who suggested this, my first big run. Our office is running as a team, and you see, there are two other pretty big hooks involved. Anyone who knows me knows that I am one of those alums who is passionate obsessive about everything University of Michigan, especially Michigan football. This race starts and ends in Michigan Stadium, and really there are not many places on this earth I'd rather be than in that stadium. I can tie some pretty big life events to moments on those grounds, which is not at all pathetic in any way thankyouverymuch, and this would be just that.

It also allows me to do something good for something I've recently come to love: 826michigan. I am beyond proud to serve on this organization's board of directors; I am proud to be associated with them in any capacity. As a child I would have killed to have a group dedicated to helping me write, somewhere where I could go and they would understand how important that was to me. Somewhere where my aspirations would be nurtured, and where I felt important. Because really, that's what goes on at 826--young writers are encouraged, inspired, and given so many opportunities to do what they love. Please please please check out their website, as listed on the side of this blog. I swear to you this is such a cool, incredibly important thing.

So I am running my (deleted) off, which I hate more than insert inflammatory political commentary or nutmeg, because it's good for my body; my mind; and most importantly for 826michigan, the U of M Program for Neurology Research & Discovery and Mott Women's and Children's hospitals. And yes, I'm asking for money. Here's how it works:

A portion of my entry fee goes to neurology research and Mott. Any donations I receive go directly to 826michigan--no red tape. If you'd like to donate, please click on the link that says "donate" (I'm trying to make it simple here, folks). The link will lead you to a paypal site so you can use your credit card and don't have to write a check--does anyone even know what a check is anymore? You will receive a receipt, because your donation to this 501(c)(3) organization is fully tax deductible.

I will also keep posting updates here, because I'm pretty sure that my lungs are planning a rebellion even more violent than that of several months ago, and that just might make for interesting reading. Currently I'm up to running 2 miles on a regular basis. The furthest I've run without stopping is 27 minutes, just over 2.5 miles. I have about seven weeks until the race, and I am pretty sure I can make it to 5k by September 30, as long as all my demons cooperate.